#-a promise that one day when he will make sure all his heir duties will be dealt with he will find her again and will stay with her

[arpicityandneed]

You, Me, and the King

18+ f!reader. King bucky. Knight Steve. Queen reader. Dirty talk. polyship. light choking. creampie. Cuckolding. Voyeur!Steve.

~

If anyone noticed the visible bulge in the Steve's breeches they knew better than to say anything. The hefty sword he carried on his hip mixed with the deadly glare he gave everyone that passed by helped. They also knew better than to comment on the high pitched wails coming from the door Steve was guarding with his life. The new King and Queen were still on their honeymoon, locked away for days on end as they worked to fulfill their duty to the kingdom.

"J-James!"

He had you on your knees, your arms long since having given out as he thrusted into you. Every plap plap plap of his balls against your swollen clit echoed by the squelching of your pussy gobbling up his cock greedily. James pulled you up until his hand was around your throat, his hips never ceasing as he forced your back to arch. It made you squeal when he hit that special spot inside you. (Outside the door Steve had to clench his jaw and readjust his erection. He knew exactly what that sound meant, he heard it often enough now.)

You were usually quiet and shy, hiding at your King's side and whispering in his ear when you did have something to say. But every single time James got his cock in you, you couldn't help yourself. And your husband loved it.

"That's it my Queen. Let them, fuck, let him hear you sing for me." James let his scarred left arm wrap around you, his massive hand finding your clit easily as he fucked himself into your slick folds. You'd long since felt your own juices run down to your knees. You were sure James' balls were sticky as well.

"Please, James, I can't-" you sobbed as you came again, milking his thick shaft and making him curse.

"But you can, my love. Just a couple more. You have to if you're to give me an heir." He cooed at you, holding up your limp body as you tried to keep up with his endless stamina.

"Steve will lick you all better if you're sore later, promise." Your pussy tightened at the mention of your husband's head knight making James groan loud and filthy in your ear.

The man had grown up with your King, and you knew James trusted him more than he trusted anyone else. He'd even entrusted you to the blond. When your King was busy and you were aching, it was Steve who used his mouth and his fingers to make you feel all better. You'd even had him in your mouth when you felt bold. You wanted to practice, get better at pleasing your new husband. Steve always taught you so kindly knowing exactly what his King liked. You suspected they were more intimate than they let on and the thought made your pussy throb. But you'd never had Steves cock inside you. It was the one rule you had to follow. So when your husband mentions Steve you can't stop the embarrassed whimper that escapes you.

"I know, I know, you want his cock too." Your face burned at the truth of his words, and he laughed feeling your pussy get impossibly tight around him. "Just gotta let my cum all the way in your pretty tummy first. Gotta give me an hier."

"I'll be g-good, give you baby. Promise!" You knew Steve could hear every single word. Knew he'd be suckling on your clit later as he fucked James' cum back into you with his thick fingers when it leaked out. The very thought made you cum again, your fluttering walls dragging James along with you. He cursed, his grip tightening around your throat as his cock throbbed inside you.

"Take it my love, take every fucking drop-" He growled as he grabbed at the fat of your hip, using the leverage to fuck every spurt of cum deeper than the last.

When you both collapsed onto the bed, he cradled you to his chest kissing you slow and deep and drugging. You expected him to let you go to help you clean up a bit like he normally did. But he made no move to separate himself from you. You felt your cheeks heat once more when you realized why.

"James-" Your husband's icy blue eyes were locked onto where your bodies were joined, of the creamy mess he'd made of your pussy, but he seemed to know what you were asking if the smirk on his plump lips was anything to go by.

"Shh, just making sure it takes."

[shadykazama]

Hello! Your headcanons on Wukong/Destined One had me giggling so much 😊 they're so great, couldn't stop rereading.

Um, if it's alright, can I ask for some Wukong/Destined One x Reader with their baby? Feral daddy monkey in his nesting phase with his mate and baby is so— 🤭

Absolutely! I have a lot of thoughts and the people demand more monkey business- so let's get down to it.

❤ Wukong

Starting with the pregnancy~

He is ELATED.

The idea of a proper heir had never crossed his mind because well- he's immortal. He doesn't need one. But that doesn't mean the idea of his own flesh and blood isn't positively exciting.

There's a chance he knows you're pregnant before you do. What with all of his special powers and heightened senses.

Celebrates privately with you of course but it becomes a mountain-wide event very quickly.

You are showered with praise and blessings by all the monkeys.

He will never miss a chance to brag that he's going to have a baby. And he's definitely smug about it too, thinks your child is going to surpass even his power.

When you start showing he gets more smothering.

Don't forget our king's fatal flaw! He thinks he knows what's best.

Will limit how much you travel and makes sure you always have at least two attendants by your side while he's gone.

Which, once you get further along, isn't often. There were plenty of superstitions about pregnancy in ancient China, as well as a high infant mortality rate- and that's not even counting what complications could happen due to the magical nature of your child. So he'd be stressed.

He expresses stress through aggression (canon), though it's never pointed at you. He'd be fiercely protective over the mountain, but especially any of the areas you regularly stay in. He'd be very snappy at everyone for the entire second half of the pregnancy, except you of course, who he'd be showering with praise and reverence.

Likes holding your stomach while you rest and tells your baby about the great lineage they're being born into, recounting his titles and strength and promising them they'd be greater.

He's hoping for a boy, but he's assured his child will be spectacular regardless of the gender.

When you give birth he will be extremely focused. He can't afford to be weak in a moment when you need him most. (Though your cries of pain and effort will certainly make his heart ache.)

As you're holding your baby for the first time, his teasing, smug attitude is nowhere to be seen. He just looks at you as if you'd given him the universe itself.

Cutest baby ever might I add 👆.

It's a Chinese tradition that only immediate family is allowed to meet the baby for the first 100 days after it's born, so it'd just be you and him for a majority of three months unless you invite your family to meet them.

In traditional fashion, on the 100th day a banquet is held to officially introduce the baby to everyone. And MY GOD would it be an event...

Besides all of the monkeys on the mountain who want to celebrate their new prince/princess, I can't even imagine how many celestials and demons would come to pay their respects and blessings- be it out of fear or respect.

Either way, expect a very long day and a LOT of gifts.

^ Wukong doesn't leave your side for the entire day. I dare someone to try and pull something.

You'd expect with his trickster personality that he'd be a very lenient dad, but Wukong is surprisingly dutiful in making sure your child doesn't turn out lazy or ignorant.

That by no means is to say he wouldn't be a wonderfully playful father. He'd have a wonderful connection with his child, and his most important lesson to them would be to respect their mother ;)

More of a one kid kind of guy, so he'd probably stop after the first, unless you had twins or triplets.

As protective as he was with you when you were pregnant, he's pretty chill with the actual kid. He knows they're durable and will let them get roughed up doing dumb stuff.

Carries them around hanging off his tail and will pretend like he doesn't know where they went.

It's like how cats will let their babies 'sneak up on them' to encourage them to keep trying. He does the same thing with your kid when they try to trick him.

Your baby would be the most respectful little shit ever. A little shit nonetheless, but would do anything for you or their father.

All the monkeys on the mountain help keep an eye on the little sage so you'll never feel lost or alone in parenting. It's very much a joined effort and your baby will see the other monkeys as their family as well!

This wonderful piece of Sun Wukong was done by @kanade-howl here on tumblr! They post their work on Twitter as well at @kanaade_ and @_liehuzuo please support them!

💙 The Destined One

Give him a bunch of babies I beg you.

He'd get addicted, he wants a big family for SURE.

When you first tell him you're pregnant he'll probably take some time to fully soak it in.

You'll be used to being patient with him at this point, but I imagine something like this is really nerve wracking so don't feel bad if you rush him for a response.

He'll put a hand on your stomach as if he's checking for himself before picking you up and smothering you with love.

He's not a chatty guy but he'll let you know how happy he is!

^ That being said, during your pregnancies is the most talkative he'll ever be.

He doesn't want you to stress about communicating and knows your body is going through a lot so he pushes himself to talk more to make sure you get everything you need.

That doesn't mean he'll be a chatterbox by any means. More than nothing is still very slim :')

Expect a lot of one word questions.

Trusts you more than he trusts his own instincts. His instincts tell him you shouldn't be climbing or moving around much- but if you want to, who's he to tell you what to do? He's not the one pregnant 🤷‍♀️

Follows you around like a guard dog when you do though, doesn't matter what you're doing.

Somehow even more physically affectionate than normal. Will insist on holding your hand when you walk so you can lean your weight on him.

When you start showing he'll be amazed. It's not that he's never seen a pregnant person before but like... That's his baby in there and he can't believe it.

His favorite thing to do is lay his head against your stomach while you're resting. Will kiss your skin and adore the life you're making.

You can catch him whispering things to your baby while he's resting his head on your stomach.

Your body is going to ache and he is more than happy to massage it for you. He doesn't even need an excuse to touch you, but he'll find them anyway.

Once you get further along and it gets harder for you to get around, he'll pick you up and take your wherever you want to go- within reasonable distance from your home of course. Not because he can't take you further, he just doesn't want to in case something happens.

But he wants to make sure you get fresh air and still see the beauty outside of your bed.

Doesn't trust anyone to watch you. It's him or nothing.

Makes offerings and prays to the goddess of childbirth. He does this a few times before you catch him and start helping.

He's a bundle of nerves when you're giving birth. If you weren't preoccupied, it'd probably be painfully obvious how nervous he was.

Holds you while you hold your baby and will not stop telling you how much he loves you and how perfect the baby is.

Gets baby fever bad.

Baby will be spoiled, and so will any other baby after that.

Huge advocate for carrying the baby. If you're not opposed to it, he probably carries them more than you.

Has the most deadpan look on his face as he looks at this baby but he has so much adoration for his little miracle.

Stressing over your baby crying in the middle of the night? Not with him! He's at that babies beck and call.

Watching a nearly mute man deal with a curious child is definitely amusing and you get a front row seat.

Your children kind of just accept that their dad doesn't talk much, but he'll always tell them he loves them if they say it to him.

Takes them everywhere with him so he can teach them. Is SO proud when the oldest starts helping teach the younger ones.

He's proud of them in general honestly.

Your kids are going to be super loving and curious. I think he'd foster really healthy relationships between all of them.

You'd have a whole team taking care of you if you ever got sick.

[yoshiintheweb]

Having OC Thoughs, I love them so much.

But why oh why right now when i have exams for two weeks

[sapphiremusings]

when i’m down on my knees, | aemond targaryen

summary: with their wedding only a few days away, aemond eases his betrotheds fear of him.

cw: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, baratheon!reader, no use of y/n

this is the first in a 2 part series! let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part :)

The rumors concerning Lady Baratheon’s betrothed are not lost on her. No, she is well educated on Prince Aemond ‘One-Eye’ Targaryen’s unsavory reputation, just as much as every other lord and lady in Westeros.

Before she was shipped off to King’s Landing in preparation for her royal wedding, her sisters had made it their duty to tease her. They made sure that she was well aware of her prince’s cruel attitude, and the monstrous look of him, with a sharp scar down the left side of his face. By the time she had arrived to the Red Keep, she was teeming with fear as her sisters’ words echoed through her mind.

Prince Aemond is known to be a cruel yet dutiful man. He is said to be a skilled swordsman, besting his mother’s sworn knight, Ser Criston Cole, on many occasions. He rides the largest— and oldest— dragon, the same one that the conquerors sister-wife, Visenya, had rode into battle many times. He had claimed the she-dragon at a young age, losing his eye in the process to his young nephew. His missing left eye is another topic often whispered about in court. Some say that he had cut out another man’s eyeball, and placed it into his empty socket. Others say he has a large jewel in its place, something so peculiar and off-putting that he is forced to cover it up with a leather eyepatch.

All of this is to say that any sane lady would be terrified of their betrothal to Aemond Targaryen. Of course, Lady Baratheon is well aware that most Westerosi marriages are born out of duty, not love. If anything, she should feel blessed by the gods that she is betrothed to a young prince, and not some measly lord old enough to be her grandsire. Yet, she cannot help her feelings of terror at the thought of her upcoming wedding, and even more so, her soon-to-be husband.

From a young age, her septa had installed in her what was to be expected of her when she became of age. Being a dutiful wife was the only thing she was to worry about, and then being a dutiful mother to her husband’s heirs. She would often have nightmares about an old lord running his eager hands down her gaudy wedding gown, pushing her onto the marital bed where she would be forced to lay under his big gut as he ruts into her, witnesses to the dreaded bedding ceremony snickering behind the sheer curtains. Her ladies-in-waiting would comfort her after these night terrors, smoothing down her hair and promising that no harm would come to her. Even with their sweet words, she knew the truth; she would be forced to marry a stranger, and endure all the hardships that came with having no freedom of her own.

Now, with her wedding only a few days away, she can barely sit still. Her mind incessantly spins around various scenarios that can take place on that special day, and she worries over her impending future. She has taken to walking along the Keep’s gardens, and throughout the various twisting halls; anything to keep her moving. Her father always scolded her for this habit, as to him it was the equivalent of running away from your problems. Still, she can’t help it as the big day draws forward, her anxiety swollen inside her.

It isn’t that she doesn’t want to become a wife. It is merely her irrational fear of her husband-to-be. Even now, as he walks behind her, quiet in his sure steps, his gaze burns through all her layers, settling deep within her core. She feels as if she is on fire, and the longer he stares, calculating and as if she is a foreign creature, the more this inferno swells. Every move she makes is with caution, in fear that he will strike her down and show off that unforgiving nature that he is known for. So far, he hasn’t, but she believes this is merely a false front. Surely, he is waiting for when they are finally married to show his true colors, knowing that she will be his and unable to do anything about it.

She begs to the Seven to release her from this torment, her spine rigid as they continue their walk through the Keep’s halls. She had wanted to be alone, as she often has been since arriving in Kings Landing, artfully dodging any attempt at courting that Prince Aemond tried to enact. Truthfully, it has been his queen-mother, Alicent, who has pushed her son towards his betrothed, and to Lady Baratheon, he hasn’t seemed that worried over the fact that she has been avoiding him. No, he merely stares, violet eye darting over her face and figure as if she is a puzzle he is trying to solve.

Really, she doesn’t understand why he is still walking behind her, steps steady and calculated. They haven’t spoken a single word to each other since their initial greeting that morning, when he had been waiting outside her chamber doors, ready to escort her on her walk. Even then, it had merely been a “good morn” recited, both tense in their separate ways. Aemond couldn’t look more annoyed even if he tried, seemingly uninterested in anything she could potentially offer him. Not that she was offering anything.

Growing bored of wandering aimlessly around the Keep, Lady Baratheon pauses with a sigh. Tersely, she turns to the side, not daring to look at her betrothed, who has halted behind her. “I’d like to retire to my cha-“

“I want to show you something, my lady.”

Her heart nearly stops beating at his words, sudden and surprising as he takes a step towards her. She wishes to flee, but her feet stay planted on the floor, and she watches from the corner of her eyes as he brings a hand up to grab ahold of her elbow. Though the fabric of her dress sleeves acts as a barrier between flesh, she still feels as if she was scalded. She flinches, almost imperceptibly, but Aemond seems to notice as he lets out a hum.

She knows she mustn’t deny him. No, her septa had taught her well. So, she meekly nods her head, cheeks flushed in apprehension.

They walk back through the halls, towards a place she has never dared to step foot near, a dark alcove lit only by torches and candles. She lets out a gasp at the sight before her; the giant skull of the largest dragon known to Westeros. If she wanted to, she could walk straight into its jaws and past the many rows of sharp teeth. Her breath catches in her throat.

Aemond’s voice comes out in a whisper, right next to her ear. “This is the skull of Aegon the Conqueror’s dragon, the largest who’s ever lived. His name was-“

“Balerion. The Black Dread,” she interrupts him, immediately regretting so afterwards.

Instead of scolding her like she expected him to do, he merely breathes out a small laugh. Still, she feels the need to apologize, even as she stutters over her words.

“I apologize, my prince. At Storm’s End, we had a few tomes about the Conquest, and they interested me greatly.”

He hums. “Do not apologize. I like to know what you are thinking.”

She doesn’t know how to reply to this, heart pounding against her chest as she feels him step closer behind her, pressing into her back. He towers over her frame, hard and lean against her. His head bends, lips coming close to her ear.

“Are you afraid of me, my dear betrothed?”

“N-no,” she stutters out, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. Her eyes focus on the dragon skull before them, willing her heart to calm down. “No, my prince.”

He seems amused by her answer. “Liar.”

Another gasp escapes her mouth as his lips flutter over the shell of her ear, trailing down to the crook of her neck. He smells of smoke and steel, leather and something else she can’t put her finger on— but it’s intoxicating as it enters her nose, and she feels like nuzzling against him. Her fear won’t let her, nor will it let her move from his grasp, even as she shakes like a leaf under his hands, now resting atop her forearms.

“You avoid me. You can’t even look me in my eye,” he muses, lips still pressed against her skin. “You are shaking… am I so fearsome, Lady Baratheon?”

She whimpers, shaking her head, eyes growing wide as his grip tightens. “I’m sorry…”

His hand suddenly grabs ahold of her jaw, making her flinch, in which he lets out a disappointed tsk. Slowly, he turns her face towards his, fingers gentle against her rosy cheeks. She trembles as she meets his dark gaze, his lilac iris now a small ring, overtaken by his widened pupil. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his stare travels across her face, stopping on her lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, blinking. “No… quite the opposite. Will you let me show you?”

Deep within her stomach, something sharp twists, turning her blood hot as it pools within her veins. She is afraid, but another feeling unknown to her is slowly creeping up her spine, turning her brain into mush as she continues staring up at her betrothed. Her fingers reach up to grasp on his arm that’s wrapped around her, tightening around the leather of his sleeve. His gaze doesn’t move away, nor does he. Instead, he seems to draw closer, pressed against her back as his lips near hers. She can’t help but flutter her eyes closed, and before she can fully think about what she is agreeing to, she dips her chin down into a small nod.

Aemond’s lips immediately find hers, warm and plush, eager in his exploration. She has never been kissed before, and the feeling is foreign, but her pulse begins to thrum within her, and she opens her mouth to take more of it. He seems pleased by her reciprocation, groaning softly as he brushes his tongue against her teeth, his hand that still cups her jaw growing harsher. Their tongues slip against each other, a jolt of lightning hitting her every time they touch, her skin pebbled with goosebumps.

Growing restless, she spins around in his arms, hungry for something she doesn’t yet have a word for. Her arms wrap around his neck, and she has to push herself up onto her toes as she meets his lips once more, a clashing of teeth and spit. Between her legs, it grows hot, pulse thumping at her very core. She wants to climb on top of him and devour him, her fear of her mysterious prince melting away with every flick of his tongue. Is it supposed to feel like this?, she thinks, whimpering as she pulls him down closer by his neck.

When he pulls away, panting, she whines, her own chest heaving as she tries to breathe, but the throbbing between her thighs is so strong, she merely steps into his arms once more. He chuckles at this, looking down at his eager betrothed, flushed and nearly ravaged.

“I haven’t even shown you yet, and you’re already begging for more,” he muses, clicking his tongue mockingly. “What happened to my fearful little betrothed, hm?”

This sobers her up, her already flushed face turning a deeper shade of scarlet, and she staggers back on her feet. Aemond doesn’t let her go far, though, immediately grabbing ahold of her waist and pulling her back in. His hand brushes her hair back from her face, forcing her to look up at him once more, fingers firm in their hold. He smirks at the dazed look in her doe eyes, glassy as his words work through her mind on a loop. Though he should feel bad, he can’t help but relish her embarrassment. Hadn’t she been embarrassing him since her arrival, every time she would dart away from him and cower in fear just from his gaze?

“Please,” she whispers, swallowing a lump within her throat. His eyes seem to sparkle at her pleading.

He softly laughs. “Do you want me to touch you?” When she nods, eyebrows furrowed, “Use your words.”

Shame pools within her chest, squeezing around her heart as she continues to look up at him. Something inside her is begging to be released, pounding against her skull until every bone in her body rattles under its force. She doesn’t know what it is, or how to stop it, but her body draws itself closer to Aemond like he is the cure. Even now, as she gazes at his handsome face, all harsh lines and pouted lips, silver hair long and pulled back behind his head, eye a deep shade of violet, this thing within her only grows stronger in its fight to leave its prison. He is her betrothed, and a Prince of the realm, so who is she to deny him?

“Yes,” the word tastes like the sweetest poison on her tongue, and when he still makes no move to touch her, she continues. “Please, Aemond… touch me.”

She nearly cries when he smiles, leaning down to catch her lips, but her elation plummets when he doesn’t meet her embrace. Instead, his lips attach themselves to her jaw, tender as he licks and nips at the skin, traveling down her neck. Though she wants nothing more than his lips on hers, she still keens at the strange feeling, fingers tangling themselves into his long hair. His hands squeeze her hips, running up and down her sides, brushing against the bottom of her breasts. She arches into his touch, soft pants leaving her lips as he groans against her flesh.

Her feet start to step backwards as he pushes her, until she hits the stone wall behind her. His lips move to her heaving bosom, where the tops of her breasts sit within her dress, while his hand moves under her skirts, trailing along the bare skin of her thighs. They tremble beneath his touch, shutting close and trapping him there. He merely brings his leg between them, prying them back open so his hand can continue its journey to her weeping core. She shakes beneath him, sweat gathering at her brow, eyes pleading.

Aemond shushes her, bringing his lips back to hers, sighing as she pulls him closer and slips her tongue between them. When his hand slips under her undergarments, fingers nestling among her damp curls, she almost sobs, hips bucking up in shock. His other hand grabs onto her waist, stilling her movement as his fingers glide through her wetness, gathering the pool of arousal that sits along her hole. Her chest heaves, head dizzy with the new feeling, and she feels as if a bolt of lightning, white hot and blinding, has struck her. Hands grasp onto his shoulders for purchase, nails digging into the dark leather of his tunic, frantic as she looks for something to steady her racing heart.

“Seven hells, you’re soaked,” he gasps, fingers pressing against the apex of her, rubbing tight circles. “And here I thought you were afraid of me…”

She can barely comprehend his words, feeling as if her head is stuck in a cloud of smoke, heady and all-consuming. Her hands run down his shoulders and arms, now gripping onto his slim waist, pressing his body closer to her. His pale neck hovers over her face, and she can’t help but gravitate towards the unmarred skin, pressing her quivering lips to the base. Her tongue darts out to taste him, whimpering as she tries once more to move her hips. Aemond grunts, moving his fingers down to circle her leaking hole, the tip of his middle finger pressing in slowly.

As he presses the digit fully inside her, she presses her teeth into the nape of his neck, muffling her cry as he finally allows her to move her hips. He moans softly, grunting out her name at the feel of her bite, and she can feel something hard against her lower stomach, burning as it presses itself more to her. Tears spring to the corners of her starry eyes, tongue coming out once more to lick at the stinging bite mark she left, before resting her lips against him, panting. Her hips jolt upwards continuously, his name leaving her mouth like a prayer.

“Will you let me taste you?,” he nearly whines, rough voice cracking. His nose nudges against her temple. “Hm… ivestragī aōha dārilaros sylutegon ao, dōna riña.” (Let your prince taste you, sweet girl).

She gasps out, head nodding, though she’s not sure what she is agreeing to. Even so, she still wretches out, “y-yes.”

Aemond groans once more, pressing his lips to her forehead, before removing his fingers from her core. He’s quick to bend down on his knees, hands lifting up her skirts, dipping his head under the heavy fabric. She furrows her brows in confusion, but her question dies on her tongue as she feels his hot mouth press against her cunt, warm and wet. A strangled moan leaves her, and she throws her head back to stare up at the darkness above, lips parted as she gasps and whines. His tongue feels hot as it slips through her folds and circles her entrance, slurping up her arousal which practically pools out of her.

She can barely comprehend what is happening, her knees wobbly and her brain turned to mush, and all she can remember is his name. It leaves her lips like an incantation, continuously and fervently. Her hands try their best to gather her skirts, lifting them up and away from Aemond’s face, wishing to see him between her thighs. First, she spots a sliver of silver hair, and then, when she pulls the fabric back further, the rest of his head comes into view. His eye is closed, his focus solely on her cunt and how his tongue dips in and out of her. Fingers come up to rub at her once more, a deep grumble leaving him and vibrating through her core.

Something foreign begins to bubble up inside her, burning in its trail and cutting her open like a sharp sword. Her breath catches in her throat, chest heaving and heart stuttering against her ribcage, hips bucking up to chase the rising wave within her. Aemond flattens his tongue against her, another rumble leaving him, making her cry out. He opens his eye, staring up at her disheveled figure, his gaze molten and hungry. This look, and the feeling of him crooking a finger inside her once more, breaks her, and she moans and shudders, vision turning blurry as she’s pulled down under her cascading pleasure.

“Sȳz riña…” he groans, lapping up her essence as it flows out and onto his tongue. “Good fucking girl.”

Once she comes back down, she can barely keep standing, legs weakened and eyes heavy with sleepiness. Aemond stands, a satisfied hum leaving him as he pulls her against him, nose nuzzling in her hair. Instead of fear, she feels comfort as she rests in his arms, head resting on his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat. When he begins to trail kisses down her face, before capturing her lips with his own, she feels like swooning. Is this what she had been missing all along? Her betrothed… not someone to fear, but someone she could grow to love?

Aemond pulls away, fingers coming up to rest against her lips. “Taste yourself, dārilaros.” (Princess).

Timidly, she wraps her lips around his two digits, tongue cautious as it swirls around them. His gaze is dark as he watches her, and when he removes his fingers, he replaces them with his mouth, hot as it claims her own. On her hip, she can still feel that same stiffness against her, but she doesn’t question it as he finally steps away from her, a small smirk on his handsome face.

“In just a few days, we will be wed, my lady. When I take you to my bed, I will spend all night showing you why you shouldn’t fear me.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles its way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. He grabs your knees and parts them for himself.

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill from the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you once before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with a faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger to your chest, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

He grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands push at his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his palm coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes him sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffles the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his stones, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it, he's made his claim; you were his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparent scorn. He smiles at Dalton, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. You let a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of them finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

You can no longer remain simply screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain. You swipe your philtrum and find red on your fingers.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop and realize what he's done.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he's then shoving Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your injury.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, then sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

"I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are relieved he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

And so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room.

You feel lightheaded. You see double.

He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

Your heart drops as he storms over.

"Who's the father of your bastard child?!"

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you again, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault. You taste iron on your lips.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows his god smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge on a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught-- perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could only be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

[cookybananas]

It's Been A Long Time, Old Friend (Part I) - Unburnt!Darth Vader x Reader

summary: where Darth Vader arrives on the planet of Lianna. Only to discover that the Queen of Lianna was once his old flame during his Jedi years.

"And there you are! You're all set to go your Excellency." Chira, your handmaiden said after putting some final touches to your look.

"Chira, you know you don't have to call me that when we're alone right?" You responded, looking at yourself in the large vanity mirror. Your husband, Kairos, King of Lianna, was having meeting with the Emperor's right hand man, Lord Vader. Ever since your arranged marriage to him, it is expected of you to appear alongside him in his meetings to get a second opinion and to look like an accessory.

Never in million of years you would find yourself in an arranged marriage to a man you've never met, but here you are. Two years after the fall of the Jedi, you've traveled from planet to planet, evading inquisitors from finding and capturing you. There was one day you found yourself in a slave trading operation, where you sold off as a promising bride to your now husband, King Kairos of Lianna. At first, Kairos was hesitant in marrying you since you were a slave, but he had a duty to give his father a long lineage of heirs and his people a beautiful Queen to follow.

However, the marriage had been rocky from the get-go and continued to remain that way. You were never interested in him nor was he into you. No matter how hard you both tried to like each other, and understand one another, you both would always have opposing viewing points and would always clash. Maybe it had something to do with your Jedi beliefs instilled in you or your distaste towards members of royal families, or the fact your husband was a bootlicker for the Emperor and his Galactic Empire, and was a constant supplier for their TIE fighters.

Because of this, you both decided to remain separate from each other from all hours of the day, as you both had your own duties to fulfill. You both eventually agreed to sleep in separate chambers due to how sour the marriage had turned.

As dangerous and stupid of an idea it was at the time, you believed it was somewhat a smart plan on your end to marry a royal family member. The inquisitors couldn't suspect a former Jedi to marry into royalty, right? Luckily, it helps that women who are apart of the Royal Family of Lianna, are expected to wear face paint and makeup to cover up their real identity. A similar practice that derived from the Royal Family of Naboo.

You had also cut yourself off the force right after the rise of the Empire. After Obi-Wan had told you that Anakin had turned to the dark side, you both knew what was expected to come for the both of you. Obi-Wan had gone his separate way, and you followed suit onto your own path.

Now here you were, covered in white face paint, heavy purple eyeshadow, and bright red lipstick embellished your facial features.

Chira assisted you in your royal gown. The gown was a deep purple, adorned with thousands of beads from the waist down. Chira placed your large halo crown onto your head, securing it place.

"Andddddd we're done! It looks like it's time for your meeting!" Chira said, eyeing you up and down, making sure you were looking like royalty.

"Thank you Chira. You are free to leave." You replied. Chira bowed before exiting your chambers.

You met your husband on the landing pad to the palace, where you both awaited for the arrival of Lord Vader.

"Darling, don't you look delightful today." Your husband, Kairos spoke up, lending his arm for you to take.

"Don't I always do?" You quipped, wrapping your arm around his. The whirring sound of a ship approached the landing pad. The door to the ship opened, revealing a line of stormtroopers, as they walked down the ramp. Right behind them, stood the terrifying Darth Vader.

"Ah, Lord Vader, shall we began our discourse?" Kairos spoke up, bowing to him, to which I silently followed his action.

"As always King Kairos." Lord Vader responded. The three of us, alongside the stormtrooper and our guards made our way to the conference hall.

-

The meeting was long and agonizing, as per usual. Kairos would argue for a larger price, the opposing party would try to bargain for a lower price, and yadda yadda.

Though this was your first meeting with the Emperor's apprentice, you have to stay, you weren't as intimidated as you thought you were. Yeah, you've heard grisly stories about the Sith Lord and cruel he can be, but after having to sit 2 hours straight across from him wasn't as bad. However, you did feel small under his gaze. His attention may be focused on your husband, but you couldn't help but sense the seeking glances from the Sith Lord himself from time to time.

"Perhaps we could ask your wife about her thoughts on this matter." Vader's mechanical voice shook you out of your thoughts and brought you back to reality. You looked at your husband, then at Lord Vader, before speaking up.

"Well, I do think it's possible to increase production and have our men producing 20,000 TIE fighters per week the next four weeks with the price of 7,000,000 Imperial credits." You offered, the amount that was way less than what your husband had originally offer, that being 20,000,000. Kairos feigned a smile as he squeezed your thigh in response to your offer, indicating that he was not satisfied with the amount you've offered to Lord Vader.

"We have a deal. I will return in two weeks to see the progress. It was a pleasure doing business with you as always King Kairos." The Sith Lord responded, now standing abruptly from his seat. Both Kairos and I followed suit. Kairos shaking his hand with Lord Vader, sealing the deal.

"And I see you have a wife. From what I recall, I don't remember you being married." The Sith Lord piqued. I adverted my gaze away from Lord Vader's intense gaze. Kairos squeezed my arm before speaking up.

"Well, we haven't been married that long Lord Vader. We had just gotten married shortly after our last meeting, so it's been 4 months." Kairos smiled down at me, to which I returned. "You will see her more often in our future encounters my Lord."

"I look forward to them." Vader responded, eyeing me up and down once more. Kairos and I assist Vader and his stormtroopers to his ship on the landing pad. After watching his ship depart, Kairos releases his arm from mine and walks back inside the palace, into his private chambers. I sigh to myself, watching Lord Vader's ship fly off in the horizon, before making my way into my chambers.

-

He couldn't put a finger on it, but something about you stirred something inside him. He didn't want to stare at you for too long, he knew it would make you uncomfortable, but there was just something about you that seemed familiar. Upon landing on the landing pad, he felt a faint force signature. Though you cut off yourself off from the force two years ago, some parts of you still lingered in the force.

After Vader's departure from the palace, he hadn't left the planet's atmosphere yet. In fact, his ship was on autopilot in the sky as he was busy sending a message to his master to tell him his discovery. Vader had a mission to get rid of every last Jedi, whether it meant to turn them into inquisitors or kill them off entirely.

"Master, it would seem I've made a discovery." Vader spoke to the blue figure on the holotable to his ship.

"And what would that discovery be Lord Vader?" The Emperor's tone sounding a bit impatient at his apprentice's words.

"It would appear that Queen of Lianna could be a force-sensitive individual, Master."

"Is that so my apprentice? What an interesting discovery... Perhaps we could turn her into a pawn, or a weapon... I would keep an eye on this one, Lord Vader. Perhaps she is a lot stronger with the force than we may realize." The Emperor responded, somewhat surprised that a Jedi had found themselves entangled in a royal family.

"Yes my master." Vader responded before the figure of Palpatine disappeared from the holotable. He had a new objective now. Vader wanted to alter the deal now. Instead of visiting in two weeks to check on the progress, he in fact, wanted to oversee the progress every day until he had gotten his TIE fighters. With this, Vader had made his way back to the palace.

-

"Your Majesty! You must come quickly!" Chira, your handmaiden had barged into your chambers. Unsure what was happening, you dropped the book you were reading and followed her.

"What's the matter Chira? Has something happened?" You asked, both of you fastening your pace in the direction of the throne room.

"I-it's Lord Vader. He came back...The King requested your presence." Chira huffed out. Both you and Chira arrived outside the tall doors to the throne room. You took a deep breath and corrected your posture before entering the room. The doors slowly opened, revealing the backsides of numerous stormtroopers and Lord Vader. Kairos, was seated on his throne, talking to Lord Vader when you caught his attention.

"My love, come." Kairos stood up, gesturing for you to come sit in your throne next to his. The stormtroopers and Lord Vader turn around to face you as you hurriedly made your way over to your royal seat.

"I have altered the deal. I will be overseeing the progress on the TIE fighters from now." Darth Vader's voice echoed throughout the room. You nervously looked over at your husband, unsure what he had gotten yourselves into.

"Y-Yes, your Lord. May I ask-"

"There will be no questions. I ask that you will provide my men lodging and meals for the duration of their stay." The Sith Lord interrupted him. To which Kairos could do nothing about nod enthusiastically at Lord Vader's requests. "Tomorrow, you will provide me a tour of your facilities as I will begin to oversee all production of my TIE fighters."

"Of course my Lord." Kairos stood up, bowing to Lord Vader. You sat there, staring at your husband, anxious of what was yet to come.

-

"What the hell was that Kairos?!" You exclaimed. Both you and Kairos were having another one of your disputes in his chambers once again. This time, it was about Lord Vader's little vacation at the palace and overseeing the planet's assets. "When are you going to stop kissing the Empire ass and stand up for yourself for once?"

"I had no choice Y/N! Have you forgotten that Lord Vader and the Emperor are the most cruel and powerful beings in this star system?! They'll cut off my arm if I were to disagree with them." Kairos retorted. You scoffed at the same excuse he had used ever since you brought this topic up. "The Empire is funding our planet. We are an asset to the Empire. We're becoming richer and richer with every TIE fighter and Imperial weapons we sell them. With this, we can help our people."

"I don't know want to hear it anymore Kairos. Our people still suffer at the hands of the Empire, whether it is happening directly or indirectly." You made your way to the door. "You may not see it now, but the damage done to the planet and the people will be irreparable when you come to your senses." With that, you slammed the door your husband's door shut. You huffed out in frustration, your heels clicking on the marble flooring as you stormed toward your chambers. Little did you know, Vader was around the corner, eavesdropping on the argument that you and Kairos had moments ago. The Sith Lord smiled to himself, realizing that he use this to further manipulate the King of Lianna with the knowledge that his marriage was crippling.

-

After taking a long soak in your bath and finishing your nighttime routine, you were eager to get some rest. Shutting the lamp on your nightstand, you began to snooze off.

Images of being in the Jedi Temple began to flood your dreams. Realizing what your mind was doing, you tried to shut down those dreams, worried that it would pull you deeper into the force and down the path of memories that you did not want to relive. But what you didn't know, Darth Vader was in the meditation chambers that the Lianna medical staff and engineers had constructed for the Sith Lord. Darth Vader was using the force to encourage you to reveal yourself. There was something oddly familiar about you that made him curious.

After trying to get into your mind, he couldn't. Either you had nothing interesting going in your mind or that you were really good at blocking him out. Vader knew he had to be careful. He couldn't give away his true intentions to why he was here on the planet of Lianna. Yes, he and Palpatine need the TIE fighters, however this is different now. A force-sensitive woman who was a Queen was the topic interest at the moment. Plus, Vader needed to be away from the Death Star. Staring at the dark gray walls and into hyperspace just wasn't cutting it for him. Luckily the planet of Lianna was filled with lush gardens and vast lakes that Vader and his men could enjoy the duration of their stay.

-

next part: It's Been A Long Time, Old Friend (Part II)

[cressidagrey]

Something good and right and real - Chapter 9

Summary:

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing, Discussion of Murder, Kinda Lucien Bashing?

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

“It’s nice. The music is good. I think you wouldn’t hate it,” Oriana ended her presentation of why he should accompany her to dance. 

Quite frankly, Azriel had been willing to agree with anything Oriana had been saying, because she was sitting on his lap after they had shared lunch. He had managed to take a break from his duties for once and lunch with Oriana was definitely worth the detour he had needed to make it happen. 

And he was more than willing to agree when Oriana told him that she liked going there with friends to dance, as it was quick stomping dances that reminded her of the mountain. 

“Let’s go tonight,” he said impulsively. Even if he ended up hating it, he would have seen Oriana do something that she loved. He could sit through a few hours of that. 

And really, sitting through a few hours with live music was a far cry from the less pleasant aspects of his job. So really…  

“Yeah?” Oriana made sure, but a smile was growing on her face and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and the kiss she bestowed on him at that was worth so much more than sitting through 4 hours of music that may be horrible. 

He caught her face in his hands when she pulled back, kissing her again…and then another time. 

He only pulled back suddenly, when he felt a razor-sharp talon at the edge of his mind. 

He wanted to curse. 

It must have shown on his face because Oriana cradled his head in her hands. 

“Are you alright?” she asked him, eyebrows furrowing, and he nodded. 

“My Brother,” he gave out with a sigh, as Rhys scraped at his mind edge, obviously unwilling to wait. 

“Your brother,” Oriana repeated flatly. 

“He’s a daemati,” Azriel explained. A daemati and a pain in his ass. 

He slipped open his mental shields just enough so that Rhys could slip into them.  

His shadows hadn’t told him that anything was amiss, so really, what could this be about?  

What happened, Rhys? he asked. 

Elain and Lucien are coming over from Day. 

Right. And that mattered to him how exactly? 

It was nice that Feyre and Nesta could see their sister. But Azriel himself…well, he doubted that either Lucien or Elain would be happy to see him. 

Good for them? Azriel responded bemused. 

He hadn’t heard that it was a diplomatic mission of any kind between Day and Night, Helion hadn’t been the one dispatching his son and heir. 

So really, what did it matter? 

We’ll have dinner at the River House this evening. 

Now, he had his answer. 

I have plans, Azriel responded quickly.

 He did. And he could really imagine a better use of his time than sit through the awkwardness than that dinner promised to be. 

Everything so that he didn’t need to sit through that . 

Being cooped up alone in your house isn’t a plan, Rhys responded pointedly. Azriel wanted to bristle. 

He wasn’t the only one. His shadows actually did. 

Besides, we are talking about the future High Lord and High Lady of Day, so I am sure you can make space in your busy schedule for them, Rhys’ mental voice dripped with sarcasm but Azriel just stayed silent.

Rhys sighed.  

Get over yourself, Azriel, Rhys said quietly. 

Right. 

That’s all he was ever supposed to do, right?

He smashed down against the bitterness that welled up into him at that because quite frankly, it didn’t fucking matter anymore. 

It didn’t. 

I actually do have plans, Rhysand. I can come for dinner, but I am not staying for dessert, he gave back clipped instead. 

Fine. 

Rhys left. Azriel snapped his mental walls down behind him with far more force than necessary. 

He focused back on Oriana, who still sat on his lap, watching him carefully.  

“I am expected for dinner,” he said quietly. 

“Want to go out dancing another time?” 

Maybe he shouldn’t have expected something else, because Oriana had never asked him to tell her anything more than he had been willing to offer up by himself, but he still was. He still waited for the moment when she would be upset or angry with him because he couldn’t force himself to drag her into the abyss that was his work. Couldn’t force himself to answer a question. 

That was one thing. Oriana was another thing. 

It was unfair, he realised that. She told him about her family. About growing up and how Enya braided her hair and Kiran had used to let her run wild in his forge, about how Samson had let her hold his sword when she had just been a child of no more than 5, about how Titania was strict and seemed arrogant but had still sobbed over her husband losing a leg, and weeks later about the prothetic that Oriana had enchanted…about Cyrus and her playing together, the brother with whom she shared a father and the reality of being a child of two worlds and somehow not belonging into either. 

He couldn’t even open his mouth and tell her about Cassian or Rhys. 

He wanted to sometimes. Sometimes he thought about it. 

About what Cassian would say if he came to his brother the next day and admitted the whole thing. 

Cassian would be happy for him. He knew that. 

At first at least. 

But he didn’t know how Rhys would react and he wasn’t willing to stake Oriana’s happiness or safety on it. 

Not yet. 

“No,” he said quietly. “I’ll be done by nine? Is that early enough?”

“That’s the time, I am just starting to drink at,” Oriana said with a grin. “I’ll be waiting. I am the one in the red dress.”

He couldn't help but smile at that.

“So who is coming for dinner? If you can tell me?” she asked curiously. “Your brother?”

“Both brothers,” he answered. “Their mates. Some old friends. Lucien and Elain.”

He could give her the names. It didn’t matter. 

She pulled back, looking at him curiously. “Lucien Vanserra? Or whatever he calls himself these days?” she asked, her voice curious, but there was something else there. 

“You know him?” he asked carefully. How? Why? 

“Yeah, I know him,” Oriana said with a laugh. “He’s my cousin , Azriel.” 

His brain felt like it was freezing in place. 

What. 

“His mother and my father were siblings,” Oriana explained. “You knew my father was from the Autumn Court.  When my parents married it was quite the scandal. Lucien is a few decades older than me, but we are cousins. Haven’t talked to him in…over a century, I think though.” 

Azriel had no clue how to even react to that particular bit of knowledge.

This was entirely unexpected. And he wasn’t sure that he liked it. 

“So. I am thinking I am gonna make rabbit stew next week,” Oriana changed the topic, without asking another question or saying anything else.  “Are you gonna hunt me one and bring it to me like some barbarian warlord returning home with the carcass slung over your shoulder like a prized kill or should I just go buy one already dead?”

He dropped his head to her shoulder and started shaking with laughter. 

Azriel left Oriana with the promise to be the one responsible for the demise of a poor bunny later that week and then trudged his way towards the River House for dinner. 

He was really not looking forward to that. 

Not because he had some kind of feud with Lucien or Elain at that matter, but because seeing Elain was a constant fucking reminder of that solstice night. 

And that still pissed him off to no end, even when it was 2 years and a mating bond for him ago. 

It was still the night where Rhys had pulled rank with him about something purely personal and expected him to just accept that, without even a discussion. 

Something inside him, Azriel was quite sure, had fractured that night and he wasn’t certain if he was ever going to piece it back together again like it was before. 

If he even wanted it to

The only thing he was sure of was that his private life was going to be kept far out of Rhys’ grasp. 

Oriana was his and no one else’s and nobody was going to take her from him. 

And now he sounded like a possessive asshole. 

Weakly, he wondered if that was the mating bond at play, pulling out every territorial instinct he had…and he had quite a few of them. He had never really had anything that was his and his alone after all. 

Still, every thought of Oriana was banned from his mind as soon as he arrived, instead replaced with once again contemplating table linens. 

Why not. 

If Rhys picked up a stray thought, he would probably think that Azriel had gone completely mad, but hey, that was fine too. 

Still, Elain looked as lovely as always, and Azriel managed to snag a seat at a corner of the table, next to Cassian on the other side, and Morrigan at the head. 

It could be worse, he imagined. 

Like this, he was far, far away from Rhys…and from Lucien as well. 

The one thing that did quip his curiosity was the incessant whirring of Lucien’s mechanical eye though.

“Is everything alright with your eye?” Feyre was the one who asked the question that Azriel also had.  He listened with half an ear, not that interested in the answer. 

“No, it has decided to act like this,” Lucien gave back sarcastically. “Nuan already took it apart, she has no clue what is wrong with it. She has reached out to some old friends of hers, including the person who figured out the spell in the first place. But until then, I am stuck with this.”

He means Mistress, his shadows piped up suddenly and Azriel’s eyebrows rose with that. 

You are sure?

Mistress figured out a way to make artificial limbs feel real when her brother-in-law lost his leg in a mining explosion. She spent around a decade concentrating on that, his shadows hissed. 

He knew about the prosthetic leg. He hadn’t known that she had spent a decade working on that. 

Mistress talks to us while she is working, his shadows answered the unspoken question. Mistress is very smart. 

Yeah, Azriel agreed with that assessment.  

But if Nuan, the Master Tinkerer from Dawn Court had already taken the eye apart and not figured out anything that was wrong with it…well. Then it clearly wasn’t a mechanical problem. It was a problem with the enchantment that made it work. 

“You need an enchanter,” he said evenly. The conversation quieted down at that. 

“I do not,” Lucien sniped back.

“Yes, you do,” Azriel disagreed. “If it was a mechanical problem, Nuan would have figured it out. So it’s a problem with the enchantment. Who did it the first time?”

“Nuan did,” Lucien answered, crossing his arms.  

“She’s an alchemist, not an enchantress. You need one of those to fix…whatever the problem is,” he said with a wave of his hand. 

“What do you even know about it?” Lucien asked with a snort. 

“I know that it is a completely different skill set,” Azriel gave back tightly. And then, he said something he shouldn't have because his temper got the better of him. “I also know that you are related to one.”

Lucien’s knife hit the plate with a clang. “How do you even know that?” he demanded. 

“I am the spymaster of the Night Court,” Azriel gave back like that answered every single question Lucien could possibly pose. 

And maybe it did. 

It was nothing that he could not also have found out through very different channels.  

“So what, you care about gossip from 3 centuries ago?” Lucien responded sharply. “Do you have nothing better to do?” 

“Luce…” Elain said softly, but Azirel ignored her. 

“If it’s useful, yes .” 

“How could it possibly be useful to you? Also, he’s dead. Has been dead, for over a century,” Lucien told him harshly. 

Oh. 

Well, that made it better. Lucien didn’t even think about Oriana. He thought that Azriel had been talking about her father .  

“That didn’t show up in your research, did it?” Lucien asked with a harsh smile. 

Oh, he was willing to let Lucien have that round. 

Can you ask Oriana if she would be willing to take a look at Lucien’s eye? She probably already got a letter about it from the Head Tinkerer from Dawn.  

The answer came minutes later, not by a sentence hissed by his shadows, but by the letter they dropped next to his plate. 

He opened the note. It smelled like peppermint. 

Yes, of course. Just give him the note enclosed. Tomorrow morning. And just tell him that we share a common acquaintance, if you don’t want him to know that we know each other, Sweetling. 

Also, If you have read this note, drop it in a glass, please. 

He did just that. 

It went up in flames, just seconds later. 

“By the cauldron, you are seeing Eris!” Cassian blurted out and Azriel felt like his brain froze for the second time that day. 

“Cassian!” Nesta snapped, for some reason managing to sound long-suffering, "We talked about this." 

“The letter just went up in flames! That’s how the Autumn Court sends correspondence!” Cassian reasoned. “You are seeing Eris!”

“And because of that, you are now thinking that Azriel has a love affair with Lucien’s half-brother?” Feyre asked, sounding like…she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. 

Well, neither could Azriel. 

“Yes!”  Cassian exclaimed. 

“No,” Azriel deadpanned. 

Over his dead body. Not after what happened with Mor. Never. 

“But…” Cassian started to protest. 

“Cassian, I have absolutely no idea what makes you think that I am in some kind of romantic relationship with Eris Vanserra but I’ll gladly swear to you on my own life, that that is not happening in a million years,” he said drily. “And Eris was not the one writing me.” 

“Who was writing to you then?” Rhys questioned pointedly. “Must be somebody from autumn.” 

“I know somebody that knows somebody,” he gave back evenly, as he handed the second not for Cassian to pass to Lucien.  “An enchantress is willing to meet you tomorrow. Bright and Early.” 

Lucien reached out for the note with some trepidation. 

“If I wanted you dead, the plan would be a lot less convoluted. Just for your information,” Azriel said drily.

Lucien glared at him. 

“Where did you meet her?” he demanded. 

“I know somebody that knows somebody,” Azriel repeated. “That’s my job. And that reminds me, I have to go.”

Far away from Cassian and his conspiracy theories, that much was certain. 

He still had no idea how Cassian had even come up with this. He didn’t know if he even wanted to know. 

“So soon?” Feyre asked surprised. 

“I have plans.” 

“What kind of plans?” She wondered. 

“The kind of plans that I am not willing to change.”

Quite frankly, all he wanted was to curl up on Oriana’s couch, underneath the ugliest blanket he had ever seen, but he should have known that it was not gonna be quite that easy. 

So he went to the pleasure hall she had named him and let his shadows lead him right to the female in the bright red dress. 

He would have found her even without knowing the colour of the dress, because even now, in a dress with nothing that proclaimed her a goldsmith by trade…there was traces of it, everywhere. From the points of her shoes that were decorated with a gold tip, to the low open back of her dress that was held in place at her neck with a myriad of chains. 

From the front…it was deceptively simple. From the back…not so much. 

She suited the colour. Not as much as Blue did in his opinion though.

“Sorry, I am late,” he said softly as he slid to her side at the bar and she grinned brightly at him, just as the bartender, pushed four glasses in her direction and she immediately handed two off to him.

“You aren’t, Sweetling,” she assured him. “Ready to meet my friends?” 

He just nodded. 

The fluttering pearlescent wings that resembled a butterfly, were the first thing he saw. 

He immediately placed that to belong to Palote Fairy, a lesser Faeries, often found in the summer court. 

Far from home, that much was certain. 

She turned to him, a head covered in blue hair that matched her wings and she stared at him. 

“By the cauldron, you are real!” she explained as Oriana slid into the seat beside her. A High Fae male was with her, blonde and blue-eyed, looking like he wanted to be everywhere but here. 

“Did you think I was lying?” Oriana said with a snort

“No!” The female hurried to add. “I just didn’t…Hi! I am Hyacinth! That’s Evander!” she said quickly. The male fae, Evander, lifted his glass in greeting, obviously quieter than his companion. 

“Nice to meet you. Oriana has told us literally nothing about you,” he said drily. “Which is good, because Hyacinth wouldn’t have believed her anyway.” 

Hyacinth just glared at her companion.

“Hey! It’s just that she came out of it with nowhere! She disappears for a few weeks and then shows up with, Oh I met my mate! By the way, he’s Illyrian!” Hyacinth defended herself. 

“Because Oriana has totally bothered to lie to you before. We all remember that one time…”

Or maybe the male wasn’t quite after all, because these two started squabbling in a way that was worse than Cassian and Nesta sometimes were prone to be doing. 

“What happened that one time?” he wondered quietly to Oriana, who just snorted. 

“Hyacinth and I didn’t know each other very well and she didn’t take me at all seriously when I told her that I could control fire. So I showed her. Right there in the middle of her flower shop. And she dumped water all over me…Did I mention that the flowers were still in said pot of water? I got to pick out tulips out of my hair for ten minutes afterwards.”

The mental picture that painted, made him snort, even as Oriana leaned into his side. 

Nobody threw water at Oriana that evening, though she did seem to seemingly know every person who attended and dragged him down onto the floor as soon as there was a dance that wasn’t the very quick stomping dances that she seemed to enjoy the most. 

Still, for once he was very thankful that centuries of fighting training meant that he was very quick on his feet and managed to figure out the steps behind it quickly. 

But even if he didn’t…he wouldn’t have cared, because Oriana glowed with happiness throughout that night. It seemingly surrounded her, an effervescent beauty that he couldn’t name. He could just stare at it in wonder. 

“Thank you for coming,” she said as they spilt out into the night air as the evening ended, her arm slipping through his, her hair curling against her neck, where she had sweat from her dancing. 

“Of course.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“So Dinner didn’t go that well, did it?” She asked Azriel as they ambled their way to her apartment. The walk wasn’t longer than maybe 5 minutes, and it was a night in the Rainbow…of course, it was still filled with faes and fairies of all kinds mulling around. 

And still, Azriel had showed up at The Moonlight Vault with a face like thunder. (Yes, the name sucked. It was still one of the best establishments Velairs had to offer as far as Oriana was concerned.)

“…How,” Azriel wondered and Oriana just shrugged, holding his arm a little bit tighter. 

“You were looking ready to flee as soon as you entered,” she said drily. “You know, you could have just had your shadows tell me that you weren’t in the mood. That would have been totally fine, Azriel.” 

She didn't want him to go through that kind of torture if he didn’t want to. It wasn’t…His day job already promised to be horrible enough. 

“I wanted to be with you,” Azriel gave back quietly like that explained everything. 

Her heart melted a little bit at that.  She just grasped his arms a little bit tighter. 

“I ordered the couch we picked by the way,” she said at that moment. Furnishing the Lake House was coming along…questionably. 

They had managed to pick out a couch, thanks to her offering up multiple furniture catalogues for Azriel’s perusal and him having opinions about interior design that she never even thought he would have. 

They had ended up going with a brown leather couch, big enough to fill some of the empty space in their house.

“Sounds great,” Azriel said softly. 

“Any luck with your table linens?" she teased him as they finally reached her apartment and she unlocked the door. 

“Not yet,” Azriel answered with a snort. 

“Haven’t had any luck with chairs yet…especially none that look like they are comfortable for your wings,” she admitted. “Still working on that.”

“Just buy whatever you want. I’ll deal with it,” Azriel said, like that was completely reasonable as he followed behind her up the stairs. 

Completely reasonable for him to be uncomfortable. 

“It’s your home, you don’t need to deal with it. I already found you one chair that works with your wings, I’ll find dining chairs that work as well,” she pointed out drily. “You maybe can’t expect the rest of the world to accommodate you, but you definitely can expect that at home.” 

Especially as far as she was concerned.  “What else?” she added, tapping a finger against her lips. “I am working on a warding net by the way.”

“A warding net ?” Azriel asked her, sounding confused as she shrugged off her coat. 

“You can put it into stones,” she explained with a shrug. No need to shoulder the magic for it on their own. It was something she had made for the mountain. Granted the road to the final version had been, pardon the pun, stony. 

“That works?” Azriel wondered. 

“Of course it works, I made it,” Oriana said drily. She had trust in her abilities. More than she should probably have. Azriel stared at her for a moment. 

“How many things do you make that you never bother telling anybody about?” he asked her curiously, shrugging off his own coat. She thought about it for a minute.

“A lot,” she admitted with a sigh. “If it‘s easy enough to replicate and scale, and selling it would give me a profit…then I go to the mountains, to our guild and file a kind of patent on it. So nobody can replicate that without paying me for the right to use it,” she explained. “Like the teapots,” she pointed out as an example. “But the warding net? It’s going to take me at least a couple more weeks of working on it before it’s ready to be placed. It’s a question of want and need. Not many people would have the money to pay me enough to make the work worth my time,” she admitted.  “It just takes too long to be financially sound. I just make it because the time is worth it to me for the security it provides.”

“It’s safe?” Azriel asked, his voice and eyes serious. Oriana met his gaze. 

“As safe as I can make it. The safest ward I ever made.”

“Did you put an anti-winnowing ward into it?” he asked her, and she grinned at him. 

“Who do you think I am? Of course. Shadow Walking will work though.”

She took a quick bath, and by the time she got to crawl into her bed, Azriel was already waiting for her, paging through the book that she had had on her bedside table. The Knight and the Dragon's Heart. 

Quite frankly, she slept better curled up underneath his wing than she did anywhere else. Especially after she got a kiss goodnight and then got to sleep straight through until the next morning, when they had breakfast together with some pastries he had fetched from the bakery two buildings down. 

He went to work and Oriana opened her shop, greeting Cilla, the second female that she had come in to help in the shop these days so that she could concentrate on her forge. 

Penelope and her did a great job at manning the till so that Oriana could go back to creating and quite frankly, she quite enjoyed it. 

Still, that day she lingered in the front room of her shop at least until she recognised a shock of auburn hair. 

Lucien. 

Time had been kind to him, though the brutal scars that ran down the left side of his face…that was another thing entirely. 

She had never actually seen them, though she had heard what had happened to him. Gossip was strong, even in Velaris. 

“Lucien,” she greeted him, adopting the persona of her mother’s daughter. Her shoulders went back, her voice found that perfect tone of polite and warm. 

Normally she didn’t see the need for it. But he wasn’t alone. 

With him was a beautiful female. Golden Brown hair that fell down her back in soft waves and was tied away from her face with a little ribbon, big doe eyes, and a lithe frame. 

Delicate was a good description for her. 

“Oriana,” he greeted her. “Last I heard you were no longer an enchantress,” he quipped as he came to stand before her. 

“Well, family has privileges,” she said calmly. “And it is my work that is keeping that eye  from exploding, so I figured, I should lend a hand, of course.”

Both polite, but pointed as well. 

Making it very clear that she may be 2 centuries younger than him, but she was the best in her trade. And she said that with no arrogance. 

A smile stretched over Lucien’s face at that. 

“Of course,” he repeated. “My wife, Elain. My cousin, Oriana,” he introduced his wife who stared at Oriana wide-eyed for a moment. Oriana mentally checked that her eyes were black and not fucking creepy as Cyurs liked to say and smiled at her. Suddenly, Elain smiled prettily at Oriana, offering her hand. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, her voice high and light. “I never met an enchantress before.”

“We are a rare breed,” she said drily as she took Elain’s soft hand surprised at the calloused she had. Not a delicate little flower after all, maybe?

One should never judge a book by its cover, she had learned that early. 

“Let’s go into the forge. Then you can tell me what is wrong with your eye,” she invited Lucien and waved him and his wife through to the backroom. She had even tidied up a bit for him. 

Elain stared around like it was the first time she had seen something like that and Oriana imagined it probably was. 

“It looks like it does at the blacksmith’s,” Elain said suddenly. 

“Oriana is half Tartera,” Lucien hurried to explain. “They are lesser faeries and life in the mountains surrounding Velaris. They are known for their jewellery making.”

One could break it down like that.

“Lucien and I are cousins through his mother and my father,” Oriana explained as Lucien carefully removed the golden eye. She held out a tissue for him to place it in because she would need to completely take it apart. 

“The last time I met Oriana, she was still living in the mountain full time though,” Lucien said quietly. “The jewellery shop seems to be a new addition.”

“If you call new a hundred years ago, yes,” Oriana said with some amusement as she received the eye and carried it over to her workbench to take it apart. 

She had even pulled out the tiny screwdrivers for this job. 

“I left the mountains over a century ago,” she picked up the conversation. 

“Why?” Elain wondered. “Didn’t you grow up there?” she seemed actually curious about it, a kind and gentle fae or at least willing to make every appearance of it.

“I did. But I feel out of love with my job,” Oriana answered honestly. 

“How is Wynstan?” Lucien wondered. “Did he come with you?”

“He’s dead,” Oriana said drily. “Has been. For over a century. I am surprised that you haven’t heard that story,” she quipped. “It was quite the thing when it happened.” 

Though since she had gotten rid of the necklace…the only thing she was still feeling when she thought about Wynstan was fury for what he had taken from her. 

It clearly wasn’t what Lucien had expected though. 

“My…condolences,” he hurried to say but she waved him off.” 

“Oh don’t worry about it,” she said absentmindedly as she peered into the inner workings of his eye until she found the culprit. 

“Ah, I found your problem,” Oriana said, as she poked at the runic array. “Some of the runes have eroded.”

“Can you fix it?” Lucien asked, his voice trembling slightly. 

She looked up from her work. 

“I used to be the Master Enchantress of my people, one of the foremost goldsmiths they have, and you ask me if I can fix an eroded rune?” she asked him, her voice bone dry. “Yes, Lucien, I can fix that. I can also make sure that it never happens again and even renew the runic array so it works better than before.”

“And you aren’t an enchantress any longer?” Lucien asked with a raised brow. 

“I still have the training. I just tend to use it for personal projects. These days there are other titles I would much rather claim,” she answered drily, as she went back to her work. 

A few minutes later, she polished the golden eye, before she offered it to Lucien. 

“All done,” she said. 

“How did you meet Azriel?” Elain piped up suddenly and Oriana went back to picking up her workbench. “He was the one who told you that…”

“Azriel didn’t tell me anything,” she corrected. “We have a common acquaintance. Azriel pulled a lot of strings and a lot of favours. My acquaintance asked me as a favour to him, just as he did it as a favour to Azriel.” 

Lucien seemed less than pleased with the sudden change of conversation.

Or maybe less than pleased with the topic of conversation. 

She wondered what that was about, but she didn’t want to outright ask. 

“Azriel didn’t need to do that,” she pointed out, keeping her voice even. “I hope you are aware of that.” 

Lucien ignored that pointed comment. 

So there was definitely something. 

“Are you one of his spies?” Elain asked, sounding somehow wide-eyed and naive and for a moment Oriana froze. 

Spies. 

Somehow that answered so many questions that she hadn’t even known she had had. Azriel's spies. He was a Shadowsinger. He was the spymaster of this whole damn court, wasn’t he?

“Do you really think that if I was, I would tell you?” she gave back, forcing out a high tinkling laugh that sounded only natural because she had spent decades honing it.  “And the answer is a very resounding no. I am not subtle enough for that.”

“She’s not,” Lucien snorted. “People that annoy her are getting set on fire on the regular.”

She just shrugged, even at Elain’s horrified look. 

She was not going to apologize for that. She had only ever done it to people that really deserved it. 

Still, the list was quite amusing. It not only included the current High Lord when he had been a few hundred years younger but also her brother on more than one occasion and as a 5-year-old even her grandmother. 

“Thank you,” Lucien said at that moment, and she looked at him, the gold eye moving smoothly. “It’s better than new.” 

“Of course it is. Do you still not have any trust in my abilities?” Oriana quipped. “And I am not the one you need to thank.”

“What do I owe you?” Lucien asked but she shook her head. 

“It’s taken care of.”

Still, as she watched, Lucien and Eleain leave, she couldn’t help but wonder, her mind running wild, as she thrummed her fingernails against her workbench. 

“How did it go?”  Azriel asked her that evening. 

“I fixed the eye,” she answered honestly. “I met his wife.”

She watched Azriel as she said these words, watched how his fingers tightened near imperceptively around his cutlery. 

“Lucien was the mate, wasn’t he?” she asked evenly. Lucien had been the mate of the female that Azriel fell in love with after he spent 500 years pining after a female that couldn’t be less interested in him. 

That’s what he had told her. Right at the very beginning. 

“Lucien is the mate. Elain is the one who got away.”

“Yes,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “Ask.”

“Ask what?” she asked him, needing Azriel to say it. Needing him to…

She wasn’t even sure why. He had been honest to her from the beginning. there was no reason for her to doubt him. And she felt bad that she even thought about it.

“Ask if I still love her,” Azriel said softly. “That’s what you are wondering about.”

“Do you?” Oriana said quietly. Did he? 

She was his mate. But was she…

“No.” There was no doubt in Azriel’s tone. “I liked her. I have loved her. I was in love with her. I was infatuated with her. And I’ll always think that…how it was dealt with wasn’t right,” he struggled to form the words. “It wasn’t…Being ordered not to pursue her wasn’t right,” he repeated, the words low and she stared at him. Who had…Who had the power to order Azriel not to pursue a female? What…what even… "But it did work out."

“Elain is lovely. But she isn’t you…what I had with her was a spark, Oriana. You are a whole firestorm.

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

Day 1: Heir of Spring

The enemy of my enemy may possibly be the father of my child

A small crack fic to start us off with a bang ;)

@tamlinweek

Tamlin winnowed into the Summer Court hall with a resounding boom. All eyes turned to face the surprise guest, then the murmuring began.

Tarquin stood from his seat in greeting.

“Tamlin, are you alright? We weren’t sure that you would join us today, we missed you at the last meeting in the Day Court.”   

The male was dishevelled, his hair wild around his shoulders and his eyes bright and frantic. A green velvet robe hung precariously on his frame, gaping open at his chest.

Tamlin's hands fluttered by his sides somewhat helplessly before finally resting on his hips. He looked about the room.

“I need to make an heir.”

“I… beg your pardon?”

“Spring is dying. When the path was cleared for Hybern to invade, he destroyed the land. All life has disappeared from my Court. My people are scared and they need a home, yet it lies in ruin. If I want to have any hope of restoring my Court, it is my duty as the High Lord to produce an heir and bring forth new life. to repair the balance of Spring.”

He continued, pacing about the room even as several jaws dropped at this new bit of information.

“I won’t stay for long. I only wanted to share what I have learned and to ask you to inform your courts. Any males who you deem worthy of this task should journey to Spring immediately. Calanmai fast approaches and will be upon us within the moon. I want to take advantage of that.”

Thesan, who found himself seated next to Rhysand, could have sworn he heard the male emit a high squeak that he struggled to hide as his fingers clutched at his armrest.

The High Lord of Night coughed delicately. "Males, Tamlin?" He attempted a drawl, but his gaze was far too intent, Thesan thought delightedly. It completely belied his suave façade.

Tamlin spoke again, his eyes fixed on Rhys in a pointed stare.

“Naturally. After all that Spring has suffered, I trust no-one but myself to carry my child.”

Beside him, Feyre twitched.

A beat, then Helion’s deep laughter echoed throughout the hall.

“What a predicament you find yourself in, Tamlin! Rest assured, I will inform the members of my court and personally select my most capable of males for you. Perhaps I might even make an appearance myself at Calanmai this year.”

Helion waggled his eyebrows, Tamlin rolled his eyes.

“My thanks, Helion.”

Then, as if a dam had broken, each of the High Lords in turn spoke their agreement, promising their aid.

Then, there remained only Night.

Tamlin's lip turned upwards just a tad, “Rest assured, I will not be seeking aid from Night. You may keep your seed to yourselves.”

“Bold of you to speak as if the Night Court would ever willingly offer you aid.” Feyre said hotly.

“You know,” he smiled toothily, “I’m surprised that Tarquin has allowed you two back in his Court at all, considering what happened the last time he extended his good will towards you. I only hope you don’t steal any artifacts or destroy any monuments on your way out. Besides, I wouldn’t want any child of mine to have such abhorrent traits.”

Feyre glowered, opening her mouth to speak again when Tarquin clapped his hands, rising from his seat. "If that will be all?"

"Of course. Apologies for the disturbance, Tarquin. I'll be making my leave."

Tamlin turned back to Feyre, dipping his head mockingly, "My lady."

She glared viciously at him but said nothing in reply.

“Lords, Ladies. I shall see you all at Calanmai.”

Some time later

“... Er, is something the matter?” Kallias paused in his report to glance concernedly in Tamlin's direction.

Almost simultaneously, all eyes whipped round to the High Lord of Spring, who was wriggling in his seat, expression stormy.

Sitting across from him were the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, neither of whom had bothered to erase the stunned, slightly aghast expressions on their faces that had been present ever since his arrival.

“Fine,” Tamlin said tightly, his hand running over the swell of his stomach. “Just wondering if all of this is worth saving the Spring Court from eternal ruin, is all.”

Lady Freya of Autumn turned towards him.

“Perhaps you ought to shift, dear. I remember your mother when she was deep in her pregnancy with you. She would often shift as the mood struck to be more comfortable. Besides, the babe will be due in less than two months now."

Tamlin smiled, sadness tinging his lips at the mention of his mother. "I suppose I have been putting it off for quite a while now... If you’ll all excuse me for just a moment.”

A sudden glow engulfed the Spring Lord and shimmered in the air before dissipating, leaving behind-

A set of hands thudded loudly on the great table, accompanied by the sound of a crashing chair.

“You can shapeshift?!” Feyre shouted over at Tamlin.

She cocked her head in bemusement, running her hands over her stomach. “Feyre, you inherited your shapeshifting powers from me. Of course I can shapeshift.”

Feyre's face was a splendid shade of red. “I meant during pregnancy,”

Tamlin's lips thinned into a line, utterly perplexed. “Feyre, I am a shapeshifter by nature… Of course I can shapeshift during pregnancy. I would have thought that Rhys would have informed you of this, given the complicated nature of your own pregnancy.”

Quick as a whip, all eyes were on Rhysand, who had yet to speak. His face was frozen into a half smile, his knuckles white on the table top.

Feyre's eyes flashed as she crossed her arms, looking at him expectantly.

"I- had forgotten about Tamlin's abilities."

Tamlin arched an eyebrow sardonically. "I truly, truly find that hard to believe, Rhysand. I'd shifted between male and female enough times in our youth that I'd thought the knowledge might have stuck with you. It certainly made an impression on you the last time I shifted"

"I-"

"And besides, there are plenty of shapeshifters in Spring. If you didn't want to consult me all those times you were trespassing on my lands, you could have spoken to any of the fae in the Westerlands and they could have told you everything you needed to know."

Silence fell over the round table, then Feyre flung herself at Rhysand with nails bared as he scrabbled to escape, screaming shrilly.

All in all, it was a very eventful meeting.

[theirondragonrants]

Here's the thing, and bear with me:

Rhaenyra wanted, nay, needed a reason to unleash hell on the Greens. It's not enough that they stole her birthright, Rhaenyra is no stranger to the selfishness of people (like Viserys said to her and she spat at him during the marriage debacle, the vultures circle to pick at the carcass), but it's that Alicent who saw that she would make a fine Queen turned around and betrayed her. With the hand of friendship and trust she took a knife and stabbed her in the back. She also needed to know, she's grown knowing the throne will be hers and safe in the knowledge that her father, who was wise and made sure the realm prospered and stay united so they could defeat the forces of the Other, trusted HER to safeguard the Seven Kingdoms. And it's all fallen apart. Alicent, who believed in her once, stole her throne, and Rhaenyra needs to know why. Because she has to have KNOWN that there is a bigger reason why Viserys never wavered and betrayed him and Rhaenyra both regardless.

And she says the Prince that was Promised, and Rhaenyra breaks it to her that Viserys meant Aegon the Conqueror. I'm sure in this moment, Alicent probably remembered the countless times Viserys called her Aemma in his delirium, the confusion of a dying man. And now all the cards are on the table and this is bigger than a throne and petty squabbles and a name writ on the pages of history. This is about Survival, this is about the Song of Ice and Fire and a task given to the Targaryen Kings and Queens by the Conqueror, and now that Alicent has some of the information she can do the right thing. Rhaenyra thinks rationality and good sense will win the day. And it doesn't. But that is out of Rhaenyra's hands. And we see her realize. If Alicent won't pull back the tide of war, then Rhaenyra has no choice. She's officially given Alicent the tools to realize that for the sake of everyone, Aegon needs to step down if they are to be ready for a fight against the others.

But Alicent knows it's too far gone. The war is out of her hands, if it was ever even in her hands to begin with. She lost control over the boys the moment they were born, she lost them when she filled their heads with the hatred for Rhaenyra and now she can't stop them, even if she knows what's at stake (or has an inkling), even if she understands that she was played a fool by her ignorance. It's too late. And that's why she says there has been no mistake. The guilt will drive her crazy if she doesn't convince herself that she did the right thing. It can't be.

Rhaenyra now has confirmation that her father never wavered, that he trusted her to hold the realm together, and now there are no qualms. The greens are no longer the bearers of a petty family fued, they don't know what they have, Aegon doesn't understand what it means to be King, it's not about being loved or having power, it's about being the bearer of a terrible prophecy and ensuring every move made is made to prepare the realm for a fight against the end. And it's in EVERY scene Aegon is in, failing to be a good King. It's not just that he doesn't know how to do the job. When he's in the small council chamber he's playing with the dagger that has the prophecy written in it, and he's using it to intimidate and order preparations for a war he takes as a game. He quite literally holds the fate, the legacy, the sworn duty of the Targaryens in his hands, and he shows no respect for it, uses it incorrectly, and cares little for what it means. He carries the dagger of the Conqueror without understanding the weight. He's unfit because he doesn't have the information and because he never will. The only one who knows the truth is the person to whom that dagger belongs, the then heir and now rightful Queen—she is the bearer of the legacy of duty, not him. He might have the conquerors name, and his sword, and his armor, and his throne, and his city, and his crown, but Rhaenyra has the knowledge passed down from King to heir, and THAT is what makes her the rightful ruler. It's what finally seals the war. If Alicent won't have Aegon step aside and let her do what she, and her father, and her great grandfather, and those who came before them have to do, then she's going to make them.

There is no other choice anymore. A war amongst kin is despicable, but it's worst to know that there is something more terrible out there that all the people you are responsible for will be woefully unprepared to fight if you don't do what you must.

The greens are not kin now. They are the enemy of humanity. Rhaenyra has to do what needs to be done.

AND THIS IS WHY, TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORT, THAT CONVERSATION NEEDED TO HAPPEN. It's not for Alicent. It's not for an apology, it's not even for the remote possibility of peace (Rhaenyra believed too strongly that if Alicent knew everything then she'd see reason, but that was grasping at straws). It NEEDED to happen because Rhaenyra needed to be reassured, Mind and Heart, that whatever she has to do she's doing it for the good of the realm.

She's listened to Rhaenys. She's tried every possible way. She's gone above and beyond, not retaliating for her son's murder, not setting her dragons loose, holding back a tide. She's tried again and again, and she can say now, with conviction, that she's doing this for the realm and not for herself. This isn't about Aemond's eye leading to Lucerys' death leading to Jahaerys' murder that all stemmed from a betrayal and the ambitions of men. This is about the Song of Ice and Fire, and if Rhaenyra wants to save the realm, there is nothing else but to let the tide wash away the greens.

She's not raining fire on the Greens for her ego. She's doing it for Westeros. And that is all the justification she's ever going to need.

AND like... Rhaenyra is BASICALLY offering Alicent an armistice. Have Aegon step down, impress upon him the seriousness of the mistake that has occurred. Rhaenyra isn't being vengeful. Even at this moment, she doesn't have to promise Alicent that they will be safe. It's implied. Just do the right thing, and it can all be as it was. Or even better than it was. It's a further nail in the coffin of Alicent's mistake. If Alicent doesn't convince herself that no mistake was made, then she's going to lose her mind. Rhaenyra is in front of her, giving her a solution to everything. In a perfect world, she would take it. She's showing her that Otto was wrong and Rhaenyra will not put her children to the sword when she ascends the throne, even after everything that has happened. Admit your mistake and be welcomed into my family once again. But she can't. The die was cast long ago, and it's too late now.

[catcze]

Okay BUT LIKE...

I've seen ppl bring up the idea of an arranged marriage with him.

Idk what else to say it's almost 4am where I'm at and I just got out of work but djdjidjd

Getting to know your now-husband who you originally thought was distant, but really he's just busy and he also wants to get to know you essentially, if that makes sense.

Brain tired, but I just wanted to bring that up

WAIT I LOVE THIS AHSDKASJ???? There's a cut here because I was thinking too many thoughts hAJKSNDAJSK

My god okay can you just imagine,,,,, and like suspend any disbelief or misinformation regarding Fontaine's government and like hierarchy and all that technical shit for a bit because I haven't played the archon quest yet but,,,,, Okay lets think abt a situation where Wriothesley has just newly appointed as the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide, right. You, meanwhile, come from a family that is wealthy, influential and on the upper echelons of society.

You're in line to be the heir of your family and to inherit everything that is rightfully yours when, at the last minute, some of your relatives, in an attempt to take your seat as the head of the family for their own kids, argue that you are unqualified to represent as the head of the household when you are still unmarried, and you don't have a second set of hands helping you. A bullshit reason, really, but with enough honeyed words to the rest of the family and some taunts in your direction, you're eventually given an ultimatum: get married by the end of the month or give up your inheritance.

And goddamit you can't go down without a fight. Not when you know that your cousins who are competing with you would run your family into the ground and would use the wealth for corruption and a whole lot of bad shit. Even if the romantic in you, who had one day hoped to marry someone you love and who loved you back, is quietly disappointed at having to marry just for the sake of doing so. So you talk to your friends about your worries, they talk to their friends, and eventually word even manages to reach Wriothesley in the fortress at the bottom of the ocean.

He comes to meet you and propose an idea: you both have a marriage of convenience where you make use of his title and influence to establish dominance in your household and show that you're not here to fuck around, while he makes use of your connections, quick wit, and your skills in pulling society's strings to help him achieve his own goals: to give the convicts of Meropide the tranquility to live their lives unbothered.

so you get married, you become the head of your family, and Wriothesley heads back to the fortress, just now with a simple ring on his finger and your promise that you will do whatever you can to make sure trouble doesn't come his way.

You're busy with solidifying your position as the head of the family now–– managing all the businesses and finances that are placed on your desk. Some time passes without much correspondence from Wriothesley, though. You tell the rest of your family that he's merely busy with his own duties, but on a particularly slow day, you take the time to come see him down at the Fortress of Meropide for an impromptu visit. Just because your family is growing suspicious of you two, of course. Not... not at all because you're worried about him!

So you go down there and Wriothesley is understandable surprised by your visit. So you explain the situation to him and he agrees to let you come visit every now and then.

("Just as long as I can return the favor and visit you if I'm ever in the city," he says, with the slightest of smiles that makes something warm and gooey and sweet flood your veins.

"You're always welcome in my house, husband," you say, then have to stifle a small laugh when he turns away quickly– but not quick enough that you don't catch the light blush that graces his face.)

SO yeah;;;;; Wriothesley and a reader who by all means married for convenience on both of their ends, but whose personalities mesh well together and who banter so well that after a while, when they get to know each other and make time for each other, their light flirting goes to full blown flirting, and the marriage of convenience turns into the sweet romanic marriage that you've always wanted <3

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

The Kneeling Queen, ch 14/14 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Read on AO3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other’s only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues?

Chapter warnings: Nothing really. Noncanonical dragons as usual. Canon divergence as usual. Final chapter for this season! I'll be back when s3 airs!

Chapter 14 - Dragons And Dogs

Alicent was mysteriously missing again. It seemed to be a new hobby of hers, slipping off with her guard and not returning for days. Now that she was no longer the queen or a member on the small council, it didn’t make much of a difference, though. All her attempts of intervening in Aemond and Maelessa’s relationship had finally stopped as well. 

Aemond was getting dressed, preparing to take Vhagar to Harrenhal, and Maelessa sat on the dresser and watched him miserably.

“Don’t leave me here with the toad,” she pleaded. He chuckled at his own nickname for Larys the Clubfoot. “We need to get rid of him, he suspects us.”

“The toad cannot prove anything. No one can,” he said, coming up to kiss her.

“We could have him banished,” she suggested, her lips brushing against his. “You know, I saw him once, in your mother’s chamber. They were talking, and she wasn’t wearing any shoes or hose… and he was… well, it appeared as if he was pleasuring himself,” she said. Aemond had pulled back and his eye widened as he stared at her. The vision in his head of his mother in such a position repelled him and he shook his head.

“Why is this the first time I hear of it?” he demanded. Maelessa shrugged.

“It was a long a time ago. I was climbing past the windows to get to you and I happened to see it… I suppose I suppressed it.”

Aemond blinked, disturbed by her words. “Hm, a vile toad, indeed. If he gives us any trouble, that should be cause enough to push him willingly into exile,” he said, tying his hair up in the half updo he wore when Maelessa didn’t put braids in his hair. 

Unbeknownst to both of them, Larys Strong had already been in Aegon’s chamber as they took his body away to be prepared for the funeral. The clubfoot had searched for evidence of a crime, and on the bloodstained sheets he had found it. One single long, curly, brown strand of hair.

“What will you do if you encounter Daemon and Caraxes?” she asked, changing the subject. Her biggest fear was that Aemond wouldn’t return to her, that he would get himself killed in a battle. Daemon was a fierce warrior both with a sword and on dragonback. And he hated Aemond with a passion.

“I will slay them both. I’ve promised you Rhaenyra and your brothers, and I’ll honour that. If your mother bends the knee, they will live. Your dragons may deter your mother from attacking us, but I fear nothing will deter my uncle,” he said.

“I fear you might be right. Please be careful, Aemond. I won’t be there to still your rage. Please think carefully before you act. If I lose you, there will be nothing left of me.” He placed his hands on her legs, trailing them up her thighs.

“I swear to you, Maelītsos, on all the seven gods, I will return to you.” Then he kissed her softly and placed his hands on her belly. “If you’re not already carrying my heir inside you, I’ll make sure you will when I come back home.”

The king and queen rested their foreheads against each other, taking in the warmth of the other as they both wished that the world wasn’t as cruel as this. In another life, they could have lived happily on an island somewhere, eating fresh fruits and fucking the days away, riding their dragons together and watching sunsets all over the world. But now, they had duties. They had to keep the city safe.

The Kingsguard and the City Watch did their parts in securing the city, readying themselves for an upcoming attack. Maelessa’s part was dragons and dogs.

Using raw meat to lure them, Maelessa and Catlys managed to summon the wild dragons to the gate of King’s Landing. The two larger dragons guarded the gates and the small ones waited inside them.

Added to the small dragons were Rocco, the large brown attack dog from Cobbler’s Square, and nine more fierce hounds with him. They were all the dogs that Maelessa had trained. They were quick, large and ferocious, every one of them, and they were all ready to attack at her command.

Over them all flew the bat. Catlys guarded the city from the sky, and whenever Maelessa wasn’t ruling in her husband’s absence, she was patrolling the skies with her.

If Rhaenyra came to King’s Landing, Maelessa would force her to retreat without bloodshed. For her own sanity, and for the good of the realm. Aemond was king now and with her by his side, he would be a good one. He had the strength and determination to win battles, secure allies and strike enough fear into the criminals to keep the realm safe. She had the patience and the virtue to sue for peace when needed, to make sure Aemond’s rule was merciful in his strength. Where he held rage, she held kindness. When he wanted to lash out, she stilled him and gave him patience. They needed a new council, though, with wise people, people they could trust. They would see to that upon Aemond’s return from Harrenhal. 

“I miss you already, your Grace” she said, leaning her forehead against his. He trailed his hands down her arms, taking her hands his own.

“I’ll return sooner than you realise I’m gone,” he promised, kissing her gently. 

“Return to me alive, your queen commands it,” she murmured, forcing herself to be strong when she really wanted to break down into tears. He chuckled.

“I swear it, your Grace.” He kissed her again, one last time.

Maelessa watched as Aemond departed, his huge dragon slowly growing smaller and smaller in the sky as he steered towards his destination. Hopefully not towards his death, she thought. She wiped a tear from her eye, already missing him. He was the only reason this place felt like home. He was the love in her heart, the air in her lungs, the joy in her mind, the vigour in her body. With him, she was complete. Without him, she was scared. She said a silent prayer before climbing onto Catlys again to patrol the city.

Much to her surprise, a roar came through the clouds as she flew above the keep. Through the fluffy white clouds came a slender blue dragon that Maelessa hadn’t seen fly since the birth of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Dreamfyre soared through the sky to join her, and on her back sat the dowager queen herself. Helaena.

Tag list: @magnificentsapphiresoul @ner-dee @sadgirlxangel

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt 8

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, predatory behavior, teacher/student, bathroom use control, humiliation, omorashi

Summary: Bucky Barnes is young, confused, and conflicted - a real "rebel without a cause" type. His parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Wait! I haven't read an earlier part of this fic! Story Masterlist

I've gotten a couple of asks about the worldbuilding behind this fic. If you'd like to read a little more context about how things are in this world, my answers to the asks can be found here and here

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Part 8

"Extended Suppressant Use in the Omega Patient: a literature review" (Mueller et al. 2019)

The bathroom incident does not give Steve high hopes of an easy first week with Barnes. Many new students wind up requiring extra attention in their early days at the school, so Steve is honestly surprised when he isn’t paged that Tuesday with a similar fiasco. He’s outright impressed when Wednesday and then most of Thursday passes by with no incidents, either. Whatever Sharon’s doing, it must be working well. 

Steve can’t say he doesn’t think about the boy regardless. He can’t help but remember their encounter in the bathroom; holding him down and dominating him into submission, pressing on his belly until he finally lost control. The sounds of the boy’s sweet whimpers are burned into Steve’s memory, the earthy and lightly floral hints of his scent still so easy to draw up in his mind. It’s a good thing that this is a busy week for Steve, otherwise he’d hate to think of how much more preoccupied he’d be by thoughts of his new omega charge. 

As it is, his schedule is chock full, his time eaten up with all of his normal headmaster duties (which are considerable), seeing through the end stages of the Academy’s formal division between the girls’ and boys’ sides, and a renovation that they’ve got going on in the south wing corridor. All of that, coupled with the small squabbles that Peggy manages to come up with on an almost daily basis, helps to keep Steve’s mind occupied. And on top of everything, there’s still a lot to be done for the upcoming parents’ weekend. 

He spends most of that Thursday morning dealing with matters directly related to the event that is, in essence, their biggest fundraiser of the year. All day, he's coordinating with his faculty; making sure that everything’s been ordered, scheduled, and arranged just how it needs to be to give the right impression to their guests, provide the right experience.

It’s crucial that all of the right people be well taken care of over the three day weekend, in order to ensure that their endowments to the school keep flowing in. Steve liaises with his staff over the details of the family picnic, the various assemblies and presentations that will be made, the planned activities for each afternoon and dinners that’ll be hosted each evening, and—perhaps most important of all—the formal presentation ball that caps off the weekend of festivities. This year they’re having a few ice sculptures flown in from Edinburgh. Silly in Steve's view, but a classic touch of extravagance that the guests will appreciate.

European nobility, old-money aristocrats, and even some high profile celebrities have been known to show up to the school’s annual matchmaking ball, always seeking amenable, traditional omega mates for themselves. And when your guest lists regularly include names like Vanderbilt, Kennedy, and Stark, good first impressions become very expensive and very necessary. Last term, a Greek shipping heir worth billions had scooped up one of the graduating class’ students, and once news of that had gotten around, enrollment for the next semester skyrocketed.

Steve takes great pride in the academic education provided by his school, but he’s also a realist: He knows that parents place high value on the promise of even a chance for their offspring to be so suitably matched. That, along with the behavioral outcomes the school is known for achieving, is a big reason why many families elect to send their sons to Carter Academy over other, similar schools on the continent. 

With so much to get done, Steve doesn’t get around to eating his lunch that day until well into the afternoon. He eats alone at his desk—a decision that has very little to do with the fact that he can monitor the school’s video surveillance system from his desktop computer. It’s not because he wants to check up on Bucky and hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kid since Monday. Nope, not at all. Steve always uses the camera system to check in on the happenings around campus, it’s nothing new. And it’s good practice, anyway. A headmaster needs to be involved in his school for it to run smoothly. 

If Bucky’s seventh period class is gym, and the gymnasium is the first area Steve decides to check, well that’s just happenstance. 

He logs into the system and scrolls through the long list of camera views. He has the most heavily trafficked areas bookmarked, but there are hundreds to choose from, every inch of the Academy’s buildings and grounds monitored by the StarkTec cameras.

Carter Academy has its own dedicated security team to keep an eye on things, of course. Rollins and his men do a very good job of making sure the close to three hundred hormonal teenage boys that the school houses stay in line. Every year there are inevitably fights, students caught in each other’s bedrooms at the wrong hours for the wrong reasons, or a few runaways who gravely underestimate the distance and terrain between Carter Academy and the nearest town. Nothing that isn’t always quickly remedied, but parents appreciate the close eye that Steve and the rest of his administration are able to keep on their children at all hours of the day. 

He navigates to the camera views of the gymnasium and sports complex. The majority of students get scheduled for some sort of physical activity at the end of each school day. Exercise is important for omega bodies, and the gym period is thus positioned after all academic lessons have concluded, to allow for the running off of excess energy. It’s a time when their Handlers can take their well-deserved breaks. With only Mr. Odinson and the other Phys-ed staff looking after so many boys, gym period can get quite chaotic, and it predictably takes Steve a few moments to locate Bucky in the throng. 

Eventually he sees him: loitering off to one side of the indoor soccer field, half heartedly kicking a ball back and forth with the Parker boy. He’s changed into his gym uniform, though he hardly seems to be exerting himself. Rather, he’s in deep conversation with Parker, which Steve is happy to see. Every first year student coming into Carter Academy usually struggles at first, but it’s always a good sign when they make friends quickly. Parker, who can normally be found bouncing off the complex’s obstacle courses, seems to have dialed it down a notch to hang out with Bucky, the two of them talking animatedly between themselves. Steve even catches Bucky smiling a time or two, which lifts his hopes that the kid will assimilate well into his new routine. Perhaps this won’t be as hard as he’d imagined.

“Sir?” 

He flicks off the monitor when his secretary knocks at the door. “Yes?”

“Ms. Carter here to see you, Sir.”

Sharon comes in, and the two of them hold their pre-planned meeting about Barnes’ first days on campus and how Sharon has assessed his needs so far. Barnes is attitudinal, but Sharon seems to be amused by him, more than anything else. She hands over her recommendations for protocol, telling Steve that she’s not sure a male handler wouldn’t be in the boy’s best interest. 

“Oh?” Steve raises an eyebrow as he’s perusing her checkmarks along the list. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve seen what a handful he can be,” Sharon drawls. “Not that I don’t think I can handle him, but he responds more submissively to the male staff, and I think he’s primarily same-sex oriented.”

“You think?” Bucky’s transcripts from his old school had noted that he was equally as promiscuous with boys as he was with girls.

“Yes. And after Monday’s bathroom incident, I think he might do better with a man.” At the mention of ‘the bathroom incident’, Sharon fixes him with a meaningful look. “He responded well with you.”

Steve nods, flipping through the assessment packet. “Yes, well I am the headmaster. They tend to kowtow faster to me.” He tries to think of which male Handlers he has available at the moment. Typically, he doesn't over-prioritize students’ attractions when placing them with a Handler, as romantic attachment is something to be avoided at all costs, but if it’s a behavioral issue that can be corrected with something as simple as the gender of an assigned Handler, then Steve will consider it. “Thank you Sharon,” he tells her, once they’ve wrapped up the meeting. “It sounds like he’s doing alright, so I’ll keep him with you for now.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Alas, yes.” Steve sighs and so does Sharon, mocking him in a friendly sort of way. When she heaves a genuinely heavy inhale and declares that she has to 'get back to the grind', Barnes’ seventh period is almost over, Steve steps in. “Why don't I take him off your hands for the evening?” he suggests. Sharon looks pleased, but not overly surprised, her knowing smirk making Steve feel the need to defend himself, “It’s been a few days now, I should check in with him.”

“Sure.”

Steve frowns at her continued smug expression. “He’s got an appointment with the doc I need to escort him to, anyways.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Sharon is still smirking when she bids him farewell, leaving the office to take the rest of her day off. 

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. Whatever. He’s not giving Bucky any more attention than he’d give any other troubled new student. He grabs the boy’s folder and rolls out from his desk, planning to head for the gymnasium complex and intercept him there.

… If he checks his reflection in the little mirror by the door on his way out, it’s only because he always does that and it's habit at this point. It’s the professional thing to do, to make sure one looks put together before heading back out in public. Certainly it doesn’t have anything to do with how he’s heading out to deal with Barnes. That’s just happenstance.

Seeing Bucky again after several days is refreshing, and seeing him being friendly with another student brings a literal smile to Steve’s face. This is a good sign. It bodes well for how Bucky will do adapting to his new life.

Peter Parker can be hyperactive and spirited, but he’s a sweet boy at heart with a solid head on his shoulders and a brain between his ears that he actually chooses to use more often than not. He’s done well in the Academy’s program, and he’ll be an excellent person for Bucky to attach himself to during his time here. Steve stands by the gymnasium door with a delighted smirk on his face, because he really couldn’t have chosen better himself. 

The boys still have a few minutes left to their gym period when Steve gets there, so he leaves them to their uninspired soccer ball kicking and goes to touch base with Odinson in the athletic director’s office. Thor is all smiles and has nothing negative to say about any of the boys, as per usual, and Steve thanks him and tells him to make a note that perhaps Barnes could be encouraged to put a little more effort in and try out the parkour courses or the rock walls with Parker, moving forward.

He intercepts Bucky just as he’s coming out of the locker rooms. His hair is curling at the edges after having showered (amusing—the boy was barely exerting himself) and changed back into his regular uniform. The relaxed expression falls right off of his face when he sees Steve standing there. “Oh,” he says, coming up short. “You.”

Steve smiles indulgently. “Yes, I’m afraid. Me.”

“Hey Bucky I’ll see you at dinner maybe?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says distractedly, eyes still on Steve. “Sounds good.”

Parker heads off with his handler—Natasha, Steve notes, one of the very best and most dominant females he keeps on staff. "Making friends?" Steve asks.

Bucky ignores the question. “Why’re you here?” he asks mulishly, as Steve begins escorting him in the direction of the medical office. “Where’s Sharon?”

“Sharon’s taking a well-deserved break,” Steve drawls. "She and I had a progress meeting about you in my office, just now.” 

Bucky gets tightlipped then and doesn’t say anything, but Steve can see the wheels and cogs turning in his head as he wonders what was said about him. “She had mostly good or neutral things to report,” Steve offers, figuring the boy could use some reassurance. “But of course, I already knew from our interaction on Monday that you're having some difficulties adapting to school protocol.”

Bucky scowls at the floor as they walk. “Just because I don’t like pissing in front of people every day,” he grumbles. “At least we get some privacy to shit around here. Go figure.”

Steve laughs, then decides to strike the fear of God into the boy by remarking, “Oh, that’s a privilege that can be stripped away, too, if needed,” as they approach the end of the hall where the medical offices are. Bucky’s eyes shoot up to him, wide as saucers, and Steve snickers. “Yeah, I know. A true case of a ‘this is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you’ punishment, that’s for certain.”

Bucky all but ‘meeps!’ and Steve snickers and puts a hand on his back to guide him into the office. ��Appointment for James Barnes,” he tells the receptionist, who immediately starts checking the computer screen.

Bucky turns on Steve, leery, as he gets a look at their surroundings. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

Steve ignores him until he’s gotten the go ahead from the receptionist and is guiding Bucky back towards one of the exam areas. “Just a check up. Standard practice for incoming students.” He pushes Bucky into the curtained off area and draws the curtain around to Bucky’s squawks of protest.

“What?! I don’t need to see anybody. I’m totally healthy.”

“That’s the goal. But we need to get you checked out, make sure there’s nothing that needs addressed.” Bucky opens his mouth to complain again, but Steve beats him to the chase, bending to pick him up by the waist and depositing his protesting butt onto the exam table. “Sit.”

“Hey!” Bucky’s scowling, but Steve doesn’t miss the light flush in his face at having been manhandled and reminded of his size and comparative weakness in the face of an alpha like Steve. He doesn’t try to get off the table at least, only shifting in annoyance and making the paper cover crinkle under his butt. “Could’a done it myself,” he grumbles.

Steve shakes his head fondly. “We need to get you examined. Behave, or I’ll have no problem with disciplining you while you’re under my care." Bucky goes tight-lipped at that. Steve nods in satisfaction. "Good."

“When’s Sharon coming back?”

“I told you: she’s been given a well-deserved night off. You’re with me until bedtime, young lady.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. What might’ve been considered affectionate a generation ago, now elicits only indignation and pushback. It’s sad. “Just behave for the doctor, will you?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but when the nurse arrives and introduces herself, he’s generally obedient as she runs through his medical history with him. He speaks more quietly when answering the questions about his sexual health, but Steve doesn't get the sense that he's lying—only that he doesn't want Steve to overhear. (Steve still hears everything, including the boy's very reluctant answer of having had "thirty something" past sexual partners).

Far from evoking displeasure, it mostly just makes Steve sad for the boy. Omegas may have very high sex drives, but they don't fare well in promiscuous situations. Bucky's lack of a reliable partner is probably one of the major contributors to his present mental health issues.

Steve remains quiet and allows Bucky his illusion of privacy on the other side of the curtained off area. The nurse listens to Bucky's heart and lungs, charts his blood pressure and other vitals, and takes a blood draw. It isn’t until she hands him a privacy sheet and tells him to undress below the waist that he kicks up a fuss. “What?"

“The doctor will be right in to do the pelvic exam.” 

“What? No. Why?!”

Used to tantrums, the nurse completely disregards him and looks to Steve. “Headmaster?”

“I’ve got him.” The nurse nods and leaves, and Bucky starts to move to try and get off the exam table. Steve rolls his eyes and goes over and pushes him back into place. “Not so fast, son. Now if you can’t behave we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“What’s the hard way?”

“Strapped face down on a bench,” he tells him, no-nonsense (though really, that's the easier way for omegas. He just knows Bucky will fight it more). “And that'll earn you a guaranteed spanking in my office, after.”

Bucky growls an angry little omega growl at him, “Why do I have to do this? What’s the friggin’ point?!” 

With his hands clamped on Bucky’s shoulders, Steve bends down and gets in his face. “Because you were popping suppressants for two years, Honey. That stuff can cause all sorts of problems.”

“No it can’t!” 

Steve ignores him and gives him a warning look to keep him in place. He reaches down and pulls one of the exam table’s metal stirrups out, which makes the kid even more visibly upset.

When Steve reaches under the skirt of his uniform to get his underwear down, Bucky growls and tries to kick him, nearly kneeing him right in the nose. Oh. That does it. Steve gives up on playing nice, standing up and grabbing him, using one hand to scruff him while he wraps the other around his waist. “Okay, bud. That was your one chance. If you’re gonna be difficult, we’ll do it your way. Let’s go.” 

“Nngh! Lemme go!”

“Calm down, Honey. Stop fighting, it’s not going to work.” 

The kid whimpers and goes limp for a few seconds from the endorphins of the scruff, but still wiggles in Steve’s arms once he’s manhandled him into the next exam room over—where there’s an exam bench quite similar in function to a traditional spanking bench. Bucky balks when he sees it. “No! Wait!” It takes laughably little effort to get the boy face down on the bench. Steve gets him strapped to it, and by the time he’s removing his underwear and securing his ankles, all the fight has left Bucky and he’s begging instead. “Please, Mr. Rogers. I’m really sorry.”

Steve grabs the room’s extra chair and pulls it over to sit by his head. “I know Buck. This won’t take long. Just try to relax.”

“Please lemme up. I’m sorry. I’ll go back. I’ll do it the other way, I will!”

“Can’t do that, Sweetheart. We need to check that everything’s alright and you’ve proven to me that you can’t be trusted to hold still.” He might’ve considered the request to go back and ‘do it the other way’, if he didn’t already know full well that the prone position is much more soothing for omegas to be in. “This’ll be better,” he promises. “It’ll help you stay relaxed. It feels nice to be strapped in like this, yeah?”

“But I don’t want tooo,” Bucky whines, not refuting Steve’s statement, and with less fight in him as he realizes that he’s been stripped of all control. “It’s embarrassing.”

Steve smiles sadly and pets his face. “It’s for your own good, Sweetheart. Something every omega has to do. The doctor’s just going to come in and use a tool to examine you and make sure everything’s alright. It’ll hardly take a minute.”

Bucky sniffles and turns his face into Steve’s hand, nuzzling his inner wrist and subconsciously seeking out the alpha’s scent for comfort. “Will it hurt?” he whispers.

Steve’s heart constricts—both at the question and the scenting behavior. “No, Honey. Of course not. Haven’t you ever had a reproductive health exam?” It’s supposed to be a standard part of healthcare after an omega’s first heat, but with only two beta parents in the home, Steve doesn’t know why he’s surprised. “It won’t hurt,” he reassures him. “Just relax down against the bench and be good from now on, and we won’t do a punishment spanking after, okay?”

“Really?” Bucky is clearly motivated by this promise, as he stops sniveling as much and nods when the doctor comes in. “Okay,” he says quietly, and Steve smiles and praises him,

“Good girl.”

The school’s doctor is a calm and friendly beta male, and though he doesn’t make any attempt to ascertain Bucky’s consent or opinion on what they’re doing there today, he does speak calmly to Bucky and talk him through each and every step of what happens, before it happens. Steve stays sitting right in front of Bucky the whole time, holding his hand and keeping his own wrist up by Bucky’s face so that the boy can continue to use his scent to self-soothe. 

Bucky goes red in the face as soon as the doctor flips his uniform up and starts palpating and examining his genitals. Even though Bucky's almost certainly trying his absolute best not to get aroused, the faint scent of slick still hits the air after only a moment or two, and he cringes and whines in embarrassment. "Hngh ..."

“It’s okay,” Steve murmurs, trying to placate him with the words and a gentle rumble in his chest. “It’s completely normal to have a reaction. The doc's used to it. No big deal.” Frankly, for an omega to be touched between their legs and not become aroused would be cause for concern. They’re so sensitive down there that it’s to be virtually expected. But Steve can tell that this is little comfort to Bucky, who goes even redder in the face when the doctor hums in agreement and makes an additional comment about Bucky's arousal responses being healthy. 

“I’m going to prep the speculum now,” he tells Bucky. “It’ll be cool and hard, but it won’t hurt you.”

Bucky whines in mortification, his eyes clenching shut. Steve shushes him and pets his hair, which he seems to like because he pushes into it and untenses somewhat. Steve knows the precise second that the speculum goes in though, because Bucky's eyes pop right back open and he makes a small, shocked sound of, “Oh!"

Steve cups his face and tries to keep his attention. “Hey, you’re doing so good,” he praises, swiping his thumb at the corner of the omega’s eye, right where an overwhelmed tear has broken out. “Doesn’t hurt, right?” 

Bucky trembles and shakes his head. “N-no.” He whimpers when the doctor does something from behind, and then his eyes go a little unfocused. “Oh …” The next time he whines, it’s verging a little closer to a moan of pleasure than one of sheer worry. “Ohnn… nngh, just … mmm, s’weird.”

Steve tuts sympathetically, slightly aroused himself at seeing Bucky react this way. He clears his throat and tries to remain professional. “I know, Sweetheart, I know it’s a lot. Just hang in there for me.” He meets the doctor’s eyes from over Bucky’s back, shooting him an anxious look. 

The doctor nods. “Everything seems fine, Headmaster Rogers. He’s just a little swollen.”

“Swollen?” Steve straightens, concerned. “Is it bad? He was on oral suppressants for about two years.”

The doctor smirks and shakes his head. “No, not that kind of swollen, Sir.” 

“Oh.” Steve’s shoulders untense. "I see." He's maybe read a few too many medical journal articles since Bucky told him on Monday that he'd been on suppressants. "Good. That's ... good."

The doctor hums and looks back down, examining Bucky for another long moment before humming in approval and removing the speculum. Bucky’s back slumps and he makes another tiny noise—this time one of relief. “Is it over?”

The doctor pats his hip with an approving nod. “He’s a healthy boy. Nothing to indicate any lasting effects from the medication.” Over Bucky’s back, he meets Steve’s eyes again. “The risk for complications doesn’t go up very high until after the five year mark. We’ll wait on his bloodwork, but I expect it’ll all come back normal.”

“Oh, good.” Steve can’t help but be relieved. He’s definitely read too many articles, seen too many students come through the school's infirmary with much more serious side effects. “So no chance of infertility?”

“Very low,” the doctor reassures, even as Bucky makes a hurt little sound of concern over hearing that possibility. The doctor rolls his stool out from behind Bucky, pulling off his exam gloves and tossing them in the waste bin. “Nope. He looks perfectly normal, Headmaster, both inside and out. From the state of things I’d say he’s about midway through his cycle. So you can expect a heat within the next two weeks.”

Steve nods. “Yes, he reported as much. He's used an app for tracking on his phone.”

“Oh. Would you email that data?” The doctor is already standing and heading for the curtain that divides their little area from the rest of the room. “It’ll be good to have in his records.” 

“Sure thing. Thanks, doc.”

“Of course.” At the edge of the exam area, he looks back at Steve. “Ahm … he’s fairly aroused right now.”

Steve smirks. “I know.”

“Right.” The doctor glances back at Bucky, then to Steve. “I can send one of the nurses in, if you have anywhere to be.”

Steve shakes his head and dismisses the man. “That’s alright. He’s mine for the evening. I’ll handle it.”

Reassured, the doctor nods and ducks out around the curtain. He’s barely gone for a second before Bucky’s shifting in place on the table. “Um, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve looks back down. Bucky is blinking at him, flustered and uncertain. Steve pats his shoulder. “You did really well, Bucky.” He stands up and goes behind him, over to the room’s glove dispenser. He pulls out one of the large sized nitrile gloves and pulls it on. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uhm. Okay.” Bucky can’t see him from his position, so he wiggles impatiently. “Can you help me to, erm, get off of here?”

“Hmm.” Steve walks over and sits on the doctor’s abandoned rolling stool. He rolls to Bucky’s side, popping into his field of vision and giving him a knowing look. “You sure you don’t want help with this first?” At ‘this’, he lets his gloved hand touch Bucky’s flank, edging closer to his exposed backside. He watches as the boy's eyes widen and his cheeks colors anew. “It’s okay to ask for help,” he reassures. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Bucky lies. 

Steve arches an eyebrow. “You sure? Masturbation isn’t allowed. Did you remember that rule? You need to ask the staff if you need release.”

Bucky huffs angrily. “Why not? Why do we have to ask you guys? Why can’t we just—”

Steve taps his ass lightly, more to get his attention than anything else. “Submission, Honey. We’ve been over this already. That’s what everything here comes back to: learning to depend on somebody who can take care of you and give you what you need. You have strong sexual urges, and that’s okay. It’s completely natural. But you need to learn to turn to your alpha to get your needs met, otherwise they never fully will be.”

Bucky pouts. “You’re not my alpha.”

“That collar around your neck says different. And so does the paperwork your parents signed.” Bucky's face twists into a frustrated moue, stubborn little thing. Steve sighs. “Hey, I know you didn't choose this. I’m your official alpha right now, but one day you’ll find someone you actually want to be with, someone you want to marry and have a family with. All these rules you're learning are just to help you adopt healthy habits. So you can model correct relationship patterns.”

"I already do."

Steve snorts. "Honey, casually sleeping with 'thirty-something' people by your age is not a healthy relationship pattern."

"You just want us all to be lily white virgins."

Steve rolls his eyes as he rolls the stool farther back towards Bucky’s backside. "Certainly not. But hookup culture only serves irresponsible alphas and betas. It doesn't do anything to help you guys with your needs for bonding hormones."

"Another scientific study?" Bucky sneers.

"You got it." Steve looks down, a quick glance showing him what he already knew he’d find: a wet and swollen, little pink rim, clenching hard on nothing. He tuts sympathetically. "Oof. That looks painful."

“Hey, don’t … don’t look,” Bucky complains.

“Oh, hush.” Steve pats his butt—he really does have the sweetest little ass. “You’re very beautiful, Bucky. Every part of you is.”

That, right there, is Steve stepping over the line. Oh, he’s got no qualms about personally appreciating the form of an attractive young omega student, it’s only natural for him to find Bucky beautiful. What’s less appropriate is him commenting on it. Because, to be blunt, not every student in Steve’s care is traditionally attractive. Steve’s still responsible for helping them all equally, and thus it’s always been his policy to avoid complimenting students on their looks when possible. It avoids hurt feelings, subverts any competition between the students who are more naturally prone to jealousy over their shared Alpha headmaster.

But the words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it, and Bucky reacts obviously in the way that he flushes and squirms, instinctively pleased at being approved of in such a way. Steve decides that, since it’s just the two of them alone, he might as well let his guard down a little bit. Bucky’s shown a propensity for skewed thinking, after all, and he needs to be helped to form a positive self image. “You’ve got a lovely body, Buck. Even here.” At ‘here’, he lets his thumb dip a little further into his crack, not touching his hole, but pulling his cheek out enough to get a really good look at the sweet little clench of his rim. Steve hums appreciatively. “Just like the doc said: very healthy.”

Bucky whines and squirms. “Let me up.”

“I can do that. But you’re very wet, Honey.” Steve reaches down between Bucky's legs to glance fingers over his stiff little prick. “And hard.”

“Nnn.”

“You’re not going to have a very pleasant evening if I leave you like this. Are you sure you don’t want some relief?”

Bucky’s body stays tensed, his asshole blurting out more slick from Steve’s hand touching him even just that little bit. He seems to consider it as a real option for a moment, waffling over his decision, but eventually gets out a terse little, “No,” forcing himself to ignore what his body needs. “I don’t.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want you to do it,” he grits.

Steve sighs, not too surprised by that. Bucky’s still resentful of the one person who has complete authority over him. Steve'll probably be the last person he yields to. That’s the way it often goes with the bullheaded kids: they come around to their teachers first, Handlers second, and submit to Steve as their alpha last of all. It’s to be expected, but Steve can’t say he isn’t more disappointed than usual, in this case.

Because he isn't lying to the kid just to improve his self esteem: Bucky really is uncommonly beautiful. A handsome, small but strong boy who is exactly Steve’s preferred type when it comes to omegas. And his scent is … Well, all omegas smell lovely, but Bucky's scent is unusually fascinating.

Ever since that first day in Steve's office, when he'd submitted with such an easily provoked release, Steve’s wanted to get a better sense of him. This would have been the perfect chance to do that. Steve would’ve relished the chance to coax an orgasm out of him today, but if Bucky needs more time to truly relax into it, then he's willing to wait. Not like there won’t be plenty of opportunities in the future, once the boy's sexual urges have built up enough to have him eagerly submitting. 

Steve closes his eyes and takes one last, indulgent inhale of that spiced, floral scent that’s only made stronger by the arousal. Viburnum, he realizes. That’s what it reminds him of. It clings to the edges of the earthy undertones of Bucky's scent, enhancing it to something truly alluring. Regretfully, Steve pats his hip and rolls away on the stool. “Okay,” he says, trying not to let the disappointment come through in his voice. “That’s alright, Sweetheart. I’ll have the nurse sent in to help you.”

“What? No.” Bucky twists his head in the restraints once again to look back at Steve where he’s removing the medical glove and standing up. His eyes widen when he sees the blue glove going into the waste bin, not having realized that Steve had donned it, having literally been prepared to finger him to orgasm. His mouth works helplessly for a moment, open and shut in a loss for words. “I don’t want anybody to do it.”

Steve walks back around in front of him and crouches down to his level, fixing him with a doubtful look. “Well that’s your choice, Honey. But you still won’t be allowed to touch yourself, you do realize that? If you change your mind after lights out tonight, then you’ll have to wait all the way until tomorrow morning to get a staff member to give you any relief.”

Bucky pretends to be unaffected, but Steve can see the brief flash of panic in the boy’s eyes at the prospect of going that much longer without an orgasm. “Fine,” he says, putting on a brave face. “I don’t care.”

Steve isn’t a fool. He knows that Bucky is almost certainly planning to break the rules and touch himself at the first available opportunity. Still, some lessons can’t be taught until mistakes are made and bad behavior corrected, so Steve nods and stands up to start unbuckling the bench’s restraints. “Okay, your choice, bud." 

Bucky climbs off the bench once he’s able to, and Steve hands him his underwear to put on. His little prick is completely erect as he hurriedly pushes the uniform’s skirt back down, and he winces in discomfort as he pulls up the two layers of his underwear and gets them into place on his oversensitive body. “Ugh,” he huffs quietly. “Stupid.”

Steve chuckles, though he honestly feels more pity for the kid than anything. Bucky’s regret over having turned down an orgasm is so obvious it’s near palpable, his scent still rich with arousal. And just like Steve knows without a doubt that the back of the boy's underwear is already getting a wet spot, he also knows that he'll be checking the dormitory’s security feed later that night. With the level of certainty he has over Bucky’s plans to break the rules and touch himself, Steve figures he might as well start planning out what corrective measures they’ll inevitably be instituting as punishment.

“Come on,” he says, putting an arm around the kid’s shoulders and guiding him out of the room. “It’s dinner time. You must be getting hungry.”

Bucky says that he isn’t, but his stomach betrays him by growling loudly not two seconds after.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

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Event: @sebastianstanbingo Card: sarahowritesostucky Square O4: Floral Scents

@scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes

[maramirror11]

Reminiscences of the past

This is my Darling's POV throughout those 3 years they were separated from Makarro. Thank you @haradasaya for being the beta reader!

TW: Slight mentions of eating disorders.

I hope you enjoy it!

Pronouns: They/Them

As I was washing the dishes, I realized that it has been a week since I last saw my husband. The day after the feast, he left to continue his work. Now, the Guardian is locked up and there is no one capable of interfering. Nonetheless, I'm worried.

He hasn't come home nor contacted me at all. I know he can lose himself in his work, but not like this. I know him, he hasn't been taking care of himself.

I have this feeling that something is wrong. So, I'm writing them down to help me understand.

Lately I wonder why I am going along with all of this. It's not like I don't want my throne back, but it feels like he's hiding something from me.

I need to remember when all of this started…

… 

It was an awful full moon night. I got the new evidence after my case became cold. Even if it was a trap, we needed to try. My dearest Makarro said we'll reunite at the shipping yard. I ran as fast as I could but someone followed me.

When we got reunited with my dearest, we finally solved our case. My brother Kayble admitted that he was responsible for my threat letter and the senator hired the assassins. 

Since we found out about this, Kayble sent Makarro to a place called Black Site. He was being sentenced for kidnapping and high treason. I tried to explain that I escaped and took refuge with him. But Kayble didn't listen. As he was taken away, we both promised we'll see each other again.

My brother knew if the citizens found out about the real story, the government reputation would fall. So, he wanted to make sure no one could speak about this incident.

"Don't take him away" "Let him go!" I kicked and screamed as I was dragged into the carriage.

As always, my orders were ignored. After a year and a half, I was going back "home".

It felt like an eternity on the ride back to the castle. We arrived a few hours before the sunrise. I stayed in a cell until Kayble finished the preparation to spread the news. 

Early in the morning, he announced my arrival at the castle’s balcony in front of all the people present.

"Dear citizens. As you know, the heir of Manas disappeared a long time ago. Our hearts prayed to the Guardian for their safely return to us"

"As your prince, it was my duty to find and bring back my sibling…"

He narrates the story of how he found out I was kidnapped by an evil wizard and bravely rescued me.

I was behind him, inside the castle, during his speech. As he finishes, Kayble turns around, extends his hand and makes a gesture for me to come out.

At first, I decided I wouldn't go out. He took everything I loved, why would I follow his plan?

Suddenly, I heard the cheers from my people, happy for my safety. They were screaming my name and begging me to step out. I couldn't refuse to see them. Slowly, I went outside smiling and waving my hand.

I carefully chose my words.

"My dear citizens, I'm sorry for upsetting you but thank you for keeping me in your prayers. I'm honored to be able to see you again. May the gods bring us a better future for our great nation"  As the sound of applause got higher, I went back inside.

It wasn't hard, being part of an aristocratic family, acting was a basic skill. But, I wasn't aware that would be the last time I'll feel like I had a choice.

Afterwards, my brother escorted me to my new bedroom. When we arrived, all my stuff was already there. My bed, bookshelf, jewelry box, etc. Except that something was bothering me. Why would he change my room?

When I stepped inside, I heard a click sound behind me and realized the door was locked.

“You should be thankful I even let you live. Enjoy your stay, dear sibling”. Then he walked away.

I immediately tried to open the door with all my strength but I couldn't, not even shouting and hitting would do something.

It didn't work before but I needed to try. While I was away, Kayble built this room and prepared it to prevent any possible escape. Yet that didn’t stop me.

After that day, I had many escape attempts. But, there was little I could do with just one small window and a door with locks on the outside. It was me against the entire castle guards and servants.

I wanted to test them at first, so I tried the predictable ones. Run away whenever they open the door, carve my way to another room, convince others to help me, and more.

Then, I started to create more elaborate plans, but never got too far. Later on, the security knew practically all my strategies and made it impossible for me to come up with new ideas.

In the end, I decided to take some time to observe and analyze any new opportunity instead of rushing it.

… 

I was in that cell, or bedroom as they called it, all day. The only exceptions were when I needed to be present for an event and then back to the same place. Just like an animal you take out of their cage for display. A big cage filled with precious items, but a cage nonetheless.

What bothered me the most was that I barely had people visit me. I got used to having someone to talk to and be my real self. Then again, I had to be on high alert.

Servants came from time to time. They'll come to clean and bring me new clothes or food. However, they were ordered not to talk to me nor give me anything else, they were being watched all the time.

The only one who stayed enough time was Kayble, but his visits weren't exactly pleasant.

"That's the summary of the last reunion. You know you could've left this place a long time ago, right? All you need to do is follow my instructions"

"..."

"Since you insist on being so stubborn, I guess you need more time alone”

Then, he’ll leave me again. 

My father never said anything, when he wanted to see me, I'll go to him. I'm not sure if he knew about this or not.

I don’t know how I kept myself sane. I was left alone with my thoughts all day.

How did we end up like this?

After everything, how Kayble, my own brother, could do this to me? How couldn't I see this coming?

Was my dearest all right? Was he even alive at this point?

Would he like to see me again? It’s my fault that he’s in prison.

HOW can I LEAVE this place? Can ANYTHING GET BETTER after this?

My routine was sitting on my bed and trying to find answers. However, that only made it worse. So, I tried to keep my mind occupied.

“Alright, I’ve finished reading my book today. I couldn't have predict the ending, it’s just the fifth time I read it”

“The sun is already going up? I’m just halfway through my writing”

“Talking to myself isn’t that bad actually. Still, I wish I was with my dearest, at least we’ll find a more interesting topic than guessing clouds shapes"

Sadly, everything became dull after a while.

Even when my body was occupied, I had this persistent question on my mind.

How did my little brother turn into this monster I don’t recognize? 

The coldness in his eyes when I was captured was terrifying. I've never seen him with so much hatred.

He used to be so kind. After our mother died, I practically raised him and taught everything since our father was occupied with his duties.

"Are you free to play a match of wingball? Father said he's too busy"

"Of course Kayble, but don't be mad at me when I win. You know I'm a great player"

…

"You won again?! You'll see next time, I'll win for sure!"

I'll give everything just to play a match with you like the old times.

"One day I want to be like you!" He used to tell me. I can't help but get emotional every time I remember those moments.

Even as grown ups, we had our differences but we got along well. He always looked down to himself, unable to see how amazing he is and looked for validation from others. 

Unfortunately, he found it with the other leaders when our family took the position of heirs after Mazzel died and all her children escaped.

Even with that, I still can't believe he was ready to make me paranoid. Be afraid to die at the hands of assassins if that means I’ll do what he wants.

There was a small part of me that hoped we'd get along again, but everyday Kayble shows me how impossible that dream is.

I wonder if we were a normal family, everything could've ended differently. 

…

My life took a drastic change when I became the heir of Manas. I am from an aristocratic family, our title had a lot of weight in Tyrannis.

I was trained in everything an heir needed to know. Etiquette, how to walk properly, what to say to get my way and infinite resources to do anything I want.

Even so, I felt that I could do more to help others. That’s the reason I specialized in healing magic and potions. At that moment, it was the only thing I was able to do. Now, I had the opportunity to make a real change.

But my problems started when I worked with the other leaders. We’ll have our differences, they want to continue the traditions which means they are afraid of the new possibilities outside help can provide.

Mazzel's consequences are worse than we thought and we really need to ask for outside help. However, my words, despite my title, were irrelevant. I was alone with my beliefs, no one was brave enough to go against the prince.

...

It was destiny that all the events that happened after the reunion. Receiving a threat letter was the best and worst thing that happened to me.

On one hand, I was aware of the real intentions of someone I worked close by. On the other hand, if I didn’t escape, I wouldn’t have found the love of my life.

I knew I couldn't trust anyone inside the castle for help. Then I remembered these rumors about a brilliant detective who wasn't associated with the MCPD. Since I had nothing to lose, I went looking for him.

Even with his rude introduction, he didn't look like he had bad intentions. I can judge people pretty well, he seemed like someone I could trust. His name is Makarro Aetherward.

I ended up staying in the detective’s house while we investigated the case. Surprisingly, we got along and quickly it became my home as well.

It was unreal how happy I was there, it felt like someone took a huge weight from me. Sure, I needed to learn how to cook and clean for myself, but I was free.

No more being bossed around by the others nor be worried about pleasing everyone. I could truly be myself.

Also, Makarro's company was pleasant. The best moments of my day were when we could spend time together, mundane things turned out as fun experiences.

Cooking became my new hobby, making food and then tasting it with him is something I couldn’t trade for anything. How his face went from faking a smile to actually enjoy it, was enough to try my best the next time.

“Do you like the new recipe? It's from my books”

“This is really good, I'm surprised” His face lit up when he put the spoon in his mouth.

“Oh, so you didn't like my food before? You were lying to me?” I put my hand on my mouth as dramatic as possible.

“No! That's not what I-”  He quickly shakes his head. 

“Oh, you are so gullible” I couldn’t contain my laugh any longer. He can't do anything but look in defeat with a smile.

“Don't worry, I know my cooking wasn't the best. Honestly, those spices make the difference”

When I felt comfortable enough, I started to re-decorate the house. It screamed “I don’t live here because it feels lonely” and didn’t feel like a home someone would like to return.

I started with some plants, not flowers because I’m allergic to pollen, then vases, paintings and my own stuff. Even if I barely got outside, hanging out together at home felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up. 

I went outside mostly when I helped with cases but I enjoyed myself every time, even when we ran for our lives from the assassins. Normally, it'll be scary but I felt safe with him. I knew together we'll find a way out.

Later on, he told me I brought color into his life, and so did he to mine. After a couple of dates, we got together officially.

My favorite ones were when we went to dance, both outside and inside the house, it was just us in the world.

For that year and a half, I forgot how cruel it was back at the castle, what it was like to be invisible. Sometimes I wonder if it was better if I never ran away, at least you could've been safe...

…

I thought I could handle being alone with nothing but my thoughts but I was wrong. 

There was nothing I could do but to walk in circles in my tiny room.

After a while I started to feel that they’ll try to eliminate me again, despite doing everything right. When I thought I was being paranoid, I remember that they, in fact, tried to kill me.

I had nothing but my brother's empty words, with the promise to keep me alive. At the end of the day, their mission is the same. As long as I live, they can’t do what they want. 

Perhaps they will be more cautious, the next time it could be an “accident”. It is easier to tell people I died because of food poisoning. Also, everything I eat is served by them.

I ended up eating less and less until I stopped eating all together. At the same time, I asked the staff to stop coming to my place. I couldn’t take any chances, so I cleaned up myself.

It kept me occupied for a while. Maintaining my room clean and organized felt like I cleansed my own mind.

…

I got weaker and weaker with time, my hopes of going outside were fading. I could barely get out of my bed and I didn’t have a reason to do it either.

The dust started to pile up, my wrinkled clothes stayed on the floor and the window was covered with a curtain.

I could only hear the sound of my own breathing and sometimes, a few steps outside. There was nothing new to experience, even the hunger couldn't bother me. There was nothing but my thoughts. 

And suddenly, I got the realization that nothing will change even if I get out. It shattered the few sanity I had left.

All these negative thoughts plagued my mind until the idea of finally doing what they wanted crossed my mind. Tears slowly fell down on my face as I accepted my defeat.

Being a puppet for someone was my greatest fear and it was closer to becoming inevitable. After many months, I still couldn't find a way out and staying locked up wasn't a great plan either. 

I was thinking of explaining to my brother my change of mind, when a sudden breeze moved the curtains. The sunlight came right to my face, interrupting my plan.

Reluctantly, I got up and slowly approached the wall.

"I don't remember the sunlight being so bright"

When I was about to close the curtains, I stopped and looked outside. I could see the city, people doing their normal routine.

They still have hope for the future even with the war scars on them. They deserve it and I know for sure my brother won’t give them that. No one in this castle cares for them.

But I do.

I care and CAN make that future happen.

I felt a boost of motivation. I took out the curtains, cleaned my bedroom and organized my stuff.

At that moment, I swore, even with my last breath, I’ll do my best for them. Not only that, also my dearest is still looking for me.

I need to get myself together, we’ve promised to see each other again and I don't break a promise.

I needed to be stronger, I wouldn’t let them down. But, in order for me to do that, I had to start eating once more. Still not everything on the plate, but enough to give me energy. Just one step at a time.

…

Who knew three years went by until I got to see my love and freedom again. It was like any other day, I was sitting on a chair reading when Kayble visited me.

Once again he tried to convince me to follow his story. Then he dropped the phrase that I feared the most.

"I most definitely HATE YOU"

At that moment, my heart shattered, I knew there was no going back to how we used to be.

But I couldn’t show him my emotions, I had to keep my ground. My unwavering gaze stayed focused on his eyes as I desperately tried not to cry.

When he left, I heard a familiar voice. It came from the shadow next to my window.

It was my dearest Makkaro! I could barely believe my eyes. I was ecstatic, he was alive! I wanted nothing more than to give him a big hug. 

But when I tried to approach him…

"Wait, no, don't move"

I stopped. Wasn't he happy to see me?

"Did you betray me? Was my love a game to you?"

I couldn’t see his face, but his voice was enough to know his feelings.

At first, I was in shock, does he really think I'm capable of that?

Then I realized, the story my brother created probably traveled to the place he was trapped.

"It's not true, my dearest" "I love you… I really really missed you" I could barely contain my tears.

He sounded relieved. Despite that, I couldn’t get close yet. It was until he got into the light that I understood. To say that he looked horrible was an understatement.

He had bruises, scars, burn marks. WHAT did they do to him? I was looking at an undead. He was more dead than alive. 

At the moment, he just said they did terrible things to him, and even cried. 

I couldn’t do anything to comfort him, still, what could I even say? He suffered because of me and no amount of words could take his memories away.

He told me how learned necromancy and escaped. That was impossible, necromancers lose their minds almost immediately and yet he sounded mostly like he used to be.

Finally he mentioned the Karmic Touch, a curse upon necromancers. Anything in contact with skin, it melts. The only exception is a protection spell.

He asked me if I could accept him like this. I didn’t even think twice and made the protection spell right away.

I immediately ran to him and we hugged tightly. It has been so long since the last time we could be together, I didn’t want it to end.

I could feel how slim he was. I have no idea how he could keep himself standing.

Suddenly, we heard noises from outside and were brought back to reality. We weren’t safe and he offered to escape in his own way. He asked if he could kidnap me. My dearest has the worst choice of words in the worst moments, and I love it. 

"Are you asking me to marry you?" I said with a grin and tears of joy.

He confirmed. 

"I'd love to"

Then we made a vow. I’ll take any chance to be with him again, even if I need to leave everything behind.

I won’t abandon him again. Besides, there is nothing left for me here. He is my new home.

After that, we teletransported to a safer location while destroying the room with fire. We arrived at this place far away from the castle when I saw it, a talking skeleton. 

Certainly, I should've expected that but nothing really prepares you when you see it. His name is Frank, a friend of Mak. Despite the way he talks, he seems trustworthy.

And my new life began.

…

After writing down everything we went through, I remember. We've been through hell to get where we are now. There are sacrifices we need to do to get what we want. 

I know necromancy surely will take over my dearest someday. But this is the reason, even if it's just a small chance to save him from this and get enough strength to change the future of my city, I’ll take it.

But the uneasy feeling hasn't gone away completely. 

I should check up on him.

The End.

[merv606]

Thinking about Puritan Daniel's wedding vows after you mentioned how Daniel said honor and obey in your latest fic. Because imagine how wild they'd be in anything-goes ABO verse!

"I promise to please and pleasure you whenever and however you desire, Sir.."

"I give my innocence to you so we may be blessed and I will birth your pups",

"I promise to kneel before you, to respect you as the Master of our home, Alpha"

And so on!

As his maidens are preparing him for the marital bed, they remind him to “honor and obey your husband.”

The same words he spoke in his vows not too long ago. 

He’s nervous, skin erupting in goosebumps as they fix the nightshirt in place.

Not nervous because of his alpha, now his newly made husband. 

They had been betrothed for years, ever since he presented and Terry had laid eyes on him, and they were only allowed to spend time together, chaperoned time, a few weeks before Daniel was of mating age, as Terry planned to wed him the very day he did. The man had been nothing but kind to him, sending gifts, beautiful letters, and he made sure his family was taken care of in the years leading up to the marriage, and that Daniel had everything he needed or wanted. 

Terry had been nothing short of a gentlemen and perfect alpha. 

His head handmaiden, an older woman, noticed his slight trembling as they dress him in the traditional loose nightshirt, in a sheer white, so that the omega, while dressed, is on display for their alpha when he enters the bed chambers. 

It can’t be from the cold - Lord Silver had made it clear that the fires in both the antechamber where they are preparing him and the bed chambers where their marital bed is are to be keep roaring, so as the omega, a slight little thing, isn’t cold or liable to catch a one.

She knows how long the Lord has been waiting for this and is endeavouring to make his little omega as comfortable as possible. 

“Are you feeling ill?” she asks, worried that they might have to fetch the doctor. Although he had been looked over this morning as part of the health check, as well as for other reasons. 

The heir of a silver could only be bared by an omega of pure status. 

“No, I …. “ he fiddles with the hem of the delicate night shirt. “It’s just that …. I’m still not quite sure ….” what I have to do, he thinks although he says, “what to expect.” 

The younger ones giggle and she shushes them. 

“He will show you these new duties.”

“Duties?!”

He had gone through the required omega courses a year leading up to this, as was normal in wealthy families of power and status, such as the Silvers, who also had a thread of nobility running through their lineage. 

Why he choose a commoner of little standing, absolutely no dowry to offer, is still beyond Daniel. 

Lord silver could have had anyone he wanted. He was the most eligible and sought after alpha. Although he bedded both male and females, he did lean towards male omegas, who were more rare than their female counterparts. 

Still, if he wanted, he could have had all the male omegas, not just in his lands, but all around rounded up to be picked from.

But he hadn’t. 

He had seen Daniel and declared that the boy would be his and that was that. 

Daniel had wanted his family taken care of, which Terry had done.

He’d also handsome, making Daniel’s omega parts feel funny, and he was kind, so Daniel was excited about this day / had been counting down to it.

He wants to get this right - to be the best mate and husband for his alpha and to repay the kindness he had already shown.

“Marital duties -

“And what are those marital duties exactly?”  he asks. 

“He will take his husbandly rights,” she answers, although it isn’t really an answer, but she is unable to explain anything else to the nervous omega. 

Oh yes - that had been mentioned in his lessons, but  all they said were the physical expression of an alpha’s love and desire for his omega.

It had all been very secretive. 

He was told to be responsive to his alpha’s advances, to be warm and welcoming which, he still doesn’t know what they mean by that. 

“That is where I …” he tries to recall the words … “receive my husband.” 

Again the younger handmaidens giggle and are shushed. 

He recalls now the vows.

“I give to you, my alpha, my husband,  both my body and my heart, I will do my duty as your  mate which is your right to take and receive your blessing.”

He didn’t really know what all of it meant, although he knew  a blessing meant a child, which he needed to cement the marriage or else, it could be contested, which he did not want. 

However it happens though, he hopes he falls with child soon.

“Yes,  do not worry. He will show you what it is you need to do,” she smiles warmly and he smiles back. 

A golden goblet is brought to him.

“It will help with the nerves,” she explains and he gulps it down. 

He’s lead into their bed chamber now, and he’s left standing there, alone, but it’s not for long, the door opening moments later, his alpha, resplendent in dark red robes comes in.

As his alpha - his husband - approaches he feels the hairs on his neck and arms stand up on end, although he can’t say he feels in danger. There is something in the air he can’t quite place, a movement to it, a heaviness, and he shivers despite the warmth of the room from the roaring fire by the bed.

His alpha is looking at him with an expression he can’t quite place. Daniel would say it was almost hungry - the way a starving man looks at food but what could he possibly be hungry for, Daniel thinks, looking at me.

The alpha’s eyes sweep up and down and Daniel knows everything he is is visible to the alpha - and his first instinct is to try and cover himself, the soft brown nipples hardening against the soft, sheer nigh shirt and the thatch of brown hair lower still, but his handmaiden’s voice in his head from earlier, reminds him.

“Do not try and cover yourself,” she said, knowing how the pious boy would probably react. “You belong to your alpha now.”

He had nodded.

“Everything you are is his, and he’ll want to see. He has waited long enough.”

He shivers as Terry steps closer, his hands clasping the hem of the night shirt to keep them from going up to block his body from the alpha’s appraising gaze.

“You look lovely.”  A hand on the side of his face, tracing along the edge.

The alpha leans down, pressing his lips to the omega who responds as best he can, never having been kissed before.

The few chaperoned dates they had, allowed Terry only the ability to kiss his hand, and, in one am occasion a chaste kiss to the corner of Daniel’s mouth which had sent pleasure zipping down his spine, setting into his special place, his omegahood throbbing in a way he never felt before. The feeling was new and scary, yet welcome.

Now though, the pleasure has him not only throbbing but pulsing, pressing his legs together instinctively, and he feels … something down there … it feels almost wet between his legs.

A hand up his nightshirt now, that Daniel didn’t even register, fingertips tracing the slick folds that hide his most secret place and Daniel gasps as his husband’s fingers brush against something that send sparks of pleasure through him. It must be his rosebud, something the omega was forbidden to ever touch and he knows now why.

It throbs and aches, a warm blooming from within as the fingertips start rubbing up and down, then in small circles which start featherlight but turn more firm and demanding.

Daniel gasps into his husband’s mouth, who takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, tasting his prize, as his other hand finds small sensitive nipples, rubbing them to hardness through the sheer garment,

His legs spread of their own accord, body reacting on instinct, opening for the alpha.

He slots his hand between them now, Daniel whimpering as his hips start moving, once again, his body reacting for him, his mind hazy, rubbing himself along the edge of his husband’s hand, forgetting himself; his behaviour wanton.

“That’s it. Find your pleasure little one,” the alpha praises, and he can hear wet noises as his hips work faster and faster, the hand between his folds now.

His head swims, his limbs loose and relaxed, the elixir from earlier coming into affect. The pleasure is mounting and mounting, and unbeknownst to him, he’s soaking his husband’s hand.

Then he feels it - waves crashing over him, his omega cunt clenching.

Terry brings his hand up, dripping the omega’s slick and release, licking it clean almost lazily.

“What ….” He starts and his husband chuckles.

“That was an orgasm,” his alpha explains. “You came.”

He’s gently laid out on the bed, large hands splaying his thighs open wide, his night shirt ruched up around a slender waist.

His husband’s hand finds it way back between those spread legs, fingers dipping in to trace his entrance, still shuddering in aftershocks.

More slick is gathered, Terry bringing them to his mouth, groaning at the taste of his omega’s pleasure.

Daniel comes back to himself, realizing, with horror, of his behaviour … what does his husband think of him.

“Now, now, none of that. These are my husbandly rights …. “

Oh, Daniel thinks.

“These are your duties to me on our marital bed …” and anywhere else Terry plans to have his little mate. No part of the house will go unchristened … nor any part of his mate’s body for that matter.

“Private vows now, just between us. Repeat after me.”

“I promise to please and pleasure you whenever and however you desire, Sir,” Terry says and Daniel obediently repeats. 

“So I shall do the same for you - endeavour to bring you pleasure.” 

“And a blessing?”

His husband opened his own robes now, and Daniel sees his first glimpse of his husband in all his glory.

His manhood, for the omega was taught the rudimentary biology of an alpha, the differences between them and omegas, is quite bigger than the vague drawings he was allowed to be shown.

“Many many blessings,” Terry promises, stroking himself as Daniel’s legs are opened once again. “All in due time, but we’ll get started now,” Terry says as the alpha presses his lips to his special omega place, knowing a second orgasm will only help in getting his mate’s virgin body to open for his cock,

He plans to keep the vows he just uttered, and needs his little mate loose and relaxed, and Daniel feels blessed already. 

I was imagining an old fashioned night shirt for this as pictured below BUT sheer and shorter.

[angrylittletrashpanda]

Yet another take on Helaemond

Even if Helaemond is confirmed in the show, this subplot does not necessarily have to be a swoony romantic story. It occurs to me that the dutiful prince might have been simply bothered with the fact that Aegon and Helaena didn’t have a heir. In addition, Aemond might have been painfully aware his big bro was neglecting his young wife and, to make the matter worse, used to ra*e her when he was too drunk to crawl out of his bed, hit the town and  stumble to some brothel.  However, Aemond also knew perfectly well Helaena’s duty was to bear lil princes and princesses, and if she failed to give her rotten egg of a husband children, the ones close to the crown could easily get rid of the princess and find Aegon a new bride.  What if Aemond shared his concerns with his sister and the teenagers decided to cuckold their brother the crown prince for the good of their house and/or in order to keep the Targaryen blood pure?

In this scenario, neither Helaena nor Aemond, after all both victims of SA, was delighted at the prospect of having sex. Helaena, nonetheless, was relieved to learn her serious little brother, who no doubt respected her more than Aegon did (or maybe even liked her) was eager to help her fulfil her duty to the kingdom/ their bloodline. I bet Aemond even promised his sister to do his best not to hurt her in the process.  

I also have the feeling the righteous prince couldn’t bear the terrible thought of fathering bastards and married Helaena in secret, so that he could perform his conjugal duty with a clear conscience. The princess found his proposal really cute and genuinely enjoyed the ceremony (and so did her brother-husband). Needless to say it was the Valyrian one!

The mere idea of consummating the marriage, however, was giving the engaged couple sleepless nights since the day they had arrived at a decision to produce “Aegon’s heir”. When push came to shove they were still very nervous. From songs and ballads, Aemond knew ladies liked kisses, which resulted in having quite a heated, but still pretty clumsy makeout session with Helaena. They were both surprised and pleased to discover sexual intimacy did not mean humiliation extreme discomfort and pain.  Helaemond’s first time definitely did not give them unearthly bliss or something of sorts, but the  experience as such was surely a positive one  and clearly encouraged them to start building a serious relationship, based on mutual trust and respect. Helaena’s gentleness, as well as the divine softness of her body made Aemond grow even more protective of his sister-wife and their future children.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

From the Ashes Pt.8

Pairing: Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

Warning: Varys POV

Words:2663

Summary: Varys must carry through with his promise to Thalina. Tyrion makes a dangerous decision.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 3.5  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7   Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22 Part 23  Part 24  Part 25  Part 26 Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34  Part 35  Part 36  Part 37  Part 38  Part 39   Part 40 Part 41 Part 42

Book Two of Heir of Ash and Fire

Book One of Heir of Ash and Fire

Varys tucked away into his chambers, careful to make sure that he wasn’t followed.

This was big news. Something that no one was discover until the right time. One of his little birds from Essos had a mouthful to tell him. Jaime and (y/n) were finally in Volantis.

A great sigh of relief escaped the eunuch as he collapsed into his seat. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since (y/n)’s rooms had been engulfed by flames; her maid Thalina burnt to a crisp.

The poor girl. She had only been doing her duty protecting the youngest Lannister daughter only to be killed by the eldest. Yes, Varys knew that the whole night had been the work of Cersei. Jealousy perhaps drove her to it, Varys didn’t know the trials and battles of sisters, but he saw in Cersei something unforgiving. Thalina knew whatever ill will Cersei bore for her sister, she would die from it as well. She had accepted her fate as was duty for a red priestess. Her sacrifice, above all, was from the genuine love she had for her charge and the years they had spent together.

“The time has come.” Thalina warned him days before her actual death. The two foreigners had met up in secret with only the skulls of dragons long dead to hear what they spoke of.

It was too soon. Varys had come to like Thalina. “Surely you’re mistaken. . .”

Smiling sadly, she placed her hand atop of his own. “I am not afraid. You shouldn’t be either. Everything is for her. Remember that. She will save us all.”

Varys had puckered his lips, wanting to argue and ask her for the thousandth time if she was sure (y/n) was the one. Even back when the young lady was but a child, Thalina had been set in her conviction.

The way things were going with King Aerys and the war his son was waging, Varys desperately hoped that Thalina was right.

There was a hidden compartment in the Spider’s room where he kept all his best secrets. He went to it, unearthing a rather large wooden box that Thalina had given to him in the event of her passing and (y/n) making it safely to Volantis.

“Why are you trusting me with all these secrets?” Varys had asked when she had handed him the box. Later on he would try to open it to see what lay in there but it was locked up well.

“You care not about your own gains much like myself. You care, truly care, of the welfare of Westeros and it’s people. You play games, that is true, but it’s all for the best. You want nothing for yourself. That is why. In the future to come, a most terrible enemy will arise. One that cannot be bought or bribed. I know you’ll do what is right for Westeros. Keep this safe. When the time comes, have one of your little birds deliver it to her.”

He eyed the box, tilting it this way and that. It was heavy. Perhaps money for (y/n) to return to Westeros? “What is in here?”

All she did in response was wink and put her index finger up to her lips. “That is for (y/n) to discover. I trust you with quite a lot of things, Lord Varys. But not this. This is solely for (y/n)’s eyes.” Her gold eyes sparkled.

“Oh Thalina. . .” Varys shakes his head, remembering when the house knights had carried her body out of the burnt tower. She had been unrecognizable. Varys knew though.

He could still hear her voice.

“Take it to her.”

The circumstances surrounding (y/n) Lannister had been quite. . . unusual. Surviving death twice. Not even the strongest knight could say that.

Still. . . Varys would honor the request of the dead girl and watch what would come from it.

“I hope you’re right and you didn’t die for nothing.” Whispering to the box, he sets the box down on his desk and retrieves his pen and ink as well as a sheet of parchment.

Ears pricking at any small sound, Varys knew what the consequence would be if Aerys were to ever find out about his betrayal. Especially since Varys was aiding Rhaegar’s campaign with great discretion from the shadows. Aerys’ empire was crumbling right before the Mad King’s eyes. It needed to be done. For the good of Westers, Aerys had to be ripped from the Iron Throne. Rhaegar had proven at a young age that he would be a kind and just king, much like his ancestor Jaehaerys. Each boy had been sired by incompetent kings.

Varys purses his lips, pausing his hand in writing as he remembered a conversation he had with the now deceased Rhaella.

“They look very similar to Jaehaerys and his little queen Alysanne.”

He should tell Rhaegar that his queen was alive and well. Knee deep in battle, Varys immediately decided against it knowing that he would receive Rhaegar’s wrath later. Now was not the time. The Silver Prince was using his grief and anger to his advantage. It was proving useful in battle. Perhaps it was cruel of Varys to keep it a secret. If Rhaegar knew though, he might want to leave and look for her. They couldn’t have that. His army was so close to knocking Aerys off the board. There were whispers of certain Crownland houses wanting to flee to Rhaegar’s side. After his success in the Reach, there were already a handful of houses that instantly bent the knee to Rhaegar and swore fealty. When all was done he would tell Rhaegar. Right now his focus must remain in Westeros. (y/n) was safe in the Red Temple. Safe from violence and blood.

Finishing off his letter, Varys sealed it with gold wax; pressing his signet into it. He stashed the folded piece of paper in his sleeve and picked up the wooden chest. He had to choose his bird carefully, the one that would deliver it to Essos. Who could he trust to deliver something of the utmost importance?

Moving through the secret passages much like a spider scuttling around unseen, Varys debated who the trust should go to. Barristan Selmy.

The seasoned knight would have been perfect. Already wary of Aerys’ behavior, Varys knew that deep down Selmy wanted to join Rhaegar. His loyalty to his vows prevented him from doing so. He had ties though. Being the best knight in all of Westeros garnered him close knit ties to other houses as they admired him. Specifically Ashara Dayne, the wickedly clever violet eyed sister of Arthur Dayne.

It was a chance Varys had to take. Selmy wanted what was best for the kingdom as well. Perhaps he wouldn’t outright join the war, but if it was for the poor little queen whom everyone thought to be dead, Selmy would do it. Someone as innocent as (y/n) would surely pull at his heart strings. It would help that a great handful of people already thought that it was Aerys who killed (y/n), adding to his madness. Justice for (y/n) would be enough to get Barristan Selmy to deliver the items.

“You’re sure about this?” Barristan eyes the Spider warily. With a nod from the eunuch, Barristan goes on to ask “Does anyone else know?”

“Just the two of us. And I intend to keep it that way until Rhaegar is on the throne.” informed Varys. He kept his hands clasped in front of him, heavy sunflower yellow sleeves covering them. “I would use one of my other birds, but this information is of a delicate nature. This must make it safely to (y/n). Whatever is in the chest. . . it will aid her in the future. At least that was what I was told.”

“You don’t know what’s inside here?”

“Afraid not. There must be a special way to open it, one that I do not know of.”

Wisened eyes glance up at the bald-headed eunuch, weighing his options and what this all truly meant. Barristan didn’t know (y/n) that well when she lived in the Keep, but he did know her brother Jaime and of course her husband Rhaegar. Both men with admirable skill. Selmy had always encouraged Jaime that if he kept at his training that maybe one day he could reach the level of Captain of the King’s Guard. The young Lannister knight had disappeared the very night of that terrible fire. Unfortunately for the Guard to lose a promising knight. According to Varys though, Jaime was with his sister; protecting her and keeping her safe. Still abiding the vows he took for (y/n) was technically royalty; married to the Crown Prince of Westeros.

“How do you expect me to get this to Volantis? I can’t exactly leave the Red Keep unless Aerys does.”

That’s when Varys smiled. It wasn’t a malicious smile nor a conniving one. There was a comforting warmth and an unspoken thank you. “I can work out the details.” Barristan sighs. Doing this wouldn’t exactly be treasonous. He was helping the princess and his own Kingsguard brother.

“One of the details does include Lady Ashara Dayne.” Slyly putting that in, Varys watches as Barristan immediately becomes flustered at the thought of the maid with laughing eyes.

“I suppose. . . If you’re able to convince Aerys of letting me take leave for a while. . .”

“Good then!” Handing over the note intended for (y/n) upon arrival, Varys nods. A little hesitant to leave Selmy with such a large task, Varys pauses. The fire that had been in Thalina’s eyes as she put her trust into him was brought up. Hardly anyone trusted him and for good reason. Laying traps and spreading whispers weren’t entirely trustworthy things even if Varys vied that it was for the good of the Seven Kingdoms. Thalina was insistent that the survival of (y/n) would ultimately save Westeros.

“Take great care in the items I have left you, Ser Selmy. It was the demand of a dying girl that it safely make it to (y/n).”

Barristan saw the genuine concern on his face. It had to be important if the Master of Whispers held such worry. “You can trust me, Lord Varys.”

“I hope so.” **

Tyrion hadn’t been the same since the death of his sister. Everyone in Casterly Rock saw that clearly as the boy suddenly became silent; not speaking, instead choosing to gaze at people with his solemn mismatched eyes. BAd enough that his beloved sister, a sister who had always loved him unconditionally, was burned to death, then his brother went missing. The only two people who truly cared about him were gone.

His life at home had become intolerable. Every day was bleak knowing that he would never see Jaime or (y/n) ever again. Tyrion was alone. Hoarding himself in the library to occupy his waking moments. What else was there for a dwarf to do?

He wondered what would happen when the time came for Tywin to name the next Warden in the West. Tyrion knew that his father would never grant him the title as ‘lord’. That was fine. Tyrion didn’t want to be a stupid lord. He saw what it did to his father, a man with no joy in his life. There was more in life and Tyrion wanted to see it all.

A young child still, there was nothing Tyrion could do in the meantime. A child and a dwarf at that. (y/n) never wanted him to limit himself due to his condition though. She wanted him to live as any normal child did.

Tyrion stared at the heavy tome placed on his small laps. The printed words blur together as his thoughts steered away.

He missed them both. Wherever Jaime was, Tyrion hoped he returned safely. Since his absence, Cersei had been quite melancholy herself, not even having the energy to talk down to him. She thoroughly ignored him whenever they bumped into one another and preferred to take her dinner in her room now. That was all fine for Tyrion. What he couldn’t ignore was what he overheard one day passing by the usually empty council chambers. Tywin preferred to do his plotting in his own personal studies. He had found it strange when he heard the slightest whisper of voices come from the other side. Specifically the voice of his sister.

“I’ll throw in extra if you return my brother to me, alive.” Her tone had been gravely serious as she spoke and Tyrion could only imagine the terrifying expression on her face.

A man had replied back smoothly “It will be done, Your Grace.”

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Tyrion had quickly retreated back where he had come from.

He thought a lot about what he had heard. The way Cersei spoke made it sound like she knew where Jaime was. For some reason it made him nervous. Tyrion obviously wasn’t supposed to have heard any of that.

There was a lot that he probably shouldn’t have known. Like Tywin’s betrayal as he secretly aided Rhaegar in this war. It didn’t surprise him though. Tywin would go over to whoever he knew was going to win. That was how one lived so long in this kind of world.

Abruptly he slams his book shut, growing bored and more concerned with his own thoughts now. There was a bigger world outside of his library. Bigger and more interesting. Staying cooped up in his gilded cage would serve him no purpose. (y/n) and Jaime both had taken the first opportunity that came to escape Tywin’s household. Tyrion would do the same. Especially now that he knew Jaime might be alive.

He would make (y/n) proud and become someone to be admired like the knights he had been reading about.

Now that his mind was made up, Tyrion left the library and went to his rooms’ empty of any guards or maids.

Perfect. It would make his escape that much easier. No one would miss him and for once Tyrion was happy about that. There was no one left at the Rock whom he cared about. Dead and missing.

Packing a travel bag, Tyrion thought of the essentials he would need in order to make it to Rhaegar’s camp. Having already snuck into Tywin’s study to read over his letters, Tyrion already knew the whereabouts of the Silver Dragon Army (as people had been referring to Rhaegar’s army). The journey would be quite a long one, especially for an eight year old. But Tyrion had determination in his heart. He didn’t want to continue his young life quiet and sad, unable to leave the castle even though no one in there truly cared for him. Taking a page from his older siblings and take his life into his own hands.

Of course Tyrion was scared about going out into a big world all by himself. There would be no one with him until he reached Rhaegar. If he kept off the main roads though he shouldn’t run into too much trouble. Tyrion had learned how to read maps at the age of three and knew the different types of flora and fauna in Westeros. He may not be strong yet, but he was smart. That’s what happened when one was left to their own devices. What else was there to do but read. He would finally be utilizing his vast knowledge. This would be his real test. Far more than anything the maesters could muster up.

Tyrion was ready for it. A lion of Casterly Rock felt no fear and never backed down from a challenge.

Briefly, he prays to the Crone and the Warrior to keep him safe. Above all things through, he wanted (y/n) to hear his prayers so that she may protect him as well. As she always had.