#Heir of Broken Fate

[critical-quoter]

I learned from the book lover herself that every good story needs a good plot twist.

Heir of Broken Fate - Mads Rafferty

[jolieeason]

Heir of Broken Fate by Mads Rafferty

Publisher: Mads Rafferty Date of Publication: May 1st, 2023 Genre: Fantasy, Fantasy Romance, Romance, Fae, Magic, New Adult, Fiction Purchase Links: Kindle | B&N | AbeBooks | WorldCat Goodreads Synopsis: One hundred and fifty years ago the Fae race vanished. Along with their magic and creatures. With the fallen Fae lands the humans were soon to follow as corruption spread throughout the…

[novaursa]

The Flames We Share

- Summary: You tell your son the truth. He has more than the blood of dragons in his veins.

- Paring: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's younger sister and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Blood We Choose. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 5 198

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The dungeons beneath Dragonstone were a cold, damp place, lit only by flickering torches that cast shadows that seemed to dance mockingly on the rough-hewn walls. The stench of rot and mildew clung to the air, seeping into the very stones of the fortress. Gwayne Hightower sat chained to the wall, bruised and dirty from his days of captivity, but his eyes were clear and resolute, fixed forward as he awaited what was surely his fate. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere—focused only on you, the woman he had risked everything for.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the stone corridors, and he looked up as the iron door creaked open. Daemon Targaryen stepped inside, a predator’s smirk twisting his lips. He tossed a crumpled message onto the filthy floor in front of Gwayne’s feet. The black wax seal was unmistakable—bearing the sigil of House Hightower.

“Your father sends his regards,” Daemon drawled, a cruel edge in his voice. “He offers to trade his traitorous son for some stronghold I care little about. Imagine that—a worthless fortress in exchange for his even more worthless offspring.” Daemon’s eyes gleamed as he studied Gwayne’s reaction, searching for any sign of weakness.

But Gwayne’s expression remained stony. “You can say what you wish, Targaryen. My fate was sealed the moment I brought her to you.” His voice was hoarse but steady. “As long as Y/N is safe, I care not what becomes of me.”

Daemon’s lip curled in disdain. “Is that so?” He took a step closer, as if to loom over Gwayne. “Safe? You think she’s safe, having fallen from the sky, bleeding and broken? You think I would allow the woman who bore my son—my heir—to suffer any harm under my roof?” There was a dark gleam of possessiveness in Daemon’s eyes, as if the very notion of another man daring to care for you was an affront to his pride.

Gwayne’s gaze sharpened at that. “I want to see Vaeron,” he demanded suddenly. There was a tremor in his voice, a desperation that Daemon did not miss. “I want to speak with my son.”

Daemon’s anger flared at the insolence of the request. “Your son?” he hissed, voice low and dangerous. “That boy is a Targaryen—a dragon, not the product of some dishonorable tryst! Do you think I would allow him to be tainted by the shame of what you nearly brought upon my niece, siring a child on her without even the dignity of wedlock?”

Gwayne’s eyes darkened, yet there was a hint of mocking amusement in them as he stared up at the Rogue Prince. “And you believe yourself to be the righteous one? The man who slew his first wife in pursuit of power? Who consorts with whores while claiming the love of dragons? Tell me, Daemon, what makes you any different from me?”

Daemon’s smirk faltered, his face tightening with barely controlled rage. But Gwayne continued, his voice laced with bitterness. “She was denied to me—Y/N, I mean. If your brother had seen sense, had given her to me rather than feeding your ambitions, we could have avoided all this bloodshed. The boy would have been raised in Oldtown, under the guidance of both our Houses, and this war might never have happened.”

“Nothing could have prevented this war,” Daemon snarled, eyes flashing. “It was written in fire and blood long before you or I even took breath. But do not delude yourself into thinking you have anything resembling love, Hightower. What you claim as love is mere possession—an attempt to bind what you could never truly have.”

Gwayne’s jaw clenched at the words, but he did not respond. The two men stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like a drawn sword. Daemon took a breath, his composure returning as he straightened.

“I’ll have the boy brought to you,” Daemon said at last, his tone laced with scorn. “You may look upon him and see the life you were never destined to have. But do not forget—he is mine, and Y/N belongs to me now. She is a Targaryen, and you are nothing more than a failed traitor.”

With that, Daemon turned and strode toward the door. Before he left, he paused, throwing one last taunt over his shoulder. “Do not hope for mercy when your father trades you away like the pawn you are, Gwayne. Your life is worth little, even to those who should care most.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Gwayne alone in the darkness once more. But he did not feel defeated. Even with the chains biting into his wrists, he had no regrets for what he had done, for saving you and ensuring you were delivered safely to Dragonstone. In the end, it was not his fate that mattered—it was yours. Even in the heart of this cold, bitter place, the thought of you kept the warmth alive in his heart.

Because in the quiet shadows, despite all the titles and power Daemon clung to, Gwayne knew one truth that Daemon would never fully grasp—he loved you, wholly and without condition. And in his mind, that was a victory far greater than any throne or dragon could ever grant.

The soft crackle of the hearthfire filled the chamber, mingling with the scent of herbs and ointments from where Maesters had tended to your wounds. You sat by the window, Silverwing’s scales still etched into your memory, the pain a constant reminder of the battle you had narrowly survived. The healing was slow, but the bruises and cuts were nothing compared to the deeper ache in your chest. You weren’t sure what stung more—the death of your dragon or the desperate, foolish bravery of the man who had risked everything to save you.

A knock at the door broke your thoughts. “Come in,” you called, and the door creaked open to reveal Vaeron. The boy’s silver hair glinted in the evening light, and his blue eyes—so much like his father’s—fixed on you with concern.

“Mother,” he said quietly, stepping inside. “How are you feeling today?”

You smiled softly at him, though your heart ached as you looked upon him. “I am mending, sweetling. Stronger with each day.”

Vaeron nodded, yet his expression was troubled. He came closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, the worry in his eyes clear. “I heard… I heard Daemon talking about him,” he murmured. “The man in the dungeons—the one who saved you. Is it true he defied Ser Criston Cole and fled with you from Rook’s Rest? They say he’s a Hightower. An enemy.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. The boy was no longer the child you had once cradled; he was growing, his curiosity sharp and his mind keen. He deserved the truth.

“Yes, it’s true,” you replied, voice gentle. “The man who saved me is Gwayne Hightower. He… he betrayed his own kin, risked his life, and rode through the chaos to bring me here, to safety.”

Vaeron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But why would he do that? Daemon says he’s just trying to make amends for his family’s treachery. That he’s nothing more than a desperate fool.”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s more complicated than that, my dear. Gwayne… he did it out of love, out of loyalty to someone who meant the world to him once.” You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. The truth was a blade you’d kept sheathed for too long, and it was time to draw it, no matter how much it might wound.

Vaeron looked at you expectantly, sensing the weight of what you were about to say. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, needing the touch to anchor yourself.

“Vaeron… the man in the dungeons, Gwayne Hightower… he is your father.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Vaeron’s eyes widened, the shock raw and unfiltered in his young face. He pulled his hand away, as if trying to distance himself from the revelation. “What?” he breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. “My father? But… Daemon… I always thought…”

You nodded, pain lancing through your heart as you watched him grapple with the truth. “Daemon has raised you as his own, and in many ways, he is your father. But you have another father, by blood, and that is Gwayne Hightower. You were conceived out of a moment we both knew would never be more than a fleeting dream. He wanted to marry me, to build a life, but—”

Vaeron shook his head, backing away as he struggled to process it all. “No,” he muttered, as if denying the words could somehow make them untrue. “Daemon’s always told me I’m a Targaryen, that my blood is pure, that I am his son, a prince of the realm. How could—why didn’t you tell me? Why now, when he’s chained beneath us like some criminal?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I didn’t want you to bear the burden of that knowledge before you were ready. You were always meant to be strong, to carry the legacy of the dragons. But Gwayne… he isn’t just a Hightower, he’s the man who saved my life when no one else dared. Whatever his blood, he does care for you in his own way, even from afar now.”

Vaeron’s lips trembled as he stared at you, his confusion and hurt palpable. “I need… I need to think,” he stammered, turning abruptly and nearly stumbling over himself in his haste to leave the room.

“Vaeron, wait—” you called after him, but he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the emptiness of the chamber, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your chest tightened with regret. You had known this moment would come eventually, but you had hoped it would be under different circumstances. There was so much more you wanted to tell him, so much more to explain. But for now, all you could do was hope that he would find a way to understand, to see beyond the conflict of bloodlines and names.

In that fleeting moment before he vanished, you had seen the storm raging behind his eyes—a storm you knew would not settle easily. And in that storm, you glimpsed the boy he had always been and the man he was becoming, torn between the truths that defined him.

But you could only wait, knowing that the choice between dragons and towers was his to make, even if it broke your heart in the process.

Vaeron’s footsteps echoed through the winding corridors of Dragonstone as he fought to steady his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a heavy drum drowning out the world around him. The truth his mother had just revealed rang in his ears like a cruel jest—Gwayne Hightower is your father. The words were a blade lodged deep in his chest, twisting with every thought, every doubt that now swirled within him.

He turned a corner, the air cool against his flushed face, and found himself in the dimly lit dining hall. The large table at its center was set for the evening meal, though the room was mostly empty save for one figure seated at the end, absently twirling a goblet in his hand.

Jacaerys Velaryon looked up, catching sight of Vaeron. His dark curls fell loosely over his forehead, and his brown eyes narrowed in concern as he took in his cousin’s strained expression. “Vaeron?” he called out, his voice low but filled with the warmth of kinship. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

Vaeron stiffened, his gaze flickering away as he hesitated at the threshold of the hall. The weight of the revelation clung to him like a shroud, and for a moment, he wondered if it would be easier to bury it, to pretend that nothing had changed. But Jacaerys’ patient eyes, filled with genuine care, drew him in like a tether.

With a resigned sigh, Vaeron walked over and slumped into the chair opposite Jace, the firelight casting shadows on his troubled face. He didn’t speak for a moment, merely stared at the table as he tried to gather the words that had lodged like stones in his throat.

Jace leaned forward, the lines of worry deepening on his brow. “Vaeron, you’re scaring me. What’s happened?”

“I…” Vaeron’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing, “I just learned something that changes everything.” He finally looked up, his eyes rimmed with uncertainty. “The man in the dungeons—the Hightower who brought Mother back from Rook’s Rest… He’s my father. My real father.”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in shock, his goblet nearly slipping from his grasp. “What? But—Daemon’s always—”

“I know,” Vaeron cut in, voice strained. “I thought Daemon was my father, too. I grew up believing I was his son, a true Targaryen. But Mother told me just now that Gwayne Hightower is my sire. I’m… I’m a bastard.”

The word hung heavy in the air between them, laden with shame and confusion. Vaeron felt his chest tighten again, the sting of doubt gnawing at him. What did that make him now? Was he even truly a part of this family? A dragon in name only, born of a union that should never have been?

Jacaerys’ expression softened as he saw the pain in Vaeron’s eyes. He set down his goblet and leaned closer, trying to find the right words. “Listen to me, Vaeron,” he began, voice steady and laced with a touch of empathy. “We’ve both been raised with more lies and expectations than most people could handle. But if anyone understands how it feels to question who you are, it’s me.”

Vaeron blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jacaerys gave a rueful smile, leaning back in his chair as he stared into the flames. “I’ve heard the whispers, the taunts—people saying I’m no true Targaryen because of my questionable blood. They mock the fact that I don’t have silver hair or violet eyes, that I look more like a commoner than a prince. And sometimes… sometimes, I wonder if they’re right.”

The honesty in Jace’s voice caught Vaeron off guard, pulling him out of his own turmoil. He had always admired Jacaerys—his confidence, his sense of duty. He had never imagined that his cousin carried doubts of his own.

“But you’re still recognized as one of us,” Vaeron murmured, brow furrowed. “You’re still heir to the Iron Throne, still a dragon. No one would ever dare deny that.”

Jace nodded, but his gaze remained distant. “True, but that doesn’t erase the whispers. Even with the dragon blood flowing through my veins, I’ve always felt like I had to prove I’m worthy of the name Targaryen. But you…” He looked back at Vaeron, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You look like a Targaryen. No one would ever question your blood—silver hair—you were born a dragon, even if your father wasn’t one.”

Vaeron’s breath hitched at the kindness in Jace’s words. But it didn’t soothe the ache gnawing at his heart. “Does it even matter, Jace? If I’m truly a bastard, what does any of this mean? My whole life, I’ve been told I’m meant for something great, but now… now I don’t even know who I really am.”

Jacaerys’ expression grew firm, his voice taking on a rare edge of command. “It means you choose who you are, Vaeron. Blood alone doesn’t decide it. You were raised in this family, loved by your mother and Daemon alike. That is what makes you one of us. Not some Hightower who’s rotting in a cell.”

Vaeron’s throat tightened at the thought of Gwayne, the man who had defied his own House, who had thrown everything away to save the woman he loved. Did that make him worthy of being called a father? Could that kind of loyalty outweigh his bloodline, or was it too little too late?

“I need time to think,” Vaeron murmured, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… a lot.”

Jacaerys reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on Vaeron’s shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, cousin. You’re not alone in this, alright? Whatever you decide, you’ll always have me and the rest of your family behind you.”

Vaeron nodded numbly, grateful for Jace’s support but still lost in the sea of confusion and emotions swirling within him. The questions gnawed at him relentlessly, leaving him torn between the man he had always believed himself to be and the truth that now threatened to shatter that identity.

The tension clung to the air in the dining hall like smoke, heavy and suffocating. Vaeron sat in silence after Jacaerys left, lost in the maze of his thoughts, unable to untangle the twisted knots of his emotions. His whole life had been built on one truth: that he was a Targaryen, son of Daemon, a prince destined for greatness. But now that truth had shattered, and he felt like a child cast adrift on a stormy sea, unsure of where to turn.

The sound of footsteps approached, measured and deliberate, and Vaeron looked up to see Daemon entering the hall. His expression was unreadable, though his sharp eyes missed nothing as they swept over Vaeron’s troubled face. For a moment, the prince said nothing, merely studying his son—his real son in all but blood—with a calculating gaze.

“You’re brooding,” Daemon finally said, his voice low and tinged with an edge of dry amusement. “A trait you didn’t inherit from your mother, I’d wager.”

Vaeron clenched his fists on the table, unable to meet Daemon’s eyes. “Everything I’ve ever known about myself is a lie,” he muttered, his voice thick with anger and confusion. “How am I supposed to believe anything now?”

Daemon’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “You think this changes who you are?” he asked, stepping closer. “You think some whispered secret about your parentage wipes away the blood that runs through your veins? You are still a Targaryen, still my son in every way that matters.”

Vaeron’s eyes snapped up, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “But I’m not,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “I’m not truly your son, not by blood. I’m just… a bastard. A mistake.”

Daemon’s expression darkened, and he took a seat across from Vaeron, his presence commanding and unyielding. “Is that what you truly believe?” he asked, his tone both gentle and sharp. “That blood alone defines who you are? You were raised in the shadow of dragons, with the legacy of kings and conquerors shaping your every step. That is no lie. I’ve taught you, guided you, prepared you for the world because I chose you as my heir, not because of whose seed sired you.”

Vaeron looked away, struggling with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. “But… why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a whisper now, tinged with the pain of betrayal. “All this time, you let me believe…”

Daemon sighed, his gaze growing distant as if recalling a memory long buried. “Because you needed to grow up without that burden,” he said quietly. “What good would it have done to burden you with a truth that might have only confused you, made you question everything? You were born a Targaryen in all the ways that matter. I’ve treated you as such, and so has your mother. That will never change, no matter who your true father is.”

Vaeron’s chest tightened at the mention of his mother, and he shook his head. “But now I know, and I can’t just pretend it doesn’t matter. That man in the dungeons… he’s the reason I exist, and yet he’s a stranger to me. How can I make sense of that?”

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wood. “Gwayne Hightower might be your blood father, but that doesn’t mean he has any claim over you,” he said with a hint of disdain in his voice. “He made a choice back at Rook’s Rest—one that I don’t entirely understand myself. He risked everything to bring your mother back here. Perhaps he thought it would redeem him somehow, or maybe he truly cared for her in his own way. Either way, he’s asked to speak with you.”

Vaeron stiffened at the words, his heart lurching in his chest. “He wants to see me?”

Daemon nodded slowly. “He does. He requested it, though he knows the choice is yours to make. I told him I’d send you, but the decision is yours. You can go to him, or you can ignore it and leave him to rot where he belongs.”

Vaeron’s mind reeled, torn between the curiosity gnawing at him and the fear of facing the man who had upended his world with his very existence. He shook his head, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I can’t. Not today. I don’t even know what I’d say to him… what I’d ask.”

Daemon studied him for a moment before nodding in understanding. “That’s your right. You don’t have to face him until you’re ready—if you ever are.” He reached out, placing a hand on Vaeron’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “But know this, boy: whoever sired you, you are still my son. You bear the Targaryen name because I have claimed you as my own, because you were raised with fire in your blood. No man, be he Hightower or otherwise, can take that from you.”

Vaeron looked up at him, searching Daemon’s face for some trace of deception, but all he saw was the fierce loyalty and pride that Daemon had always shown him. For all his faults and ruthlessness, Daemon had been the only father Vaeron had ever known. And in that moment, the boy clung to that truth like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” Vaeron murmured, his voice small but filled with genuine gratitude. “I just… need time. To sort through it all.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a rare, almost affectionate smile, one reserved for the few he held dear. “Take all the time you need,” he said quietly. “But remember, you are a Targaryen, and no truth will ever change that. Not in the eyes of those who matter.”

With that, Daemon rose from the table, giving Vaeron a final nod before turning to leave the hall. Vaeron watched him go, the conflicting emotions still swirling in his chest, but there was a newfound clarity in his heart. The path ahead was clouded, and the shadow of Gwayne Hightower’s existence hanged over him like a specter. But for now, he knew where he stood—with the family that had shaped him, that had loved him despite the secrets and lies.

But deep down, in the quiet recesses of his mind, he knew that one day he would have to face the man who had saved his mother and who claimed the title of his father. Just… not today. Today, he would hold on to the identity he’d always known and trust that, in time, he would find his way through the tangled web of blood and loyalty.

For now, he was still Vaeron Targaryen, son of Daemon—trueborn or not, dragon or not, he was still a part of the legacy that burned brightly in the heart of House Targaryen. And that was enough to anchor him, at least for tonight.

The corridors beneath Dragonstone were dark and damp, the oppressive chill seeping into Vaeron’s bones as he made his way toward the dungeons. It had been a week since his world had been upended, a week of wrestling with the truth of his parentage. He had tried to push it aside, to focus on the training sessions with his cousins, the books his mother insisted he study, the words of comfort from Daemon. But every night, when the candles burned low and the castle quieted, the thought gnawed at him: if he didn’t face the man in the dungeons, he would never truly understand where he came from—or who he was.

So here he was, descending deeper into the belly of the fortress, the iron doors looming ahead. A guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing him entry. The door creaked open, revealing the shadowed cell where Gwayne Hightower sat slumped against the cold stone wall, chains rattling faintly with his every breath.

Gwayne’s face was bruised and gaunt, the days of imprisonment leaving their mark on him. But his eyes, so strikingly similar to Vaeron’s own, flicked up the moment the boy entered. Surprise and something softer—something like hope—flashed in his gaze.

“Vaeron,” he murmured, as if testing the name on his lips. “You came.”

Vaeron stood just inside the threshold, tension thrumming through his body. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—anger, indifference, desperation? But all he felt was a tangled mix of emotions that refused to settle.

After a long silence, Vaeron finally took a few steps closer, his voice tentative as he asked, “How could I not? I had to face you… or I couldn’t live with myself.”

Gwayne’s expression softened, a flicker of pride and sorrow crossing his face. “You’re braver than most would be in your position,” he said quietly. He shifted slightly, wincing at the pull of his wounds and restraints. “How… how is your mother? Is she recovering?”

Vaeron’s heart tightened at the genuine concern in Gwayne’s voice. Despite everything, despite the shame and anger swirling within him, he could not deny the sincerity of the man’s question. “She’s getting better,” Vaeron replied, a hint of guardedness still in his tone. “But her injuries are still bad. The fall from Silverwing was…” His voice trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Gwayne nodded, his jaw clenched as if in shared pain. “She’s strong. She always has been. I knew if I could just get her here, she’d fight her way back.” His voice grew hoarse with emotion, and he averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Vaeron. “Thank you for telling me.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint drip of water echoing through the dungeons. Vaeron swallowed the lump in his throat and finally spoke the question that had been burning in him since he decided to come here. “Daemon says you’re a traitor,” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “That you can’t be trusted, that you’ve betrayed your family and your House. But… you saved my mother. You risked your life, your honor, everything.”

Gwayne’s expression didn’t change, but something deep and resolute flickered in his eyes. “Daemon’s right—I am a traitor to my own kin, to my House. I turned my back on everything I was raised to uphold. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

The simple conviction in his words struck Vaeron like a blow. He could see the truth of it written in every line of Gwayne’s face, in the quiet determination that had driven him to this point. Vaeron wanted to challenge him, to demand answers, but instead, he found himself asking, “Why?”

Gwayne’s lips curled into a faint, sad smile. “Because she was worth it. Your mother was worth more than any loyalty to my House, more than any honor I might have clung to. You see, I loved her long before any of this war came to pass. I wanted to marry her, to build a life with her, but your uncle, King Viserys, had other plans. When she was given to Daemon, I knew my place would only ever be on the outside, looking in.” He paused, eyes darkening with the weight of old wounds. “But that didn’t change how I felt. When I saw her falling in battle, when I saw Silverwing plummet… I didn’t think about anything else. I just acted. I’d rather be a traitor and live knowing I saved her than be a loyal man and watch her die.”

Vaeron’s chest tightened, torn between resentment and reluctant understanding. “You say that like it was noble, like it justifies everything. But it’s still treason. You abandoned your family. You betrayed your own.”

Gwayne’s expression grew more serious, his voice a low rumble in the dim light. “Yes, and I will face the consequences of that. I know what I’ve done, and I’ve made my peace with it. But you must understand, Vaeron—whatever Daemon tells you, whatever anyone says—you are my son. I know I have no right to claim you, not after all these years, but it doesn’t change what you are to me.”

Vaeron felt the words hanging in the air like a challenge, daring him to acknowledge the bond that existed between them, even if he wished it didn’t. He looked down, his fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I was raised to believe I’m a Targaryen, that I’m Daemon’s son. Now everything feels like a lie. How can I be both?”

Gwayne’s gaze softened, the hardness of his demeanor giving way to something almost tender. “You are both,” he said quietly. “You were raised as a Targaryen, with all the fire and pride that comes with it. That is a part of you. But you’re also my blood, whether you like it or not. And you get to decide what that means for you.”

Vaeron’s mind spun with conflicting emotions—anger, guilt, a flicker of something like pity. He wasn’t sure if he could ever see Gwayne as his father, not in the way Daemon had been. But he couldn’t deny that the man who sat before him had risked everything for his mother, for the chance to protect her even when all seemed lost. And for that alone, he couldn’t simply dismiss him.

After a long silence, Vaeron finally shook his head. “I can’t face you—not today. There’s too much I don’t understand, too much I still need to figure out.”

Gwayne nodded, accepting the decision without protest. “I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give,” he said softly. “But know that I’m here, for as long as they allow me to draw breath. And whatever choice you make, whatever path you choose—I will always be proud of you.”

The words stung, leaving Vaeron with a raw ache in his chest. He wanted to respond, to say something more, but the weight of everything—his own confusion, the war, the fractured loyalties—was too much. He turned abruptly, leaving the cell without another word, his thoughts swirling in a tempest of conflicting emotions.

As he walked away, the echo of Gwayne’s voice lingered in his mind, a reminder that some truths, no matter how painful, couldn’t be ignored forever. But for now, he needed time to reconcile the man he had always believed himself to be with the truths he couldn’t yet fully accept.

And so, Vaeron returned to the world above, leaving the man who called himself his father to the shadows, knowing that one day—perhaps too soon—he would have to confront the reality of who he truly was.

[flowerandblood]

Paradise Fruit (1)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: watching each other masturbate, soft, poetic smut, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After being treated by King Saladin's physicians, King Baldwin begins to leave his chambers. The people of the court whisper around her that the young ruler will not even live to be thirty years old. As a lady of waiting of his sister, she attracts his attention. ]

Author's Note: I said it and I did it: I know this isn't your typical Ewan Mitchell character, but I couldn't resist. I'm glad I wrote this because I had too many thoughts after watching this movie and now my soul is at peace! For those who haven't seen Kingdom of Heaven, I highly recommend it, it's an amazing production.

Word count: 3.900

Part 2 – White Marriage

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Jerusalem seemed to her at once a paradise and a hell on earth, both beautiful, sublimely sacred, as much as broken, dirty and cruel. The reign of King Baldwin IV was a reign of restraint and peace, the greatest evidence of which was his rich diplomatic correspondence with King Saladin himself.

Baldwin gave permission for the Muslim part of Jerusalem to hold prayers as it wished, on payment of appropriate taxes – a huge step towards reconciling the city's disparate population and a cause of contention among the Christian knights.

As lady of the court, she accompanied the royal sister, Sibylla, like her shadow, serving her with conversation, reading books in her company, being the equivalent of her friend and confidante, watching over her welfare.

She was the third daughter, and was therefore a burden to her lord father, who sent her to Jerusalem to the royal court when she was thirteen. Her father hoped that Sibylla herself would find her a suitable husband and put up the coins for her dowry, allowing her family to glory on the Old Continent in the fact that her chosen one was favoured by the God in the Holy Land.

Looking at Princess Sibylla's marriage, she prayed that she would never meet her fate, preferring to eventually fade into old age in a monastery.

Her Lady abhorred her husband: not in a physical context, for he was not unlike other great knights in stature or appearance, but in his heart, which was filled with the lust for power.

Although he believed that he was acting in the name of Christ on the Earth, he represented neither his mercy nor his prudence, being a simply unkind and spiteful man.

Sibylla was given in marriage to him at the age of 15, and she watched her sufferings and humiliations in silence, only being able to allow herself occasionally to close her hand on hers, giving her encouragement.

It was known that her husband's dream was the death of the King, for it would then be his wife who would become heir to the throne. Someone might laugh at this wish, knowing that King Baldwin was only 16 years old when she arrived at court.

However, despite such a young age, it was known that the King would probably not live to see his thirtieth year.

The cruel disease that had descended upon his body when he was still a young child, leprosy, was the reason why his whole body was covered, and his face was adorned with a beautiful silver mask – the only thing visible through it were his eyes, bright and wise, the skin around his eyelids all red.

His sister despaired at his undeserved suffering, at the thought that his body was falling apart, his skin peeling and pulling away from his muscles, causing him excruciating pain. He could not touch anyone or be touched directly because his disease was contagious.

Thus, one of the greatest rulers of Jerusalem, a man who had accomplished the impossible and ushered, at least for a while, the Kingdom of Heaven into this forbidden holy land, suffered daily torment.

As she prayed for the health of her family and his sister, she also prayed for him – since Christ was able to miraculously cure lepers, as the Bible itself said, perhaps there was hope for him too.

As a sign of respect and friendship, the Muslim King Saladin sent a retinue of his best physicians to relieve the King of his pain, which must have helped at least to some extent, for although she had previously only seen him in audience standing by his sister's side, now the King began to walk through the palace gardens on his own.

One day, when Sibylla noticed him standing next to one of the monks, she approached him immediately, praising his name, and she moved humbly to follow her, feeling grateful at the thought that the King was indeed feeling better.

That perhaps her prayers had been answered.

"Brother. It rejoices me to see you in the fresh air, away from the suffocating comfort of your chambers full of books and parchments." Sibylla said, pulling her shawl from her mouth, revealing her face to her brother.

As a married woman, she covered her face out of sheer decency, as her husband was a jealous man, but she, as a maiden, in addition almost always being in the presence of her Lady, did not have to do so.

"Your judgement is too harsh, dear sister. Books and parchments are my solace in the hardest of times." He said calmly and lazily, effortlessly – it was the first time she had heard his voice this close and she thought the words coming out of his mouth were like humming.

He had a white linen cloth draped over his head that reminded her of the headgear of the pharaohs, a richly embroidered white robe and gloves on his body, a silver mask portraying the features of a handsome, masculine man on his face.

She swallowed hard as his gaze shifted to her, catching her looking shamelessly at her ruler's face, causing her to lower her head immediately.

"Let's take a walk. We should take advantage of the beautiful weather." Said his sister, wanting to take his arm, he however moved away immediately and shook his head.

Pain and sadness crossed Sibylla's face, but after a moment she only nodded and forced herself to smile, walking ahead with him, letting her and the King's servant walk a few steps behind them.

That evening, for the first time, the King summoned her.

"Do not fret." Sibylla said. "My brother is a man of decency and sensitivity. Rest assured, he will not set upon your virtue or force you to do things unworthy of a lady. He confessed to me that he would like to look at your face for at least a moment longer and asked me to convey his wish to you, indicating that you may refuse."

She looked at her in disbelief, feeling the blush of embarrassment appear on her cheeks at her words, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

"If it is the will of our beloved King, I will do so." She said, and Sibylla nodded, giving her one satisfied smile.

She wore her most beautiful robe and hair adornments as if she were about to attend a nuptials – the material cast over her body was blue, fastened at the shoulders and waist with golden buckles, in her hair at the sides jewellery resembling a wreath of laurel leaves.

As she entered his chamber, candles burned all around, she was also struck by the intense scent of lavender – she noticed immediately his white, seated figure bent over thick tomes. His head turned towards her, in his mask she was able to see the reflection of everything around him.

"Do not be afraid. Come closer." He said softly and she nodded, feeling her heart flutter in her chest like a bird.

Her footsteps on the stone floor echoed through his chamber, the rustling of her robe as she sat down opposite him made her sound similar to the rustling of leaves.

She swallowed hard as she watched him sigh and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking her straight in the eye – she immediately looked away, unaccustomed to such confidentiality with anyone.

"No." He said. "Don't deny me this pleasure."

She tightened her fingers on the material of her garment, lifting her gaze to him again, feeling herself involuntarily begin to breathe through her mouth.

She could see the calm and curiosity in his eyes – his head was tilted slightly to one side, as if he was thinking about something, silence all around him.

"I'm making you uncomfortable." He concluded.

She shook her head quickly, horrified, thinking that something in her posture or gaze had discouraged him.

"No, Your Grace. I just don't know how to behave. What is appropriate for me to do or say in your presence. Silence is safe." She confessed in shame, lowering her eyes to her fingers again, reminding herself after a moment that she should not do so.

The King hummed at her words.

"Do not take my words as my attempt to mock you, however, knowing how little time I have left in this wretched world has made me tread lightly in courtly etiquette." He said with amusement, not taking his eyes off her, something flashed in his gaze as if someone had lit a candle inside them.

"We waste time feigning care and respect, hiding what is true, arising from the depths of our hearts, because that is what etiquette demands of us. When we stand before God, will we say to him: I have never really loved or sympathised, but my lips have left many beautiful, great words?" He asked, and she looked at him in disbelief, completely surprised by his approach and what she had heard.

Some part of her knew he was right.

"In this world, only the King can afford to lack beautiful words." She muttered, hearing after a moment that something akin to a chuckle had left his lips.

"You are mistaken. One word from the King can either create or destroy."

She lowered her head, wondering if he had just rebuked her, he, however, seemed satisfied.

"My reign will end with my death, which will be in a few years at the latest. I will not beget an heir to whom I can pass on my philosophy of ruling, the values that are essential. My sister's husband and his greed will sit on the throne, and Jerusalem will fall." He said calmly, as if he were telling her about the weather, his fingers clad in a white silk glove tapping rhythmically against the table top.

She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her heart, wondering if perhaps the reason he had summoned her was quite different from what she had suspected.

"What shall I do, my King?" She asked, and he laughed again, louder this time, looking at her as if something in her question gave him pleasure.

"Your devotion rejoices my heart. Do not think, however, that you will hear from me an order that would condemn you to eternal damnation. I could not then leave this world in peace. No. I wish that when I disappear, someone will watch over my sister. To help her escape when all is lost here, no matter what her husband will desire. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked softly, and she nodded, thinking she felt more respect towards him than ever.

"Yes, my King." She replied.

He smiled at her words, she saw it in his gaze. She lifted her gaze higher, towards the windows by which the shoots of dried lavender hung, surrounding them with a pleasant, refreshing scent.

"I had these beautiful flowers brought in from far away. They mask well the unpleasant ailments of my illness on hot days. The smell of rotting flesh is one of the most disgusting to man, for nature equates it with spoiled food from which he can die." He explained, and she looked at him in disbelief, feeling hot shame ripple through her body at his words.

His suffering must have been unimaginable.

"Knights praise their own greatness and bravery during battles wishing for songs to be sung about them. I, for one, hope to hear songs about Baldwin IV, a wise and prudent King, a merciful Monarch who fought each day with his own suffering and triumphed. I do not know the words that can convey my admiration for your person." She mouthed in a trembling voice, feeling that her hands lying on her thighs were quivering all over with emotion, burning tears for some reason squeezed under her eyelids.

The King looked at her for a long moment in silence, something in his gaze that made her feel a pleasant tingling in her fingertips.

"Your soul is as beautiful as your body. You are like a breath of cool wind on a hot day. I am grateful to you for allowing me to experience this joy."

As she left his chamber, for some reason she burst out crying.

She could not understand why: it seemed to her that her heart squeezed all over in pain, not only out of compassion, but also out of a sense of injustice that a man so great and enlightened was experiencing undeserved torment every day.

Or was it through his ordeal that he became such a man, such a King?

If the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven were to open before anyone in the second life, it was before him, she thought.

That night she could not sleep: she was ashamed of herself for thinking about him. She tried not to pay attention to men, knowing their nature, knowing that they might consider it an invitation on her part to sin.

However, the time she spent with him, although she might perceive his words as ambiguous, seemed to her something almost spiritual, a moment of awakening, as if she had been in a half-sleep until the moment she looked into his eyes.

His gaze would find her in the audience among the other servants and ladies of the court. She knew this because his eyes stopped on her face, and although he listened intently to what his subjects were saying to him, she knew that for that one moment he was focused only on her.

The flutter of her heart shamed her, allowing her to realise that, like a flower, a warm and pleasant feeling was blossoming within her, coming from God.

"You occupy my brother's thoughts. He follows you with his eyes." Said Sibylla as they walked together through the corridors of the great, cold stone fortress.

"It was not my desire to distract him from the affairs of the Kingdom." She confessed with shame, entwining her fingers on her womb, looking sadly at her fingers. His sister snorted at her words.

"Jerusalem is destroying him. It is the Kingdom that is his disease. He has taken upon himself all its sins, purified it. He gave it years of peace and dignity." She said with a pain from which she felt a sting in her heart.

Why was it that whenever she thought of him she wanted to cry?

"I want to relieve him." She said finally, looking at her uncertainly, afraid of how the words sounded when they left her mouth. Sibylla stopped, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"Don't be a fool. My brother will not condemn you to a fate similar to his own."

"There are many ways to experience relief. You said so yourself, Princess."

Sibylla looked at her thoughtfully and after a moment nodded, giving her wordless consent to whatever she wished to do.

The trust she had in her intimidated her.

As the siblings' chambers were next to each other, walking along the corridor from one quarters to the other was not a problem for her – Sibylla dismissed her guards so that no one could see in what negligee she went to the king's chamber.

Her long hair was loose, her body covered only by a thin nightgown, rubbed with fragrant oils, on her shoulders a cashmere shawl with which she covered herself to protect herself from the cold.

When she closed the door behind her and turned to face him, his eyes were wide in shock. He was silent for a moment, clearly not knowing what to say.

"No." He said finally. "Go back to your chamber."

"I have not come to you to sin. Does the sight of me disgust you, my King?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling that she was breathing heavily through her mouth, her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

She saw something in his gaze that looked like he felt pain, his figure creased slightly, as if he had run out of strength.

"God created you to subject me to the ultimate trial. He is torturing me like Job."

She felt a single, warm, heavy tear run down her cheek at his words, her body trembling all over, hot and cold at the same time with desire, though she did not know what kind or what was causing it.

"God sent me to soothe your suffering." She whispered.

They looked at each other like that for a long moment that lasted an eternity, and only after a while did she realise that his silence was due to the fact that he wanted whatever she was going to do to be due to her free will. Therefore, she moved tentatively towards his bed, on which she saw a clean, snow-white sheets, and lay down on her back, putting her shawl aside.

She looked up at him – his gaze was fixed on her, his silhouette sitting in a chair by the window frozen in stillness, the whiteness of his attire seeming to her to shine amidst the candles and the surrounding darkness of the night.

She swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in her throat as her fingers lifted to the ties of her nightgown – she untied the knot, a pleasant squeeze spreading between her thighs, something sticky beginning to leak from it onto the sheet beneath her buttocks.

"– does what I am doing disgust you, my King? – is it a sin? –" She asked, sliding the thin material off her shoulders in a gentle, soft motion, unashamedly revealing her plump, sweet breasts. His gaze fled to them, as if what he had just seen simultaneously terrified and excited him.

"– looking at you, all I feel is desire – it's me sinning in my mind, not you –" He whispered so that she barely heard him, his hand sliding from the table top to his thigh.

Though she knew it was wrong, her whole body screamed, wanting him to touch her, to check for himself how soft and warm her flesh was, her moist, swollen womanhood, pulsing around nothing in desire.

"– not just you, Your Grace –" She muttered in a trembling voice, shamefully mimicking his movements, her long, small fingers sliding down her belly between her thighs, sinking into her warm folds like the moist flesh of an exotic fruit.

His head bowed as they both made a strange, unnatural sound full of surprise at the same moment, a moan as if they had caused each other pain, but yet all she could feel was a wonderful, hot tingling in her quivering womanhood, in her lips, in her nipples, in the tips of her fingertips.

He did not allow her to look at what he was touching under the material of his robe, she could however see the shape of that part of his body outlined on the material – his manhood was long and fat like a piece of stick, growing larger and larger with each squeeze of his hand.

She threw her head back, imagining feeling something that big inside her, in an involuntary reflex finding with her fingertips her puffy slit, slick and tight, resisting her as she tried to slide it inside her.

"– let me see –" He whispered, as if asking for something dirty, disgusting, repulsive.

She, however, felt only the heat of pleasure at his words shake her body – her thighs involuntarily parted, her legs bent at the knees allowing her nightgown to shamelessly reveal all that only her husband should be able to look at.

She felt tears under her eyelids at the thought of wanting to be his wife.

"– you have my love, my King – you have my heart –" She breathed out, digging her fingers deeper into the delicate structure of her folds, teasing again and again the small bud from which her body went through shivers of wonderful, familiar pleasure.

His eyes were fixed on what was between her thighs, his gaze hazy and hot, his breath heavy, the sound of his hand smacking against his flesh sticky and lewd.

"– like the inside of a ripe fruit – like Eve in paradise –" He breathed out, staring at her as if he were looking at something delightful, accelerating the splats of his hand with a low grunt of pleasure. "– so beautiful –"

She felt a thrill of pleasure shake her, shivers ran through her cheeks, breasts and legs at his words, so shameless and yet poetic, beautiful, like the Song of Songs of King David.

"– her breasts are like two fawns –" She hummed, quoting one of the biblical verses, the gaze of her King again fixed on her face, full of fire, heavenly or infernal. "– like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies –"

"– her lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb – milk and honey are under her tongue –" He whispered in reply, quoting another of the songs from the manuscript, making her involuntarily allow her own fingers to invade her insides at last.

She threw her head back with a girlish moan, her free hand gripping the frame of his bed, rolling her hips back and forth, stretching her tight interior with the sticky clicks of her wetness.

"– she is a spring enclosed – a sealed fountain –" He muttered and let out a low, helpless groan of relief, leaning down, his hand lying on the table top clenched into a fist.

She felt a wonderful convulsion shake her body at his words, her fleshy, moist walls beginning to throb and clench around her own fingers.

She imagined that her body had just sucked his seed deep inside her, which would take root in her like a tree, giving him a future and an inheritance.

She moaned as she felt her pleasure reach its peak, seeing for a moment only the darkness before her eyes – her fingers, all wet with her moisture stroked for a moment more the little spot deep inside her, her whole body hot and sweaty from the exertion.

Her release was wonderful and sweet, as if she had tasted the most delicious of fruits.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, his figure relaxed and spread out comfortably on the chair, his hand laid back on its armrest, his glove sticky with something pearly and shiny.

They breathed loudly for a while, just watching each other – she decided not to cover her body, wanting to give him that pleasure, wishing only his gaze could see her like this.

Bare.

He sighed quietly, cocking his head, his gaze satisfied, indicating that he had clearly made a decision in his heart.

"– I will marry you tomorrow at dawn –"

She blinked and raised herself up on her elbows, horrified.

"– my King – that's not –"

"– I know that this was not your intention – I also know that you will understand that it will be a white marriage, which I will declare to all and sundry – you will not lose your maidenhood – you will not bear me children – the Kingdom will treat you after my death as a saint who stood by the dying King in his misery – when I join my Father in the Heavens, you will be free to remarry –" He explained and she shook her head, feeling offended by his words.

"– I will not take another husband –"

He fell silent and swallowed hard, as if something in the certainty in which she said this moved him deeply.

"– very well – I have only one condition: you will never take off my mask – not even after my death – you will see me as I am only in the Kingdom of Heaven –"

[testrella]

CRAZY RICH ASIANS…! G.SATORU X READER : PROLOGUE

𝜗𝜚 SYNOPSIS 𝜗𝜚

since the beginning of japan, the gojo clan has always been wealthy. the clan brought their money to rural japan and built from the bottom up, making them the landlords of half of japan.

gojo satoru, the heir to everything, finds himself in a difficult position as he fell for somebody who his family would never approve. yet, he cannot find himself to leave as you are the first girl who isn't interested in his family's wealth.

𝜗𝜚 | PROLOGUE

money.

sony corporation, mitsubishi corporation, nintendo co, sanrio co etc…

all these companies are based in japan and rack up billions in revenue every month. with money, comes power, and with power comes authority over everything.

and that was all satoru ever knew growing up.

“gojo satoru! how would i even begin to explain your state to your mother?!”

the first time satoru noticed his authority over people in the real world was when he was seven.

he was covered in mud, head to toe. any other day, he could’ve gotten away with it. but today was not those days.

the suit personally made for him that day was too tight. he believed if he took a walk outside, it’d stretch and fit to his liking. one thing led to another and his now ¥5790 suit was in ruins.

though he didn’t see an issue with the suit being covered in grimy wet dirt, and possibly worms. his mother gave him permission to go outside. but she knew that satoru, at age seven, would find a way to mess up his suit.

“how could you explain what to me?” the snake herself walked through satoru’s door.

satoru always believed his mother was a snake. not because her teeth could most certainly be filled with venom, or the fact she was twofaced. but because she lurks silently and waits for the right moment to wreak havoc.

before he could greet her, a loud, sharp smack was echoed in the room. almost like a wet towel was being thrown against the floor.

“how dare you let my child walk around looking like this?” her voice was strong and full of jurisdiction.

satoru watched the head maid get beaten to the floor. it was hit after hit. it was like a broken movie cd, and it replaying the worst scene.

“mom, please stop..” he spoke barely above a whisper. but somewhere within that sentence, he gained consciousness.

as he watched blood splattered across the room, he knew in that moment that he was the only one who could say something. everyone watched in terror as the young boy stood with unshaken bravery.

“mother, as future heir to the gojo clan, i-i command you to stop!!”

and she did. that was power.

and nobody in japan had any when standing next to gojo satoru.

taking care of kids full-time wasn’t something you had in mind. children are snotty, had sticky fingers and asked a million questions that have no answers.

your heart was set on journalism.

you wanted to be the next to have their big break with the most jaw dropping piece. but fate had other ideas for me.

“boys in the back, please be quiet. how many times do i have to ask all of you to not talk while someone’s presenting??” a frustrated sigh escaped your lips as they continued their banter at the kid in front of the class.

now you find yourself in a secondary classroom, asking teenagers to be quite for the millionth time.

“miss. l/n,” your head turned to the direction of the child, “may i use the restroom? it’s an emergency.”

you knew him well enough that he was trying to escape from presenting his project next. the boy was quiet and kept to himself. the only time he would ever speak was to use the restroom, or to greet you in the morning.

“nice try, you can go after you present. come on up fushiguro, you’re next.” you gave him an encouraging smile as his posture slumped.

you rested your arms on your desk and watched the boy slowly walk up to the front. he gave you one last ‘do i have to?’ look before speaking to his peers.

once again, the group of boys snickered and made rude remarks towards him.

“look at emo boy up there. his hair is covering his entire face!”

“i bet you could punch him, and he wouldn’t see it coming.”

before you could silence them, your student spoke up.

“why don’t you come up and find out then?”

the class starts echoing ‘ooouuu’ at his comeback. as smart as it was, it was highly inappropriate. sighing, you stand up from your chair “okay, settle down everyo-“

“OH SO ITS LIKE THAT EMO BOY?!”

one of the boys from the back stands up so aggressively that it knocks down the desk in front of him.

“yeah, it’s like that.” fushiguro states with the straightest face anybody could have. he was unphased by the other’s outburst. as if he had his share of tantrums from others.

“you’re gonna let him talk to you like that? beat his ass!” one kid blurted.

“get his ass! we got you from right here…” another said while muttering the last sentence.

and of course, with teaching, you get to see your fair share of fights. although nothing could’ve prepared for you to see a five v one.

..and nothing, absolutely NOTHING could’ve prepared you to watch the quiet kid in your class demolish all five boys before being separated.

“megumi fushiguro! i will be calling your father, and he WILL be having a meeting with miss. l/n and myself.” declared the head of the school.

you watched awkwardly as he slumped down into his chair, muttering a quiet ‘he’s not my father’ and wiping the dry blood on his face. you wanted to speak up but the tension in office was too thick.

“i’ll- um,” both the dean and megumi look at you, the first to break the silence. “i’ll get fushiguro some ice and bandages. i’ll be back before his father-“

“he’s not my dad!”

“oh! his um, his guardian. i’ll be back before his guardian arrives.” you sigh realizing that any errands you’ve had before would have to be rescheduled.

the cold, tingling feelings lingers on both hands as you alternate the ice bag on your hands. your eyes are glued to the floor as you have today's events replay in your head.

from your lack of situational awareness, you bump into a wall. or at least what you thought was a wall. you look up and see a white haired male towering over you.

“woah there little lady, you okay? seems like we’re both in a hurry today.”

𝜗𝜚 | CHAPTER ONE : fight! fight! fight!

tag list: @roscpctals99 @poeticlovefanpage @mistyheart @sureconfused @chilichopsticks @lightshowerrr @faeryminnyx @0001010dog @myabae @nivi @therealestpussyeater @kolpvii @sleepykittycx @browrm @tojisworm-5 @universallystrangeravenue @catobsessedlady @shivzypuff @nico707 @invisible-mori @peqch-pie @dilflover-3 @lovelivelaygh1324 @mo0sin @gojoracle @foliea @honoredalone @goldenglow149 @portgas459ace @sealsu @misorastars @hyori2 @selysixn

[peterparkersnose]

A Tale of Two Eyes

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: trauma, mentions of suicide, mentions of Helaemond, toxic marriage, reader has established relationship with Aemond and they have children, reader is pregnant, marriage of convenience, political marriage, arguing, undertones of an abusive relationship, selfish Aemond, hate on the Blacks (love Rhaenyra tho, just for the story themes)

a/n woah I wrote?!?! Happy birthday Ewan ily mwah

summary Aemond's son and heir just met the same fate as he did all those years ago with Lucerys.

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 10 mins 11 seconds

That afternoon was a blur. Everything for Y/N has moved so quickly, yet so slowly at the same time. She had asked Ser Criston to fetch her sons, ten-year-old Daeron and six-year-old Aerion, for dinner. They had been playing out in the courtyard for a few hours. She had her three-year-old daughter, Visenya, sat and prepared to feast for the evening meal. Visenya wiggled in her seat, anxious for her brothers to join her to feast. The morning was rough on Y/N, as she was currently seven months pregnant with her fourth child with Aemond. Visenya had been a terror as well, as she has now taken to escaping her caretakers and seeking out Y/N specifically. Y/N was speaking to Visenya, trying to distract her from her hungry stomach and practicing her vowels when her mother-in-law, Alicent, came rushing into the dining room. The Dowager Queen looked frantic as she quickly came to Y/N’s side. 

“It’s Daeron,” she spoke, out of breath. “Daeron?” Y/N asked. Alicent motioned for her to follow her, as she did not want to alarm Visenya. Y/N immediately left Visenya with their nanny and followed her mother-in-law quickly down the castle halls.

“What has happened?” Y/N asked, holding her stomach with one hand and walking as fast as she possibly could. “Aegon and Viserys…” Alicent paused. The names of Rhaenyra’s last two surviving sons. They have always quarreled with her and Aemond’s sons, and now she truly feared the worst. 

“They have taken Daeron’s eye just as Lucerys did to Aemond years ago.”

Y/N abruptly stopped in the hallway, grabbing the wall for guidance.

“Excuse me?” she blinked a few times, angered at her mother-in-law for just dropping this knowledge on her. For the sake of her unborn child, she tried not to let her emotions run rampant.

For her first child, her first son, heir to the Iron Throne, and the beginning of the new Targaryen age has just been permanently maimed or killed. 

Aemond never attended dinners anymore. The man Y/N knew when they were first betrothed was long gone after the results of the dance. Aemond could barely deal with the grief of his siblings, niece, and nephews. Y/N had always speculated a secret love affair with her husband and his now-deceased sister, Helaena, but she never approached the subject. He was never the same after Helaena’s suicide. Aemond had been a broken man since, even though he was living out his dreams. He was now the King. The Blacks were defeated, only leaving Rhaenyra’s two legitimate sons with Daemon, as they were too young to understand the effects of what they were born into. Alicent took them in against her better judgment. 

So now, he sat in his office alone like he did most nights. The candlelight was dim and his wine glass was almost emptied. He sat hunched over letters, writing them to various Lords around Westeros. Aemond often filled his time with work so he could escape the horrors of his true life. It was pitch black outside and pouring now, as it had been hours since dinner was supposed to have happened. He heard a knock on his office door.

“Enter.”

He didn’t expect his wife. He straightened his posture and took off his reading magnifier from the bridge of his nose. He took in her essence. She was beautiful, he had to admit. Their marriage wasn’t ideal, but she had been essential for the success of the Greens in the dance, as their marriage brought House Targaryen together with one of the most powerful houses in Westeros. Aemond took a deep breath.

“My lady wife–”

His words got caught in his throat when he saw the blood on her hands. “Is the child all right?” 

Y/N nodded eagerly to assure him that this wasn’t a complication in her pregnancy. “What has happened? Is someone hurt?” Aemond eagerly asked, standing up from his desk and striding over to her. “I-It’s Daeron…”

“Daeron?” Aemond replied, relief running over him that the issue wasn’t the child. Yet he worried for his heir. Y/N was shaking, Aemond grabbed her hands. “You mustn't freak.” she asked of Aemond. His brows furrowed. “Calm yourself, woman. Explain what happened.” 

“Him and Aerion… got in a scuffle with Aegon and Viserys.”

Aemond’s grip tightened on Y/N’s hands. If it weren’t for the grace of her and Alicent, Aemond would have had those two children’s heads on spikes before they were old enough to realize their parents' crimes. “What prompted the fight?” he asked angrily. Y/N shrugged. “That–that is to be determined. I don’t want you to freak–”

“Do not tell me what to do. What is of Daeron?” he raised his voice to his wife. “He–”

Y/N took a deep breath and paused. She didn’t know how to approach this with her husband correctly and not trigger him from his past. Her hand moved to her husband's cheek, her fingers moving over the strap of his eyepatch slowly. “Do you remember?”

Aemond scoffed.

“Of course, I remember. You don’t need to remind me.” his lips pursed as he closed his remaining eye momentarily and sighed. “Why is this relevant?”

Y/N had no clue how to tell her husband this. She was expecting him to have the same reaction she and Queen Alicent were having. 

“Our son just met the same fate.”

Aemond pondered for a moment, then turned around and brushed Y/N’s hand off his cheek. He returned to his desk. He felt sick, he had to sit down. Aemond didn’t fully understand the situation yet but feared the worst. He was silent for a great moment, hearing a small sniffle coming from his wife brought him back to reality. “What happened to Daeron? Do you mean to tell me he’s lost his eye? Don’t tell me he’s dead…”

“He isn’t. But Viserys scraped it out like Lucerys did to yours.”

Aemond slammed his fist on the desk, making Y/N jump. Aemond seethed in anger, thoughts running rampant in his head. After a long pause, he spoke. “And did you tell my mother yet?”

“She is with him as we speak.” Y/N replied, anxiously waiting to see where her husband's emotions ran at that moment. “Where is Aerion? Is he harmed?” he asked of his spare, who could likely become his heir at any moment. “Aerion is fine just… traumatized. He tried to go after Viserys but Criston pulled him away when he got to the scene.”

Aemond seethed, then suddenly threw his wine goblet to the wall. It smashed and scared Y/N. “Aemond–”

“Send Daeron to my mother’s chambers. Tell her I’ll be along shortly, I have letters to write.”

He didn’t even look up at his wife as he put his spectacle back on. 

“What?” Y/N held her stomach with one hand, the other on her hip. She was confused. “You’re returning to your work?” She didn’t even get another word in before Aemond snapped. “Send Daeron to my mother's room at once!”

She was utterly shocked. How could he? Work? His son needed his father. The only person who could relate and help Daeron through this terrible time in his life… and Aemond chose to work? “Your son needs you!” 

Aemond growled. “I’ll tend to him later. He’s going to survive, and I have work to do.”

Y/N was flabbergasted. 

“You’re the only one who can help him understand. The boy is ten and just lost his eye! That is your son!”

Y/N knew she was fighting in a losing battle. But she had to plead for her son. He had been requesting his father for some time now. Aemond abruptly stood, walking to his door. He didn’t look at her once. “If you think talking to him will do him any good, I’ll do it. I’ll write my letters and come when I can,” he mumbled. When Y/N realized this was the best she was going to get, she decided to leave. As she was exiting the door, the child kicked in her womb roughly. She groaned and Aemond looked up to her, seeing her clutching her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said coldly. He watched her exit. She wasn’t expecting another word from him. 

She could hear him before she saw him. Y/N entered Alicent’s chamber to see her son sobbing, clinging to his grandmother. Alicent brushed his hair softly with her fingers, her stare distant. Y/N could tell that Alicent had seen this story before, and she didn’t like the ending. The look of vengeance plagued the middle-aged woman's face. As Daeron heard someone enter the room, he spoke.

“Father?” Y/N’s heart simply broke then. Daeron was truly in a state of shock, he barely paid attention to anything but the throbbing sensation of the worst pain he had ever felt in his life on his face. “No, sweet boy. Your father…” Y/N caught herself. She couldn’t tell her son that his father refused to see him. No. It would simply break his heart and his spirit more than they already were broken. “I could not find him. The guards will notify him shortly when they find him.” Y/N moved to the bed, and Alicent moved so Y/N could comfort her son Daeron. Alicent gave her an honest nod and stepped into the hallway. Y/N embraced her ten-year-old in her arms, and he rested his head on the fleshy part of her arm. He was still holding a rag over his wound, so Y/N took the rag from his hand and switched it with hers so the boy’s arm wouldn’t grow tired. 

“What happened to me, mother?” Daeron spoke softly. He tried to look up at her but failed to do so. Y/N held back tears. “It wasn’t fair, my love. Viserys will pay. I will make sure of it.”

Daeron shook in her arms. “I-I’m scared.” he admitted to her. A sob finally came from the boy again, and he stopped crying when she entered the room. He was trying to stay strong for his mother. He was already showing such promising signs of a good King, even at such a young age.  “What will I do without my eye, mother? Do I still have a future, will the girls still like me? They’ll think I’m gross for sure, I just know of it–”

“My son.” Y/N cut off his rambles. “Of course not. We shall not worry about this now. You are a handsome boy, and already a great warrior.”

“But–” Daeron began again. Y/N shushed him. “No. Shh. You must remember your father has the same wound as you. And is he a great warrior?” 

Daeron nodded. “And is he married?”

Daeron nodded again. “My sweet son, my heir. Do not worry. You will be the greatest Targaryen that ever lived.” Y/N spoke. She moved closer to her son. “Don’t tell your father or siblings I said that,” Y/N whispered, managing a small smile trying to bring some humor to the boy. He desperately needed it. But it quickly faded, as the child inside of her kicked again. 

“Mother?” Daeron asked. Even in his pained state, he cared for his mother. What a good boy she had raised. “Do not worry. The babe is just wild during this time of night.” 

Y/N ran a hand over her son's bloodied hair which had now dried. She held him close until he fell asleep. Aemond never came. 

During the very early hours of that morning, Y/N had failed to find sleep. She paced her shared chambers with Aemond. He had yet to return. She grew angrier and more frustrated by the minute. And finally, as she was re-lighting the candles that should have been blown out hours ago, she heard the door of her chambers click open and then shut. She turned to her husband, who looked cowardly now, with an angered glare. “Where have you been?”

Aemond shrugged. Y/N scoffed. “Do not play this game with me right now.” Y/N approached him, he smelt of dragon sweat and the salty sea. “Did you just take Vhagar for a ride?” 

Aemond sighed. “Yes.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the angered laugh. “You’re kidding me right now.” Aemond threw his boots from his feet against the wall. “I have my own ways of managing my–”

“Your son has lost an eye. Have you no heart?!” Y/N interrupted him. Aemond seethed silently, pausing. He then threw his jacket on the back of the couch. “I will see him in the morning.” Aemond answered tiredly. Y/N stared at him in shock. “I have no words for you.” 

Aemond ignored his wife, moving to the closet. He changed into his nightly gown and his robe. He tried to get into bed, but Y/N was already sitting on the bed when he returned. “No. Not tonight.” she said sternly. Aemond scowled. “And why not?” Aemond asked with a sharp tongue. He was almost at his breaking point with her. Couldn’t she not understand his duties? His trauma from his past? How selfish of her… 

“Why not?!” Y/N yelled “Your son has just been maimed for life and you refuse to see him! What kind of father are you?” This statement set Aemond off. All the anger, hurt, and hatred boiled over within him. He tried to keep it in for the sake that he did truly love his wife, but she failed to understand him over the years like this. Aemond took a deep breath. “Don’t you get it? I have been struggling for fucking years! Do you think I want to see my son, bloodied and broken as I once was at his age? No, you daft woman! I wish to be alone. You are incessantly bothering me and I am sick and tired of it!” he lashed out at his wife. Y/N sat in bed, tensed at his words. She didn’t know how to reply. The realization that the reason Aemond didn’t visit their son sank in; he simply did not know how to. “I cannot look at the mirror of my old self in him! For Gods sakes, he already is a copy of me! Now with this…” 

Y/N took in his words. She saw him tearing up. “Aemond–” she attempted to speak. He cut her off. “I will have that child sent to the wall along with his blasted brother,” he spoke angrily. “Do not try to talk me out of it either. I am King and I have made my final choice. I have spared their lives when they should join their bastard brother Lucerys in Vhagar’s belly.” 

“But your son–” “He will live. You cannot coddle the boy. He must grow strong.”

“How could you say that?” Y/N answered. Aemond shrugged. “My father did the same, and I will follow.”

Y/N couldn’t believe her ears. Viserys was a terrible father to Aemond and his siblings, favoring Rhaenyra. “You know damn well that if Viserys still lived, he would pardon Rhaenyra’s son and blame Daeron somehow–”

“THAT ISN’T THE POINT!” Aemond snapped at her. He knew how terrible Viserys was. He knew how damaged his father had made him. But he was the man he was now because of Viserys, and he would never be the same happy little boy he was before the loss of his eye. And now that the same had just happened to his son, his heir, he couldn’t deal. Y/N watched him in horror as he turned to violence, smashing one of the vases in the room. She held her stomach, fearing her husband in his rage. After Aemond realized what he had done and how he had scared his wife, he stopped. Aemond’s yelling turned into sobs. He collapsed on his bed. Y/N warmly opened her arms to embrace him, despite being terrified of him seconds ago. Aemond clung to her and her baby bump for dear life. 

“I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry…” he whimpered, burying his face in the crook of her stomach under her breast. He was shaking. Y/N was too stunned to speak, but she spoke softly. “I know.”

She was furious at her husband. But the effects of the dance had ruined him. This wouldn’t have happened twelve years ago when they wed. They both had to re-learn each other–him with his trauma, her with her dedication to being a mother and a Queen. They struggled too often. But at solemn moments like this, when Aemond calmed down, they just held each other. The truth was, they were just two scared kids in this world. Thrown into the grasp of something neither of them wanted or intended. And that is how they stayed the rest of the night–trembling in each other’s arms, afraid of what the future held for them. 

[blood-teeth]

E N T E R T H E L A B Y R I N T H

In the Labyrinth, they talk of gods.

They whisper between their fingers and sweeten their breath with the tales of titans of old who once stood so tall that a single breath would cause earth-tremors, their steps reshaping the ground trod beneath them. Their fingers were the tools that smoothed the mountains into points, shaped and carved the ridges and valleys in between. If you hike far enough, one woman claims, if you travel to a point where the oxygen is thin and your vision blacks, you can make out a partial print against the mountainside. You can run your own fingers along its length and still feel the titan’s warmth as if his palm were pressed right against yours.

The woman says, It is a thing of worship. It is a thing of devotion.

In the Labyrinth, they ask you to make your body anew before the King of the High Hills. They say that you are alive because you must suffer for the life and love of the Lord, that you must open your body and let him lick along your flesh so that he may taste the endlessness of his perpetual reign.

In the Labyrinth, there is no escape from his touch.

“You have a heavy burden upon you,” the headmaster was saying, teeth and eyes all a glitter under the amber cast candles. “I am not unsympathetic to the arduous path ahead of you—but please understand that this suffering must be experienced for the longevity of the king, for the beautiful life ahead of him. Only he is the one who can shed mortality and raise to the gods, because he is the only one strong enough, courageous enough, to count the cost of living forever. You must succeed where others have failed. You, this class, this is our last chance to mend what has been made broken. You must. You must.”

The Mouths of Elysium is a dark-academia fantasy created with Twine where your choices matter to the story. You live inside the Labyrinth, a maze that hates to become known with walls and paths that change every hour. The center of the Labyrinth sits a university that has been there since the beginning of time; its only purpose is to recruit students who can solve the puzzle of life, who can create an elixir that would allow the King of the High Hills to live past the length of forever. Failure means a fate worse than death.

You are one of those students.

Althea Callaghan - You know her in death. She has been the taste of rot against your tongue, the anger and hurt in your palms. You see the nice, beautiful lines of her teeth and become a creature of grief unfolding unto yourself. Debase yourself with the fervent want of her. Bend at your waist and beg for forgiveness.

You hate her. You want to watch her bleed. She feels the exact same about you, but what she doesn't know is that every waking moment of your life is dedicated to her.

The Princess/Prince - The forgotten child of the throne. The 405th child of His glorious reign. Divinity runs through their veins, the heir to so much power, but they will never see themselves rule the unforgiving landscape of the Labyrinth. Their fate is to die and be buried amongst the endless graves of their dead brothers and sisters. They must do this so the King may live forever.

A fully customizable MC including gender, appearance, and sexuality

A landscape of horror. A landscape that hates you and everyone who might try to understand it. Go beyond the walls and be witness to a reality worse than death

Key choices that will influence your game and experience. Will you succeed or fail?

Learn what it means to be forgiven. Learn what it means to suffer. Become devotion. Become loyalty. Make your body anew before the King of the High Hills

DEMO (updated 6/10/24)

[hwanchaesong]

Paradox (Enemies to Lovers) Preview

pairing: Nishimura Riki/Ni-ki X F!Reader

synopsis: Romance is poisonous, it slowly kills you with fantasies, it removes the freedom of thinking for oneself. Then again, you're not one to talk when you find yourself alone with the snake himself under the stars.

word count: tba

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, warnings are tba

a/n: this is a teaser for the upcoming Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels series that i've been working on. i hope y'all look forward to it. please don't hesitate to tell me if you wanted to be added to the taglist. tysm 🩷

The deadly steel in your hand is as heavy as your breathing. One pull of the trigger and the mission that you have been preparing for all your life will finally come to an end.

All the suffering, the pain, the frustration, and the hell you've been put through will be paid by the demons themselves.

So, what's stopping you?

"I'm waiting." the rough voice halts your heart rate, muscles gone frigid while your eyes widened, seeing the man in the velvety sheets that was supposed to be asleep stood on his feet.

"Don't move, I won't hesitate to put a bullet through your skull." you warned, not once did you lower the gun in your sweaty palms, but you did took a step back when he tried to close the distance between you two.

He stayed right on his spot, until he sighed and dared to move in your direction despite your threats.

"I said-" you gasped, cutting your sentence short when he swiftly held your hand that is gripping the pistol, only then did you notice how much you were shaking yet his warm touch managed to stabilize you back on earth.

"I'm not an idiot. I knew what you were up to all along." he speaks, straightforward and firm but his gentle tone keeps on burning you, reminding you that he's much more than a revenge to you, "A random girl wouldn't come to me, Nishimura Riki, the heir of the underground, without any ulterior motives."

You managed to let out a scoff, "So you knew what you'll become of after tonight." you tried to sound emotionless, but your quivering lips betray you to no end.

His brown orbs stared right through your soul, and he gave you a light smile when he guided the muzzle right over his chest, the area where his heart beats peacefully. You slowly peered at him when he did the unexpected, the air in your lungs hitching when you saw how the moonlight bathe him in an ethereal glow.

"Remember when I told you that my fate rests in your hands." he whispers lowly, shivers running down your spine when you recollected the promises you both made while you're drowning in smoke and wine.

"Riki.."

One pull of the trigger, so close... you're so close in reaching your dreams. The herculean journey that you trudged alone, even when the soles of your feet were swollen and all your bones were broken beyond mending, the finale is nigh and only a single shot is needed for you to be finally free.

So, what the fuck is stopping you?

"I meant that." he digs the mouth of death deeper into his torso, his thumb caressing your knuckles, he leaned down and you swear you felt him leave a kiss on the crown of your head.

"If burying me six feet under will make you float above the skies then so be it."

taglist

@lilyuwon @ramenoil @itjengirl

[eratosmusings]

Stolen Destiny (I)

Feyd Rautha x fem!reader

summary: Your father had been promised an heir. But the choices made by another stole that fate from you. Now it's your turn to take theirs.

warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, blood, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence

word count: 1.2k

dividers / masterlist

“Again,” the swordmaster calls out. 

Gritting your teeth, you comply and fall back in position with the others. All this show for what?

With a nod, a troubadour began to pluck at the strings of her Baliset again. Your feet move in the familiar pattern, hilts of the swords bouncing against your hips. This is a waste of time.

Air stills as the rest of the women swirl away from you when another Baliset, one played with a bow sliding against its strings, joins the melody. The blades gnash against their sheaths in protest as you pull them free. They sing in the air, spinning easily between your fingers. Faster and faster they spin to match the skirts of the others now twirling in a circle around you until the music slows.

Once, twice you clink the blades’ together before you stab one into the plush stool in the center. Soft, slow pattering of the drums begins as you turn your back to it. The sword that remains drags its tip against the stone floor. The women bend a knee where they twirled. Sparks follow when you twist quickly.

This is the silliest part. You face a non existent opponent. Bringing your sword forward you drop into a defensive stance. The music rises and now you fight. Thrust, retreat, parrie, circle, advance, lunge, parrie, retreat, parrie, parrie. On and on it goes until you drop the sword. Your arm extends to the partner who does not exist and spin into nothing as the music reaches a crescendo. Chest heaving, you stay there and stare into the abyss until the music and the last of your dignity finally dies.

One of the girls is quick to retrieve and return the swords to you. In contrast, you’re slow to sheath them. You’re not eager to hear the word you know waits on his tongue. But you can only stall for so long.

You turn and face him. His voice cuts sharply across the silent hall. “Again.”

“You look ridiculous,” your father says under his breath so only you can hear. 

A gown, styled after your mother’s House, hung loosely on your frame, hiding any hint of the woman’s body beneath it. You feel ridiculous in it, but had thought it better than the other options. You should have known there was nothing you could have worn that would please him.

“My apologies, father.”

He scoffs. Nothing you do will ever please him.

It’s why you still cannot understand why this celebration is being held. He saw no honor in you being born, why would he see it in you coming of age? And to invite the likes of the Atreides? Was this all some masochistic need to see the son he should have had?

He says outloud, “Don’t embarrass me.” In your head you hear the word he leaves unspoken. ‘Again.’

The Major Houses arrive hours apart, the lucky few Minor Houses invited padding the time between. First is the Princess Irulan. Beautiful, graceful, kind. She compliments you, embracing you as if you’d been friends for life. And it feels as such. A connection left despite the broken destiny. There would be no marriage, but your father whispers that a friendship could offer nearly as much.

The Atreides come next. The Duke is handsome. His concubine, Lady Jessica, hides behind a veil. A Bene Gesserit indeed. Their son, Paul, is charismatic and not as handsome as his father, but more beautiful. He places a kiss on your hand, complimenting your dress and, as he calls them, your lovely eyes. They fall flat on you, but he seems to preen at your own compliment of his hair with a boyish grin painting his face.

Your father’s mood shifts when they and their people are led away to the castle. “Well done. Who knew you could charm so well.” The praise, as backhanded as it is, prickles your skin. “Let’s hope can you keep it up.”

At last, as the sun sets, the Harkonnens arrive. 

Pale and hairless, they're intimidating in their black attire. The Baron did not come, instead having his nephews take his place. The eldest, Count Glossu Rabban, is a giant of a man. From the stories you’ve heard, he's a sadist but an idiot. In his shadow lies the true danger. 

Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. He’s deceptively slight next to his brother. But to be the chosen heir for a House like the Harkonnens there must be a brutal intelligence. Like Paul he takes your offered hand and presses his lips against it. They’re cold, chapped and rough. Unlike Paul he offers a grin that had no boyishness left. Blackened teeth bared, he tugs your arm harshly. You stumble forward into him. The hand he doesn’t hold presses against his chest to catch yourself, the one he does hold twisting out of his grip.

Warm metal presses against your throat. 

Something akin to amusement dances in his eyes as they rove over your. It’s the only sign that he probably doesn’t want to kill you. There’s a measured pause of his gaze, first on the blade then sinking lower, before it flits back to your own. His voice is raspy as he speaks, “It is a pleasure to be here for your coming of age, my lady.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. The blade retreats. His eyes don’t leave yours as he releases you, flips it, and offers you the hilt. “A gift.”

“Thank you,” you say, hoping your voice holds firm, and reach for the dagger. 

A hand flashes from behind you with a plea of, “Allow me, my lady,” from a guard. 

Feyd, tisked, pulling it out of reach. “It is not a gift for you.”

You’re unceremoniously knocked aside when the guard steps between you. “She will be given it after an inspection.”

“An inspection is unnecessary,” you hiss, face warming. It was embarrassing enough he’d managed to catch you and your court so off guard. But to openly suspect him of intending harm, after such a brazen display of weakness, would cement the failure of any good relations between your houses. Your father would never forgive you.

“He poisons his blades,” the guard insists, not quietly enough.

Feyd-Rautha’s laugh is harsh. He turns to the Harkonnens behind him, lifts his arms, and bellows, “He worries I poison the blade!” It humors them. Rabben guffaws as if he’s never heard a funnier joke. When he faces you again his black grin is even wider. He stares down the guard as he slices the blade across his open palm. Blood soils the blade and drips on the stone beneath him. His eyes shift to you again. His tongue juts out. In a grotesque exhibition he licks it. “Death does not wait for you in my hands today.”

“I never suspected it did, Na-Baron,” you agree, stepping around the guard. He moves to stop you, but a harsh glare has him backing down. There’s still a chance to save this. Appease the Harkonnens and quell your father’s resentment you can feel rolling off him in waves behind you. Feyd offers the hilt again and you take it. The blade slices across your own palm without hesitation, your blood joining his on the stone. You extend your hand to him again.

a/n: my first fic! any thoughts would be appreciated 🥰

be my muse

next chapter

[shapard]

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x Seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

A/n: A little bit late for Valentine, but here ya go! Idk when I'll continue this, but this has been stuck in my brain for a long time.

Goldwing

Chapter 1 > Chapter 2

You’ve heard about the story tales from your Mother Sera. How Lucifer has fallen because of his bizarre dreams.  To give humans a free will, which cost chaos to the world. 

As a punishment he was forced out of heaven with his Love Lilith. Sera claims that she wanted you to be safe, so there is one top rule she set up: Don’t Question heaven. 

You keep on holding tight to this one rule, not like your sister Emily. She gets into a lot of trouble when you’re not watching, which gets you also in trouble. 

Big Sister, Big responsibility, that’s what your mother always says. 

Sitting on the couch looking down at the apple sign on your wrist. It was a small apple with a snake surrounding it. It’s a Soulmate mark.

Every Angel gets a soulmate, so they get the perfect heir, some angels describe It as a heart pull and ache. You don’t really enjoy that you’re forced to love someone. It’s somewhere unfair that humans can marry someone they choose to love and trust. Meanwhile when Angels reject their bond, it will kill the two Soulmates in a span of time. 

Even when they’re too long apart it will show in a disturbing way. Aggression, Not eating, no sleep, the list goes on and on.

Putting your sleeve above your mark, not wanting anyone to see it. You got once because of it in trouble. Not a pleasant memory that you want to re live.

It does remind people of Lucifer, but he got Lilith, his soulmate. So that possibility is shrunk to zero. Why else sacrifice living in heaven for a woman?

Today was the meeting with Charlie the daughter of Lucifer. She wanted to talk about a hotel named Hazbin Hotel. 

…Time Skip…

The court room was all a mess, chaos has broken out whispering and hushes echoed through the pearly white halls. 

Emma broke the Silence with her soft singing voice “But she was right, Sera. She Showed us the soul can Improve. He saw the light, Sera. Checked all the boxes that you said would.” You Interrupted Emily and for the first-time in your live, you disobeyed the one set rule. 

“Prove a person deserve a second chance, now we turn our Backs, no second glance?” Sera looked towards you slightly disappointed but also guilty. 

Then the bomb was thrown in the room, extermination. It left you speechless. Why hide something like this and say it was for protection? 

It all went down so quick and with one move you started to doubt everything in heaven. Sera was scared, scared shitless that she’d loose Emily and you, but mostly you. 

You started to Ignore her and rarely left your room. The betrayal was harsh for you. You trusted your mother dearly and now you find out that your mother kills souls because she feels threatened. Threatened because of Lucifers dreams she said was once foolish. 

You started to break rules after Rules, causing a havoc in heaven when you leaked the Information about an extermination in hell. And in less than a week you were in chains in the courtroom. 

“Do you have any Idea what damage you’ve done Y/n?” Sera’s voice echoed through those now soulless halls. The seats now all almost empty. “What damage I’ve done? You call me the Imposter, but have you ever thought what you’ve done? You lied to your people AND your Family Sera.” 

Ouch, you never called her Sera just Mom. “Just do it already, I’m tired of hanging in here and watching my failure of a mother trying to push this longer.” You spat on the cold floor. The coldness reminds you how the last few days felt in heaven. Cold and lonely. “As you wish, do it.” her voice cracked, it was barely audible, but you could hear it. 

You shut your eyes tight and with a swift Moment you felt how your wings were cut off, your scream filled these cool, lonely court room. Sera was already gone, not wanting to see how she failed in one of her children.

The rest of your wings were ripped out of your back, making gold blood squirting all over the white floor painting it in a unique color. And then you fell, too exhausted to let out a desperate call for the comfort of your own mother.  

She didn’t even stay. 

Tears pooled lightly out of your eye. Even though heaven didn’t feel like home anymore, you’ll still miss heaven. 

The wind gushed on your Injured back making it only hurt more than it already does, you fell so fast, this is something you never really experienced you never fell as an Angel. But you fell, you fell deep and Landed on the ground. 

It the worst you’ve felt in these last hundred years of living. The bone that was connecting your wings with your body broke more into splinters at the impact. It had dirt sticking on your bones making you hiss as you tried to stand up making them move slightly in the dust. No success. 

You tried a couple more times, but you feel your stamina running out fast, so you just gave up. You laid there for a couple of seconds before you eventually pass out. 

Lucifer sat in his magic room, where his magical creations came from. The only thing besides Charlie what kept him happy. He took final glances at his old façade. 

It’s time to move on and move into the Hazbin hotel, even though he hates that radio guy, he does everything for his little Charlie. He walked out of his mansion closing it with a key. Taking a deep breath, he spun around and was ready to go. 

Something crashed loud in front of him, swirling all the dirt into Lucifers face. He coughed and waved the dust away. “What the fuck?” He looked at the cause for this early tumult, only to see a very beautiful woman in front of him. It didn’t take him a while to see that she was pretty bad Injured. His eyes dropped at the golden blood. “Oh no.”

The figure tried to stand up but fall multiple times and passed out after a while. No, no, no, no. Turning her around to see the damage, and it is bad. 

Three main bones ripped and broken apart, making him note down that she wasn’t just any Angel, she is a seraph. “Let me help you.” He carried her body very carefully, so he couldn’t do more damage towards her back. Teleporting himself and his other stuff in the hotel apartment, he laid you on his bed with your belly pressed on the mattress. 

He started to heal your back slowly and washed off the dirt from your face and the injury. He knew he couldn’t fully heal her wings back. But she could survive this with his help. And in an odd reason he couldn’t let her die. Some kind of pull on his heart making him already slightly attach towards the sleeping beauty. 

And this routine was repeated every day and when he realized her back was fully healed, he turned her on her back again. Seeing her now in all her beauty. 

“How can someone be this pretty?” he moved a hair strand out of your face and held your cheek. Stroking it a couple of times, it is as if he’s hypnotized. 

Shaking his head, he let go of her very quickly, “Lucifer you can’t just touch someone, she doesn’t even know you nor who you are.” He bit his long-clawed hand, debating whether he should go or not. 

In the end he left the room with heavy displeasure. Somehow not being near you made him angry. You were hurt and needed every protection he could offer. 

His mind screamed at him to go back to you, but he didn’t. This feeling confused the king of hell but, His mind and body were almost like two separate people.

 He pulled up his sleeve looking down at the red apple mark with a golden blue snake on it, like his halo. It was his Soulmate mark, he loves or loved Lilith dearly, but she wasn’t his mate. 

They both thought it may didn’t showed because Lilith is after all a human. Even when he had a soulmate, after landing in hell, he knew he’d never see his soulmate ever. 

He pulled his white sleeve again over the mark, not wanting to think about the what ifs. Maybe helping his daughter would keep his mind from you. “Let’s help Charlie.” 

After a while Lucifer still caught himself worried about you. 

You were laying on his bed for weeks, he healed you every morning and every evening hoping that you’d finally wake up. 

The arch angel Lucifer, and now king of hell, was worried about a seraph, what sarcasm. 

Getting ready for bed, Lucifer started to dress himself in his night gown and went to the couch. Since you’re sleeping on his bed, Lucifer decided to sleep on the couch. He didn’t want to disturb your healing progress

…

Hugging yourself into this blanket was heaven, and the smell of sweet apple and an alluring scent of musk. You never want to leave this place, for the first time since months you felt in peace. 

Fluttering your eyes open, you stretched you arms and legs, but one thing was missing. Your wings. And then reality came crushing down on you. You fell, from heaven. Your mother let you fall down the drain. She lied and didn’t even try to explain it to you. 

It was hard to breath as if you’d re-live the horror of falling from heaven down to hell.

You shacked uncontrollable making you Fall out of the bed. Out of habit you tried to fly those few centimeters. 

With a shallow thumb you fell on the floor. 

You winced from the Impact, and you tried to push yourself up with the next high object with shivering hands. 

This was a different gravity situation. 

Without your wings you slumped forwards, nothing to weigh your back. 

You pushed yourself upwards with the help of the shelf above you. The shelf lets out a creak from your weight and you fall back down with the shelf. 

The whole content on the shelf fell and crashed into pieces and you fell right into them. 

The ceramic pieces digged into your freshly healed wounds, you know that when you move, you’ll re-open the back wound. 

Out of panic your body began to move on autopilot.

With low groans and muffled screams, you leaned on the bed, golden blood smearing around the broken shelf and the white mattress. 

You started to sob at the pain. 

It was dark and all you wanted was to bathe yourself in the scent of that blanket. 

You searched for it. 

In the darkness you couldn’t quite figure it out where the blanket was but after a while you found it.

Holding the piece of cloth on your nose just to smell the comforting scent. You yelped when the light flicker on. A figure standing in the light. The figure was about 5’10 tall. 

You hid behind the blanket not wanting to look at the sudden appearance at the front door. 

…

Lucifer shot up at the sound of breaking ceramic. His mind told him to run towards the sound that came out of your room making him high alert. 

An Intruder? 

But who’d dare to come into the king of hells chamber?

Then he remembered that you were in his room, and without second thought he rushed towards your bedroom turning on the lights.

“You’re awake!”

[jolieeason]

It's Monday: What Are You Reading---October 23rd, 2023

It’s Monday! What Are You Reading? a place to meet and share what you have been and are about to be reading over the week. It’s a great post to organize yourself. It’s an opportunity to visit, comment, and add to your groaning TBR pile! So welcome in everyone. This meme started on J Kaye’s blog and then was hosted by Sheila from Book Journey. Sheila then passed it on to Kathryn at The Book…

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Before You Go

Summary - In their final moments together, Jace confesses his love for her just before stepping into the tempest of a storm, leaving her haunted by the foreboding promise that the day he declared his love was also the day he died.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2057

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

The day Jace told me he loved me was the day he died.

The sky was bruised with storm clouds, thick and heavy, rolling in from the sea. I could feel the storm in my bones, the chill of it seeping through the walls of my room. 

Rain splattered against the window in sharp bursts, a steady drumming that should have been soothing but only added to the knot of unease tightening in my chest.

Jace was coming today. He hadn't been by in weeks—his duties had kept him away, first at Dragonstone, then flying across the realm in his mother's service, dealing with alliances, and preparing for war. 

And now, for some reason, he had sent word that he needed to see me. Needed to talk.

But his tone... there had been something in his voice, something unfamiliar. As if he were carrying a weight too heavy for even him.

I stood by the window, watching the rain pour down, the dark clouds swirling ominously overhead. 

It wasn't just the storm outside that had me on edge. No, it was something deeper. A fear I couldn't name but could feel gnawing at me, hollowing me out from the inside. 

Every part of me was waiting for the moment when he would knock on the door and everything would change.

He'd said he had something to tell me. Something important. And my heart had lurched when I heard those words.

I had loved Jace for as long as I could remember—long before he knew it before even I knew it. 

It was the kind of love that grows quietly, sneaking up on you until you realize it's rooted so deep that you can't imagine a world without it. 

He was my friend first, and somehow, over the years, he had become my world.

But he was never really mine. He couldn't be. He was a prince, a dragon rider, the heir to the Iron Throne in a world that had been set aflame by war. 

A war I was terrified would take him from me.

I should have told him sooner. I should have said the words. Maybe then I wouldn't have felt this crushing weight in my chest, this regret that sat like lead inside me.

But I never said anything. I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to burden him with how much I needed him. How much I feared the day he would leave and never return. 

So I kept it inside, where it twisted and coiled like a snake in my chest.

Now, with the storm raging outside, it felt like everything I had feared was crashing down at once.

I was still by the window when the knock came. Three soft raps, like he was hesitating. My heart stopped in my chest for a moment before it started again, hammering against my ribs. 

I stood frozen, unable to move, as if opening the door would seal my fate.

But I forced myself to cross the room, each step heavier than the last. 

When I opened the door, there he was. Jace stood in the doorway, his dark hair soaked from the rain, clinging to his forehead in damp waves. He looked... tired. 

Not just physically, though that was evident in the way his shoulders slumped under the weight of his sodden cloak. 

No, it was something deeper—his eyes. They had always been so bright, so full of life like he was holding a secret that made the world lighter for him. But now, they were dark, clouded with something I couldn't place.

"Jace," I whispered, barely able to say his name.

He offered a faint, almost broken smile. "Can I come in?"

I stepped aside, wordlessly, my throat too tight to speak. He moved past me, trailing droplets of water in his wake, and I shut the door behind him, shutting out the world for a moment.

He stood in the centre of the room, his hands at his sides, still dripping from the storm outside. He didn't seem to notice—or maybe he didn't care. 

There was something in the way he stood like he didn't know how to begin. And that scared me more than anything else. 

Jace was never at a loss for words. He always knew what to say, always had some quip or teasing remark to fill the silences. 

But now... now the silence between us stretched on, unbearable.

"I—" he started, then stopped, his brow furrowing as he stared at the floor. "I don't even know how to say this."

My heart was in my throat. "Just... say it," I managed my voice barely a whisper. "Please."

He looked up at me then, and the anguish in his eyes nearly undid me. I had never seen him look like that before. So raw. So vulnerable.

"I'm leaving," he said quietly, his voice thick. "Tomorrow."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, running a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face. "My mother's orders. I'm flying North, to treat with the Starks. She needs their allegiance, and... she trusts me to win them over."

The North. Winterfell. It was far, so far. And dangerous. 

With war looming, every corner of the realm felt unsafe, especially for someone like him—someone carrying the weight of the crown on his shoulders. 

I felt a cold dread curl in my stomach, the thought of him flying so far into the unknown, into danger.

"But... you'll be back, right?" I asked, my voice small, fragile, like I was a child begging for reassurance. "It's just a negotiation. You'll come back."

He hesitated. And in that hesitation, I felt the ground beneath me shift.

"I don't know," he said, his voice rough, pained. "I don't know what's waiting for me there. What's waiting for any of us."

The world felt like it was shrinking. Like everything around us was pressing in on me, suffocating me. My breath hitched, and I felt tears threaten to spill, but I forced them back. 

Not yet. I couldn't cry yet.

I took a step toward him, my hands trembling at my sides. "Jace, please. Don't talk like that. You'll be fine. You'll come back. You always come back."

He closed the distance between us in two quick strides, his hands gripping my arms, his touch both urgent and gentle. "I'm not sure I will this time."

His words cut through me, sharp and cold, like a blade sliding between my ribs. I couldn't breathe. 

"No," I whispered, shaking my head, trying to pull away from the truth that was pressing in on me from all sides. "No. Don't say that. You have to come back. You can't... you can't leave me."

He swallowed hard, his hands tightening on me like he was afraid to let go. "I wish I could stay," he said, his voice breaking. "Gods, I wish I could. But this is bigger than me. It's bigger than us."

"I don't care," I choked out, my tears burning at the edges of my vision. "I don't care about any of that. I care about you. I can't lose you, Jace. Please."

I hated how desperate I sounded, how weak. But I didn't care. I couldn't let him go. Not like this. Not without knowing if he'd ever return.

His thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. His touch was so gentle, so familiar, it broke me all over again. 

"I never wanted this for us," he whispered. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Then don't," I begged. "Stay."

He had never looked so vulnerable before, standing there in front of me with the weight of the world bearing down on him. 

He wasn't just the boy I had fallen in love with anymore. He was a prince, the heir, and he was going to war. There was no escaping it. No stopping it.

He smiled then, a sad, broken smile that shattered what little resolve I had left. "I can't. You know I can't."

The silence between us was deafening, filled with all the things we couldn't say, all the things we were too afraid to admit.

Finally, I whispered, "Why are you telling me this now? Why now, Jace?"

His hand slipped from my cheek to my hand, and he held it tightly, his grip like a lifeline. "Because I can't go without telling you the truth."

"The truth?"

He nodded, his eyes searching mine as if trying to find the words. "I... I love you."

The room spun around me. My heart stopped, then started again, pounding so hard I thought it might burst. "What?"

"I love you," he repeated, his voice low, filled with so much emotion it felt like it might break him. "I've loved you for longer than I can remember. And I... I couldn't go without telling you. I couldn't leave without you knowing."

I stared at him, my mind reeling, trying to process his words. 

He loved me. He loved me. 

The words I had longed to hear for so long, the words I had been too afraid to hope for—now they were out in the open, and it felt like my heart was being ripped apart.

"Jace..." My voice cracked, my tears falling freely now. "Why are you saying this now? Why does this feel like goodbye?"

His eyes were shining, his own tears threatening to fall, but he blinked them back. "Because I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to say it again. And I couldn't... I couldn't leave without you knowing how much you mean to me. How much you always have."

I couldn't breathe. It felt like the walls were closing in, the air too thick, too heavy to take in. 

He loved me. And now he was leaving. 

It felt like some kind of cruel joke like fate had decided to give me what I had always wanted, only to rip it away in the same breath.

"I love you too," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of my heart breaking. "I've always loved you."

He pulled me into his arms then, holding me tightly, as if he could keep us both from falling apart. 

I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the warmth of his body, and I clung to him, desperate to hold on to this moment, to make it last forever.

But even as I held him, I could feel him slipping away.

"I'll come back to you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll do everything I can to come back."

But we both knew the promise was hollow. The world was crumbling around us, and nothing was certain. Not anymore.

"I'm scared," I admitted, my voice shaking. "I'm so scared, Jace."

He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering there for a moment before he whispered, "So am I."

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, holding each other in the dim light of the storm, the rain pounding against the windows, the world outside as chaotic as the storm inside us. 

Neither of us wanted to let go, but we both knew we couldn't stay in this moment forever.

Finally, Jace pulled back, his hands lingering on my arms before he let them fall to his sides. "I have to go," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, though it felt like I was breaking into a thousand pieces.

"I'll come back," he said again as if saying it enough times would make it true.

I couldn't hold back the sob that escaped my throat, a sound so broken it felt like it came from the depths of my soul. 

The weight of it all was crushing me, pressing down until I could barely stand. This was it—the moment I had dreaded for so long, the one where he walked away, where everything I feared became real. 

I reached out, my fingers brushing his, desperate for one last touch, one final moment to hold onto. 

But he was already slipping away, like sand through my fingers, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I watched him leave, watched him walk out the door and into the storm, I couldn't shake the feeling that I would never see him again.

The day Jace told me he loved me was the day he died.

A/n - I just finished reading 'if he had been with me' and I am distraught, like I cried on my train home and couldn't eat dinner type of distraught... so ofc I had to instead move my torment here and write something inspired by Autumn and Finny.

[justwinginglife]

hi!!!!^^ uhm may I request soshiro hoshina x reader where they are forced to get married but hoshina is unhappy and tried to get the reader to hate which lead to a massive argument between you two you can decide the ending^^ or maybe just he found you heavily injured after the battle because you can't focus?(angst with happy ending)

it's ok if you don't want to make it^^. please don't mind my english it's not my first language

I totally don't mind your English, thank you so much for the request, I'll do my best with it! I appreciate you reaching out.

Done Deal

You were supposed to marry Soichiro Hoshina. Everyone knew it. You were his. You'd been his since birth. Your family and his family had planned this your whole lives, and then he went and ruined it by joining the Defense Force. It pushed plans back farther and eventually it seemed like you might never marry him if he kept stalling like this.

You didn't mind. It gave you time to do what you actually wanted. You even got to know his younger brother. You were actually closer in age to Soshiro but being the first born of your clan, you had to marry the first born of his clan which put you in your current predicament. Just waiting to be trapped in a loveless marriage.

Of course you and Soichiro had learned to be pleasant with each other over the years, but there was no chemistry. And it didn't help that you always stood up for Soshiro when Soichiro would pick on him. He'd complain that you were supposed to take his side because you were his fiancee. You hated him calling you that. He only liked this arrangement when it was convenient for him and you knew it. You'd roll your eyes and tell him to stop being a jerk and then you'd split a popsicle with Soshiro while Soichiro sulked off somewhere.

You liked Soshiro but never thought about being more with him due to the hopelessness of your situation. Then after years of nothing changing, the situation finally progressed. His parents called you over to their estate to discuss your current engagement.

"At present- it seems Soichiro is unwilling to marry, saying he's busy running a division. And of course, stubborn Soshiro has gone off and joined the Defense Force against our advice as well, but he's only a Vice Captain and he has more time to carry out our wishes. We'd like you to carry on the clan name with him instead and make heirs."

You were shocked. Was this really happening?

"Does... does Soshiro know?" You ask slowly.

They shook their heads. "He's on his way in now, we'll discuss more when he gets here."

You wait in silence, your heart thumping in your chest. Soshiro was to be your husband. Soshiro- the boy who hid with you high in the branches of a looming tree while his parents searched the entire estate for you, trying to force you to spend time with his brother. Soshiro- the boy who snuck you food through your bedroom window when you got in trouble with your parents and they sent you to bed with no dinner. Soshiro- the boy who once whispered when you were sick and he thought you couldn't hear him that he might have loved you better than anyone if he had been given the chance. You swallow at the memory. You had both been teenagers then. You wonder if he still felt the same. It had been a long time since you'd seen him, he went off protecting his country and you had taken up managing your family company like the good heir that you were.

The only time you'd ever broken rules or didn't follow instructions was when you were off having fun with Soshiro. But those days were over now. You were grown and you'd have to act like it. You couldn't keep avoiding your fate, your job was to take over as the family head and so you did.

You wonder if you disappointed Soshiro. He used to always ask you to run away to the Defense Force with him when you were younger, sparring together for practice. The look on his face when you told him you couldn't see him anymore because your parents had caught wind of your reckless activities with him... he must've hated you then. You wondered if he hated you now.

You watch as he enters the room, removing his shoes and kneeling before his parents, not looking at you.

"Ah, Soshiro. Welcome home. We have much to talk about."

He listens in silence as they explain the situation. You peek over at him and his face looks strained. You almost wince. He looks like he's nearly in pain at the thought of being stuck with you. It stings more than you thought it would.

He finally speaks. "No. I refuse. Tell Soichiro to get his ass back home and take her."

Your eyes widen. "B-but why?" You say suddenly and then clap a hand over your mouth.

He huffs, his eyes trained on the wooden floor at his knees. "Why? Because you're his. I don't want someone else's woman."

You want to say, "But I'm not though." You don't say anything.

"That's what I thought." He gets up and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

You flinch.

His parents apologize to you and invite you to stay over at their estate for the week while they make wedding preparations. They completely ignore Soshiro's blatant refusal to marry you and continue on like it'll happen anyway.

You eat dinner with them in silence, your thoughts swirling in your head. You try to hold back tears that you weren't even aware you had for him. How could he not want you? You know it's been awhile since the two of you were on friendly terms but you thought he might brush that aside because of how much history you had together.

After dinner, you go to the room the Hoshina's have prepared for you. You stare out the window at the familiar tree you used to climb with Soshiro and as your eyes trace the trunk upwards, you see a figure sitting on one of the higher branches. You almost laugh. Just like old times huh? You slip out of your kimono and put some pants on.

You reach the base of the tree and run your hands over it, smiling softly as the memories come running back to you. Then you start to climb. He sees you coming and calls down to you to go away and leave him in peace. You ignore him and keep climbing, pulling yourself up higher and higher. You sit on a branch across from him. He looks away from you.

"Don't remember your hearing being so shit." He grumbles, picking at the leaves on the branch.

"Don't remember you being such an ass." You shoot back with a laugh. It's just good to talk to him again alone, even if he is being a jerk.

He rolls his eyes and then just watches you for a moment, appreciating the outfit you've changed into. "You looked stiff in that kimono anyway."

"Shut up Soshiro. I looked good."

He snorts but his cheeks flush a little.

You lean in to get a better view of him and he waves you away.

"What is it with you anyway? I don't see you or hear from you in years and now all of a sudden you're trying to marry me. I see you're still doing whatever the fuck your parents want." He snaps.

You inhale sharply at that. Yeah. He was still bitter. "I... I know." You say slowly.

He rolls his eyes. "That's all you've got to say? You're pathetic. I would never marry you." He bites his lip as he says this, almost like he wants to take it back.

You don't notice his regret as the tears have started to well up in your eyes. You reach for him but he flinches and you pull away. "I'm sorry. You're right. But I just thought... maybe I could love you better than anyone if I was given the chance," You say, quoting him from when you were teenagers.

He stops breathing.

You wait for him to respond but he doesn't.

You sigh and nod, defeated. "Goodnight Soshiro."

You start to climb back down the tree, you're almost all the way down when your foot slips and you fall.

You hear him gasp right before you hit the ground.

Everything goes black.

You dream of Soshiro. He's smiling at you and he offers you half of his popsicle. "I want you to... to try to love me." He says.

You reach out and touch his cheek and he nuzzles against your hand.

"I do want it..." He repeats again. I know you do, you try to say but your mouth doesn't seem to want to move.

"So please, please just wake up. Just come back to me and I'll marry the shit out of you." He pleads, his voice strangled now.

You blink.

"What do you mean Soshiro? I'm right here."

He disappears from your dreams and searing hot pain fills your head.

You try to stand but your legs don't work. The pain from your head starts to seep down your neck and into your back. Everything hurts. Everything aches. You can't move.

You blink. Blink again.

Soshiro is leaning over you, eyes wide, fingers trembling as he grips your hand. "Oh thank god. You're awake."

"I think I may retire from my tree-climbing days," You groan as you remember what just happened.

He scoffs at you, irked you're making jokes about being injured, but a small smile tugs at the edges of his lips. "Idiot. Just rest for now okay?"

"Thought you said to wake up, now you want me to go back to bed?" You poke his cheek.

He grabs your hand before you can pull back and he holds it there, against his cheek. "You're such a handful. Most troublesome wife ever."

Your eyes widen. "W-wife?"

He nods slowly, watching your reaction. "Let's... let's get married yeah?"

You smile, ignoring the pain searing through you at the effort it takes just to do it. "Just takes me falling out of a tree to seduce you huh?"

He scoffs again and rolls his eyes. But then he looks down at his fidgeting fingers. "You meant what you said... up there, right? I want... I want you to try to love me."

OH. So it wasn't a dream. He actually said it.

You smile even wider and snuggle closer to him.

"It's a done deal."

[novaursa]

Fires That Never Freeze

- Summary: You receive the news about Rhaenys' death at Rook's Rest, before Jace arrives as he secures the Twins.

- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after The Heir of Ice and Ash. To read all parts in chronological order, or more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 524

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

You cradle your son, Killian, against your chest, his soft breath a soothing rhythm amidst the storm brewing in your heart. His dark hair is thick for one so young, a stark contrast to your own silver strands that cascade down like a river of moonlight, braided intricately yet now trembling at the edges as you shudder with grief. His violet eyes—your eyes—peek up at you in curiosity, innocent to the world that has been drenched in blood and betrayal. You wish you could preserve this innocence forever, shield him from the horrors beyond these stone walls, but you know all too well that the winds of war spare no one.

The letter lies crumpled beside you, the wax seal of the Three-Headed Dragon snapped in two. The words are still fresh, cutting through you like Valyrian steel, sharper than any sword you could ever wield. Your grandmother—brave, indomitable Rhaenys—is gone. The Queen Who Never Was met her end at Rook’s Rest, where she and Meleys faced the combined fury of Vhagar and Sunfyre. The account is almost too monstrous to believe: how Meleys’ head was severed and paraded as a trophy, how Aegon the Usurper was carried away like a broken thing, sealed in a crate to hide his mangled form. They say he is scarcely more than a corpse now, held together only by pride and the twisted whims of fate.

Your tears fall silently, trailing over Killian’s soft cheeks as he looks up at you, gurgling without a care in the world. He knows nothing of what has been lost, what will never be.

Suddenly, you feel Cregan’s presence behind you—warm and steady like the roots of an ancient tree. He kneels by your side, his grey eyes searching yours with concern. His large, calloused hand rests gently on your back, grounding you in the present. “Y/N,” he murmurs, voice soft as the snow falling outside. “I heard. The raven...”

You can’t find the strength to speak, so you only nod. He understands without needing further words; he always has. The Lord of Winterfell was never meant for courtly games or gilded halls, but here in the cold North, his honesty and strength have become your rock amidst all the chaos. Yet even his unwavering strength can’t shield you from this hurt.

“I thought dragons were… unkillable,” Cregan says after a pause, his voice rough with both sorrow and disbelief. “The stuff of legends, creatures older than men, forged in fire. I thought they were eternal.”

You blink away the tears that threaten to blind you and force yourself to meet his gaze. There is no room for illusions, not in this world where even gods bleed. “Anything can be killed, Cregan,” you whisper, voice trembling yet laced with a fierce conviction. “Even the gods. Even kings and Kingmakers alike.” The venom laced in the last words is unmistakable. Ser Criston Cole, the leech in royal armor, the wretched man who enabled this war to take root with his false oaths and blackened soul—how you despise him. The thought of him twisting the fate of nations with his cruelty makes bile rise in your throat

Cregan’s brow furrows as he takes in your words. He knows of your distaste for Cole, for all those who put ambition over loyalty, who would see the world burn if only to rule over the ashes. He moves closer, wrapping a protective arm around you and Killian. “You’re right,” he says quietly, his voice a deep rumble, “but we’re still here, and we’ll fight back for those we’ve lost. For those who remain.”

Killian shifts in your arms, cooing softly, as if sensing the turmoil in your heart. You lean into Cregan’s warmth, letting yourself take solace in the strength he offers. “Rhaenys was always so brave,” you murmur, your voice breaking slightly. “She defied them all her life, never once bending to their will. They feared her because she was a woman who would not be cowed, and now… they parade her death like some kind of victory.”

“They can parade all they like,” Cregan says, his voice turning steely, “but a victory built on treachery and murder will crumble. Aegon’s body may still cling to life, but his cause is already rotting from within. The realm will see it.”

His words, though meant to comfort, bring little ease. The war rages on, and with it, the losses mount like a tolling bell. Your heart aches, both for those who have fallen and for those who must still face what lies ahead. Yet, as you look down at Killian, you feel a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. He is a symbol of all you fight for—a future not bound by the horrors of the past, but shaped by those who endure.

“Thraxata will know,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Cregan, your thoughts turning to your own dragon, the Midnight Fury. “She will mourn with me.”

Cregan tightens his grip around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. “And when the time comes, she’ll fight with you too, alongside us all. This isn’t over, Y/N. We have something they’ll never understand—a love forged in fire and ice, bound by loyalty.”

You close your eyes and let yourself be held, the flicker of strength in your chest rekindling. The tears still fall, but now, with every drop, there is something else too—a growing resolve. Rhaenys’ death will not be in vain. The world will hear the roar of her legacy through you, through your son, and through every soul that refuses to bow to the false kings who sit on thrones built on blood.

For now, you hold your family close, taking what comfort you can in the warmth of Cregan’s embrace, in the small heartbeat thrumming steadily against your chest. The autumn winds howl outside, but here, amidst stone and fur, there is still love, still life. The storm may rage, but you will not break.

Not yet.

The weirwood stands tall and ancient, its pale bark almost glowing in the dim twilight. The blood-red leaves flutter softly in the breeze, a stark contrast against the gray skies overhead. You feel small before it, like a child gazing up at something vast and unfathomable. The face carved into the heart tree’s trunk stares down at you with those deep, knowing eyes, as if it sees not just you, but every thought, every secret tucked away in the recesses of your soul.

You’ve been standing here longer than you intended, lost in the quiet of this sacred place. Yet, beneath the peace, there’s an unease gnawing at you. The chill of autumn clings to your skin, sharper now, more present. It crawls into your bones, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You’re here, but not truly—your thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind.

For a moment, everything sharpens. You feel the press of the cold more keenly now, and your breath curls in the air like faint wisps of smoke. Then, the world begins to shift. The rustle of the leaves grows distant, muffled, until it’s almost drowned out by something else—a whisper that’s barely more than a breath, carried on the wind. You stiffen, your heart quickening. It’s a voice, faint yet clear as the first crack of ice on a frozen lake.

Y/N.

It speaks your name, though you cannot tell whether it’s a man’s voice or a woman’s. It sounds old, ageless even, and it seems to echo within your mind as much as in the air around you. A rush of images floods your vision—flashes of faces, places, events yet to come or perhaps already past. You see fire and blood, wings spreading wide against a burning sky. There’s the glint of steel, a flash of a crown—someone crying out, their voice lost in a roar of flames. 

Then, as suddenly as it came, the frenzy halts. You stagger back a step, your surroundings snapping back into focus, the world real again. But the cold clings to you, more than it did before. The weirwood watches you, its eyes holding secrets it will never share. You swallow, trying to steady your breath, your heart pounding loud enough to drown out all else.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, pulling you back fully to the present.

You turn, dazed, and see Cregan striding toward you, his expression tense with concern. Behind him is Maester Kennet, his gray robes fluttering as he hurries to keep pace. Cregan’s eyes are locked on you, his brows drawn together, the worry evident in his every movement. “What’s wrong? You’ve been out here too long—it’s freezing.” His tone is gentle, but there’s an edge to it, the underlying fear for your well-being.

You blink, still feeling the lingering echoes of the vision, the remnants of those hurried images flickering in your mind’s eye. “I… I’m fine,” you say, but your voice is shakier than you intend, betraying the truth of your unease.

Cregan stops in front of you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one roughened hand, his thumb brushing against your cold skin. “You don’t look fine, love,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours as if trying to find the cause of whatever has you so shaken. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit, closing your eyes briefly as you lean into his touch. “The weirwood… I thought I heard something. Saw something.”

Maester Kennet approaches cautiously, his gaze darting between you and the heart tree. “The Old Gods have their ways of sending messages, Lady Y/N,” he says softly. “The weirwoods are their eyes, their ears. It is not unheard of for them to reach out to those who carry their favor.” 

Cregan frowns at that, his grip on you tightening protectively. “She’s been out here too long, alone,” he says, not taking his eyes off you. “Whatever she saw or heard can wait until she’s had some rest.”

But Maester Kennet shakes his head, his face grim as he pulls a folded letter from his robes. “I wouldn’t have interrupted if it weren’t important. A raven came not long ago—from the Twins. Your brother, Jacaerys, has secured passage for his forces. He’s on his way to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

The words bring a sudden, fierce surge of emotion—relief mixed with dread. Jacaerys is alive, fighting as he always promised he would. Yet with every victory comes new dangers, new battles. And the visions, whatever they meant, linger in your mind like a shadow cast over the joy of the news.

Cregan, ever perceptive, sees the conflict in your eyes and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll face whatever comes,” he promises, his voice a low rumble, the kind that always makes you feel like you’re standing on solid ground, even when the world tilts.

You manage a small smile, nodding. “Yes…”

But as you glance back at the weirwood, its face still and expressionless, you can’t shake the feeling that the Old Gods are watching more keenly than ever. The autumn winds whisper secrets you’re not sure you want to hear, and deep in your heart, you sense that whatever lies ahead, the choices you make will ripple far beyond the snow-covered hills of the North.

With a deep breath, you turn away from the tree, allowing Cregan’s steady presence to guide you back toward Winterfell, leaving the whispers of the gods behind—for now.

The winds bite sharper today, swirling through the bare branches of the godswood and over the snow-covered battlements of Winterfell. You stand beside Cregan at the edge of the courtyard, your cloak pulled tight against the chill. Thraxata looms behind you, her obsidian scales gleaming in the pale winter light. The Midnight Fury’s violet eyes are fixed on the skies above, where your brother is soon to arrive. The air hums with anticipation, the kind that makes your heart race and your fingers twitch. Beside you, Cregan rests a hand on the pommel of his sword, his gaze as steady as the stone walls that surround you.

“Are you ready?” Cregan’s voice is low, warm like a hearth fire, grounding you in the present moment.

You nod, though the tension in your chest remains. “I haven’t seen Jacaerys in so long. I only hope he’s as safe as his letter claimed.”

Cregan squeezes your hand, a brief but reassuring gesture. “If he’s anything like you, he’ll be stronger than ever.”

You smile at his words, but the edge of worry still lingers. War changes people, molds them into something else—sometimes into something harder, colder. You’ve seen it already in the eyes of the soldiers who have passed through Winterfell, men whose laughter now rings hollow, whose smiles are mere shadows. What has the war made of your brother?

Before your thoughts can spiral further, the distant roar of a dragon echoes through the sky, accompanied by the deep flap of massive wings. All eyes turn upward, and there—emerging from the rolling clouds—is Vermax. His green and bronze scales shimmer with an ethereal glow against the muted grays of the northern sky, his wings outstretched as he circles lower. Your heart lifts at the sight, despite everything.

Thraxata rumbles low in her throat, a sound that’s half-greeting, half-challenge. She shifts, restless, her powerful tail sweeping across the ground and leaving deep grooves in the snow. You place a calming hand on her side, feeling the heat radiating from her scales, even in the biting cold. “Easy, girl,” you murmur, though a part of you understands her unease. The bond between dragon and rider is one forged in fire and instinct—Thraxata senses your tension as clearly as you do.

Vermax lands with a powerful thud in the courtyard, snow scattering like dust beneath his claws. Jacaerys dismounts swiftly, his dark curls wild from the wind, his face shadowed with exhaustion and resolve. His eyes—dark brown—search the crowd until they find you. Despite the grimness that hangs about him, a grin breaks across his face.

“Y/N!” His voice is hoarse, but filled with unmistakable affection.

You rush forward, closing the distance between you, and throw your arms around him. For a moment, you’re children again, finding comfort in each other amidst the storms that have always threatened to tear your family apart. But the moment is brief, tinged with the weight of all that has passed. When you pull back, you can see the subtle changes in him—the deeper lines etched into his face, the hardened edge in his gaze.

“Brother,” you breathe, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the scar just above his brow—a mark of a recent battle, no doubt. “You’ve grown into a man of war.”

Jacaerys huffs a quiet laugh, though it lacks the lightness it once held. “It seems the war gives us little choice in what we become.” His gaze flickers over your shoulder, landing on Cregan. “Lord Stark,” he greets formally, though the respect in his tone is genuine. “Your hospitality has been unmatched. It’s a comfort to know my sister has found such a strong ally—and husband.”

Cregan inclines his head, his usual sternness softened slightly by a hint of warmth. “Your family is ours now, Jacaerys. Winterfell stands with you, as do the men of the North. We fight together.”

The words, though simple, carry a promise, one that Jacaerys seems to take solace in. He nods, a flicker of relief crossing his features before his expression grows serious once more. “The Twins have bent the knee. Their armies are ready to march when we give the word. The Riverlands will rally to our cause, though they’ve suffered much at the hands of the greens.”

You clench your fists at your sides, feeling the familiar fire of rage ignite in your belly at the thought of those who serve the usurper, those who’ve turned against your mother, against your family. “We’ll make them pay for every drop of blood spilled,” you vow, your voice cold with determination. “They’ll learn the price of treachery when fire and blood rain upon them.”

Jacaerys’ gaze meets yours, a shared understanding passing between you. “We will, sister,” he says quietly. “But we must be wise in how we strike. Our enemies are many, and some hide in shadows even we haven’t uncovered.”

As he speaks, the men of Winterfell gather closer, eager to hear news from the South. Thraxata moves to stand beside Vermax, her violet eyes fixed on him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest. Vermax, ever the more temperate of the two, remains still, watching her with a calm curiosity. The two dragons are like night and day, one fierce and unpredictable, the other steady and patient—a reflection of the bond shared between their riders.

Maester Kennet steps forward from the crowd, ever the dutiful servant, and bows his head. “My lord, my lady,” he addresses you both, “the men are ready to host your brother and his retinue. Supplies are being gathered for the march south, but it would do you both good to rest and break bread together before the night grows colder.”

Cregan nods, though his gaze remains fixed on Jacaerys. “You’ve traveled far, and winter’s grip grows tighter by the day. We’ll speak of war and plans soon enough. Tonight, we celebrate family.”

Jacaerys glances at you, his eyes softening briefly before he returns his attention to Cregan. “I’d welcome that. It’s been too long since I’ve felt the warmth of kin.” He turns to you once more, taking your hand and squeezing it. “Mother would want us to stand strong, Y/N. For her, for all of us.”

You swallow back the knot in your throat, nodding. “We will, Jace. We will.”

As you walk back toward the Great Hall, arm in arm with your brother and Cregan beside you, the dragons shift close behind ready to take flight, their steps heavy on the snow-covered earth. Above, the first stars begin to pierce the twilight sky, cold and distant. You can still feel the echoes of the weirwood’s whispers, the glimpses of futures yet unwritten. But here, with your family by your side, you draw strength from the bonds that even war cannot break.

The Great Hall of Winterfell is alive with the low murmur of voices and the crackle of hearth fires. The long table is crowded with Stark bannermen, their weathered faces drawn with the seriousness of the discussion. The banners of the North hang proudly on the walls—gray direwolves on fields of white and gray. The smell of pinewood smoke and spiced wine fills the air, mingling with the scent of roasted meats brought out for the evening. It is a scene both warm and solemn, a brief moment of respite before the weight of strategy drags everyone back into the cold reality of war.

You sit beside Cregan at the head of the table, your hand resting on his arm as Jacaerys stands before the gathered lords. He wears his determination like armor, though there is a heaviness in his eyes that no amount of resolve can mask. His voice, strong despite the weariness clinging to him, rings out over the hall.

“Our enemies have grown bolder since my brother’s and grandmother's murders. Aemond has broken the oldest of laws—he’s a kinslayer, and for that, he’s forfeited not only his honor but any right to mercy. The greens think the deaths of Luke and Rhaenys will weaken us, make us retreat into mourning. They’re wrong.” His words are met with murmurs of agreement, grim nods from the assembled bannermen.

Lord Cregan speaks next, his voice deep and measured. “Justice for Prince Lucerys and Princess Rhaenys will be served, Jacaerys, but the North is not free of its own burdens. The men and Houses we pledged to your cause will march with you as promised—greybeards and veterans who have survived more winters than most. But the majority of our forces must remain here, at least until the winds shift and winter’s bite eases.”

A rumble of assent follows Cregan’s words. The greybeards, some of whom are gathered here tonight, nod their heads, weathered faces set in stony determination. These are men who’ve lived through harsh winters, wars, and endless trials. They know the cost of every step taken southward, but they also understand the weight of their oaths.

You lean forward, feeling the cold steel of duty and sorrow twisting within you. “The Wall grows restless,” you add, your voice quieter but cutting through the room. “Reports from our scouts say the wildlings stir, and there are whispers of darker things in the woods. The North cannot abandon its duties here, not entirely, not with winter closing in. We fight on two fronts—one for vengeance, and one to hold back the darkness that always comes with the cold.”

Jacaerys’ jaw tightens, though there’s no anger in his gaze, only acceptance. “I know what I ask of you, of the North. I wouldn’t pull you from your duties lightly. But we’re in desperate need of men who’ve seen true battle—men who won’t falter when the greens come for us again.” He looks around the table, locking eyes with each of the bannermen. “Aemond’s murders of Luke and Rhaenys aren't just an insult to my family, it’s a warning of what’s to come. They’ll strike at us all, one by one, until there’s nothing left to fight for.”

Maester Kennet, seated near the fire, clears his throat, his thin fingers wrapped around a goblet. “A measured approach is wise. The North is vast, and winter makes even the shortest march an ordeal. Splitting our forces to both hold the Wall and reinforce the Riverlands is a sound strategy. But we cannot be reckless. The cold is our greatest enemy—aside from the greens themselves.”

A grizzled voice interrupts, belonging to Lord Harwood Flint. “We’ve sworn our oaths to your mother, Prince Jacaerys, and those oaths stand. The greybeards and I will march south, aye, but only as far as the weather allows. If winter deepens, we’ll be forced to retreat—lest we lose more men to frost than to battle.”

Lord Cregan nods solemnly. “The North keeps its promises, Jace, but our duty here is unbreakable. If winter passes, we’ll ride in full force, dragons and all. Until then, you’ll have what men we can spare, the strongest and the most experienced. The rest must remain to guard our lands and prepare for whatever winter may bring.”

You watch Jacaerys as he absorbs their words, weighing them against the urgency of his mission. It’s a hard truth, but one he’s known in his heart. “I understand,” he finally says, though the strain in his voice is evident. “The North has always held its ground when others falter. Your men’s presence in the Riverlands will tip the scales more than you know. We’ll make every sacrifice count, for all of our sakes.”

A silence falls over the hall, filled only by the crackling of the fires and the occasional clink of cups against wood. It’s a heavy silence, the kind that carries the weight of lives yet to be lost, battles yet to be fought. You feel the tension in your own shoulders, the mix of sorrow and determination that has become all too familiar.

Cregan’s voice breaks the silence, firm and resolute. “Then it’s settled. The North will march with you, Jacaerys, and we’ll hold the line here until the time is right to unleash the full might of Winterfell. The Wall must remain guarded, our lands defended. But rest assured—the North remembers, and we will have vengeance for both Lucerys and Rhaenys.”

Jacaerys meets his gaze with a nod of gratitude, his eyes glistening with something more than just determination—hope, perhaps, or at least the stubborn refusal to let despair take root. “Thank you, Cregan. Thank you all. My mother will hear of your loyalty, and when the time comes, I’ll see that those who’ve wronged us pay with fire and blood.”

You reach out, placing a hand on Jacaerys’ arm, drawing his attention back to you. “We’ll see this through together, Jace,” you say softly, yet with unshakable conviction. “For Luke. For our family.”

His lips press into a tight line, but he nods, and in that moment, you see the boy you once knew, the one who would always protect his siblings, no matter the cost. War has hardened him, yes, but it hasn’t broken his spirit. And for that, you’re grateful.

The meeting ends with agreements made, plans solidified. As the lords begin to rise and drift away, you, Cregan, and Jacaerys remain, sharing a moment of quiet amidst the chaos. Thraxata and Vermax can be heard outside, their low growls a reminder that no matter how heavy the burden, you are not alone in this fight.

You glance at Cregan, who offers you a small, reassuring smile, and then at Jacaerys, whose eyes hold the same fire that burns within you. The North may be bound by its duties to the Wall, but when the time comes, it will roar in unison, and the South will tremble beneath the weight of vengeance and justice.

Until then, you steel yourself for the battles to come, knowing that winter is both your enemy and your greatest ally. The North will remember, and so will the world.

The chambers are dimly lit, the glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The scent of pine and smoke lingers in the air, mingling with the faint hint of sage and lavender from the herbs hung above the door. Outside, the cold wind howls, but in here, the warmth is grounding—a cocoon that holds only the two of you.

You stand before the fire, watching the flames dance, lost in the flicker of embers. Thoughts of the day’s discussions linger in your mind, heavy like the weight of armor. You’re still processing the event, the decisions, and the weight of what’s to come. But for now, those thoughts seem distant as you feel Cregan’s presence behind you. His steps are soft as he approaches, yet you can sense the strength in each movement. When he wraps his arms around you from behind, drawing you into his chest, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Y/N,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice a deep rumble. There’s a tenderness there that you’ve come to cherish—an intimacy that only grows with each passing day. You lean back into him, feeling his warmth seep into your skin, grounding you in this moment, away from the burden of duty and war.

His hands slide over your waist, tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that never fades, no matter how many times he’s touched you this way. “You’re troubled,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. It’s not a question; he knows you too well.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. “I’ve been thinking… about everything. About Jace, the war, what lies ahead. But mostly… about what I felt in the godswood.”

Cregan’s hands still for a moment, his grip tightening just slightly. He turns you gently to face him, his eyes searching yours, concern and affection mingling in his gaze. “You saw something, didn’t you?” he asks quietly.

You nod, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, roughened by stubble. “I did, but I don’t want to think about it right now,” you whisper, letting your thumb brush over his lips. “Right now, I just want to feel alive. I want to feel us.”

Something shifts in his gaze, the concern giving way to something deeper, more primal. His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you closer, and when his lips finally meet yours, it’s with a passion that sends a surge of heat through you. The kiss is slow at first, a tender exploration, but it quickly deepens, becoming something more urgent, more consuming.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly as you press closer, your bodies molding together as if trying to erase any distance between you. His hands roam over you, rough and strong, yet every touch is filled with affection. It’s a contrast that you’ve always found intoxicating—the fierce warrior and the gentle lover, both sides of him intertwined in every caress.

Cregan’s mouth trails down your neck, leaving a line of burning kisses along your skin. “Y/N,” he growls against your throat, his voice thick with desire. “You’re mine.”

You shiver at the possessiveness in his tone, the words igniting something deep within you. “Yours,” you breathe, tugging at his tunic, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours.

Clothes fall away with hurried hands, the cold air biting at your exposed skin for only a moment before the warmth of Cregan’s body presses against you. You pull him with you, leading him to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he lays you down then, his weight a comforting pressure above you.

The passion between you ignites like wildfire. His hands grip your hips as he enters you, and you gasp, arching into him as he moves with a rhythm that feels like a dance, one you’ve perfected together over countless nights. Every thrust is filled with a mixture of desire and love, each one drawing you closer to the edge, making the world beyond these walls fade away until there’s only him—only you.

Your hands roam over his back, nails digging in as the pleasure builds, each moan, each whispered word of affection driving you both higher. There’s a desperation in the way you cling to each other, as if the passion is the only thing anchoring you both in a world that threatens to tear everything apart.

“Cregan,” you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips as you reach that peak together, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. He groans your name, his voice rough and breathless as he collapses against you, burying his face in your neck, holding you as if he’ll never let go.

For a long while, neither of you speaks, content to simply breathe together, hearts pounding in unison. The room is warm, the glow of the fire casting soft light over your tangled limbs. Cregan’s hand strokes your hair absently, his fingers combing through the silver strands as you lay nestled against him.

But eventually, the silence gives way to the thoughts that have been haunting you. You shift slightly, turning to look up at him. His eyes are closed, a peaceful expression on his face, but you know he’s awake, lost in his own thoughts.

“Cregan,” you say softly, drawing his attention. His eyes open, meeting yours, and the concern returns as he sees the seriousness in your expression.

“What did you see, love?” he asks, his voice gentle, though the tension in his jaw betrays his worry.

You take a breath, recalling the frenzied images that had flashed before you in the godswood, the voice that had called your name. “It was like a storm in my mind,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “I heard my name—felt something pulling at me. And then… I saw flashes of fire, blood, wings beating against a sky that burned. There was steel, a crown, and screams lost in the roar of flames. It was so vivid, so real, but I couldn’t make sense of it. And then it was gone, as quickly as it came.”

Cregan listens, his brow furrowed as he considers your words. “The Old Gods speak in riddles and symbols,” he says quietly. “I’ve heard tales of their whispers, of visions granted to those who stand before the weirwoods. But they’ve never been clear—they show what might be, not what is certain.”

You nod, but the unease still lingers. “It felt like a warning, Cregan. Like something terrible is coming, something we’re not prepared for.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this. The North is with you, I’m with you, and we’ll do everything in our power to protect what we hold dear.”

You close your eyes, letting his words soothe some of the anxiety that gnaws at you. “I know. But there’s so much at stake… and so many unknowns. I can’t shake the feeling that the gods are watching, waiting to see what choices we’ll make.”

“The gods may watch,” Cregan murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your skin, “but it’s our choices that shape the future. Whatever comes, we’ll face it, side by side.”

You find comfort in his certainty, the steady strength he always offers when you need it most. Nestled in his arms, you feel the tension slowly drain from your body, replaced by a sense of peace, however fleeting. For now, the future can wait.

[stuckyslut8]

THE WICKED WITCH .

pairing : orc!ari levinson x witch reader. King steve rogers x witch reader .(medieval au)

Summary :years after being betrayed by your lover steve, you seek the forest orc's help to give you an heir.

Warning: 18+ .angst.smut. breeding kink(just ari pounding you with his monstrous cock) .monsterfucking.period typical sexism. Fluff.

Part 2

There are not a lot of people in this town that cared for you, most detested you for your fate. you didn't mind them, what else was left for you to do anyway, apart from your apothecary business.

Still there are some who have grown fond of you, like the old lady who owns the jewelry store,sally ,and pete the baker, the town's drunk but wise man seth, with whom you've found comfort in many lonely nights , he was a gentle, tender lover ,he was one of a kind truly.

But you needed more than that, more than desperate affairs with the townfolks,more than broken promises from a man who you wish to not speak of and he rather not of you.

"It's only for your safety dove" ,he insisted, "they would kill you if they found out, but i will sort it out, i will marry you one day and make you mine in front of the whole kingdom i promise." But the day never came.

"All men are the same y/n, a prince is no different, or a king as they call him now." Sally said as she heard your misery,which was not a huge secret anyway ,there were always rumours about prince steven rogers getting involved with the evil witch, just to sow his wild oats some say , others say she enchanted him, but only you both know the truth and neither of you were going to speak of it now.

Steven was fine, he was betrothed to princess Margaret of the neighbouring kingdom as soon as his mother found out about the affair, and just like that he was gone , away to the kingdom of carter ,and when he returned he was no longer the steve you knew, he was a married man , then soon his father died and he became the new king. Not that any of that mattered now.

Now you were all alone ,a spinster, a wicked one ,as they say. So in this world full of hatred you wanted something to love, something to call your own ,which is why you had embarked om this journey now.

A rather dangerous one , "be careful y/n orcs are wild creatures, dangerous beasts ."

You thanked sally for her concern and led on with your journey.

Just as you entered the unexplored territory of the mystical forest, you saw it, a giant cottage protected by magical shields, of course you were able to break through it easily, you hoped you don't upset the orc so easily. But oh boy you were wrong, as you moved forward you were yanked back by a large arm to your neck and pinned against a tree. You came face to face with probably the most gorgeous mythical creature ever created, with his long locks, hairy chest, chiseled abs and thick arms, he was only covered by a cloth wrapped around his lower body .

"What are you doing here little witch?" His grip on your neck tightened ,you immediately used your powers to get him off of you. He stepped back picking up the knife that was hidden under his cloth.

"Stop, I'm not here to hurt you." You tried to calm him.

"Then what are you doing here, how did you break my barrier." He questioned you angrily.

"Oh please I'm the wicked witch of the west, this is beneath me." Your words only seem to agitate him more. So you switched your tone. "Anyway I'm only here to ask for your help. " i even brought you offerings" you laid out your bag which was full of things orcs liked.

he looked at it,expression remaining the same, "help? What help could a witch possibly want from an orc?" He realized what you wanted as he completed the sentence, it could only be one thing.

"I uh want you to-"

"You want me to breed you." He said in his deep voice which made slick pool in your core.

"Well if you put it plainly then yes." You said, currently ogling his form more than ever.

"Or Would you like to call it love making,like the humans do?." You noticed the shift in his tone now.

You stepped forward,making the first move boldly as you captured his lips in a fiery kiss, you moaned into it as his thick orc tongue explored your mouth.

"You can call it whatever you want as long as you fuck me with your big orc cock." You said out of breath from the kiss. This made him laugh out loud. "You do have a dirty mouth on you little witch, i like it." He said as he cupped your breast through your thin barely there linen dress you wore on purpose.

"I will breed you." He said at once. ",but under one condition. " you were no longer paying attention to his words as his fingers explored your body. "You will have to live with me "

"What? Here?" You asked looking around.

"Yes, where else?"

"What about my home?"

"Where do you live?"

"In the town nearby, brookenhaim." Ari huffed in response, "with humans? ,i thought they didn't like your kind." He said.

"They uh..we get along fine, i own an apothecary so uh yes......i live there, i can't just leave it all behind and come here and live with you in the middle of nowhere."

"Where's your coven? Or any family?" You went silent for a moment not knowing what to say ,you didn't come here to be questioned like this ,you came here to fuck.

"Where's yours?" You were met with the same silence.

"Look we dont have to do it this way mister.."

"Ari..ari levinson." You gave him your name in return.

"Right..ari " you poked a finger to his chest, as he looked at you mockingly, for your desperate attempts to intimidate him. "We're not getting married for fucks sake,so don't think much about my predicament, i just want a quick fuck ,get knocked up and leave." He smirked again at your words."what?"

"I didn't know witches were so uncivilized, and for one living with humans, you sound far from it."

"Uncivilized? You're a fucking orc ,living in the middle of nowhere, don't talk to me about being civil." You were furious now, ari could sense it,so he tried to soothe you.

"Alright, alright, i didn't mean to judge little witch, you can do whatever you want, but listen a mating period is very important for orcs, so atleast until you get pregnant i want you to be with me and that would also be convenient for breeding you i hope."

You thought about it for a moment, "alright, i dont think it'll take too long for me to get pregnant anyway, that is if you do a good enough job." You were back in your seductive mood now.

"Oh you worry about yourself little witch." He said giving you his signature smile and placing a kiss to he back of your palm.

You went back to town immediately, closed your apothecary ,took your precious belongings which was not much by the way, and your necessities for your stay with the orc and returned to his cottage. You looked forwards to saying goodbye to sally and pete , but were disappointed when you learnt that they were at the town festival dancing the night away, one which you were not a part of anyway, and would mostly be greeted by frowns, so you never bothered going again.

So here you were, alone in ari's cottage, you'd offered to make dinner with your homemade pasta you brought from town, while ari was out chopping woods for the night.

Ari came back after a while,looking all sweaty and worked up , you almost dropped the pot looking at him.

He ate the dinner you made, "hmm that's really good sweetheart, haven't eaten like this in a long time." You didn't know what he means by a long time, but didn't wanna pester him with more personal questions. So you questioned him about what you came for,

"So when are you gonna fuck me orc?" You asked teasingly.

"Eager aren't we pretty girl?" You almsot blushed at the nicknames he's been giving you, you. "Go wait for me on the bed...naked."

You nodded and proceeded to do as he said , taking of your dress and your undergarments, standing on your hands and knees , presenting yourself for him like an orc mate would.

Ari barged in the door , awestruck as he looked at your form, "hmm didn't know you knew about orc mating postions, little witch." He commented as he neared you, hands gripping your hips, positioning you for his comfort.

"I came prepared orc." You said as he toyed with your clit ,other hand moving to your breasts, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses on your shoulder.

You could do nothing but moan, and try to stop your knees from wobbling. Just then his mouth reached your pussy, his thick tongue licking a long stripe , spreading your wetness everywhere. "Hmm that's the prettiest pussy ever sweetheart. " you whimpered as he pushed his tongue into your hole, "hmm the tightest too, I've only ever fucked orcs, and they could barely take me, i don't know how this tight little witch cunt is gonna take all of me pretty girl."

His words only turned you on more, "but don't worry I'll stretch you out real good and leave you begging for more." He landed a sharp smack to your ass, the pleasure of which went striaght to your core.

Ari kept his promise and stretched you out, first with his finger, and then his massive orc tongue, then added more fingers, until you cried from the pleasure begging him to let you cum, and he did eventually after edginf you on for an hour. You fell onto your stomach as you orgasmed, losing your position that the orc seemed to love so much. So he brougt you back on your hands and knees, supporting you with his arms so you stay in position.

"I was just getting started little witch, now show me how badly you wanna take my seed, show me how good you can take this cock." He pushed the tip into you slowly, letting you adjust to his size, once you got comfortable, he started pounding into you, with such brutal force you gripped the sheets as you writhed in pleasure, you could hear his grunts too and filthy words that slipped his mouth as he fucked into you. 'You're taking me so good lottle witch, that pretty cunt is gripping me so good.' 'Aagh tightest pussy I've ever had, just the way i like it.'

"Fuck ,fuck ari I'm gonna cum." You cried out as you neared your orgasm, "cum for me little witch." And you did for the fitth time that night, you could feel ari getting sloppy, he was nraring his orgasm too, but he picked up his phase again and fucked into you real good, with a lpud grunt he came in you without warning, filling you up to the brim with his warm cum.

You both laid in bed facing the ceiling, caching your breath,ari turned his head towords you ,"so it's true what they say about witches."

"What ?" You raised your eyebrows.

"You have the tightest pussies out of all the creatures in the mystical forest." He daid jokingly.

You slapped his arm, lightly too fucked out of your brains to respond to orc's comment properly. "You like tight pussies?" You aksed after a moment.

"They're the best." You huffed at his response."is that the only thing you look for in a woman?"

"Hmm only you could turn a compliment into a debate little witch....No,There's much more obviously."

"And what if she didn't have a tight cunt, what then."

"It doesn't matter ,when you accept someone as your mate, you don't care about anything else, you only care about cherishing them with all you have."

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed ,you looked around to see ari already in the kitchen making breakfast.

"Good morning little witch. " he stood there in all his glory.

"Good morning ari."

"I can't cook like you but i made something with the berries i gathered, here have a taste." He fed you his berry custard with a spoon, which you licked and hummed at the taste.

"It tastes so sweet ari." You moaned ,"but i think i need something salty to start the morning."

"I'm afraid i dont have anything salty to offer you sweetheart." He said genuinely. "This isn't the town where you can get-"

Just then you sank to your knees and pulled off ari's only clothing covering his body, "hmm i think you have plenty to offer me orc."

Ari's words died down in his throat. You took the tip of his member in your mouth, sucking it sweetly ,all the while looking at ari, you saw his pupils dilate, eye's turning dark filled with lust and pleasure.

He groaned in pleasure, as you licked a lond stripe along his cock the same way you licked the custard off the spoon. You used your hands to play with his balls, adding to his pleasure.

Ari knew he wasn't gonna last, he was thinking about you all morning, wanting to fuck you in your sleep, but he didn't wanna come of as being so desperate, he wanted to maintain his composure, so he opted to cooking instead, but here you were sucking his cock first thing in the morning ,bobbing your head up and down his member ,barley fitting in all of him in your mouth.

He came fast ,hard, spurting his ropes of white cum into your throat, which you swallowed willingly. "Hmm tastes so delicious orc..so it's true what hey say about orc's semen too huh? Tastes so good. Leaves you wanting for more." You said as you took him in your mouth one more time.

"Save some for that pretty cunt of yours little witch -oh just like that keep going." You slowed down your pace giving him kitten licks ,teasing him and having him on edge, likw he did to you last night, just then ari took control, he grabbed you by your hair and started fuckint your mouth roughly, you couldn't help but grind yourself on his leg at the same time.

He moaned your name as ge was about to come in your mouth you were ready to taste him, but he pulled out just in time to come all over your face and chest. "Hmm you look sp pretty like this little witch, painted in my cum."

You pouted, "but i wanted to taste your cum." Ari simply laughed at your pouting.

"Later little witch, let me fuck you now." He gave you his hand to lift you off your feet.

A/N : pls do reblog and let me know if you need more of this series.

[howyouloveyourdragon]

dividers by hitobaby

͎𓇢𓆸 Lavender Haze ʚɞ Summary: 'Meet me at midnight...', The Realm's Delight has a secret, a secret that she delights in Fleabottom with unapproved company... ʚɞ Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Prostitute!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Brief sexual content

͎𓇢𓆸 Mastermind ʚɞ Summary: Rhaenyra, eldest child of Viserys Targaryen who is leader of one of the strongest businesses finds herself enraptured by a pretty reporter ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Journalist!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: None

𓇢𓆸 Pearls* ʚɞ Summary: Three women, two purses and one whirlwind affair behind your best friend's back. It was never supposed to go past your uni accommodation but suddenly a set of pearls look very appealing...will you bite the bait? ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Sugar Mommy!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Sugar Baby!Reader x Modern!Sugar Mommy!Alicent Hightower ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (edging, mommy kink, cunnilingus, light bondage, strap-on)

​🇼​​🇮​​🇵​​🇸​ 𓇢𓆸 A Sunset Seal ʚɞ Summary: Rhaenyra had never much liked the thought of being used like a pawn and especially not after she meets a mysterious man who also hates the chains that marriage embraces. When they both find themselves betrothed to people unknown they plan to run away together...they just do not know how very close they are to their own curse ʚɞ Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male!Martell!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Betrothals

𓇢𓆸 Of Lances and Thorns ʚɞ Summary: Rhaenyra's world stopped spinning the day her father married her best friend but when her wallowing is interrupted by the chastised older Hightower, she finds that there may be some silver amidst her grey. ʚɞ Pairing: Princess!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male!Hightower!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Betrothals, misogyny, smut

𓇢𓆸 Perfect* ʚɞ Summary: Rhaenyra has never been more bored than when on her tour for marital prospects...but then she met that sweet red haired girl with the most sweet doe eyes. What doesn't bore her are all the stirring images her mind curates at the sight of the innocent riña in her bed. ʚɞ Pairing: Princess!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Tully!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut

͎𓇢𓆸 Only Queen ʚɞ Summary: A Queen needs her loyal handmaiden...even when her heart and hope has been broken and torn from her without a further glance... ʚɞ Pairing: Queen!Alicent Hightower x Fem!Handmaiden!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: None

͎𓇢𓆸 Last Kiss ʚɞ Summary: 'I never thought we'd have a last kiss...' If Alicent had known that that would be your last kiss then she would have held you a lot tighter... ʚɞ Pairing: Queen!Alicent Hightower x Fem!Handmaiden!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Death

𓇢𓆸 Pearls* ʚɞ Summary: Three women, two purses and one whirlwind affair behind your best friend's back. It was never supposed to go past your uni accommodation but suddenly a set of pearls look very appealing...will you bite the bait? ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Sugar Mommy!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Sugar Baby!Reader x Modern!Sugar Mommy!Alicent Hightower ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (edging, mommy kink, cunnilingus, light bondage, strap-on)

​🇼​​🇮​​🇵​​🇸​ 𓇢𓆸 The Set Up ʚɞ Summary: Alicent is determined to find Rhaenyra a compelling match and Y/n is determined to gift his uncle a throne. When they mutually agree to convince the Velaryon's cousin to propose to the heir of Westeros, a young Queen and Lord find their intentions swaying in the worst way. They are falling in love. ʚɞ Pairing: Queen!Alicent Hightower x Male!Velaryon!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Betrothals, misogyny, tooth-aching fluff

𓇢𓆸 My Breeze of Decay ʚɞ Summary: Falling in love comes easy to you, a love match unites you with a beauty of the Lands and once you are wed, you could not be more elated...until a horrible incident occurs and her fate is left with the gods. Can you travel the journey to her? ʚɞ Pairing: Eurydice!Alicent Hightower x Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Death

𓇢𓆸 Everybody Wants You ʚɞ Summary: You're tired of all the rumours; that your betrothed has found loyalties of the heart elsewhere, in Winterfell. ʚɞ Pairing: Heir!Jacaerys Velaryon x Betrothed!Fem!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Infidelity accusations, miscommunication, angst, eventual fluff

𓇢𓆸 Namesday ʚɞ Summary: You spend your namesday with you two favourite princes... ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader x Prince!Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (piv, cunnilingus)

𓇢𓆸 The Heart Bestowed ʚɞ Summary: Jacaerys loves nothing more than a duty fulfilled. Y/n has other impressions. Ever since they were young, they presumed that they would some day find one another in the Sept amongst family and reciting practiced vows to one another. However, they could not be more different nor more infuriated in their joined presence. Neither of them have any greater desires than to quell the other...So why do they feel so disappointed when they are both betrothed to another? ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Tyrell!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Betrothals

𓇢𓆸 No Rest For The Dragons ʚɞ Summary: All is quiet but no sense of peace can be caught between your fingertips, not even at night and so it is difficult to find sleep. Not until you win the war and crown your prince victorious...Your betrothed, Jacaerys, seems to have other priorities. ʚɞ Pairing: Heir!Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Betrothed!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Talk of war

𓇢𓆸 The Softest Love ʚɞ Summary: Sometimes all you need is a gentle lover and a comforting hand, Jacaerys knows this all too well with you at his side and a crown at his temple ʚɞ Pairing: King!Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Wife!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Brief talk of war

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𓇢𓆸 Just a Little ʚɞ Summary: You cannot remember a day where your heart has ever swelled nor a day where your throat has caught so quickly than the night you met Cregan Stark with his broad arms and swoon-worthy stare. He is the epitome of the North, resembling a man stern, sensible and strong. You are sure that no man is more worthy of your love and attention. So you enlist the assistance of your childhood friend Jacaerys. You have never been wondrous in your attempts to charm suitors but the man to have a new love every travel? He surely must know what can romance your newest interest, you are also certain that your love trusts him above no other. They are practically brothers. But when Jacaerys agrees, willing to give you the sun if you so much as wish it, you start to feel a growing warmth in your gut, a curling ribbon squeezing your heart. Oh dear... ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Best-Friend!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Mild angst

𓇢𓆸 Lack of Lessons ʚɞ Summary: "Love comes later,, Your mother had told you - promised you - and yet you feel no love as the King's son rolls his eyes at your presence and begrudgingly takes your hand...Until a second prince catches your eye. You find yourself in lessons with his nephew as you both learn to navigate the new world you have been thrust into. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaron x Fem!Highborn!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Rivals to lovers, betrothals

𓇢𓆸 Gold Rush ʚɞ Summary: 'I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush...' Aegon didn’t like most people but he liked you until it tore him from the inside out. You’re perfect, his gold and shimmering light. The problem? He’s not perfect. He’s not even a third of what you will one day amount to and everybody knows it…even him. ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: angst, mentions & depictions of alcoholism, car crash, fluff

𓇢𓆸 Sweet Girl* ʚɞ Summary: Aegon and Aemond are less than impressed when they hear that their sweet girl has been betrothed to a man of House Blackwood. They decide she must be claimed in every way a dragon can be claimed and perhaps they may discover even more. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aegon II Targaryen x Niece!Reader x Prince!Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (piv, oral (male & female receiving,light degradation, spit, praise, corruption, overstimulation, soft, rough, hickeys), possessiveness, incest

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𓇢𓆸 Prince of Rouge* ʚɞ Summary: Moulin Rouge AU - The year is 1899 when you enter your new city's most hailed night club and meet the mysterious Aegon. After a night of passion and lingering glances, you come to find that he has already been promised to another and a choice paints your mind. Fizzle your desires or dance in secret hallways. ʚɞ Pairing: Satine!Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut

𓇢𓆸 The Memories* ʚɞ Summary: Aegon hadn't touched his drinks in years but when he sees your face in his nightmares, he will do anything to forget that fateful night. ʚɞ Pairing: King!Aegon II Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut, Betrothals

𓇢𓆸 Eagerness* ʚɞ Summary: Aegon has never craved anything like he has craved the eagerness of your touch... ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aegon II Targaryen x Greyjoy!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut

𓇢𓆸 Some Thread of Time ʚɞ Summary: It has been years since Aemond has seen his childhood companion, once attached to the hip and now mere strangers harbouring the same memories but no matter how long it's been, he can't seem to let go ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Highborn!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Angst

𓇢𓆸 Sweet Girl* ʚɞ Summary: Aegon and Aemond are less than impressed when they hear that their sweet girl has been betrothed to a man of House Blackwood. They decide she must be claimed in every way a dragon can be claimed and perhaps they may discover even more. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aegon II Targaryen x Niece!Reader x Prince!Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (piv, oral (male & female receiving,light degradation, spit, praise, corruption, overstimulation, soft, rough, hickeys), possessiveness, incest

𓇢𓆸 Namesday ʚɞ Summary: You spend your namesday with you two favourite princes... ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader x Prince!Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut (piv, cunnilingus)

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𓇢𓆸 Some Seam of Regret ʚɞ Summary: Aemond's childhood love has finally returned to court after a less than standard herald calls for her...But she arrives with her husband. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Married!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Angst, death

𓇢𓆸 Some Ghost of Time ʚɞ Summary: Before betrothals and schemes and untold plots; a prince loved a lady and a lady loved a prince. Never had a soul think such a pairing to be doomed but alas they do not know yet of this tale... ʚɞ Pairing: Young!Prince!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Married!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Angst, depiction of violence

𓇢𓆸 Crystals* ʚɞ Summary: You have been a travelling bard ever since you were young but after accidentally being left in Harrenhal, you are left at the mercy of a witch and her prince... ʚɞ Pairing: Dark!Alys Rivers x Bard!Reader x Dark!Prince Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut, obsession, possessiveness

𓇢𓆸 Maroon ʚɞ Summary: 'The lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon...' All will be well so long as Helaena is able to keep her precious handmaiden safe...if she is not? Well that is another question... ʚɞ Pairing: Queen!Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Handmaiden!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Angst, mention of suicide

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𓇢𓆸 I Think He did It ʚɞ Summary: Helaena has been your friend for a long time. She tells you everything, what she ate that morning, whether her spider, Dreamfyre, snuck out again or how the children are but most importantly where she suspects her husband to be spending his nights because it is most certainly not in her bed. So it is no surprise who you are suspicious of when she suddenly goes missing. ʚɞ Pairing: Modern!Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Best-Friend!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Murder, infidelity

𓇢𓆸 Remnants* ʚɞ Summary: They say that you never forget your first love but the vultures are prey to weakness and intend to infiltrate Daemon’s own desires to preserve his adere riñus (slippery girl). Some say the woman will forever remain in his conscience, guiding his bloodied sword and singing sweet lost lullabies to lay his rest. For it has been too long since the volatile dragon slept peaceful. A prince with more gold than he can keep. A prince who can demand whatever he wishes and command any army. And yet all he is left with…All he is left with are the remnants of her which he swore to cherish as religiously as he would an idol. ʚɞ Pairing: Prince!Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Lowborn!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Smut, derogatory language, prejudice, angst, disease, character death, fluff, infidelity, slowburn, classism

𓇢𓆸 The Moon ʚɞ Summary: History remembers names, not blood, he knows that all too well so why are you so important to The Sea Snake, the bastard of the Rogue Prince ʚɞ Pairing: Corlys Velaryon x Fem!Targaryen!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: None

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𓇢𓆸 The Study of Affection ʚɞ Summary: Cregan Stark cannot say that he is used to romance which is why it is so nerve-wracking when he realises the princess expects him to court her rather than negotiate an arrangement. The lord finds himself in need of help and your nephew is more than eager to provide. ʚɞ Pairing: Hand!Cregan x Fem!Targtower!Reader ʚɞ Warnings: Pining

𓇢𓆸 Crystals* ʚɞ Summary: You have been a travelling bard ever since you were young but after accidentally being left in Harrenhal, you are left at the mercy of a witch and her prince... ʚɞ Pairing: Dark!Alys Rivers x Bard!Reader x Dark!Prince Aemond Targaryen ʚɞ Warnings: Smut, obsession, possessiveness