#a northern girl forced into a marriage

[elegantwoes]

People who sing Rheagar and Lyanna is a love story are not getting a subject of the story their story echoes, Bael and the bard. In the current timeline, we have two other stories, that echo that Sansa and Jon, who were both held hostage and had to comply under the threat of death Sansa was molested on her wedding night, Jon was just raped and yes, in both stories, there was a kidnapping. both Sansa and Jon’s marriages did protect them and so did their status as a bastard protected them from death so if you look up on regarding Rheagar Lyanna‘s marriage, protected her from something and having a bastard did(from what I don’t know) but she was raped and she was kidnapped. our author has always pointed that when adults put children in sexual positions when they’re too young, for it didn’t die by that Lysa died to Peter because she raped him Drogo, and Viserys died to Daenerys  because they put her in that position. let’s not romanticize this not even an author does that 

Well said, dear anon. People often seem to forget that the Bael the Bard story is a negative story and being associated with that tale is not a good thing. We have three, actually four if we include Jon’s gender reverse version, bard figures (Bael, Rhaegar, Baelish, and Ygritte). Three of the four of them are outright villains who prey on a ‘Stark Maiden’. Based on that it makes sense that the second tale is as equally fucked up as the rest. Rhaegar and Lyanna are not a love story. To assume that it is, is an insult to poor Lyanna.

[draczrys]

Would you write something about Cregan Stark getting married to a reader of a house of your choice and thus sealing alliances and being fluffy?

WINTER ROSE. ❨ cregan stark x tyrell!reader ❩

since your birth, the third child and only daughter of highgarden’s lord, your fate had always been a marriage for political means. your elder brother would inherit the title, the other set for life as a knight of the seven kingdoms. you were a girl and your purpose was to marry well and secure a strong alliance for your family.

it didn’t take long to come to terms with what your life would look like. you would come of age and be sent away to the lord that would benefit you most. for your family, you would do it. but, every night, you would kneel by your pillow and pray that your husband would at least be kind —- it needn’t be true love, like the stories you often read. as long as he wasn’t cruel.

“cregan stark has been named the new lord of winterfell and is in need of a wife,” your father announced one morning, amidst the feasting hall. “i have sent a raven to offer your hand and he has accepted.”

your mother beamed, grasping your shoulders proudly. “my daughter, lady of winterfell.”

“we are in need of his banners and he needs our grain and cloths for the winter,” lord tyrell explains, shrugging as though it were simply a swap of goods and not the life of his daughter. “it is a fair exchange.”

by the next moon, you were departing the green and gold covered fields of highgarden and journeying north on the roseroad. the colder it became, the more you missed the sweet sun and elegant surroundings of your home. northerners were rough and unforgiving to outsiders, each one you met along the way adding to the dreaded image of your husband.

the first time you laid eyes on cregan stark was when you were taken along the path to the godswood. he was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. but his tall build, stoic features and steady gaze made you shiver —- even under the furs you’d been given. he had the look of a northerner, but did he have the heart of one too?

“by the old gods and the new, i name you man and wife,” the septon concluded the ceremony, unbinding the cloth wrapped around your hands. expectant eyes looked on, forcing a blush upon your face as you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to cregan’s cheek.

if you were to confess under the eyes of the godswood, you were afraid of cregan stark. his eyes were unwavering, lips fixed in a permanent frown. other than his vows of marriage, he hadn't said a word. neither of you were elated to be trapped into a marriage of convenience, but you knew you hadn't any choice in the matter. at the least, he could look like he was enduring it.

sat now at the top table in winterfell's great feast hall, your new husband at your side, the celebrations were growing louder the longer the wine was being poured. you sat quietly, barely sipping at your cup. only when the loud, booming voice of cregan's men rang out did you come back to the present.

"a toast, to the new lady of winterfell! may she be as beautiful under our lord as she is beside him."

the laughs that emulated from it made you grimace, so used to being treated as the perfect lady, protected from all things becoming to a man. you knew of sex, the people of the reach having always been open about their bodies and pleasures, but the northern aggression that came with it was foreign to you.

"to the bedding ceremony!"

the ladies at highgarden had warned you of the tradition that came at weddings, the entire party parading around the newlyweds as they stripped and consummated the bond. it was daunting enough to take your new husband to bed, but to be watched by tens of strangers? it had your heart suddenly hammering out of your chest, every muscle tensing in a cold shock.

"enough!" the commanding voice of the man by your side cut through the cheers, silencing the hall in an instant. it was the first time he had spoken since the ceremony, current volume making up for the silence. "there will be no bedding ceremony. anyone who protests will meet the sword at once."

whilst everyone else cowered under the threat, you felt yourself relax with a warm relief. cregan turns to meet your surprise, both his eyes and tongue turning soft as he speaks just to you now.

"you may retire, if you wish."

nodding gratefully, you follow the gentle hand of your lady-in-waiting out of the busy feast and along the strange halls of the cold castle. even your chambers are cold, the climate seeming to cling to the stone around the bed. the silk nightdresses you had brought with you do nothing to shield you from it, so once your lady departs you begin to forage through the chests for something to keep you warm. eventually finding a smaller set of furs amongst the others, you drape it around your shoulders and relish in the heat that comes with it.

"is everything to your liking?"

jumping in shock, you turn on your heels to find cregan stood at the doorway, just about filling the whole space. his eyes flicker down to the furs -- his furs, covering you and a small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.

"i'm sorry," you stumble quickly. "it was cold and it was all i could find."

cregan's head shakes, dismissing your apologies. "it's alright. everything here is as much yours as it is mine, now."

you smile, head falling bashfully to glance at the floor. "i hadn't expected everything to be so... different here. it will take some time to adjust, i think."

nodding in understanding, cregan crosses the room to stand in front of you. you feel yourself shiver under his gaze, watching him study you amongst his territory. hesitantly, his hand slips from under his own furs to reach for your own. you let him, both of you treading new water as your learn each other's touch; the smoothness of your palms, the rough pads of his thumbs, the heat that encompassed your chilled knuckles. the sensation is wonderful, like two puzzle pieces slotting together.

"whatever you need to help you enjoy your new life here, no matter the extent, it will be my honour to find it for you," cregan tells you, the kindness in his voice a pleasant welcome. "you are my wife now, it is my duty to make you comfortable."

feeling your cheeks warm, rounding with the first genuine smile in days. your heart swells and the feeling that this marriage might just be okay fills you, so much so that you find yourself reaching up to kiss cregan's cheek once more. unlike the bonding of the vows, this one is genuine and of your own volition, expressing the gratitude you could not find words for.

"i can sleep elsewhere for the night, if you would wish..." cregan continues, clearing his throat to distract from the small blush that creeps past his skin.

"no, stay," you tell him, squeezing his hand. "perhaps we could talk, learn more about each other."

the suggestion eases you both. cregan agrees, using your hand to guide you towards the bed, only leaving for a moment to fetch you more furs for the night. he potters around, changing for sleep, and the domestic scene lets you relax into the pillows.

it wasn't a marriage for love - yet. but perhaps it could be, with time.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The Horror and The Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] Medieval Fantasy AU

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| you're here! Word count: 5317 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig This fic on AO3

— You’re really quiet, little princess. 

König isn’t ashamed of staring at you the whole horse ride. He isn’t ashamed of touching you, his precious treasure – cupping your breasts through that pathetic excuse of a corset, trying to feel of your legs through the billions of skirts, his touches sprawling across your skin like bruises. He is a soldier in all regards – his touches are far from gentle, far from how he should behave with his bride. You feel like a piece of meat being presented for him to devour. Like an unwilling sacrifice for a benevolent god. 

— Should I scream then?

Snarkiness isn't something that the princess should have – but it's the only weapon you have, although you are not sure if you can even use it. Emperor is laughing, and it is supposed to be a good thing – you were trained to receive such reactions, like a little dog standing and doing tricks on command; you were taught to strive for smiles on the faces of others. But König doesn’t allow you to see his smile, but König laughs all the time while describing to his soldiers the things he wants to do to you. It is almost surely, that he doesn’t think you know his language – you wish you didn’t know. 

— I can give you a reason to scream. — You shall not threaten a… — I’m not threatening you, kleine Katzen. With a good time, maybe. — What are you referring to? — That I would love nothing more but to rip your skirt off and show your cunt a royal treatment, princess.

Emperor has a foul mouth, wandering eyes, and grabby hands – he behaves like a drunk man in a tavern, even though you have never once been in a tavern, and the only drunk men you barely saw were the castle guards on various celebrations. He doesn’t act like a glorious king from the romance novels – and you don’t think that you ever read a novel about a king or an emperor, not about princes and glorious knights. People with this much power don’t deserve love, they already have everything they have – so why would he kidnap you? 

You turn away from him, the obscenity of his mouth makes your whole face burn. You are trying to hide yourself in your hands, you want to grasp something like a little fan or a handkerchief – everything to sustain your dignity. You are wearing the princess’s name and you have to behave like her – even if you don’t think that she would care about how you are behaving yourself. The dread of being exposed lingers in your chest, the only thing that doesn’t allow you to scream and launch on him like a wild cat. Rules and modesty tie you down stronger than any corset could. 

Like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s trap – you steal looks at the nature around you, excited and terrified to see it for the first time – not the perfect greenery of the castle garden, but an untamed nature. You saw the city for the first time – your capital, not burned and agonized under the empire’s boot, but eerie quiet. The city doesn’t know your face, the princess was hidden, kept in the tower as a means to escape the burden of marriage proposals and possible wars for the sake of securing her beauty. Nobody here knows you for your face, and for them, it’s just the empire’s knights, a power from a country too foreign to be worried about, and a random kidnapped girl in a dissarranged dress and tears streaming down her face. 

A hand on your waist secured you in place. No matter how much you squirm and cry, try to forget all the filthy nonsense he is whispering in your ear, you are forced to listen – and you want to cry every time his face hovers over yours. His hands are touching you, too much for comfort, your are still wrapped in his cape, but it’s a very small mercy for your torn dress and fragile body. 

The road is long and short at the same time. Your kingdom was bordering one of Northern Empire territories, but it’s days away – you never once thought that having the Empire right on your border would be such a nuisance, that it would allow them to simply take whatever they want from your tiny country – the rules of politics are never applying to those in power and, unfortunately, you found out the worst way possible. The road is treacherous, with people surrounding you, with soldiers going through the beheaded country like it’s nothing. You were biting your lips the entire first day of the ride, trying not to cry – you do not want to give him the pleasure of seeing your distress, but you can’t help but sob every time he exits the cabin to yell at his soldiers or laugh at something. 

You are not tied up, they trust you too much – they all know you would not be able to run, seeing just a helpless princess, a little war trophy of their emperor. The war trophy without the war, just a doll for him to enjoy. You steal a few glances at him – his spread legs that make you wonder how the poor horse even can handle him riding it, his mighty body, and his muscular arms. He could wrestle a dragon, you think – he could lift up the whole carriage and bring you back to the capital like this. He is a cocky bastard, not even having his sword in his hand whenever you move too much – too confident that this weak princess would not be able to resist him. You don’t want to fall from the horse and so you freeze in your tracks, even when they hit a small pause on the journey.

You can’t, of course – your hands are trained to hold clothes, to braid hair and, sometimes, fetch the water buckets – but you are mostly proficient in holding books, turning pages and embroidering. You can make tea, you can support the conversation, you can faint dramatically whenever the right opportunity occurs, but the ride has been happening for a few hours already, and you fainted three times – for specific reasons, of course, but fainting now would surely be a bit too much. 

— Is little princess too tired to hold herself straight? 

König chuckles in your ear, hands pushing you against his body. You don’t want to say anything, you’d rather continue your ride until you’re completely exhausted – books were never talking about how hard it is to ride a horse, that your rear would feel numb after the first hour, and your head would be bouncing on every little bump on the road. You never thought that the roads of your kingdom were so terribly maintained – and never thought it would be such a problem. 

You grit your teeth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of confirming just how weak you are – but he stops his horse once you are not responding, a hand slides under your hips to help you get out from the damned animal. You swear to god that you will never ride this foul creature again – but the god, as always, stays silent. 

— What is it? 

— Princess isn’t used to long detours. We’d have to stop before dawn if we want to keep this a secret for now. — Could travel for a few more hours before it’s too bright.

His second-in-command is a weird man, no doubt. Tall, broad, wearing armor with tiger prints all over the metal – although you never saw a tiger in real life, only on various illustrations of the books you were reading for the Princess. He is painfully informal in a way that makes you wonder how he can keep his head on his shoulders – surely, if he’d talk this way to a king, he wouldn’t be such a profound member of the army. König only shakes his head, pointing at you as the reason to stop – as you begged him to get off this bloody thing. — I need my princess with all innards intact. Especially the soft ones.

Emperor laughs, cupping your ass through the skirts. He somehow managed to grope your softness without breaking the corsage, and you’d feel thankful for him, but the dress was ruined anyway – all the hard work of redoing it over and over, every time you had to manage to squish the princess inside of the harsh corset and billion skirts, every little detail you were thinking through together…it feels somehow suitable, to wear a destroyed dress. Fake princess deserves fake luxury, but even the modesty he allows you to have with his coat wrapped around you feels forced.

Stopping right now, when you feel numb and your legs are getting weak and squishy like that weird transparent foreign delicacy, is very considerate of him. So much so you don’t even want to acknowledge it, hoping he’d just continue to go forward until all the traces of your past are gone. You’re too tired to consider anything from escaping to even opening your eyes. Suddenly, being on a horse of this size doesn't sound like something out of a fairytale. Suddenly, you realize that the horses are tall. 

— What’s wrong, princess? 

— I’m not going down.

You are sitting, frozen on top of his horse. One of your hands is keeping his coat wrapped securely around your body while the other squeezes the reins, hoping not to fall miserably to the ground. You hear soldiers laugh – the embarrassment spreads around your cheeks when you understand that a true princess would have horse riding lessons. You two never did – it would give you too much freedom, and your castle would never accommodate to large grounds of free roaming to keep a princess and her loyal maiden entertained. You can only hope they won’t think that the absence of your riding lessons would be too suspicious – and you also hope that he would just allow you to never jump down to the ground that feels horrifyingly far from you. 

— Do you wish to run with my horse? 

— Yes, your Highness. — Run, then. I’ll be waiting, little princess.

There is a laugh in his voice – you squeeze the reins and try to holster them, maybe kick the foul creature to the side so it would take the hint and start running in the direction of the nearest forest. Maybe you would get lucky, and the horse would drop you in front of the house of a kind forest witch that would take you as her student – you can cook, and you can read, so, naturally, any witch would be happy to have you as a disciple. Maybe you will get even more lucky, and the horse will kick you in the head after dropping you, finishing your misery in a tragic road accident. Not a honorable death, but a quick and interesting one. The horse remains frozen in place – just like you. König gently caresses its face, giving it something to eat – an apple, perhaps, a nice and tasty fruit, or sugar cubes, the delicacy that the princess would often indulge in but never gave you, or something of a…ah, this is it – you are starting to get jealous of his horse. Mayhaps, death is the only choice for you now. 

— I will run. 

— Of course you will. 

— Sir, should we prepare the archers? 

— Don’t know it yet. Maybe the princess escape would be too swift for them. 

You feel your whole face burn – they laugh, they all laugh, looking at you like a piece of meat, a funny joke between them. You don’t want to fall from the horse, and you don’t want to stand here either – but every time you look down at the ground that is so, so far away, you can only shake in your seat. You feel like crying once again – and this is what brings you to the edge. With a deep sigh and shaking hands, you jump down swiftly, your eyes closed and your legs getting tangled in the various skirts, dragging you down. ***

The emperor had an understanding of what he was getting into when he kidnapped a princess. Princesses, pretty and young ones especially, are mysterious creatures that should be carefully studied by the imperial scientist in order to determine how in hell they can even exist without killing themselves on something stupid three times per day. This one, however, was a crowned ruler of weird girls – sometimes throughout the journey, he was thinking about returning her to the king and choosing another one. Then he remembered that he beheaded the king – and so, the bloody dot was sealed in the history of relationships between Northern Empire and this tiny shithole in the middle of nowhere. 

Besides, the princess was too adorable to really throw her out. She is smart – for someone like her, anyway; her snarkiness combined with the primal fear of him and his men made him feel strong, more significant than before. It’s funny, in a way – König had defeated countless great warriors and spent his life turning the tiny Empire into the most powerful nation on the blonde, and yet, he never once felt this achieved as when he held the princess in his arms. The emperor never thought of marriage as a necessity, his whole magic endeavors securing that he would never have to worry about leaving an heir or having someone else to rule – but the loneliness can hit you like a royal stallion bred for the purpose of battery ramming into castle doors, and you can find yourself yearning for something that you never thought you’d want. Speaking of royal horses…

The princess is cute, the princess is dumb, and the princess is the most weird and perfect creature in the whole wide world. Makes him wonder just what was you doing in your little castle with your little servants, running around like ants under your dainty heel. You are snarky to him when you know that he is too busy to strike you and too tired to care about his opinion – he likes that about you, little yawns and feeble attempts to appear strong in front of him. He doesn’t, however, like the way you are frozen on top of his horse. He needs his wife helpless, yes, dependant on him in everything – and he also needs her to ask for help when needed, not…well, not jumping from the height of a royal horse in that stupid dress of yours. 

God, hive him strength. 

König, the ruler of the Northern Empire, biggest royal regime on the globe, thought that he overcame his anxiety when he was young, so long ago, he forgot how fast his heart can beat when the situation is going out of his control. He remembers this dreadful feeling now when that stupid brain of yours has decided that jumping from a horse is a good idea. He is fast, swift enough to catch you before you fall to the ground, and he squeezes your hips enough to hear the crack of that stupid dress construction. 

He has to stop himself from yelling. From putting you in your place and slapping you across that perfect face of yours – never the one to beat women, König feels like spanking the shit out of you now. His eyes are flashing with anxiety, and he grabs your shoulders, putting you in front of him – you can’t see his face, covered by his mask, and it’s a small grace for someone like you. He is scary when angry, nostrils flashing with rage when he thinks that you’d rather break your neck than ask him for help. 

— Made others set the camp for tonight. 

Horangi is as perfect as a knight can be – his friend, his partner in crime, one of the only ones who still can survive his temper and not be intimidated by it. He can see the worry in his eyes when König is pushing the little princess down to his hold, draping the various skirts across his hands to rip them away – and he quickly yells at the other soldiers who produced the operation, making them run in various directions to collect wood, stones and set up the tents for tonight. They have to move away from the popular roads, even though nobody in this kingdom would be strong enough to hurt them anyways – but this operation should be a secret, at least relatively, until the princess is secured as his empress, and her body is sprawled across his sheets, withering from pleasure and…

Ah, Scheisse. König cannot stay mad at her when the mere thought of her smile makes his dick twitch in his pants. He survived through horribly throbbing erection against the metal plates of his armor for the whole ride, the small mercy of not having her soft body press against him directly. It didn’t stop him from wanting more, from whispering filthy things, completely undeserving of your virtue. You are bringing him down to his knees – even an emperor is just a man when a pretty girl looks at him, and even at is age, he could feel like a young lover searching for his bride’s hand. 

Oh, but König would love something more than just your hand. 

He should be thankful to his knights for how quickly they made a tent for him to secure the dignity of the first moment between a man and his sweetheart. He usually does everything himself, not wanting to make a lady in waiting out of his knights, but he enjoys their help now – he surely won’t be able to prepare for sleep with his wild cat of a bride in his hands. You are unusually active for a princess, trying to get out of his hands, kicking him with your adorable legs, still wrapped in a ruined skirt. Perhaps you were so mad at him for destroying your dress – he gets it, knowing how sensitive ladies are about this. He’d buy you a new one right away, but, for your stupidity, you deserve to wear only his coat until they are inside the borders of the Empire. 

— Did you hit your head before I got you, princess? What were you thinking? — You told me to run. I did, Your Royal Highness. 

He pinches his nose through the mask, not believing just how arrogant you sound – he wants to push you down, to open that dumb skirt of yours and give your precious ass a few spanks before setting you down, making you sit on the ruined muscle until you’d learn your lesson. The king was definitely not punishing you enough if you still think that you can talk to your betters (and elders) like this. 

— I dared you to run. Thinking you’d accept the consequences with the dignity of a royal lady. 

— Why don’t you kill me then? For belittling your dignity. 

You look too snarky for his liking – he can see how terrified you are, little shakes of your hands and tears in your eyes. You are provoking him, picking the dragon with a stick so he’d burn you to a crisp. König knows that the customs of your kingdom value a good death over everything and just how much you’d love to fall into the grasp of a common tragedy. He also knows that he will not bury his bride before they are even married. 

It’s only natural that the emperor grasps the front of your dress, the edges of the corset you tried to tie down to save some of your dignity. The fabric rips with ridiculous ease, all the gold spent on making it runs with the speed of a thread being torn. Suddenly, your front is exposed, even the underwear is not enough to conceal your privacy. König indulges in the view of your open skin, glossy from sweat and so, so delicious in dim magical light erupting from an artificial candle. He knows that he is playing a dangerous game, that not touching you now would be his greatest accomplishment and greatest torture at the same time – your body meant to be touched, you look like a doll and like a statue, like the greatest treasure and the most desirable slut he ever laid his eyes on. 

The emperor is a man in the end – a war dog, closer to death than to the start of his life, a perfect incarnation of a horrible match to a young princess like you. Too wrathful, too arrogant, with more chips on his shoulders than the hair on your head, and yet, he holds you closely, putting you out of the torture device you are calling a dress. 

You breathe for the first time in forever, and your mouth is shaking from unspoken tears and spoken pleas. He holds himself back from cupping your face in his hands and crushing your lips in a kiss, not because he doesn’t think he deserves it, but because you deserve better than to be fucked on the ground of his tent without proper preparation and some relaxing oils for your body. One kiss would never be enough for him, and he hadn’t touched a woman in far too long to handle himself properly now. 

You look like you need to be ravaged – the greatest temptation König ever experienced. 

— I can do so much to you, little princess. More than you could ever imagine. 

— i’m not…n…not little. Your Highness. 

— You are, compared to me. Should be scared, not snarky. 

— I’m not snarky. 

Just for this, he loses control – your voice, shaking with tears but never losing that arrogant edge, that delicious drawl that cannot be described as something that belongs to a princess, makes him lose all of the composure he had. König had prepared himself for a lady who would fall in his arms and cry the whole night long, he prepared himself for a fierce fighter that would try to kill him immediately – but you are soft and vengeful at the same time, too weak to resist him, but not too helpless to not run his mouth. You speak before you think, and it’s an adorable quality for a princess and horrible – for an empress. good thing you would be his regent, a pretty thing like you should never be annoyed with politics and mingling. König pushes you across his lap, his free hand is tearing through various skirts, and what is left from that awful strick construction you tried to pass as a skirt support. He never understood why anyone would live through this torture – you’d look way nicer in his shirt and nothing more. Or, even better, nothing at all, chained to a bed in his bedroom until he’d think that you are tamed enough to be shown in public. 

You yelp in surprise, precious dumb thing. Just like a princess, you are not accustomed to the consequences of your own actions – you think that you can just run your mouth or do dumb things without his wrath falling upon you…and, little princess, you’re in for quite a shock. Your emperor doesn’t have enough patience for this, even though he did want you as his wife and knew what chaos it could bring. He just never thought that he’d have so much pleasure in looking at your adorable bottoms, all modest and long. Your underpants are adorably white, not stained from multiple washings, crisp and new – he feels the fabric with his fingers and almost thinks to not rip them away, just to appreciate the fine silks that went into constructing it. 

His mercy is cut short by that sweet whimper of yours. You plead with him not to touch you – like you have a saying on this. König defiled the death itself, so why would he even consider such silly things as chastity before marriage? He certainly had enough women in his bed to forbid him from ever going to heaven, and robbing you of your innocence would be a small crime against all the countless sins he already committed. 

But, he doesn’t want you to hate him – and you would, certainly, not in the fiery and passionate way he might enjoy, but a quiet, broken anger. He doesn’t want to turn this fragile thing into the broken shell of the betrothed princess, even if you need to be taught a harsh lesson – and you deserve much better than having your cunt destroyed on the harsh floor of his tent. 

— You’re lucky, little princess. 

He laughs, taking down your underpants – a harsh hand on your bottom, rough fingers that almost burn you without a glove to conceal his touches. You whimper when he lashes on the sensitive skin, stroking sensitive skin. If you knew how hard you make him, you’d run away with his horse already. 

— How am I lucky? You…you killed the king, you destroyed my country, you…

— I killed your father, yes, but I left you alive. 

— To make a show for your soldiers, I assume.. 

— If I wanted to leave you to waste, I would allow them to bounce you on their dicks a while ago. 

— How d…

— You’re lucky because you’re mine, little princess. Not going to share you with anyone. But…

— But? 

Your voice has finally gone down. he can almost taste the dread in your tone. König was burning down villages, destroyed his enemies with nothing more but a rusty sword and hatred in his heart – but he truly feels like a monster when he slaps your ass for the first time and sees your tear-filled eyes staring at him. God, he never was faithful, but hurting you feels like defiling an angel. 

And he loves every second of it. 

— You need to learn a lesson of respect, little princess.

It’s a small grace that he doesn’t make you count his slaps – he simply pushes you down, makes sure that your face is lying on his cloak, just for something soft to rely on, and gives you enough slapping to make the rest of horseriding as painful as possible. Maybe, it would teach you a lesson that if you need help, you’d have to ask him, to beg him for this – and not try to hurt yourself by doing it on your own. You’re awfully independent and resilient for the princess. 

It took him at least five strong, harsh lashes of his hand on your rear to make you cry as loud as he wanted you to. He cups your face in his palm, forcing you up his lap – and smothered your lips with a kiss. König knows he is overstepping; he wouldn’t be able to let go of you after devouring your lips like that, but he doesn’t care, at least for now. He wants to be your everything, to push every thought out of your head and fill it with himself. 

He adores the thought of being your first kiss, your first everything – you’re so inexperienced, so fragile in his hold. Never once thinking of himself as an appreciator of all the thighs dainty and artsy, he wants to worship that pout, your closed eyes, and little prayers of mercy you whisper between each kiss. Your body feels too enticing in his hands, a treasure he needs to keep all to himself. It’s a miracle he didn’t push your underwear down and took you all the way – as much as he wanted to touch you. 

König smiled when you cried into the kiss, trembling in his hold like a caged animal. Never once he thought he’d have this much fun without taking some plumpy woman on his dick, but you are full of surprises. Another five smacks on your ass left you with a bruised bottom and tear-strained, wet face. The look of misery in your eyes made him cackle – god, you were adorable. Continue like this, and he’d spend the rest of his life with you on his lap. 

— We will sleep now. The Empire borders are still days away, and you don’t look like you could handle the road right now. 

You pout, pushing yourself off his lap. Even the hard floor of the tent was better, the cold fabric made your butt sting a bit less. You still couldn’t sit straight, still miserable, with a burning feeling in the depths of your tummy – hate, perhaps, that made your hands shake and your thighs feel a bit too wet and warm for your liking. There is a knot in your lower stomach that makes you feel weird, anxious, that makes you squeeze your legs shut as you push through the pain and get your underpants on again. The soft silks of the princess’s undergarments made you feel a bit better. 

— I’d love nothing more but to run away while we’re still at my home, Butcher.

He smiles under his hood, pushing his hand on your backside. You freeze as he rolls you over, making you fit perfectly against his broad chest. He is a horrible, disgusting human being, clingy and warm around you – his bear-like hold is too strong on your limbs, making you freeze completely. 

— I’m sure you are, Liebling. And I would love to catch you and spank your rear again. 

— I will…you won’t catch me. 

— Someone will. I’ll pay handsomely to any knight or wandering hunter to bring my wife back to me. 

— I’m not y…your wife. 

— Yet. 

You turn away from him – try to, at least. He squeezes you against his chest makes you calm down in his hold like a wild cat he picked up on the side of the road. You don’t want to admit it, but he is warm, cozy, and even the harsh fabric he threw on the ground to make you a bed feels nice compared to the castle floors where you spend so much time. You still squirm, trying to find a good position to lay next to him without feeling like a toy in the hands of a grabby kid. König feels your wounded, perfect ass grinding against him – out of most of his armor, he can’t contain his erection now. Oh, how the strong emperor wished he’d have 

— Stop moving, princess. Unless you want to consummate our marriage early. 

— I’m not…I’m not moving. 

— You are squirming. Is the ground not to your liking?

— I must prefer sleeping in a grave with my papa. — Can’t promise you this…but isn’t sleeping with the Death himself would be enough? — You’re not death, your highness. A blight, maybe. Or a plague. — You’re making me blush, little princess. There is a smile in his voice. You feel your cheeks heat up again, but you can’t say anything. Too many nights sleeping by the princess’s bedspot, always being the first one to greet her at sunrise and the last one to tell her stories before going to sleep. Like a loyal dog on the wooden floor, with a pillow under your cheek for comfort – all of her other handmaidens, precious ladies from good families, had their own quarters and rooms. 

You had a cot by her bed and her endless affection. 

Compared to this, sleeping on the floor of a rich tent with an emperor by your side isn’t as bad. You have to remind yourself that you are sleeping with a murdered, pillager, kidnapper and colonialist – you shouldn’t feel warm by his side. But, he hugs you like a lover. But, he buries his masked face in your hair and inhales your scent – sweet fragrances mixed with the blood and sweat of a long journey. 

You fall asleep in his arms before you can think of something smart to say. 

König doesn’t fall asleep until hour later – too busy looking at your precious form, wrapped so perfectly in his arms. 

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 25. messed up

chapter tags/warnings: naoya fucks toji's ex-wife again. aggressive sex. creampie-ing. misogynistic! naoya. hurt/comfort. naoya views women as nothing but a hole. broken marriage. heavy angst. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. manipulation undertones. corruption. 

word count: 4.1k

notes: thank you always for all the support! on to the plot for our final arc! this beginning excerpt is a rewording from a line in “spy x family” (any fans out there?) that i believe captures the dynamics in our characters as well. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

❝ Every person has a self that one conceals, a side not shown to anyone else. Not to friends. Not to lovers. Not even to family. Behind lies and painted smiles, individuals shield their true natures and desires…and, in doing so, the world thus maintains its thin veneer of peace. ❞

Who in the world was Toji Zenin?

The Toji that you had always known was Toji Fushiguro, so what was your husband’s cognomen doing besides your sex therapist’s first name on the latter's university diploma?

Even Google seemed to deny that Toji Zenin existed.

Showing results instead for ‘Toji Fushiguro.’

No, that was not what you wanted! 

One step forward in understanding this enigmatic man might as well be three steps backward because, each time you thought you had learned something about him, you only come to the realization that nothing much had been discovered at all.

But as investigations via search engines, social media sites, and Wikipedia pages proved futile, sources that could quell your curiosity dwindled.

So, you turned to your last resort.

“Who’s Toji Zenin?”

“What—”

Across from you, the raspberry macaron in Mai’s hand stopped by her lips as the girl snapped her focus from the pastry to your unanticipated question, with Maki visibly turning stiff in the adjacent chair. The three of you sat surrounding a small table in the twin’s private lounge, located in the northern wing within the Zenin residence. 

Visiting the central family property was not uncommon ever since your engagement and wedding earlier this year, but the architecture would never fail to impress you. The mansion itself resembled the Imperial Palace more than anything—an edificial centerpiece defined by the elegance and simplicity inherent in traditional Japanese design, with latticework embellishing the wooden exterior and, inside, carefully painted doors opening into tatami rooms.

Given that Mai and Maki were back in Tokyo for their summer breaks from universities abroad, the sisters established themselves as your close friends and had brought you into their tea room, adorned with European furnishings that would come off as atypical compared to the Japanese heirlooms elsewhere in the residence. On the table sat an imported tea set from England, at the center a French-inspired pastry tower prepared with caramel-topped croquembouches, chocolate-covered profiteroles, and the like. 

In great admiration, the sisters had been barraging you with inquiries about your life back in your bachelorette days, asking about your volunteering trip to the Philippines or the charity auctions in Dubai.

Now, with the shift in discussion, the sisters exchanged an uneasy look.

An entire conversation appeared to be held in the way they traded glances. The usual sparkle in their eyes faded, which must mean the girls were remarkably uncomfortable, but Mai forced a polite smile as she placed down her macaron. 

“Y/N,” she began carefully, “May we ask how you know Toji?”

Even though she tried to spin the question as casual curiosity, her apprehension could not be more obvious. 

“I don’t know him, really,” you lied. While dishonesty went against your morals, watching the twins’ shoulders fall with relief was enough to assuage the guilt. “He’s just…” My friend, to put things in the mildest terms. “He’s just a name I have heard. That’s all.”

Maki dabbed at her mouth with a lace handkerchief, not making a big deal as she added, “Toji’s a cousin.”

So, the Zenin last name on his diploma was not a coincidence at all. 

Such a groundbreaking discovery should have thrown you into a whole whirlwind but, to be frank, the realization did not come off as too surprising at all. If anything, Toji as a member of the Zenin family was the perfect explanation to why Toji seemed so astute, why he would talk like he knew more about Naoya than you, and—as Geto had once said—why Toji was ‘not where he could possibly be.’ 

While Toji’s reason for opting for the Fushiguro name remained a mystery, what you did know now was that he was indeed affiliated with the twins before you by blood, which—by extension—must mean that Toji would also be a cousin to…

…your husband. 

Wait.

An unsettling chill ran down your spine.

“Cousins, as in,” part of you didn’t want to know the answer, “distant cousins? Or…?”

“No,” the older twin interjected matter-of-factly, not knowing the full background behind your seemingly innocuous question. “First cousins.” 

Ah, so the closest type of cousins possible, which was exactly what you had hoped not to hear. With this additional information, you tried to hide the clamminess in your palms. What would be the best word to describe this void now? Did you feel disappointed? Misled? Betrayed? Toji certainly had known that you were wed to his younger cousin, yet he willingly chose to hide his background as he kissed you, touched you, and fucked you.

A reversal from your sentiments before, you currently felt both disgusted and hurt.

Why did Toji keep this information from you? What sick person derived satisfaction from having sex with his first cousin’s wife? You were so damn stupid for placing all your trust in him. Looking at the situation now, he was just another iteration of the same manipulative and disrespectful man you had been trying so hard to avoid. 

“Are you close with Toji?” 

Mai shook her head. “No. We don’t talk to him anymore.” Her comment struck as odd. Anymore? Had they once been, then? Before you could ask, her gaze darted around in caution before she leaned forward and said lowly, “For your information, Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.”

That’s quite recent. 

You understood that Mai and Maki had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped as they did not want to slander the family heir in front of his wife. Blissful ignorance was what the twins must be thinking, hoping to preserve the peace between you and your husband. However, what you had yet to reveal was the broken marriage that had been masked for everyone’s sake, disguised by a pretense that all was well.

Which was why, on that note, the timing could not have been more perfect as a tall young man with ombre hair and hazel eyes flung open the door in one unforgiving slam, rattling the fine china and startling the seated individuals inside.

“There you are, you whore!” 

Your eyes widened with shock upon seeing Naoya Zenin in the entryway, your husband’s scowl icy and malicious. He came stomping toward you as his eyes held a dangerous hostility that was impossible to ignore, and you could oddly sense an impending doom when he stormed with zero regard for anything in his path, kicking aside a potted plant and toppling over a ceramic vase.

Standing up, you tried to hide the confusion that befuddled your already mish-mashed brain. 

Today was Tuesday.

Was he not supposed to be at work?

“Naoya,” you began calmly, cognizant of the onlooking sisters behind you, “this is not the right place to—”

“You’re such a fucking desperate bitch, aren’t you?” His words were sharp and bitter, his glare filled with hatred like a fire doused with gasoline. Before you could request clarification, he stopped steps away and swung his right hand up, pressing a black business card to your stunned face, the paper crinkled from his intense grip and rendering you petrified in your stance. 

No, this couldn’t be…

From your peripheral view, you watched Mai and Maki place their hands over their open mouths as they read Toji Fushiguro’s calligraphed name on the business card that also had in obvious words: 'sex therapist.' Shame racked your stomach. Merely minutes ago, you convinced the twins that Toji was to you nothing more than a name, and now, karma bit you back like a bitch. 

With your voice evaporated, you croaked.

“Where did you find that?” You had been sure that you placed the badge away.

Naoya used his anger to crumple the card and tossed the now useless paper ball to the side. “In your purse,” he gritted, “How long were you planning to hide this from me?”

The ensuing guilt suffocated you. “I—” I don’t know.

Sensing the weakness in your will, Naoya burst into a maniacal laughter that cracked through the air, creating a disconcerting symphony. He bent forward, shoulders convulsing with every diabolic and mirthful guffaw. 

“You’re so god fucking pathetic, woman. Do you have any idea who Toji Fushiguro is? That bastard is Toji Zenin, you ignorant slut—he is my cousin. Well, I guess I never told you about him, though, because he doesn’t fucking matter anymore anyway. I don’t know how you ended up crossing paths with him, but this is hilarious!” The man kept cackling and roaring like he had gone insane. “Were you two brewing shit about me? Actually, let me guess since you’d gotten hold of this business card: did you have sex with him? Did you have sex with Toji? Going around fucking your husband and then your husband’s cousin is nothing to be proud of. Tell me, did you meet the other sex therapists as well? Did you get stretched out by them, too? Whose dick did you like best? Whose? Whose? Is that what you like, being passed around and used like some sick trophy? What a fucking animal! How dare you disrespect our marriage. How dare you disrespect your own hus—”

Your hand lashed out before you could suppress the impulse and delivered one resounding slap across Naoya’s face. You watched him shut up and stumble backward, clutching his cheek. 

"Ow!"

For a moment, the world seemed frozen still: the sisters gaping in complete stupefaction, your husband staring at the ground wide-eyed, and you heaving from the incoming emotional onslaught.

”How dare you…How fucking dare you disrespect me!” The coalescence of anger, agony, and resentment—bottled up in your heart for months upon months—was now being released as you dissolved into tears. “What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you say such messed up things? You are sick in the head, Naoya, you know that? Out of respect for myself, how could I possibly respect you?!” The only sound echoing in the room became your uncontrollable cries, sobs that escaped past your lips in raw and muffled bursts. Torn apart by sorrow, you could hardly breathe from how constricted your throat had become, your knees wobbling and weak. “Y-You have no idea how lonely and miserable I have been since I walked down that aisle. For the past six months, you—as my husband—have done absolutely nothing but make me feel like a rat in my own home, a mistress in my own marriage!” 

“Fantastic! Exactly what I wanted to hear, I am glad I have made your life horrible!” Naoya snarled, not caring for how everyone else’s eyes widened at the scathing statement. Unbelievable. Truly, painfully unbelievable. Did your husband really just say that to your face? He could not give a shit that you wept pitifully, instead catching your shaky wrist in the tightest grasp possible as he added on, “My only regret is that I had not made your life even worse.” 

“What the fuck!” you heard Mai gasp as a gut reaction.

What the fucking fuck, indeed.

While you had been subject to Naoya’s verbal harassment during these many weeks, for him to tell you that he wished he had tortured you further was beyond heartless. The searing ache that burned your skin might as well be fatal because your respiration turned erratic like someone had trapped you inside a bubble.

Hyperventilating, you subsisted on shallow gasps.

“Don’t go around thinking that you’re any better, alright? You’re calling me pathetic for sleeping with your cousin, but have you considered that I had been placed in that position because, since the start, you’ve been cheating on your wife?” 

Yelling at his face allowed you to release more tears from your lachrymose eyes. Now, Mai and Maki must truly be appalled at all these revelations. What happened to the fairy-tale marriage you had told them about? Well, that never existed to begin with, and with these thoughts in mind, you found a sadistic satisfaction in watching your lawful spouse fume with deep-seated rage. 

“That’s right,” you mused with derision, “we’ve been two sides of the same coin all along.”

Naoya clenched his hands at his sides, disgusted to have been compared to you. “Do not put me on the same level as—”

“No. No, you don't get to talk! All you have done since we have been married is for you to talk and complain and bitch about everything, but now, this is my turn,” you screamed in return. “I…I hate you!” and you pointed right at him, “In fact, I despise you. You never tried to see what I had to tolerate to stay with an asshole like yourself because you had been too busy sticking your dick into another woman while you could hardly look at me! No wonder your cousins worried about me. No wonder Toji told me to file for a divorce. Because you, Naoya Zenin, are a total piece of shit!”

His momentary pause hinted at the tiniest self-actualization that flickered within him. Perhaps he finally realized how you had been feeling now that you freely spat out all the turmoil that had been chaining your soul. He took one additional step toward you, torn between whether he should keep up with his anger or succumb to remorse for hurting you.

But, knowing this man, he—of course—opted for the former. 

“I never,” he seethed lowly, “wanted this marriage.” 

Maybe you truly have become deranged or maybe you genuinely found his statement funny, for you began to emit tearful cackles in your laughter.

“Now, that is one big fucking lie.” Since your earliest encounter, Toji had suggested that Naoya solely regarded you as nothing more than ‘a sweet, innocent fuck,’ and the longer you had stayed with your husband, the more you began to acknowledge how these accusations were all true. “We all know that you’re going to be nothing without me. A CEO who could hardly keep his wife for half a year? What a loser. What makes you believe that I wanted to be married to you? Who do you even think would want to do business with you after this? You never had respect in the real world because all that respect rests upon me.”

While you never fully understood Naoya, your words must have snapped a particular chord in him because he suddenly lunged forward.

“Fucking cunt—” 

But before he could get too close, you darted away from him. “Don’t touch me!” you shrieked, voice shrill from the top of your lungs. “Do not ever touch me again. If you want to lay your dirty hands on someone, go touch your girlfriend instead!”

That’s right, he had another woman who he doted on far more than he could appreciate you. This wedding band, this engagement ring on your left hand meant absolutely nothing. Toji had been spot on—why the hell did you cling onto stupid shit like this, twisting the jewelry as if that would save your messed-up union? Without further empathy, you slid off the two rings and hurled them toward your husband’s chest before the circlets clinked upon hitting the ground.

At first, Naoya scoffed. He watched the ludicrous scene with a comical gaze, and when his brain processed what he just saw, he quickly fell onto his knees. All at once, he tossed his head back and let out a chortle—a full-bodied cachinnation that took the room completely aback—as his hysteria mounted.

“Good, good, good!” His screeches were like those of a maniac, his chuckles haunting, throaty, and lacking in sanity. “I’m glad that you’ve come to show the witch that you have been all along! Look at yourself! No wonder no one wanted you!”

Unable to be a bystander any longer, Mai stood up and hurled toward her cousin. “Shut the hell up, Naoya!” 

But the said man was quick, using one powerful movement to punch the older twin first. “You shut the hell up, scum. Unless you want to be pummeled to the point where people will feel sorry to look in your direction.”

“Watch what you say!” and when Naoya turned to the new voice, the evil glint gleaming from his brown eyes appeared ablaze.

“Oh? Someone’s bold, too. Shall I bully you first then, Maki?” the timbre in his disdainful laugh crescendoed into unhinged amusement. “Say one more word, little girl,” he taunted, his imp-like face riddled with mockery. “C’mon. I dare you. I will throw you into the courtyard and beat your ugly face up. That’ll bring back warm memories from the good old days, huh?”

The younger twin gritted her teeth, her sister reaching for her arm as a signal to back down and stay levelheaded.

Meanwhile, once Naoya rose from the floor, he nonchalantly kicked at the rings because those emblems of your union had always been meaningless garbage anyway.

“If wanted to leave this badly, then fucking leave,” he deadpanned, his tone the calmest he had been this whole time. “I don’t give a fuck anymore.” 

Those were your husband’s last words as he walked away, leaving you sobbing and shuddering with a lost soul and sore heart. While weeping and gasping, you had to endure watching his figure fade from view, all while wanting to stop the uncomfortable distress that heightened with his departure. You were huffing, panting, trying to stop your trembling.

The second Naoya slammed the door behind him, Maki ran up to your side and embraced your shaking form, all while you bawled and clutched at yourself. Her expression remained strong, but her palms were damp as they pressed onto your back, her arms quavering slightly as she soothed your cries.

“Sh, don’t cry. My sister and I are here, okay? Mai and I will protect you. Everything will be alright.”

Despite her reassurances, she sounded nearly as broken as you appeared, especially when your hand violently trembled because nothing could save you from the agony that drowned your tattered soul. You felt the disgusting urge to throw up—you were completely broken inside. In a futile attempt, you sought to regulate your breaths with one deep inhale.

Yet, at some point, Maki peeled back and she mouthed something.

Was she talking to you? 

Why…why could you not hear her?

She sounded so muffled, as though you were underwater.

Why did everything sound so far away?

With your throat constricted, you could not breathe. Gagging. Gasping. Big, huge gulps of air, but the oxygen failed to enter your lungs. You couldn’t breathe. You could not fucking breathe. 

You gripped the fabric by your chest and your other hand sought for something else to hold, but you ended up on the ground anyway. Choking. Coughing. Was something foaming at your mouth? Something warm and wet spilled from your orifices. Were you vomiting? Why were you vomiting?

Holding your body upright, Maki was the only reason that you had not remained on the floor like a fool, but even she stared at you with concern and…horror? Why did she look so scared? Was she screaming? She looked like she was screaming, but her face appeared all contorted like you were looking at her through a fish-eye lens. 

After a while, you could not even see her or her sister anymore because your vision turned spotty and then black. 

See! 

Open your eyes, and see! 

Why could you not see?

When your hearing returned to some degree, the sounds that filled your ears were frantic shouts and endless clamor.

“Call Toji! He’ll know what to do. Hurry, where is your phone?” It was Mai. Scrambling. Bags were being opened. Items being tossed. “Call Toji, now!”

A phone started to ring.

Buzzes and buzzes and more buzzes as the waiting intensified.

Then voicemail. 

Hello, this is Toji Fushiguro.  

“He is not picking up!” 

Unfortunately, I am unable to pick up the phone right now. 

“Get…”

But please leave your name and number—

“Get Megumi.” 

—and I will return your call as soon as possible.

“What about Tusmiki?”

“Tsumiki is still in London at university, idiot! Call…Call Megumi!”

“Okay. I know, I know! I’m calling him already!” someone screamed back. Was this Mai? Was this Maki? You could no longer tell, but the same person shouted, “Wait, wait. He is calling back. Toji is calling me back.”

“Then pick up the phone!”

“Toji…” one of the twins started, the cracks in her tone making her sound like she was weeping too, and her words composed your last bits of memory before the world dissolved completely. “Please…help us.”

Even labeling Naoya Zenin as ballistic would be far too much of an understatement.

The rage, wrath, and sheer indignation that swelled in his every capillary surpassed the twenty-five years' worth of virulent rancor that he had for his fucked-up family.

Since when did you get so goddamn arrogant? Naoya wanted to hurt you, ruin you, and do everything in his power to sabotage you. 

Not just you, though. Because that would be too easy.

But also his father, his cousins, his ex-coworkers, and—most importantly—Toji. 

Such ill feelings were what led the Zenin CEO to practically leap into the Mercedes-Benz that awaited him at the entrance to his family home, and he immediately ordered his chauffeur to press on the pedal toward a very certain condominium several kilometers away.

Fifteen minutes later, a very surprised Mari opened her door and an enraged Naoya greeted her, shoving her against the wall and colliding his lips into hers for a fierce kiss. His actions lacked passion, only charged with aggression as he stripped her and threw her onto the living room sofa. He could hardly care that he treated the woman as though she was nothing more than a prostitute, while the latter mistook her boyfriend’s rage for desperation, and she begged for him to pull at her hair and force his tongue down her mouth. 

At some point, Naoya drove his mistress’s face into the couch cushion and dragged her hips to have her ass raised high. He was too clouded by fury and too blinded by anger to think twice before he forcefully penetrated the woman. He fucked her raw and held her close, jostling her body as though she was a ragdoll, eliciting her loudest mewls that cried for his name. 

“J-Just like that!” she whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he pummeled into her dripping hole, paying no mercy for destroying her with his ruthless pace. Her knees gave out from under her, and she crumbled from the sofa and into the carpet, only for him to tumble too to follow the socket he needed to keep his dick soaked. 

“I need to break you,” he hissed.

Fuck, he was going to come soon. 

His nails left crescent marks on her flesh, his hands burning her scalp as he tugged her strands and met her buttocks with hard thrusts, and he knew he was going to come. 

Feeling the first of his seed trick into his mistress’s life-giving cavern, he toyed with the idea of giving Tsumiki and Megumi a baby sibling. That would be fun. He could then imagine the subsequent mortified reactions from his deplorable cousin and from his wretched wife (whom he would hardly call himself married to anymore, anyway). The fantasies, everything that he would do to spite those who had wronged him, had Naoya cackling as his viscous cum spurted from his tip and deep into his mistress’s womb.

He pulled out once he made sure that every single drop had been milked from him, his ejaculate dribbling from her pussy like someone had taken a bite from a cream-filled donut.

Rolling into the carpet and onto her back, a panting Mari took two fingers and pressed his precious seed back into her cunt. “That was so hot.” A lazy smile pulled across her face. “Thank you for the unexpected visit.”

Naoya completely dismissed her comments as he tucked himself back into his pants, not in the right mood to respond. 

“Cool. Clean this mess up,” he demanded instead, “I’m leaving for work.” 

He ignored the woman’s ensuing pleas to stay at least five minutes longer. Unlike her, he had better things to do, and he rushed out as he fetched his phone from his back pocket and surveyed for any messages he might have missed while he had been away. 

But when he turned on his screen, his most recent notification had his blood turn cold.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: The absolute fury in the argument, the complete panic between the twins, and the maniacal temperament in our husband…so much packed in this chapter! If you can’t tell already, my favorite POV to write from is Naoya’s, ha. Also, I took some creative liberty here to convey the intense emotions, so let me know what you think! Hugs to all.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 5)

cregan x reader

word count: 1,606 words

series masterlist

A private carriage. You thank the gods for small victories. Being locked in a small box for a month with nobody but Cregan Stark for company would’ve been the thing that pushed you over the edge of insanity. Or, you likely would have killed him.

Perhaps it was more his safety they are concerned over rather than my comfort. You think to yourself.

The preparations for your departure have been immensely extravagant and your mother has already commissioned ten new dresses and five nightgowns just to tie you over until the royal family flies in for the wedding. You’ll spend another whole month courting Cregan (in Winterfell this time) before the ceremony and you don’t know if you want the spectacle to be drawn out more to prolong your unmarried freedom or if you just want it to be over with.

You ignore the thoughts as you make your way down to the courtyard with Baela and Rhaena on each arm and Ser Robert trailing after you.

“I’m going to miss you awfully.” Rhaena says sentimentally. 

“You’ll have to write to me with every bit of court gossip. Gods know that the boys won’t do a very good job at keeping me filled in.” You roll your eyes dramatically, trying to keep it all lighthearted.

“You’ll write to us plenty as well, tell us all about the joys of marriage.” Baela says with a little smirk.

“I hardly believe there’ll be many joys to rave about.” You say with a scoff.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. From what i’ve heard, northern men are very good with… their tongues.” The elder twin says scandalously. You think you hear Ser Robert choke on water from behind you.

“Baela!” Rhaena scolds but she giggles too.

“I don’t want his tongue anywhere near me.” You say as you shoot her a glare.

“Then you are as dumb as you are pretty.” You roll your eyes at this.

“His assumed skills don’t matter if I do not like him.” You say primly.

“You don’t have to like him to appreciate the look of him.” Baela says as she lifts a hand to inspect her nails.

“I agree. You know what they say about men with large hands…” Rhaena trails off and you glare at her as well.

“Do not team up against me.” You say.

“We are only trying to help you to look on the bright side. You’ll be with him for the rest of your lives.” Rhaena says softly. It’s a thought that you don’t really want to think about.

“Perhaps after I give him a son, we will become estranged and he will allow me to retire to Dragonstone.” You reply wistfully. The twins exchange a look.

“And what of your son?” 

You sigh and say, “Any child I have will be his, not mine.”

“But they will also be Valyrians. They could be dragonriders. They will need a Valyrian to teach them.” Baela says. The idea of a child with a dragon, not knowing its history, not knowing how to care for it, is a sad thought.

“Motherhood is as noble a path as any.” Rhaena says, in an attempt to make you feel better.

“Not if it’s forced.”

There is an awkward silence after that and you feel bad, being the one who caused it. Your closest friends, your sisters, they only wanted to comfort you, to make you excited about the journey and you’ve made them feel bad for trying.

“I do quite like some of the dresses her Grace commissioned for me, though.” You say with a little grin and both of the girls light up.

“Oh yes, they’re all so beautiful. I don't know if I could even pick a favourite.” Rhaena gushes.

“I can.” Baela says. “The deep maroon velvet one. Ugh, the sleeves on it are to die for. It’s far too hot to be wearing such fashion in King’s Landing. We’d be sweltering.” Baela pouts a little at that but then grins. “You’ll be the icon of the North when it comes to gowns.”

“I intend to be the icon of the North when it comes to everything.” You say with a faux level of superiority as you come around to the stairs that go down to the courtyard.

There are many nobles waiting to see you off and Cregan Stark stands right at the front, waiting for you and looking as disgustingly handsome as ever. You ignore him and make your way to the ladies who won’t be accompanying you first, hugging them and trying not to tear up. You hope Cregan is offended by how you brush by him. Then, you reach your siblings. Your goodbyes to your family are short and proper, you’ll see them at the wedding anyhow. Your goodbye with your mother is… tense if nothing else. 

You turn to Cregan at this point, knowing that you need to have a public interaction before you get into your carriage. Even if you enjoy being the centre of attention, you don’t want to waste the creation of gossip if you’re not there to see how it all goes down.

Lord Stark bows deeply. “Princess, I am glad to be accompanying you to your new home.”

“I thank you for your protection on the long trip that lies ahead of us.” You say in response, your voice cordial and dripping with charisma. 

“It is my honour.” He holds out a hand and you take it, allowing him to help you up the steps, into the carriage. Your two handmaidens follow after you. When the door shuts, you sigh, ready for the long trip to be over already.

~~~

As the trip properly starts, you begin to remember how much you hate carriage rides. Short ones are usually fine but you’ve been sitting in the wheeled contraption for hours now and it's making you awfully dizzy.

“Your Grace? Are you well?” Rose, your handmaiden, speaks up. She looks concerned for your state.

“I am fine. I perhaps just need to rest for a moment.” You say, a bit breathlessly, as you shift to lay down, resting your head in your other handmaiden’s lap.

“Are you sure, princess? You look a little green.” Safia speaks up as she begins to stroke your hair.

“It’s this stupid carriage. And the road for seven hells. How can it be so uneven?” You groan and Safia starts to rub your temples.

“It is awful, I know.” She soothes but her kind words don’t help. You just feel more and more nauseous.

“Oh gods.” You groan.

“Princess, are you going to be sick?” Rose asks, and to your dismay, you believe you are about to be sick.

You nod a little and she stands, banging on the roof. “Stop the carriage!” She calls out to the driver.

Before you’re even fully stopped, Rose pushes open the door and Safia helps you to your feet. You stumble out of the carriage and unceremoniously, onto the grass. You fall to your hands and knees, breathing heavily. You thank the gods when you don’t actually throw up and the churning of your stomach begins to slow with the help of a stationary position and fresh air.

“What is happening? Is the princess alright?” 

Oh gods why does he have to see this? You think to yourself as the young Lord Stark’s voice rings through the air.

“The movement of the carriage makes her unwell, my lord.” Safia says.

“Oh of course.” He murmurs and wanders off for a moment. You feel hopeful that he just decided to leave you but he’s back before you know it and kneeling by your side. “Here, eat this.” He says and gives you a gentle smile as he holds out ginger for you.

“Why would I eat tha-” He seems to know that you were going to kick up a fuss so as you are mid-sentence, he puts the piece of ginger in your mouth.

“Chew.” He says simply. Your eyes are wide and you want to refuse but you also don’t necessarily want to spit it out like a spoiled child. So, you apprehensively begin to chew the root, trying not to make a face at the peppery flavour. “Good.” He speaks again. “You’ll feel better now.” You think he looks far too pleased as he stands up in front of you and offers you his hand. You begrudgingly take it and he pulls you up with so much ease that you hardly even had to try and stand.

You brush your skirts off, feeling spiteful even if Cregan just helped you.

He just looked far too smug about it. You assure yourself as you make your way back into your carriage. 

Before the door is closed, your betrothed speaks up, “Perhaps I could join you, princess. Just to make sure you’re feeling better.” The smile he gives you is almost sneaky, as if there is some sort of hidden innuendo in there. You feel that he enjoys toying with you.

“That would be terribly improper.” You speak only loud enough for him to hear.

“Yes, of course.” He says but the cheeky grin never fades, even as he walks to his horse.

“Strange.” Rose says. “Most lords would enjoy the comforts of a carriage themselves.”

“Perhaps it would be an excuse to sneak into here.” Safia says scandalously. 

“Then he shall be perpetually disappointed.” You say as you settle into your seat.

The procession begins to move again and through all the bumps and uneven roads, and as more time passes, the nausea that plagued you never returns. 

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[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly (Part 1)

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

Enemies To lovers

Summary: Y/N Frey (reader) is the youngest daughter of Walder Frey, her mother being just another woman who died in childbirth, here she learns about her union with Robb Stark, King of the North, and she’s more then displeased of the sudden arrangement, but when she looks into his eyes for the first time. Now that’s something.

warnings: alcohol consumption, forced marriage

i fear i don’t know what i’m doing ISNT PROOFREAD also switched out from “You/your “ pronouns and “She/Her”

this was all pre written in my notes w my OC’s name and without “Y/N”/ & or You so i apologise if u do see a random girls name that’s not Y/N or You lmao (unless you’re your actual name) x

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Y/N stirred awake, blotches of orange and pink sunlight spilling into the room through the curtains, she fluttered her eyelids as she made sense of her surrounds as always, this was the cold, stone room she called home. The bed was cold and stiff, much like the Twins, but the warmth of morning softened the chill in the air. She lay there for a moment, blinking up at the heavy wooden beams on the ceiling, and sighed deeply. She missed Dorne. The dusty winds and golden sands, the gardens that spilled over with sweet-scented blooms, and the warm laughter that lingered in the air, all of it was so different from the grim and graying walls of her father’s keep.

She was born in the river lands in the Twins to her mother, Lady Frey, who unfortunately passed away from childbirth, another forgotten face who lost their battle on the battlefield of the bed. As a youngling, Walder Frey sent her of to Dorne, where her mother had been born and brought up. Though, technically her mother was of Myrish descent, who just happened to be one of those descendants of immigrants who crossed the narrow sea for work. That’s how Y/N’s mothers side ended up in Dorne with no actual dorneish blood. Y/N was mixed, which was uncommon in Westeros, since Essosi’s and Westerosi’s did not mix all the well, and it was worse when Y/N’s features took favour to her mother, atleast she didn’t look as boring or unappetising as her sisters (though Roslin has always been beautiful.)

She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself as a handmaid poked her head through the door. “Good morning, my lady,” the maid greeted with a small bow. “Shall I draw your bath?”

Y/N nodded, her thoughts drifting as the maids bustled around, bringing in buckets of steaming water. The scent of lavender and rosemary filled the air, oh that was her favourite scent in the morning. Two maids helped her undress, and she sank into the tub, sighing as the warm water soothed her.

As one of the maids gently poured water over her shoulders, Irene spoke, almost to herself. “I was happier in Dorne,” she murmured, trailing her fingers through the water. “I want to go back there someday. To see my family again, to be… me again.” She looked down, smiling wistfully. “I was freer there, you know?”

One of the older maids, Meg, nodded with a sympathetic smile as she rinsed your hair. “Aye, my lady. They say Dorne has a way of bringing out the heart in people. But your father has his reasons for wanting you here.”

“He always has his reasons,” You said softly, her voice edged with resignation. She leaned back, letting the maids scrub the last traces of sleep from her limbs.

“You’re still Frey dearie. You’d never stay in Dorne for too long, though it’s built you, made you smarter.” Meg cheerily said, scrubbing and Y/N’s hair, throwing whatever ointments. Y/N hummed to this, she’s still Frey, the reason why she lingered in Dorne until her thirteenth was quite the random decision.

The other handmaiden, Nora, much younger and atleast 17 said to Y/N, “My lady, there’s talks about Lady Stark coming over here, apparently she’s looking for a bride for her son.” She spoke excitedly, washing at your arms.

“Stark? Northerner? he must be a rugged beast with no sense at all, must be another one of those brutes they breed up there.” You replied quickly, to think that a Stark would want to marry a Frey was also unbelievable, who would want to marry a big wolf?

“Your father’s picking between your sisters, then they have to be confirmed by my Lady Catelyn.” Meg continued, as you let them condition your hair and add some extra oils and essences to your bath time.

You nodded, not that you cared… well you thought it was interesting for one of them to ask for a hand in marriage, “What’s the reason for the marriage?” You asked, looking down in the soapy water.

“The crossing or something like that, they need it for the war.” Meg rattled on, scrubbing the last parts of you before preparing a towel for you.

“Of course.” You muttered, still sleepy from the terrible cold, wet night you all suffered from. “What’s the boy’s name?” You asked, less then cheery.

“Robb Stark? something like that. He’s know as the Young wolf, rides a wolf into battle, turns into one in the night. I think it’s a load of rubbish, but I do hear he’s handsome.” Nora spoke, rattling on about this Robb Stark and what good features he has and how much he resembles his Tully mother.

“Perhaps you have a chance though my lady.” Meg said calmly. As she was drying you off and wrapping yourself in a thick robe. “Lady Y/N,” she began, helping with the braid of her damp hair. “Your father could choose you, this rugged beast of a man could be your escape.”

“And leave you all behind? I doubt it.” You rolled your eyes at their failure at convincing you.

“It’s merely a suggesting. Do take it lightly.” Meg replied, trying to please you.

Y/N allowed the maids to dry her off, the steam from the bath still clinging to her skin, making the chill of the Twins feel sharper. She was dressed in a simple gown of dusky blue wool, plain but fitted, with embroidered vines of silver along the cuffs and neckline. Her hair had been braided into a crown, a few tendrils curling loose around her face, softening her expression as she wrapped herself in a fur cloak. She was ready to brave the drafts that snuck through the old stone walls.

As she made her way through the winding halls, Nora fell into step beside her. They walked slowly, their footsteps echoing off the stone, and Y/N’s voice was almost a whisper as they resumed their conversation.

“So, Lady Stark is truly searching for a wife for her son?” Y/N asked, her voice threaded with curiosity and a hint of skepticism. “Does she think it so simple to find one of us willing to move to the North? Nonetheless with this war, any one of us be part of it?”

Nora gave a soft laugh. “It seems your father thinks it’s simple enough,” she replied, glancing at Y/N. “But yes, word has it she wants a match to strengthen the ties between the North and the Riverlands. They say Robb Stark needs someone who’ll bring loyalty and strength to his cause, but also it’s an agreement for the crossing that will help him win the war”

“Loyalty and strength,” You mused, a smirk playing at your lips. “I wonder if Lady Stark knows much of the Freys.”

Nora chuckled at that, shaking her head. “Perhaps she only hears what she wishes. But you might surprise her, my lady. You’ve a spirit that could suit the North well. They say it takes a certain fire to keep warm in those freezing castles.”

You paused by an arched window, looking out over the river winding far below. The day was clear, and the wind swept in with a sharp bite, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and cold water. You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself. “I wonder if he’s anything like her, Robb Stark,” You murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve heard Lady Stark is as proud and steadfast as the North itself.”

Perhaps,” Nora replied, leaning against the wall beside you. “But I’ve also heard he has some of his father in him. An honorable man, loyal to a fault, like Eddard Stark. A woman could do worse.”

“Could she?” You asked, turning away from the view with a sigh. “The North is distant, Nora. Cold. Unyielding. I’ve only known heat and light, gardens that stretch as far as you can see. Here, it’s all stone, and there, well, it’s ice, isn’t it?”

Nora gave you a sympathetic look, but before she could reply, a loud, impatient voice interrupted them.

“Y/N!”

They turned to see your half-brother, Merrett Frey, striding toward them, his expression bored and slightly sour. Merrett was a portly man with thin hair and a perpetually furrowed brow, looking as though everything he saw annoyed him.

“Y/N” he repeated, glancing from her to Nora, “Father wants to see you. Now.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, though you masked your annoyance quickly. “Did he say why?”

Merrett shrugged, clearly uninterested in details. “Something about a match. Said he wants you in the hall at once.”

Y/N exchanged a glance with Nora, a mix of dread and resignation in her eyes. “So it begins,” she muttered under her breath before she straightened, squaring her shoulders.

“Very well, Merrett,” she replied coolly, giving a final look out the window, as though Dorne lay somewhere beyond, waiting for her. “Lead the way.”

And with that, she followed her brother down the winding corridors, a feeling like ice settling over her heart.

The great hall of the Twins was dark and drafty as Irene entered, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. Walder Frey sat at the high table, hunched over with age, his piercing eyes watching her approach. He gave her a thin, sly smile, a glint of satisfaction in his gaze that made her stomach twist. Around him, a few of her siblings and half-siblings lingered, pretending to be occupied with anything other than her arrival.

She stopped before him, lifting her chin defiantly.

“Y/N,” he began without ceremony, his voice as thin and cutting as the river wind. “I’ve struck a deal with Catelyn Stark, and I’ll hear no argument. You’ll be marrying Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and doing your duty as a Frey. Our alliance with the Starks strengthens us. You should be proud.” He then took a chug out of his red wine.

You felt your throat tighten, her voice sticking as she forced herself to speak. “Father, surely… surely there’s someone else more suited to this—“

Walder’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll be good because I say so. We’ve not been offered a match like this, not in a long time. A wolf from Winterfell, boy or not, could make you a queen if you play it right. But you’re to do as I command,” he said, his tone turning as cold as steel.

You opened your mouth to protest further, but his stare silenced you. Your voice faded, her gaze lowering. You realized then, painfully, that you had no choice.

“Yes, Father,” she murmured, her voice resigned. “As you wish.”

He grunted, satisfied. “Good girl. Go on, then. I expect you’ll be a dutiful wife.”

Days later, Y/N stood in her chamber at the Twins, a quiet stillness surrounding her as she prepared for the wedding. She thought back to Lady Catelyn’s gaze when they first met sharp and cool. Catelyn had looked her over with an assessing eye, her expression revealing nothing as she took in Y/N’s every detail, from her posture to her expression. Y/N could practically feel the weight of Catelyn’s silent judgment, her assessment of whether Y/N would be fit to stand beside her son in both marriage and war. After what seemed an eternity, Lady Stark had finally given a curt nod, deeming her acceptable.

You slipped into your wedding gown, a simple yet beautiful piece the seamstresses had hurriedly prepared. It was made of silken ivory, with long, elegant sleeves that flowed to your wrists, and a fitted bodice embroidered with delicate silver leaves. The gown was free of unnecessary adornment, simple yet striking, with a modest neckline and a trailing skirt that whispered over the stone floor behind you.

Your hair, braided the southern way, with a shimmering veil falling infront of your face and behind you, covering up the meek expression you held.

“You’re shining.” Nora spoke sadly, knowing this was probably the last time they’d see eachother. Her voice soft and filled with acceptance.

Meg, the older maid who had helped raise you, stepped forward as well, her eyes misty with emotion. “Be strong, my dear. You’re braver than you think.” She reached out and gave your hands a squeeze.

“Il miss you both,” A knot in your stomach tightened, this was really it. You bid your goodbyes before making your way down the hall outside, your father taking your arm with that wretched grin he always had on, the doors opening, the Stark flag hoisted alongside your own one, you didn’t dare look up from your feet, the chill air hitting you immediately as you were clutching at your fathers arms before he let you go and you had met with what looks to be Robb Stark.

You couldn’t really see him well with the veil and you’re sure he couldn’t see your face at all. A moment later after the septa spoke, he removed the veil over your face, and his eyes.. something in it softened, they were pools of dark blue, and you swear you felt your heart thump a little faster. He was rugged yet handsome, with the wolf emblem on him, you saw him quickly look at someone else, rather this other young lady before looking back at you, that lady having a rather solemn look on her face. You knew straight away that was his lover, and this would be even more complex then you had anticipated. You said your vows and shared a kiss, your lips much softer against his chapped ones, but perhaps you felt that warmth again. Maybe this could work, or maybe you were doomed to fail.

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tags!!! (Tell me if you want to be tagged in pt2)

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

The Song of Ice and Fire (DARK BOOKMOND X STARKREADER/OC)

Aemond (book) x Reader

🔷Summary: After getting kidnapped on your way to King's Landing, you end up in another time where you meet a dangerous prince.

🔷Author's note: Either hit or miss with this one

🔷Wordcount :6756

🔷Warnings: This is Bookmond because im a little too sad to write showaemond atm. Bookaemond is my deranged honeybee he can do nothing wrong. Ok almost nothing.

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, drugging, forced marriage and war crimes and aemond being a sexist little bitch. Also spankings.

Maybe it was for the best. You always dreamt of leaving the cold and quiet town of Winterfell behind. You dreamt of a bigger, exciting life. A life of tourneys, of exciting feasts, of noble men fighting for your hand. It should have been as simple as that.

Except it wasn’t.

Sansa, your sister is going to be the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Your father would be the hand of the king, one of the highest positions at court.  You, Arya, and her will soon travel with him to King’s Landing.

Until something happened.

Something unexplainable.

And something terrible.

Lately, your dreams have been getting worse. From nightmares that you didn’t pay any mind to darker things, things you barely could keep to yourself. Nightmares and dreams filled with unexplainable things, unknown faces and the death rising and marching. 

_____________

It is clear to you that your mind is simply toying with you. You are likely nervous for the future that awaits you. You are nervous for the suitors you’ll meet and that your life finally will begin. It will just be like all the romantic novels you read. It will be ball after ball and feast after feast.

Your dreams always start the same way. You are alone, surrounded by trees as big as towers, in the snowy woods. You hear the sound of the crispy snow as you set feet on it, moving in any direction, to find something. Home, you assume. The stars above your head are the only light to guide you, and it is unforgivably dark in the cold forest.

The cold winter winds pick up and toy with your hair, sending it in all directions. You never know why, but you always turn your head slightly sideways. You can’t control it. You don’t have a say. As a chestpiece moving over the board, you do as you are told by someone controlling you. 

It is always a surprise to see the wall close by, no matter how many times you have dreamt this dream. The majestic tall, ancient structure that has been here long before you were born and will be there long after you have gone. Something about it tells you are not supposed to be here. You feel chills.

You had heard reasons why the wall was built. Wildlings, mostly. The Nightwatch was installed to guard the wall, to make sure no threat could climb over it. You know your brother, Jon, dreams of becoming a brave member of the Nightwatch. It is all the honor he will gain as a bastard anyway. You are the same as his twin sister. But your father kept your bastardy a secret.

But the most important reason why the wall was built was the threat of white walkers. Cold, icy and deadly soldiers of an army without needs and without a will, forced to march forever beyond the wall. And when you are all the way North, you can only go one way: South.

You knew it wasn’t true. You knew when your father told you about them, they weren’t real. But any Northern child grows up with the same tales. Creatures with eyes as blue as ice, that could freeze you in pure terror so they could easily squeeze your eyeballs out of your head, killing you. A fun tale in a tavern. But not in the castle. 

You aren’t a foolish girl, no matter what the world tells you. You don’t believe those lies. You never did. You are not as brave as Arya perhaps or as pretty and polite as Sansa but you never believe in those ghost stories.

But here, in your dreams, beyond the wall and far away from your safe warm room at Winterfell, even someone as skeptical as you could understand why people believed those stories.

What would come next in your dreams was also always the same. You turn your head away from the wall. In the far distance, you can make out someone standing there, holding a lantern. The person is hooded, unrecognizable. But the person would always lift the lantern, and wave with it. Your eyes follow the movements, as the light of the lantern becomes brighter and brighter, shedding light over the forest, making the snow almost look like liquid gold.

It always seems so magical, as a scam shopkeepers tell their far too trusting clients before selling them magical rocks or potions. You know the hooded person never reveals themselves. You tried running at them, screaming, but you couldn’t move nor speak.

Then, you notice you are standing on something. A great lake, made of ice. Gone are the trees of the forest. Through the ice, you make out the skeleton of a human being. Someone from a long time ago. You watch the skeleton, wondering how long ago this person met their end, and how. And beneath the ice, poking halfway out of it, is a steel forged sword with a black handle. The tip of it is still in the ice, covered in a dark rusty coat of old blood. You notice your hands reach for the sword, picking it out of the ice.

The sword feels different than most swords. Lighter, better to wield. Safer. It feels like wielding one of your own arms. It feels safe, comfortable. Yours. Impossible. Ladies do not wield weapons. Not such obvious ones, at least. Ladies wield lies, poison, tricks, schemes. 

You turn to the hooded figure, sword in hand, still standing on the ice, with the skeleton safely beneath your feet. The hooded figure is gone. As is the light. The world is once again covered in darkness. It is suffocating you, in a way. 

Fear and anxiety fight inside of you, as you try to get off the ice. But you can’t move. Not anymore. It is not your body, anymore. You don’t have a say, anymore.

The sword is starting to hurt your inexperienced arms, and you try at all cost to drop the weapon. Your head snaps as you hear the sound of something you never heard before, but somehow you  know exactly what it is. A dragon’s roar.

You never felt fear like that, as you look around the lake for any sign of a dragon. But instead you are met with a thin skeleton made of ice and rotting flesh that reaches out with their hands, trying to grab you. A white walker.

You scream.

But before he could grab you, drag you into the lake with him…

You wake up.

You sit straight up in your bed, clutching the sheets of your bed. Your heart is still beating and your fear hasn’t left your mind yet. You are glad to see you are in your rooms, at Winterfell. Several familiar stuffed animal toys glance back at you from their spots on high shelves, calming your troubled mind instantly. You are coming of age so put some of them away, but unlike Sansa, you could never throw them out. 

You climb out of bed and prepare yourself for the exciting day ahead. The day your life will change forever. You just had no idea how much. And how terribly.

As always, Winterfell is busy. Servants go about their day, greeting you with nods or smiles as they carry in potatoes or walk around with freshly washed linen.

Your father and ‘’mother’’, brothers and sisters are already at the table, gathered for breakfast. They seem to have been waiting just for you. You greet them with a relieved smile. The food smells delicious and makes your stomach rumble in unladylike ways. You sit down on your chair and begin eating. 

You can almost hear Lady Catalyn’s thoughts. Everyone seems to know it. This might  be the final time you might all be together. This is goodbye, in a way. Jon will go to the wall, and you and your sisters to King’s Landing. 

You grab an apple and begin biting down on it, while also making yourself a cup of nice honey tea. You can not wait to leave the boring North and the nightmares finally behind. The north is a boring and cold place. Nothing exciting ever happened. Your sister, Sansa, also looks more happy than usual. Normally, she is grumpy at this hour.

‘’Do we need to leave soon?’’ Arya mutters next to her, playing with a fork and a potato. Your parents share a look, and your father speaks to the youngest Lady of house Stark. 

Even with their differences, their arguments and their fighting, you can see that Arya dreads the day that her and her  would leave for the capital. She likely wants to remain here, in the cold North forever. Eddard speaks, smiling with pride and joy and you feel jealous of how easy Sansa will become the Queen. ‘’Sansa will be the Queen. I will become the hand of the King if all goes well. Perhaps you’ll like King’s Landing.’’ Arya’s brown eyes fill with worry at imaginary scenarios. She looks at her sister, who always was said to be prettiest and who always has focussed on how to be a lady. She imagined King’s Landing would be filled with Sansas.

‘’No, thank you.’’ she mutters. Yet she does not have a choice.

You begin eating the apple first. At that moment, Maester Luwin comes from the courtyard, bringing likely fresh news, plucked from a raven. He brings the news first to your parents, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.  ‘’Lady Lynantha is expected to be escorted to King’s Landing today. Her carriage is already here.’’ You drop your apple, distraught as all eyes are on you. ‘’Why aren't we traveling together?’’ You ask your father. He does not meet your eyes. 

‘’I received a letter. A nobleman from King’s Landing, one of King Robert’s nephews, wishes to get to know you. It is of importance that you leave right away.’’ You know why. There are rumors you aren’t a true born Stark. That you are a bastard. Rumors that are likely true.

You understand. You are eager to leave, in a way. Lady Stark stands up from her seat. ‘’I wish you well, Lyantha.’’ You never liked her. She never liked you. But you do respect her. You nod, respectful as you make a final curtsy. 

Luwin coughs, reminding you all that time is not on your side. You finally stand as well, excusing yourself as you mutter. ‘’I must pack for the journey-’’ You will need clothing, books, maybe jewelry.

‘’O, there is no need, truly.’’ An almost magical light voice rings out. A woman with raven dark hairs, a green gown with beautiful gold patterns stitched onto her skirt greets you with a curtsy. ‘’The Capital has everything you could need.’’ She assures you, a sweet but horrible hollow smile on her lips. The Lady makes a bow for her as well. ‘’I am Lady Alys Rivers. I have come to escort you to your Prince.’’ You know that Rivers is a last name used for bastards and commoners, and wonder silently how someone as Alys could have acquired such a position at the royal court. But you would never dare to voice that concern. Of course not. A prince, a title, it is almost too good to be true. ‘’A prince?’’ You ask, beaming with excitement. Sansa huffs, and you see Alys nod, almost a little too pleased with your excitement. 

The woman smiles as if you two are long lost friends. ‘’A true born royal, a fierce skilled warrior and an intelligent man. Few are blessed in so many ways.’’ You are certain your smile only grows.

He sounds so charming.

So perfect.

So kind and gentle and gallant and strong. 

‘’Very well.’’ You say. Your father is the first to hug you, whispering in your ear that you’ll always be a Stark, and his little girl. If you have trouble, you could write to him and he’d be there before you could blink with your eyes.  

The Starks remain loyal and firmly rooted outside in the yard as the carriage slowly departs to the roads, leaving Winterfell behind. Such sorrow the Starks all share And such more sorrow they would share if they had known what would become of Lynantha.

–

The carriage is comfortable and to your liking. It is warm as a mother’s embrace and has soft pillows that make the long journey comfortable. You imagined you would stay at multiple ins down the King’s road. Lady Alys has been nothing but kind to you, offering you sweets and cake when the landscape and scenery outside of the window changed. 

The lemon cakes you eat are heavy on your stomach, and soon you feel tired. Exhausted for some reason. It must be the weird nightmares that kept you up. 

As a true future Princess, you  try to stay awake in the carriage but the more she fight against the instinct to sleep, the more tired you become.  Eventually, you fall asleep in the carriage.

This time you too dream of the strange sword, the strange lady with the Lantern and the wall. But you can hear a voice this time as well. ‘’Do not go to the wall! Return! You don’t know what you are unleashing!’’ You can not place the voice, and you assume it belongs to the lantern lady. But when you look at the normally covered lady, you see Alys instead, wearing the common cloak and dress, holding the same lantern. Her eyes are red and sinister, burning like hellfire and her smile spreads wider than it should.

Once again, you wake up panting and breathing heavily. Alys is still near you, calmly knitting. You had hoped if you left the North, the nightmares would end. ‘’Welcome back, my Princess.’’ Alys says as she finishes her knitwork. ‘’We are almost there. Just a bit longer.’’ And at that moment, you notice a familiar basket that is half covered with a blanket on the floor. You would recognize that basket everywhere. And to be in King’s Landing so fast….Something is wrong.

‘’You don’t work for the King do you?’’ You ask, your voice soft and trembling. ‘’You’re not taking me to King’s Landing.’’

Alys only smiles, putting her needles and knitting work away. ‘’Just sit tight. I need to bring you to him alive, he didn’t say in what state.’’ He? Who is he?

You have many more questions, but you are not stupid. That was a clear threat and an order to shut up and so you will.

The carriage finally approaches its final destination. And halts.

When you look outside, all you can see is darkness. And the ominous yet sparkling stars above the carriage. Just as in my dreams.

It feels much colder here. And that smell. The smell of iron and snow. Alys takes her time with putting her hood on, and as you had  expected by now the hood had the same pattern as that of the Lantern lady. She smiles as she opens  the door. You don’t know what she wants. But it can’t be good. And you are not coming with her.

You clings to the carriage instead, refusing to follow Alys. ‘’No! I’m not coming with you! Bring me back!’’ You demand. 

Alys only chuckles and pulls harder, pulling you easily from the carriage as a flower being plucked. She puts you outside the carriage.

In the cold snow you take a good look at your surroundings, looking for any help or signs. And there it is. You turn around, as if you can already feel its presence. The looming tall wall of the North.

And you are clearly beyond it.

’Are you mad?!’’ you lash out at Alys. ‘’You have endangered us both! Who knows what’s out there.’’ Alys ignores you, shining her lantern around the ground, searching for something.

You rub your cold arms, regretting you didn’t bring a coat with you. The snow storm only grows worse and worse, as a storm unleashing upon a town. 

You look back at the wall, before stumbling on something beneath your feet, buried in the cold snow. Just like in your dream. And just like in your dream it is the sword. For a moment, you think about picking it up and threatening Alys with it. You reach out to grab it. ‘’What did you find there?’’Alys’s voice rings out, closer to you than she was before. You try to pick the sword up, but Alys is faster. She has a strange smirk on her lips when you backed away from the now armed woman. ‘’Such a good girl, finding the sword. I’ll tell him that you found it.’’ There’s that ‘’him’’ again. 

You become even more uncomfortable at her clearly condescending compliment, and for some reason she is more angry with you than before. Is it because you found the sword? And not her?  ‘’Now come. He’s not known for his patience.’’  You look back at the Wall. Alys sighs, clearly annoyed. ‘’Or you can stay out here in the cold and freeze to death.’’ She adds, with a careless shrug. ‘’I don’t mind.’’ She is right. You know she is. And you hate her for it. You won’t survive out here on your own.

The two of you approach a lake that is somehow not frozen despite the cold.  It is not the lake with the skeleton. You can tell. Red and green and black and yellow flowers grow around it too, and everything about it seems to confirm that this is nothing but just a dream. But you can’t wake up.

Alys grabs your arm, walking to the lake. You resist bravely but end up in the water regardless, yelping expecting cold, freezing water. But it does not feel cold. It does not feel warm. It does not feel anything, truly. It feels…soulless. Dead, in a way. 

Alys and you approach the deeper part, where you can no longer stand. Before you can ask what is happening, she pushes you underwater. You gulp, as water fills your lungs, convinced you will die. You close your eyes and at the moment you have given up all hope, something beneath you seems to open, and you fall down.

—

Your body is drifting between both space and time for a while, until someone pulls you up by your hair, and out of the waters, back into the world of the living. You gasp for air, spitting out the water and cling to the ground, looking around you as you thank the gods you are alive.

You are still near a lake. Just not the one you nearly drowned in. You look at the skies, and it is day as well. How long have I been gone?

This lake has flowers in just green colors, and has ruined walls around it, likely belonging to a palace from a time long ago. You look around and notice your captor calmingly sitting next to you, making a crown out of flowers. She drops her crown the moment she sees you have awakened. You can only glare at her, too stunned for anything else.

You hiss at her, close to strangling her. She cackles. ‘’You’re finally awake. I was worried you didn’t survive our little magic trip.’’ You sit up, taking in more and more of your surroundings, the sun warming your wet clothing, as you look at the ruins of a castle and people passing you both. 

You jump to your feet, ignoring your soaked clothing as you rush to a soldier. ‘’Hey, Hey! I need help! She abducted me!’’ You yell. The soldier takes one good look at you, before he sees Alys. Alys cracks her head sideways, causing bones to crack. That is all it takes for him to take off running. 

You huff, in disbelief and anger. ‘’Craven!’’ You shout, as he rushes off. Next to you, Alys doubles over cackling once more. She finds this extremely funny, for some  reason. She lays a hand on your arm, smiling at you.

You instantly shrug it off, disgusted. She doesn’t seem to even care, still smiling. 

‘’Come. We are almost here.’’ She says. You can do two things. You can dive back into the lake, and likely drown, or you can come with this woman. Both aren’t smart things to do. Alys offers her hand again.

At that moment, you spot a nice, big rock, just a few steps away from you. Most people here don’t care for abuctuees. They won’t care for murder either, you think. No one would know. No one would judge. And no one would tell.

This woman is a threat to your safety. And so you grabbed the rock, and tried to get Alys on her back. The woman cackled again, much to your annoyance. You did manage to get her on her back, and raise the rock skyhigh, ready to deliver the deadly blow. Alys laughs, before spitting in your face. Disgusted and caught off guard, you drop the rock. ‘’It seems we need to watch ourselves around you.’’

‘’Come, we must not let him wait any longer.’’ There it is again. 

You know you are going to regret going with Alys but you don’t have a say. Not anymore. ‘’Who is this him you speak of?’’ Perhaps the mysterious prince, her lover, or an enemy of Joffrey. It has to be.

Or, a Targaryen. You snort, in your head. The Targaryens had been defeated, like their dragons and their ancestors alike. They would not bother you or anyone else on the Westeros continent again.

‘’Your prince, of course.’’ There is something strange in her voice. Almost a scoff or an inside joke that you had yet to understand. However you perked up at hearing those words.

‘’The match my father arranged?’’ you ask. ‘’Is he here?’’ It couldn’t be. Could it? It would not explain the lake, the change of time, the wall, anything of it. But the thought that you soon would see your handsome prince again, gives you some hope.

Alys ignored you and did not confirm nor deny anything as the two of you walked to the castle gates. As you approach, you notice countless freshly dug graves. You gulp. You try to remember what castle this could possibly be. 

And that’s when you see it. The ruins remind you of a more polished version of the castle of Harrenhall. The cursed castle and the castle where dragon fire still burns to this day. The walls look younger, time has not been as cruel as it has been now. The fire burns, as always. 

The thing that scares you most, were the gates. Someone had put heads on the spikes, heads of people who all had their eyes wide open and full of terror of whatever killed them. A killer. A monster.

The smell makes you sick. And judging by their smell, they had been here quite a while. Alys doesn’t even bat a eye at the dead. But she did grab your right hand, dragging you inside of the castle. 

The doors open the moment Alys approaches them, her head high as a true queen. You walk next to her, your thoughts spiraling. 

You have just a moment to glance up at the banners decorating the outer walls. And you wish you hadn’t. An unfamiliar yet known sigil hangs there, proudly paraded by the wind and kept in place with pins.  You would recognize the three headed dragon everywhere. The Targaryens. But how? 

Yet this one looks different. Alys drags you in, the moment you finally draw the conclusion that this is the sigil of no other than King Aegon II.  The gold and the green made that clear. But what are his banners doing here, nearly hundred years after his passing? Unless….

You already felt sick because of the dead outside the gate, and now you feel even worse as an irrational and terrible fear begins to form in your head. A fear so insane that it can’t be true, but how can you deny what is right in front of you? Have I truly….?

Alys drags you with her, into the castle halls and into the throne room. The door has no guards. You can hear someone playing with a blade, sharpening it. You feel shivers and cold, in your wet clothes.

Alys gives you a push in your back, sending you into the room on your own.

‘’I’ve brought you something.’’ She says, her smile barely containing her pride. 

Whoever is there, they didn’t bother to open the curtains or to light candles. A truly terrifying conclusion. 

You trip over your dress, and fall. You regained just enough balance to land on your knees, instead of flat on your face. You know whoever is waiting here, orchestrated this whole thing. And if your gut is right, you know who it is. 

You laugh, quietly. You must be crazy, expecting an actual Targaryen prince to await you here. Stir crazy. But what other explanation is there? Why else bother with old banners, why else does the castle look better than it ever did in your time? 

You glance up at the man sitting the throne, his legs calmly placed on the arms of the lavious throne he sits upon. He is indeed sharpening a catspaw dagger, and his lips have the faint impression of a smirk and a smile blended into one as he takes in your soaked clothing and angry glare. Alys opens some curtains.

And the moment you do see his face, it feels as a relief and a shock at once. Relief because you were right. But also a shock because how, how can you possibly be right? 

You were treated as a silly little girl. You can only think of one reason why the banners were here, why the castle looked so good and why the dead were rotting above the gates. And this man’s face confirms it all.

In front of you, is no one else but Aemond Targaryen ‘’one eye’’ the Kinslayer of House Targaryen. You know him from the history books you have read. But those books barely mention him. Aside from his death and his atrocities at Harrenhal. 

And yet, here he stands. In front of you, alive and well. He is a true Targaryen with sharp classic Valyrian features like piercing eyes, and very light, almost silver coloured hair. 

He finally stopped sharpening his dagger, curiosity written all over his face as he takes you in, sitting on the floor, at his feet and glaring at him. He can’t help but smirk.

You glare. Whatever it was that is going on, it is all his doing. You can tell. And that prince Alys promised you would meet, that is him. A cruel joke on her behalf. You glare at her too. She simply makes another curtsy cackling once again.

Slowly, a smile creeps on his lips, amused by the audacity. ‘’I take it she was a smart lass and obeyed?’’ The question is aimed at Alys and you physically feel your stomach turn even worse by his words. 

You had not been a ‘’smart lass’’. If anything, you had acted insanely dumb. You resisted, you tried to kill Alys. You tried to run. You tried to resist in every way possible and more. 

You cross your arms, tired. Alys beams as she tells Aemond what has happened between the two of you, happy to see you punished by her Prince. ‘’She tried to kill me with a rock.’’ 

His face tilts, and although he tries to appear uninterested and cold, even a simple man could read the anger and murderous emotions in his eye.  ‘’I will see to that she’s punished for that.’’ He promises his loyal servant. To that, Alys smiles.

Aemond smiles at you, in a condescending way. You glance between him and Alys, aware you are in trouble now. ‘’I am not yours to punish.’’ He is not your husband, nor your king or father. No one should decide what happens to you but you. Your voice doesn’t sound scared or angry. Just annoyed.

Aemond shifts his legs, angry at your carelessness and casual behaviour. He slams his hands on the arms of the throne, causing you to flince briefly. He stands up, and you finally see just how tall he truly is. And how fast he stands in front of you. He sinks to his knees, the green leather cracking. He clearly enjoys the way you flinch as he reaches out to touch your chin and your cheeks, feeling your soft delicate skin beneath his fingers. He finally bothers to address you. ‘’Of course you are, Little Wolfling. If you touch and damage something that is mine, you will be punished.’’ He reveals. 

You understand finally that Alys is more than just his servant. They have a relationship. He loves her. And you tried to kill her. You must try to talk your way out of this. ‘’Your lady did not explain why I was taken from my home and lied to.’’ You hope he becomes more understanding of how terrifying all of this is for you.

Alys snorts and Aemond laughs. You curse quietly in your head. That was a failed attempt. ‘’As I ordered her. Alys obeys well and listens. You can learn a thing or two from her.’’ He tells you, finally getting up from the ground. 

Somehow, that makes you angry. The idea that he now thinks you will help him as some spineless pet and roll over for him when he wishes so, it makes you so furious that you are close to pulling him back by his eyepatch to slam his head against the stone floor. You do not have the sword anymore. 

You only have your clothes.

And …

Oh.

You patiently wait until his back is turned to your front, before sliding your shoe off and aiming at his head. You throw the shoe as hard as possible and it ends up hitting him perfectly on his head.

Confused, he turns around, looking for who dared to have hit him. When he notices you, smirking very proudly and missing one shoe, something changes. And you regret even blinking in his direction.

Prince Aemond storms back to you, as you can barely back away to escape him. He is faster and steps on your dress, trapping you easily. You feel the walls closing in and are truly in danger now. The Prince grabs you by your waist, lifting you to your feet and drags you to the throne. You try to break free of his grip, protesting. ‘’Let go of me!” You turn your head to look at Alys. Surely she has a say in this. But she only smiles.

Aemond let out a low chuckle as he sits down the throne, your body still in his grasp. He places you on his lap, as some disobedient little girl. He whispers in your ear, and your cheeks burn with shame. ‘’You laughed. Now it is my turn to laugh, Little Wolfling.’’ You let out an offended cry, struggling to get away from him as fast as possible.

He chuckles. ‘’I am not sure what they teach you in the North, but here, we are respectful to our princes.’’ He says, lecturing you. His cold hands feel the back of your dress, feeling the warm skin that it covered.

Until that moment, you had never been touched before. Instead of doing what you feared he would do, he picked out a different punishment. He does lift your skirts, but barely enough to touch you. Just to reach your small clothes but mostly your behind. And at that moment you know what he is planning. And you don’t want that. You try to escape again, kicking and slapping him.

Aemond grabs your hands, grinning. ‘’Calm down, Little Wolfling. It’s just a spanking. I’m sure you had plenty before.’’ Never. 

Your parents did not believe that that was a healthy idea. ‘’No! Never!”’ You declare, angry. ‘’And you are not my father or my husband. You aren’t allowed to punish me.’’ You say, bravely.

He only scoffs, and his hand lands the first hard blow on your behind, causing you to cry out in pain. You squirm over his legs, fighting stronger and harder. He increases his grip, tightening it. ‘’Tis for the best you learn now, Little Wolfling. I don’t have time and the patience to do this every day.’’

The blows only increase, hurting your delicate skin. You did try to keep from crying and from complaining. You wouldn’t grand him that satisfaction. Not anymore.

It is true that you were disciplined in this way, yet your body betrayes you in the worst way imaginable. 

You do not notice your arousal until it is too late. Your nipples are hardened and there is a wetness between your legs, growing. 

You stop fighting. Perhaps in shock of your own betrayal, perhaps only to show the prince that he could stop what he was doing to you. Finally, he stops. But not before your behind is burning and a painful mess. 

He helps correct your dress and covers you apprioartly as if nothing has happened. You are still in shock, and don’t move away from him at first. ‘’I hope I made myself clear to you both. You both will play nice to one another.’’ He tells both you and his lover.

Alys bristles. ‘’I am not the one picking up rocks and killing people.’’ But this time, Aemond has enough of her complaints.

He did all he could. ‘’The Wolf has been disciplined. I am sure my Little Wolfling will behave much better in the future.’’ You are forced to sit on his lap, as a prize he had won.

‘’Won’t you, Little Wolfling?’’ He whispers. He does not kiss you, but his lips come closer to your cheeks, and unwillingly you feel your cheeks burn bright as stars. He chuckles, amused. ‘’You can go now, Little Wolfling.’’ You almost look offended when he sends you away.

This madness needs to stop. ‘’I,’’ You catched your breath. ‘’I don’t understand a few things.’’ You say. You want the truth. Now. Before you offend him again somehow.

Aemond rolls his good eye, smirking. ‘’You are a woman. I imagine that happens to you a lot.’’ Even Alys glares at that comment but his royal highness does not see it.

You only blink, ignoring him. ‘’You are alive.’’ You say, cutting straight to the case. ‘’You were killed in a battle.’’ You don’t remember who killed him or with what or where but you are certain Aemond Targaryen died.

Aemond’s head perks up, listening eagerly to what you tell him. You can tell he is not listening, but he is eager. ‘’What am I doing here? Am I here to save the dragons?’’ You ask. ‘’Or to stop the civil war?’’ Not that you would even know how in the seven hells to do that, but that's another thing entirely.

That causes the head of the prince to snap to Alys, worry written across his face for the first time that you met him. Alys only makes a gesture with her head, and Aemond seems to calm down. He smirks, carelessly. ‘’Oh, don’t worry about the Dragons.’’ You never heard any Targaryen say that.

The dragons are their wolves. Their dragons are their war winners. You laugh, offended and still hurt. ‘’But, without dragons, I am sorry to tell you, your entire family will become ash and dust.’’ You even chuckle.

Aemond stands back up from the throne, raising his sword and pointing it at you, lashing out. ‘’You are a bold little girl, are you not? Perhaps my hand was too gentle.’’

You don’t even back down anymore. ‘’It’s the truth. Where I’m from, house Targaryen is dust. All thanks to you, your sister and your brother. Together, you caused the civil war and killed the dragons-’’ That is pushing it too far. 

Aemond grabs you by your throat, choking you lightly to warm you of not accusing him of another thing. ‘’Silence.’’ He barks.

You obey, glaring. ‘’Good girl.’’ he smirks, mockingly. ‘’Now, I understand, you must be so excited to see a dragon, hmm? You can’t shut up about them.’’ He stops choking you, feeling your neck.‘’I suppose, there is truth in what you tell me. The dragons are long gone where you are from. But you are now here, with me.’’

‘’The story is written.’’ You say. 

Aemond snorts, and there is something dangerous about his body language. ‘’The story is just beginning.’’

You have a terrible feeling. ‘’You see,’’ Aemond grabs hold of your left hand. ‘’I have some inside knowledge. You know how this will end. You will tell me how the dragons died out, and I will simply be always one step ahead of my enemy. I will be their worst nightmare, their downfall and the dagger that slashes their throat.’’ He grins, as you become truly terrified and even tremble.

‘’How will you stop your sister?’’ You whisper. But you fear you already saw it in your dream. ‘’How will you stop Queen Rhaenyra’s marching troops?’’ Your voice is a soft weak whisper.

Aemond leans in, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. ‘’I heard a prophecy. The song of ice and fire. That is where you come in. You can help me find something, something very precious.’’ He chuckles.

The sword.

He wants to find the sword.

But why.

Unless…

‘’No.’’ You instantly say. ‘’You can’t.’’ You turn your head to Alys, watching her blank expression. She is fine with this. You watch as Aemond smirks in silence, confirming to you that he is planning to do the impossible. ‘’Aemond, you can’t.’’ You repeat.

Aemond’s grip only tightens. ‘’Think about it, little Wolfling. An army that never rests, never eats, never betrays me. An army that will help me conquer Westeros; An army of White Walkers. It is perfect.’’ He is insane. 

‘’I won’t help you.’’ You remind him. ‘’You might as well send me back.’’ 

He ignores your protests. You can see his smirk and grin only grow, and you are reminded of Targaryens and their insanity. Their fire. Their blood. ‘’You will help me, little Wolfling. You will. Because if you do not, you will never see your family again. I have the means to send you back. And I will. After you have helped me.’’

You scoff, so you must help him do gods knows what so he can send you back to your own time?  ‘’It doesn’t sound like I have a choice, do I?’’ Alys shakes her head. ‘’What will I need to do?’’ You ask Aemond, your head hanging in shame. How many will die because of you?

He lifts your chin, grinning. ‘’Now, now, don’t be so sad. To begin things, we must find the sword. And I want more information on how to better keep the dragons too.’’

You cannot do that. ‘’Dragons died centuries before I was born!’’ You don’t know anything about dragons. ‘’I don’t even know what they eat.’’ You almost whine.

‘’Meat. They eat meat.’’ Aemond says. ‘’Vhagar is right here with me. I will teach you about dragons, you will teach me what you know of the Dance and how it ended.’’ This all sounds like a horrible idea to you. ‘’And when the time comes, we must complete the prophecy of Ice and Fire.’’ That sounds vague. 

But you want to see your family again. More than anything. So you hold out your hand, and wait for Aemond to shake it. He smiles, kissing it instead. He leans a little closer. ‘’I can’t wait until we are married. I always wanted a Valyrian wife, but you’ll do.’’ You laugh, thinking he is jesting. Until you see how Aemond is looking at you. Like you are some delicious cake he can’t wait to taste. He mirrors your smile, allowing you to be in denial as he makes his way to his lover, kissing her openly on her lips. You watch speechlessly as the two of them walk away, their chuckles and giggles mixing as they likely picture their new world together, with them for once atop of it, instead below. 

You throw your head into your neck and try to process it all. What in the seven hells did you even become part of?

a/n

Ooh, i wasnt sure i even wanted to share this one.

But here he is xDDDD

Ok bye

let me know what you think

[starkskeep]

Cregan Stark x Alicent's Daughter HC

A/N: this is kinda long for a hc but I am trying to make up for not posting anything for two weeks.

so, you are the 2nd youngest of Alicent's children

younger than Aemond but older than Daeron

you are the only one who looks like Alicent so naturally, you became her favorite from the moment you were born

she did not have to be reminded of Rhaenyra every time she looked at you because you were hers plus you did not have the same tendencies as Helaena. Alicent could raise you to be the perfect noble lady

because you lacked any Targaryen features, Alicent and Otto had to stop the rumors of Rhaenyra's children being bastards. If the King could have a child without Valyrian coloring, so could his heir

your resemblance with Alicent caused Rhaenyra to resent you even more than your other siblings. looking at you reminded her of the friend that she lost to womanhood so Rhaenyra devised a plan to keep you out of her sight and not be reminded of her lost girlhood dreams nor of the betrayal Alicent subjected Rhaenyra to

on one of her rare visits to King's Landing, Rhaenyra went to her father and privately convinced him to wed you to Cregan Stark

Cregan's wife had died giving birth to his son Rickon and he now rarely left the North. Marrying you to him meant that you would be kept far away from the Red Keep, both now and after Rhaenyra took her position as Queen

If Rhaenyra let it be known to Cregan that she was the one who betrothed you to him, he may be even more loyal than the typical "there has never been a Stark who forgot an oath" because it was his father who knelt and not him

so the majority of the court traveled North to Winterfell in order to witness your marriage to the Wolf of Winterfell

Alicent was livid. How dare Rhaenyra take it upon herself to betroth you? It was Alicent's job as your mother to find the best possible match

she would have never given you to a man such as Cregan Stark. a savage who worships the old gods. Alicent had heard how he brutally took back control of Winterfell from his uncle.

you are a princess of the Seven Kingdoms. you are kind and delicate. you deserve more than to be the second wife of a man several years older than you. you deserve more than the same fate that Alicent suffered

though you would never admit it to your mother, you were happy for this match. the North is somewhere that you had never been and despite its reputation, the scenery and summer snows you saw on your journey there from the Red Keep intrigued you

upon your arrival in Winterfell, you were greeted by your future husband and several other Northern lords. your mother was not happy when she saw the blush upon your cheeks when Cregan kissed your hand in greeting. though she was supposed to be happy for you, she had wished that you would be upset with this match and not allow yourself to be corrupted by the Northerner

unfortunately for Alicent, that didn't happy. all it took was your wedding night with Cregan for you to be utterly in love

you are a young girl, and of course, you would be instantly taken with the man who had shown you love and pleasure for the first time. he had heard your hand and made sure you were comfortable with everything he did

needless to say, you and Cregan had a very active marriage from the moment you two awoke the morning after your wedding. it was not uncommon for the servants to skitter past your chambers giggling about the noises coming from behind the door

while the court was still there before their return to King's Landing, Alicent tried everything in her power to scare you away from your husband, thinking she was preventing you from being corrupted. it was not proper for you to constantly be showing up for meals arm-in-arm with your new husband. Cheeks flushed, hair out of place, and your clothes in disarray. plus she was hearing that Cregan had your things moved into his chambers. how were you going to be protected from him if you were being forced to spend every night with him (stop being delusional Alicent? your daughter would throw a fit if Cregan even suggested having separate rooms now that you have had a taste of him)

Cregan loved the glares he received from the Southern nobles. Unlike your siblings who had the looks of the man his ancestors bent the knee to, you had the look of someone he could corrupt

Cregan loved how soft you were. he would grip your hair with one hand and keep his other on your hips when you were together, no matter where you were. he wanted you to look into his eyes as he controlled your movements. he wanted you to know exactly who was making you feel this good and exactly whose children you would be carrying

you are the young and pretty bride that Cregan enjoys corrupting. maybe your mother wasn't that delusional for her worries

a few months after your father's court returned south, a raven made its way from the North. you were officially with child. nothing could separate you from Cregan now

over the years, there would be many more ravens bearing similar news. each time Alicent visited you or you came south, Cregan would give her a wicked grin as if taunting her: "Your daughter is mine now. You lost."

masterlist

[bonkbobl]

happy to please

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: this is set before anything bad happens in the show, maybe like early season 1 or even before. i know in the books there was domeric and i considered mentioning ramsays kinslaying but decided to just go with the show, which, my impression is that domeric just never existed and ramsay grew up at the dreadfort being cared for by roose. this fic comes from the book quote about him growing fond of walda bc she actually liked sex with him and buddy never experienced the loving touch of a woman with his past two wives

summary: roose bolton had two wives before you. so he thought he knew what to expect during the bedding but nothing could have prepared him for those sweet little noises and the way you writhed

warning: smut!!! roose bolton is very awkward and not very romantic, forced marriage but once you see roose irl you're like oh... wait guys hes kind of hot nvm im down

It was high time the Lord of the Dreadfort took another wife to try for more heirs. A bastard born to a Millers Wife was hardly a suitable option. The goal-driven Lord Bolton wanted a speedy affair and not too much fuss about it. When word was sent out that the “Dreadlord” was seeking a hand in marriage, the response was not sparse.

Several offers to meet Northern Lords’ “most beautiful” daughters landed on Roose Boltons desk. But Roose didnt want the fuss that came with that. There was no need to fret about which girl was the most desireable, only which prospect bred the most advantage.

You came from a semi prominent house, a large advantage was the fact that you had no siblings to succeed you and your uncles were all bordering on geriatric. Because of this, your father was eager to broker a marriage between you and any Lord to start producing more options for the succession of your house — you came with a heavy dowry.

All negotiations occurred on paper and before you’d learn anything about your husband, your father has your servants packing your belongings up into carriages. You were on your way to the Dreadfort

Dreadful name for a castle, you thought to yourself. Perhaps that set the tone for the marriage. You should expect nothing but that —dread.

The entire journey, you did not utter a word to your father, so upset that he’d gone behind your back to do this. You had been stubborn, growing up. You’d met several Lords from minor houses through the years and you turned all of them away.

They weren't handsome enough, weren't noble enough, weren't gentle enough, weren't firm enough. That one was too loud, too annoying, to full of himself, not sure enough of himself, too meek, too weak. There was always something. But you were never forced to. Not until now.

Perhaps it was the fact that your father finally listened to the whispers of those around him, telling him that if he doesnt marry you off soon, no lord would want an old bride. You think thats most likely. Theres also the fact that House Bolton was an extremely powerful house, your liege lord for centuries. They stood only beneath the Starks and the Crown.

When you stepped down from the carriage to greet your husband to be, you steeled yourself. You didn't know what to expect. You knew he was around your father’s age, which wasn't exactly a comfort.

But you met his cold eyes, your expression softened considerably. Your father had grown plump with unkempt hair on his chin. It was patchy and uneasy to look upon. His hair was also receding quickly as the years passed.

The years were kinder to Lord Bolton.

Giving a curtsy, you surrendered to his examination of you, suddenly feeling nervous. You found yourself hoping he liked what he saw because well… Lord Bolton, you think, immediately appears to be, well, lordly. He looks physically fit, cleanshaven, intimidating features. His stare was hard on you, and you almost shied away thinking he was, in fact, unhappy with you, but glancing back, you realized that he may be one of those men with a permanent hardness to their stare.

You mainly hope he isn’t cruel to you.

Lord Bolton nodded, then spoke, “My lady.” Taking your hand and pressing a courteous kiss to it, he continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You swallowed, trying your best to keep your gaze even. His voice was so smooth and deep… The kind of voice that you’d want reading to you in the darkness at night.

He’s everything you think a man should be, in appearances. The boys who wanted your hand in marriage would stumble about their words and it was endearing in their own right, but here, under his lordly gaze, you felt more willing to you resign yourself under his protection.

“Happy to please you, my lord,” You said softly, curtsying.

Roose’s eyes looked you up and down for what felt like the millionth time but he couldn’t really help it. He hadn't expected you to be the beauty you were — that wasn’t why he was marrying you — but he got lucky, it seems. You were a shy thing, barely able to meet his eyes.

Roose looked at your father, standing far away from you, awkwardly staring out into the wind and avoiding engagement. It wasn't difficult for him to make out that perhaps you might be unhappy to be here. If theres anything he can recognize, its a tense familial atmosphere.

But he watched you smile and speak your courtesies, sweet and polite. Yes, you would do just fine. You were perfect, he’d even dare to say, he was delighted by you.

You would make him rich, and it seemed like you had enough understanding and commitment to duty to not make a fuss about anything that may be unpleasant to you. He just hopes you’re fertile so that he doesn’t have to pain you unnecessarily with too many attempts.

“I’d like you to meet my son, Ramsay,” He brought his son forward.

You smiled politely at him and allowed him to kiss your hand, “My lord, it’s lovely to meet you.” You hoped it didn’t show that you were a little wary of Ramsay. It was hard to ignore the rumors of the Bastard at the Dreadfort. But you’re happy that you are not to be his or his fathers enemy.

“As it is for me to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Roose allowed a smile and began directing you to your handmaidens, who would lead you to your temporary room.

As far as first meetings go, it might have been awkward but it wasn’t completely unbearable. You’re grateful for it.

—————

When it came time to wed him, Roose made it clear that there was to be no bedding ceremony, and you let yourself relax, smiling to yourself gratefully. It was a tradition spreading all the way from the Wall to Dorne, but you really didnt know why. The thought of being stripped and groped by all the men in the room rained dread upon you.

Instead of being carried to your room by many men, you were led there by your husband, who you were growing more fond of in each moment. Sure you barely knew him, but he was handsome enough.

Not just handsome enough, you’d say that if there was to be a ball with all the Northern men and women, you would have stared at him in the corner of your eye all night hoping he’d approach you. He reminded you of those scenarios that you’d read about only in books.

He also seemed to be respectable and a gentleman, which comforts you greatly. The fact that he chose to forego the bedding was something you hadn’t expected but it certainly made you more amenable to whats to come.

It started sort of mechanically and passive. Your husband poured you a cup of wine for your nerves, and you exchanged some words about the ceremony and he watched you drink it.

Then when he deemed you relaxed enough Roose asked, “Did your septa teach you about what happens during bedding?”

You nodded, “My septa, yes. And I had read a book once that contained some details that she had left out, so I actually know more than many would assume,” You rambled out.

Roose tilted his head questioningly but gave an amused sigh and a nod.

It was true, you did read a lot. And one of those books included a scandalous romp between the main character, a man, and a whore. Your father found you reading that and burned the book but he couldn’t burn it out of your memory.

It was part of why you might have had such a high standard for the men who had approached for your hand. The men in the books were confident but not arrogant. They could please their women properly because they knew what they were doing but also knew to listen. They were powerful. Possessing a subtle dominance that was too nuanced for younger men to understand.

Roose exuded dominance. This brand of dominance.

It excited you just as much as the memory of those pages.

“Good,” He said, “Then I have little explaining that I must do.”

You watched him stand and offer his hand to you again and you took it, letting him help you up and to the bed.

Roose couldn’t really understand it, but he identified nerves stirring inside him at the thought of bedding you. Its been a long time since he’s taken any wife to bed and he is aware that most of the time, its only really pleasurable for men.

His past two wives would lay there, passive and unmoving, waiting for him to have his fill before quickly getting up to clean themselves.

He really intended to make this as easy for you as possible and wait a week to try again. After that, perhaps he’d take you every few days until you came to be with child. Ever methodical about everything, of course he thought of how to go about this.

Roose helped you with your dress, coming up behind to aid in unlacing it. Meanwhile, you busied yourself with taking out the pins that had been keeping your hair up.

You wanted to be comfortable, Roose was pleased to note. He was glad to know you were thinking of your comfort. Making this as easy as possible. You were a girl who understood what needed to be done, a good quality to have in a wife.

His past wives understood to an extent, as well, but not without at least a little bit of whining and whinging.

With your hair undone and your dress unlaced, you took it upon yourself to shrug it off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Roose watched you, gracefully doing your duty, a small smile coming to him.

You surprised him quite a bit, actually. Especially when you turned to him, a little shy about your exposure, but confident enough to pull him in by his collar and kiss him for the first time.

Your lips moved shyly against his, and Roose returned your gentleness. Each thing you did made him ever more curious about you. The two of you continued to mold your lips to each others as he worked on disrobing himself. He could sense the hesitation and curiosity behind your lips movements.

All the better. He'll let you do as you needed to feel more comfortable.

Very quickly, Roose had taken off all his clothes and the moment you realized your husband was bare and ready to finally take you, you parted from him. His eyes opened slowly to see you staring up at him with those big eyes and he held your gaze as you edged backward onto the bed, situating yourself at the edge of it. Then you laid yourself down, splayed out for him.

Roose watched you get ready for him, wondering what he did to score so lucky with such a sweet, innocent, eager little wife.

He pressed the tip of his length to your slit. The edges of your pussy lips were dry but as he moved the head of his cock through your folds, some moisture coated him. Roose paused because you mewled and turned your face to the side, eyes closed, hands bunching into fists in your sheets.

His cock twitched against you as he watched, something that hasnt happened since Roose was a teenager with his first wife.

It moved him to push inside. He watched your lips part with heavy breaths, eyebrows coming together as your breaths turned into soft whimpers. He had to pull out after a certain point and push back in, further. You whimpered, grasping the sheets harder.

Roose found himself completely and utterly hypnotized by you, watching your face, turned to the side, eyes pinched shut, gently chewing your bottom lip.

“You’re very reactive,” He muttered, catching your attention.

You turned back to look at him over your rising and falling chest and giggled, running your hand over your forehead, “Yeah, I… Nothing has ever been inside like this so... I’m reacting.” A coil in your stomach twisted as he pushed even deeper and your lips puckered, letting out an "Ooh..."

Roose chuckled at the first sign of a little bit of sass in his wife, amused at your playfulness during what most would deem to be a serious moment. Roose typically disliked those who cracked unnecessary jokes in inappropriate moments, but somehow it seemed appropriate in this moment.

Your hand came down to grab his and you guided it to your thigh. You felt your husband bottom out inside you after not too much struggle or pain and you laid there happily. You were happy to take his gentle thrusts. Your cunt grew wetter and sloppier as he fucked you.

He filled you well, and it felt good to be full like this. You wanted him to touch you… You wanted him to move more. Faster, harder. You just wanted more of him.

You breathed a heavy sigh, squeezing around him, trying to coax him into moving in you.

“Roose,” You whined, squirming beneath him. Your legs came to wrap around him and guide his movements in you.

Your husband gasped at your shameless neediness, responding quickly to your coaxing movements. You felt like heaven, squeezing so tight around him. But it wasn’t just the pure sensation of a cunt enveloping him it was the fact that your heel remained pressed against his lower back, pulling him toward you. It was the fact that little whimpers kept tumbling out of you, meanwhile you hid your face as if you couldn’t keep them in. It was his name, falling from your lips, in between the whimpers.

And then you whimpered, “Harder.”

An appreciative hum rumbled in Roose's chest, his eyes focusing even harder on you. You shuddered to look at him. His smolder could easily be mistaken for a glare and you'd hate to be a man in any other situation, on the receiving end of such a look.

Here, it just made you more excited.

You cried a loud, unrestrained moan when he gave a sharp thrust, his cock angled upward and hitting a deep spot within you. When his cock touched that spot, it felt as if a little burst of pleasure had come from it and melted into the rest of your body, the coil in your tummy tightening deliciously.

His pace slowly increased, as did your pleasure. You writhed beneath him... At times it almost felt like pleasure was too much, like you were about to tip off some edge, and you had no idea what could be found once you made it over that edge other than just even more, blinding pleasure. You didn't even know if you could take it.

But you had nowhere to run. So if you had to find out what was waiting for you over that edge, so be it. You fought to hold your legs open as much as possible but your thighs would sometimes beg to close, unused to the intense stimulation. And most of the time, you kept your eyes closed and your face turned to the side.

Roose stared down at you, burying himself in you over. And over. Watching as each time you had to succumb and give yourself away to the sensations. It sparked something primal inside him, and truly for the first time he felt an animal-like instinct that often came to be the failing of many great, even-minded men.

He felt lust. Inspired by the image of your body tightening and twitching as he plunged himself deep into you.

Grabbing your waist, he fucked you faster, snapping his hips at a faster speed while he used his strength to pull your pliant body into his.

It wracked your body from head to toe, a long, loud whine, pulled from your throat, enunciated by each meeting of his balls against your ass. Your hands shot up to grasp to anything you could find on the bed but all it found were more sheets. You buried your face in the soft flesh of your arms.

Roose slowed and gave you some hard, defined thrusts, grunting as he did so. You cried out each time and then managed to blink your eyes open and look at him, eyebrows still knitted together, hair a tangled mess under you, and your lips red and wet from your chewing on them all the time.

And then your husband rediscovered the energy to plow into you again.

You held your tits this time, to keep them from bouncing uncomfortably.

He growled, adjusting so that your legs were put over his shoulder before continuing. That felt amazing. But even more amazing was that he decided it wasn't enough, climbing on the bed and pushing you further up on it. He maneuvered his leg, planting a foot next to your side.

That. That had you crying out, damn near sobbing. At least, you wouldn't be surprised if anyone passed your room and mistook it for that.

Soon your body was twitching uncontrollably under him and Roose was sighing loudly, shocked by just how tight your cunt was gripping onto him. Your moans grew weaker and breathier and your body tensed to a peak before you seemingly began to come down from it.

Your breaths remained heavy as you attempted to catch yourself, small aftershocks of convulsions and shaking taking you. He was still fucking you just as hard and your body was oversensitive to the stimulation.

But thankfully you didn't have to endure the pleasurable torture too much longer. Roose released you with a few hard thrusts and deep groans.

He stilled in you and dropped his head in exhaustion, staying buried deep inside, as he attempted to catch his breath and recover and you stared at him, also trying to catch up with yourself.

You lowered your legs to the side though and in the process, his penis slipped out of you, quickly softening. You don't know what possessed you to do so, because there was really no need to, but you brought a hand up to your husbands face and moved it so you could stare into his eyes.

His soft, exhausted eyes met you, the strong hardened exterior that you saw on him at your first meeting, melted off.

Cautiously, you closed the distance, molding your lips to his again.

Roose kissed back fervently this time, no longer hesitant and letting you take the lead. His domineering hand coming behind to cradle your face.

Your eagerness had surprised him in the beginning. But once he'd entered you, it was as if a switch had turned on for both of you. He'd expected you to bravely take on the duty that all women had to endure but he'd never expected you to take to it so well, craving more, wanting him.

Roose had never been the type of man to think about, much less want to be wanted. But his cock nearly twitched back to life, remembering. You pulled him in with your legs, asked him to fuck you harder, you came, and even afterwards, you wanted more.

When your lips finally parted, he stared, evaluating you with a new lense, a lense of true fondness. It was something that — Roose wouldn't ever dare say out loud but — it was something that could even develop into something deeper than a vague fondness or physical attraction. Something like love.

You pressed one last chaste kiss to him and smiled widely, asking, "Is that what every night will be like?" You asked, "If so I think you'll make me a very happy lady."

Roose couldn't think of a proper, clearly worded answer, so he just pressed his lips to yours again, hungrily. A very happy lady indeed. And he'll be happy to see you happy.

[the-fiction-witch]

The Snow P2

Media House Of The Dragon

Character Jacaerys Velaryon

Couple Jacaerys x Reader (Bastard Stark Girl)

Rating Sweet

Part One

Jacaerys remained in Winterfell for several days taking in the northern customs and sights even if most of it was mostly snow, he has made fast friends with Cregan Stark as his mother suggested he might. The two sat at a table in Winterfell's great hall, enjoying a flagon of mead each finally getting to the true meat of the discussion he had been sent here to discuss, they had been chatting about it intermittently during his time here but now was the real talks, they sat and discusses plans, oaths and the choices ahead.

Even if admittedly Jacaerys often glanced across the room to where Y/n sat in a beautiful silver dress that hugged her so perfectly and snugly his eyes often wonder to her, her eyes at times met his own which made him blush as admittedly her had an effort to appear more handsome tonight as he knew he would be seeing her. Over the days he had been here so far he had really grown interested in Y/n and he had a feeling she was interested in him too. 

But he forced his attention back to Lord Cregan Stark, 

“You’re mother wishes to start a war, with her own half-brother for the throne no less. Tell me… The Iron Throne and Kings Landing are thousands of miles away from the Winterfell walls, it would take a good two months to march an army down there and that’s without complications of the twins and any other issues in the Riverlands,” He explained, “Why should we involve ourselves in a war so far from our home? It makes no difference to us up here, so why should I risk my kin and my house in a war for who’s ass sits in a chair halfway around the world?” He asked, 

Jacaerys nodded and he understood Cregan’s thoughts he had a good point and it was hard to disagree with him. The North could just stay out of this and be untouched by the war in the South, “You’re words have quite a bit of wisdom, but this war will not simply be contained beyond your borders, who sits on the throne will affect all of us from old town to the wall.” He explained, “And regardless your family swore to my mother, do your oaths not mean anything?”

“Oaths mean everything in the north,” He nodded, “There has never lived a stark who forgot an oath,” 

“Then you cannot sit cosy in your castle while he sits on the throne.”

“But you see my concerns, by the time I walk my army down the war could be over. And what happens when we arrive at Kings landing in a war that's over, to fight for a side that lost? They would massacre us. And as much as our oaths are our law… you cannot expect me to allow my house, and the houses of my noble lords to be snuffed out,” He explained, “The Targaryen dynasty has already taken so much from us…” 

“And he may take more from you still, you know your peace is my mother's greatest hope.”

“That is true, we do not know the man this king will be. But your mother… we know her ways and means, she is her father's daughter and her father was a man of peace and understanding.” 

“Sometimes the best way to peace, is war.”

“Let us talk no more of it tonight,”

“Of course,” Jacaerys nodded, “May… My lord may I speak of something else?”

“Go on,” Cregan nodded sipping his drink, 

“May I ask… about your kin?”

“Oh?”

“Y/n specifically,”

“She is a snow. But she is my sister. My blood. No matter what the laws of this land are she is my sister.”

“That is Honourable of you,”

“You know… there are rumours I have heard about your family-”

“It is… lies.” Jacaerys lied, he knew the truth but he knew best not to speak of it, 

“Lies?” Cregan nodded with a smile, “What is your question in regards to my sister?”

“... Is she promised?”

Cregan snickered, “Why?”

“I… I admit, I have… I have caught her in my eyes and I would like to ask permission to court her,”

“you think you are the first to ask me that? I have been buried under marriage proposals for my sister. You are not the first nor will you be the last to ask to court her. The answer to you is the same as the answer to the rest I will not allow anyone to court Y/n. If a man wishes her hand he will bring a proposal and I'll wed her to the best proposal I am given.”

"So, then the question now is… what kind of proposal is sufficient for you?"

“I will make you a deal. We will join your mother's war the Starks and all the banners of the north with be on the side of her crown we will keep our oaths and back her. And as payment for all this war will cost us. And when your mother's ass is sat on that throne you will be her heir, so you will marry Y/n and have a stark as your queen,” 

“I… I…” he stuttered, he knew this was a big thing to promise, the hand of an heir to the throne is not something to be given away so likely but he knew he had to return to his mother with the Starks alliance and… he wanted to return with Y/n in his arms, 

"You drive a hard bargain, my Lord. Is this your full request?"

"it is. And when she gives you a son stark blood will be your heir. I will legitimise my sister and wed her to you in the godswoods and our oath, and alliance will be set as your vows.”

“You will support my mother, march to war with us, spill blood for us. And you will wed me your sister?” Jaracerys asked, “You give me your word in this?”

“You have my sworn word,” He offered his hand.

"Then, I accept your deal, my Lord, on the condition that she too agree to this proposal." he took this hand and shook it. 

[ryin-silverfish]

besides erlang and chen xiang, are there any other instances of chinese deities having children with humans? I know that there are stories of yaoguai marrying humans and having kids with them

Cowherd and Weaver Girl is another famous example.

Much like the "Human Scholar x Fox Girl" trope, love stories between human guys and immortal maidens are also a common trope in Northern-Southern dynasty + Tang legends, some of which result in them having kids.

Immortal guy x Human Maiden is less common, however, and also tends to be forced marriages, with the male god basically abducting the women or their souls——the Third Prince of Mt. Hua and Mt. Tai are huge offenders in Tang legends.

If you count dragons as deities, one of the more relatively famous stories is the Legend of Liu Yi, where he saved a dragon princess from her abusive husband and in-laws by sending a letter to her family.

Her uncle, after killing the abusive husband, tried to pressure Liu Yi into marrying his niece, but was righteously rebuked by him. However, the dragon princess does fall in love with Liu, to the point of rejecting other matches for her, and eventually, they become a couple and Liu attained immortal-hood.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The horror and the wild (Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader) Medieval Fantasy AU

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. CHAPTER 1 Word count: 4906 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig

This fic on AO3

— I do not wish to speak about politics before breakfast!

— Your Highness, I’m afraid, politics would not be waiting patiently until you’re finished with your sweet pastries. 

— What do you mean? 

— The Emperor’s army is on our doorstep. 

The look on the face of the Princess – your Princess – was priceless. First, it was a surprise, her adorable features all twisted in a very unladylike gasp. Then, it was terror – the first time you saw her ever express that emotion since the palace was always clear of anything that could scare her royal highness, from mice and snakes, and up to severely ugly people(poor, poor Elvin – he’d a good life if it weren’t for his pointy slabby jaw). Then, and it was the final emotion on her illustrious face – it was anger. To nobody’s surprise, the anger was mostly coming at you. 

You see – you’re a Princess's most loyal handmaiden. Raised under her crib, going to the same classes, doing everything in favor of your royal highness, from warming up her jewelry and to trying the food first to see if it’s poisoned – your whole life’s goal is to make sure that the Princess is as comfortable as possible. You’re her shadow, her servant, the closest to a friend she can have – and if you were the bearer of the bad news, it’s only natural that she would be angry at you in the first instance, and not at the imperial army clashing down at your tiny bordering kingdom. 

— Where are the guards?!

— Judging by the screams I am not sure if there are any left in the outer levels of the castle. And if the King didn’t come with a usual note after breakfast, it’s safe to assume that he is more busy. 

With a trained movement, you quickly duck under the table when the Princess, naturally, throws a plate in your direction. You knew she wasn’t meaning it – your poor, innocent darling Princess, she was just as scared as you were but had not learned of how to hide her emotions under sarcasm and false calmness. Your job is to keep her safe – and calm – even if there is no royal family to serve anymore. You don’t want to think of the possible outcomes – King took you in, a simple peasant girl with no talents whatsoever, and gave you an illustrious education, the most sought job in the whole kingdom, and an allowance that would allow you to study in the real collegium, were they to accept women. You don’t want this place to fall in Northern Empire clutches – and you especially don’t want the Princess to learn the harmful ways of two pretty young women trapped in a castle full of enemy soldiers. 

— How could this happen?!

— I’d have an answer for this question, Your Highness, but you ordered to urn any mail from the Northen Empire. Perhaps, they send us quite a bit of war declarations before finally going down. 

Your hand goes to the side of your skirt, clutching on the suicide dagger – if something happens, you’d have to kill the Princess first, take the sin of killing oneself from her innocent soul – and then go down after her, hoping that your dog-like loyalty would allow you to serve her in heaven. 

The Princess has many things that she’d like to take with her to the afterlife. You better start preparing her package soon – this castle wasn’t built to be protected from the army of beasts, hiding under human skin – your kingdom never provoked any wars, always trying to search for the opportunity of negotiations – and now this comes to bite you right in your soft rear, without a sufficient amount of guards or a suitable army to protect itself. 

You’d pray for the god, but your god wants you to die. 

— Princess, we need to…

Before you could say anything else, an explosion erupts somewhere in the southern tower – the closest place to enter the Princess chambers. You can hear screaming, you can hear laughing – a foreign language, the one you are proficient with, but it never made it less barbaric, less harsh. These people talk like swords clangs against each other – like a harsh metal against your skull. You’d give up anything to not understand what they are talking about. 

There is something to be done before the soldiers arrive, finding only a few guards and two pretty, terrified young things. You might not be afraid of death, but you sure are terrified of what will come before their blades would slit your throat. You do not wish to die with blood between your legs. You do not wish that fate for the Princess either. 

“The Princess should be here.”

“Did Lord say anything about trophies?”

“Don’t take anything now. Tiger said we were never here – he would pay us later”

“What about…”

“Don’t kill the Princess either. Emperor want her to himself, remember?”

“Come on, are we here for a whore?”

“A royal whore, dumbass. Now shut up before Emperor hears you.”

They laugh and you can hear the Princess whimpering, crying softly – all of the layers of harshness are washed away with every tear rolling down her perfect cheek. You move to them as fast as you can – these stupid clothes allow you at least some freedom of movement, saved from the excessive decorations and expensive, heavy fabrics – you are only as few levels higher than cleaning rags. you could probably rip away the lower levels of your skirt and run – the Princess wouldn’t even be able to move without your hand steadying herself. 

You need strength to not slap her right now – you know that the pain on her perfect puffy cheek would help get her to listen, but nothing in your body moves to ever hurt her, no matter the cause. You push yourself to the door, thinking – your castle isn’t the highest one in the whole world, if anything, the Princess would be able to escape either via the window or the secret tunnels – but they would search for her, they would never accept defeat like that. Even if you’d stall them for long enough, pulling every bit of luck you don’t have – they wouldn’t stop if they had the goal of catching the Princess. 

— Your radiance, we have to go!

— Where? The castle is going to crumble any second now, and Mama and Papa are…

You press your ear against the tough wood, listening to the soldier’s speaking – language is even harsher now when the adrenaline runs through your veins instead of blood. You would give up anything to be strong – to have your dancing and embroidering lessons switched to sword fighting, to archery, to read dark arcana books instead of romance novels that you and Her Preciousness liked so much. Your hands are soft and delicate, only a bit harsh from occasional cleaning and serving – you’re a shame to any servant in the castle, a house pet made to entertain and please, not to fight and work. 

The Princess is a cherished treasure for your kingdom. Protected and hidden away, the King was smart enough to know that a royal gem like her would make all the old rulers of kingdoms surrounding yours go into a frenzy – so Her Radiancy wasn’t ever allowed to any royal mingling and balls until she’d reach the age of at least 21. Her birthday was next month – a small mercy, knowing that there was a possibility of never getting of that age. 

“Is that a Princess?”

You hear a woman – probably one of the higher members of the court, considering her high-pitched accented whimpers with a familiar voice. God bless her soul and dedicate her a quick death – you don’t want to think what would come of her if not for this prayer.

“Princess should be in her quarters. This one definitely doesn’t speak like a royal meat”

“How do we even know which one is the Princess?”

“She should speak like one. Would be easier if her family ordered a fucking portrait.” 

But…you were with the Princess your whole life. You know how to act like her, you know how she talks, how all royals talk. You know how manners, you know how to sing, how to dance, you received the education that allowed her to copy your study work and give it to her personal teachers – her own reflection wouldn’t copy her better than you would. 

You’re young, like a Princess, you’re pretty, almost like a Princess – and you’re loyal like a dog, itching to pay your debt to the royal family. 

— Your Highness! You need to run, please, just take the secret route through the walls and…

It was the most horrible moment for her to put her foot down.

— I…I live to serve the royal family. Dying for you will be the greatest of honors. 

— I will not just leave you here!

— They’d defile and kill us both, Your Highness. But if I just pretend to be you, they won’t come looking for you, won’t they? They would have what they wanted and you will be free.

— What about you? 

You’d feel hurt for how quickly she ran to the secret tunnel – if such feelings were normal for a servant to have. You’d feel betrayed if it wasn’t the life or death situation – if you weren’t putting on her dress as swiftly as possible before the soldiers would come running for you. It’s funny, how you always wanted to try her dress – how you were jealous of everything she had, even if you were the closest to her – you pride yourself in not caring about such silly mortal possessions, and yet, you always wanted to try something as beautiful as her dress. 

You stare at yourself in the mirror – terrified, small, ready to die at any point or to be hauled back to the Northern Empire like a piece of meat. Dress suits you, the bright pink would tell about innocence and radiance – but not it smells of blood and betrayal. If the soldiers thought that the Princess killed herself in her room, they would surely not think about trying to find her. 

You push the tiny dagger against your wrist, praying to all of your knowledge of medicine that your death will be quick and as painless as possible. You left out a silent prayer – knowing that the god would only welcome you after your death. 

Not a war, Horangi corrects himself – a massacre. 

***

Tiger of the North was fucking tired.

This whole mission – declaring war that no one seen and no one wanted, marching through the street without an army behind him, felt more like a bandit’s doing than something that a general of the best army in the world would do. This whole operation is a stunt, an order from the Emperor that no one expected – seriously, sometimes he still felt like a child with new, exciting toys. For all he knew, König never saw a Princess – yet, he sent his best men to take her out, not caring that this would mean a war on the bordering kingdom.

Not his fault this shithole didn’t even bother to reply to any of the Emperor’s letters regarding the marital status of the Princess. Not his fault they don’t even have a proper army – the king died, gutted like a fucking pig, and the queen followed soon after. Their unit can count less than 20 people, with royal hounds and other animals to help – yet, no one was able to foresee them entering the castle and butchering it. It’s a hunt, not a war or even an assassination – a hunt for the Princess, the useless fucking thing. 

If they’d only bothered to get at least some portraits – something to tell what she looks like. Perhaps, she is ugly, a mix of a toad that fucked a pile of shit. Perhaps, she is crazy and eats pillows and keeps her handmaidens' heads like a trophy. Perhaps, she don’t fucking exist and the king just didn’t want to say out loud that his dick was never working enough to produce an heir. 

— Search the quarters! I don’t want them to have time to know that their precious king is dead. 

The low rumble of König beside his almost makes him dart from surprise. He wears a mask, of course, not even trusting his people to see how he looks like – perhaps, he is as ugly as a toad that…ah, shit, he is using the same comparison again. 

A faceless ruler and a faceless Princess – a match made in heaven. 

— You think other kingdoms would send their condolences? 

— I’m sure that Price is already aching to write a congratulatory letter for the expansion of the empire. A nice addition to the title, ja? 

The emperor laughs, a sword in his hand, dark from the king’s blood. Horangi still doesn’t understand why he would decide to go on such a dangerous operation – if anything, they could haul the Princess back to the capital, or at least the nearest Empire territories – but no, König decided to go here himself, searching for a Princess that would, surely, not be worthy his attention. If this man didn’t want to marry all the options other kingdoms offered him, he surely wouldn’t be satisfied with a girl from this shithole of a country. Their land is barely enough for a normal castle, let alone all of the riches that the Empire provided. 

Yet, König stumbles in every room, searching for something – for someone. Other soldiers don’t dare to take trophies in front of their emperor, knowing that this operation should be as secretive as possible – no other rulers would bat an eye for a mysterious royal passing and the quick marriage of the Princess of this kingdom, but Graves would be quite concerned and bitching about the Northern Empire coming close to his kingdom. God, if König could just bathe every last one of them in blood, he would have. 

— Sir, I believe the Princess should be here Unless she killed herself already. 

— Those people honor death more than they do life. Better be fast before I’d have to marry a corpse. 

— We could bring her back. 

— Nothing can wash off the dead smell even after resurrection. You think why Krueger can only have sex with common whores? 

They both have to suppress their laugh at the thought of the royal advisor. Poor, dead Krueger, serving a contract that even death would not be able to break – it’s a good thing to have it on their side. Provides a good amount of jokes just from being around him. 

König rushes to the door that looks the most guarded – judging only by the amount of dead servants around it. The Princess must be here and, knowing the traditions of your kingdom, he has about a minute before you’d kill yourself, yelling something ridiculous about finding solace in death and that they would never take you alive. The door comes crashing down ridiculously easy – or it’s his strength challenging in the form of barbaric savagery. When he pushed into the room, he didn’t see what he was expecting to see. 

He sees something better. 

You look divine in the moonlight, your form, draped in an expensive dress that you only managed to take on halfway through, getting stuck in that stupid corset and billions of tiny bows and cutting jewels. You look majestic, godlike, you look like something from a fairytale. He was anxious before this, thinking if it was worth it – overthinking every bit of the operations, evaluating if the enemy kingdoms would be fine with him just taking you. König wasn’t sleeping a good few nights before this – now he looks at you and wants to kneel in front of your perfect form. 

— No wonder they didn’t have portraits. They wouldn’t capture your beauty. 

He shook the knife – little thing, as dainty as you are – from your trembling hands. Poor thing terrified of him – he’d pick you up and haul you on your shoulder already, but he wants to take a moment and just admire the comparison between his huge, muscular arms and your fragile form. He knows he is big, imposing, threatening – but compared to you, he feels like a war god paying tribute to his newest sacrifice. 

You shake in his grasp, not fighting it – Princess wouldn’t fight, you remind yourself. If killing yourself is not possible, if your dignity is tarnished, the death and torture shall be met with silence – you put your lips together, as firmly as you can. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sobbing when his hand goes to cup your face – a faint trace of your makeup staining his dark gloves. 

— This is the declaration of war. You were…

— This is no war, meine Liebe. How could we fight the nation with a dead king? 

The Princess would cry, learning about the death of her parents. You try to force more tears, making yourself look as miserable as possible – it isn’t hard in this brute’s hands, with his soldiers surrounding you – but, for some reason, he doesn’t look surprised when you are not crying immediately at the mention of the death of your supposed parents. 

He laughs, cupping your face in a rough, crude gesture. He shouldn’t treat Princess like this – even you are not used to men being this vile, to speak of such lewd matters with his men. They surround you, laughing, not even bothering to pay the least bit of respect in front of their Emperor. 

He wears a hood and it makes him look like an executioner, not a ruler. But, perhaps, you would welcome a butcherer more than you would a husband. 

— Let me go! The guards shall rise to my abduction and they will not leave thou to…

You don’t even need to force yourself to speak like her – you’re royal by any means, other than blood and service. You can imitate her your whole life if needed, shadowing her your whole short existence – it only hurts you more when you are praying that the Princess, dressed up in your garments, would be able to escape. You know that someone will save her, and take care of her – it’s just like the plot of your favorite romance book. An abandoned Princess of the burned kingdom rises to be the wife of a mysterious, masked blood knight, saving him from pushing his soul into the darkness. You, in this story, would be just a minor victim for the author to kill.

— The guards would rise if they weren’t dead, Princess. Too late to call for them now. 

He sneers at this “Princess” like a snake, ready to sink her teeth into your soft, limp body. You whimper, finally trying to get your knife from his hand – as gracefully as you can, remembering that you are to stall the time for her to escape, not to actually save yourself. He laughs and lets you go suddenly – only to pick you up like you weigh nothing. Pick you up like a bride, not a pig for him to gut. 

The tip of your ears is burning – your whole face is burning, you feel ashamed, embarrassed, angry, every emotion swirls in your head as he doesn’t even try to be subtle about his affection. You thank god for the layers of skirt you are wearing – but the upper part of the dress is barely holding together, showing a scandalous amount of shoulder. You are tainted – a scandal in the court, if there was a court alive. 

— Put me down this instant. My kingdom will not just accept these levels of disrespect!

You say this weakly than you wanted to. He laughs – thunder and bear roar, ocean waves against the mountains – you whimper when his hand goes to rip the upper part of your dress entirely, leaving you barely covered, with only three layers of clothing and a corset between you and his horrible, dangerous hands. A lady should not be seen by men when she is in less than five layers of clothing – still, you feel much better when the heavy fabric lets go of your skin. Still, you feel mortified, knowing, what would happen when he started to take off your clothes. 

Well…you think you know what will happen. You and Her Highness read books with a scandalous amount of intimacy – touches, hugs, kisses even, the last book having record five instants of the main heroes being in close proximity with each other – you also know that whenever a male enemy soldier captures a woman, he is doing…something before killing them. Not quite sure what, but obviously torturous. 

— The only kingdom that is left for you, your Highness, is what lies between your legs. I’ll be sure to pay my regards later.

Before you could say something – anything for that matter, he already hauls you away, still stuck in his hands like a trophy. You thank god that he doesn’t see the difference between you and the Princess. You never knew your acting talents would be of this amount, but nonetheless, you feel complete, knowing that the Princess is safe and sound. 

— What is the purpose of your actions? 

You are weak, voice whimpering and quiet. You don’t want to touch him, but the hungry gazes of his soldiers make you weak and fragile – you cling to him, trying to cover your modesty. The corset is a part of the wardrobe that no fine lady should ever show to men – yet, this is the only thing now that is keeping your tits together, saving at least some of your dignity. The heavy skirt of the torn dress lingers on your legs, covering you as much as barely holding up fabric can. König’s chest rumbles with a laugh when he notices you clinging onto him like a helpless kitten. 

— I’m taking my bride as your parents were not kind enough to answer any of the proposals.

— Why didn’t you just visit? 

If it were for him, he would just sprawl you on the ground and take what he wants. He would, were he a simple soldier, not the North Emperor – he would if there weren’t any witnesses if there were no intentions of marrying you later. But alas, he needs your hands in marriage – he needs you whole in marriage, from head to toe, from your heart to your soul, from your pussy to that sweet mouth of yours – and he can’t have all that unless he is patient. 

— I did. Right now, for that matter.

— As the only heir to the throne, this would mean the death of my country. You can’t just…

— Who is there to stop me, little one? Your parents? Dead. Your army? They would kneel for my men were we at actual war. 

You close your mouth. He laughs again, this terrifying hood of his moving when he shakes his head. You sob, tears flowing freely down your cheeks – it’s a wonder you can still talk while crying like this, but you need to keep up the act and you need to stall the time as much as possible. His hand goes to wipe away your tears and, for a second, you almost want to bite him. But, Princesses don’t bite – they lay in the hands of their captors and wait for princes to save them. 

— The other kingdoms would protect us, we had war pacts!

— Were you loved enough to start a war with the Empire to protect you from getting married? 

— I shall…

— You’re too young to speak like a queen, Liebe. Leave that to me, ja? 

You open your mouth. 

You close your mouth. 

You open your mouth again. 

— Please, let me go. 

This is a quiet, soft sob – König stops for a second, looking at your fragile, vulnerable expression. You’re as weak as a kitten, as adorable as a bunny – and precious, his little treasure, tucked away nicely in the deepest corners of this kingdom. He almost feels bad for breaking you, for taking you away. He killed many men, the king included, and he captured more land than his father ever could dream of – the biggest empire lies at his hands and yet, he feels weak when you cry in his hands. 

It still suits you more – a pained expression, pure terror, all the emotions that a young woman like you should experience when she is captured by someone like him – he believes in terror through submission and the tears streaming down your face makes his cock twitch in his pants. 

— I have all the right for you, little one. It’s your father’s fault that you were not protected more. 

He laughs, his large, imposing hand goes to cup your ass – you don’t even understand how his touch manages to get through this many layers of clothing. Your skirt is in complete disarray when he touches your legs, squishing and destroying the crinoline parts and whale bones. So much went into creating this skirt, a horrifying construct that never allowed the Princess to move freely, stuck in one place like a glorified little dolly – now it becomes your grave, mortifying and freezing you in one place. 

— You can’t…no, please, don’t…

He grabs your hips with the ferocity of a warrior, not an emperor. Rulers shouldn’t kidnap Princesses from neighboring countries, and they shouldn’t lead their troops on an operation that would destroy any diplomatic relationships with them – but he stands here, no more than a normal soldier, and you were never this terrified in your life before. He is a monster, a beast, an anomaly that shouldn’t exist in this world – even your desire to protect the Princess isn’t stopping you from crying and shaking. You bite your lips and sob softly, quietly, hoping he won’t just throw you to his men. 

— This is what politics leads to, no? Your father decided to stop being diplomatic…and I did too. 

He isn’t my father, you want to scream. He did nothing but take you from the streets, and slums you were scrambling aimlessly like nothing more but a tiny critter under his boots – he gave you everything, any book you wanted, the best company in the whole kingdom. He isn’t your father, still, but you pay for his mistakes – mistakes that you had no idea of. Princess ordered you to ignore any mail that would come from “This Northern brute” and you didn’t know that it could come to this. 

If only you were to steal those letters and read them instead of throwing them away…but what would it come to? Princess wouldn’t marry someone like König, she had no like for the emperor twice her age, for the human who defiled the very laws of nature, sitting in his high castle, ordering the undead soldiers around. Monster with, probably, three heads and two faces, with four hands hiding under his magnificent armor. A beast who is…

A best who is cradling you in his arms like you were his lover, not his victim. 

— Put me down. Please. 

— I’m getting tired of listening to little Princesses wailing. Tell me, Liebling, do you wish to continue this journey quietly or unconsciously? 

His hand goes to your neck – no doubt, he would be able to squish the life out of you if he so wished. No doubt, you are fucked – utterly and completely, with his ability to do whatever he wants your inability to stop him in any way. Sobbing softly, not wanting for him to continue this humiliation, you simply nod – to whatever option he deems appropriate. Princess would be screaming, yelling for help, and she would stomp her adorable feet on the ground until she’d get what she wanted – but you are no Princess, and playing pretend already makes you miserable enough. 

— I do not wish to see the destruction of my kingdom. 

— It’s not destroyed, little Princess. Merely defiled, captured and burned down. 

— You didn’t…

— Of course not, kleine Hase. I wouldn’t dare to burn the newest addition to my empire…unless you would make me to. 

It’s not a threat – it’s a promise, poorly concealed by the obvious smile in his voice. You cling to his chest and hear the rumble of his laugh when he pushes his cape over your shivering form. It’s a small form of comfort, but an unwelcome one – you’d rather be shivering, naked, and exposed in front of his troops than find comfort in the way he treats you. His cloak is heavy, more suited for the harsh weather of the central parts of the Empire – not your kingdom, mostly warm and wet, with bountiful rains and plentiful soil. You understand why he would want this land – you don’t understand why he would want you. 

— Don’t hurt my people. 

— Be nice then. You can be nice to your husband, ja? 

If you weren’t a Princess, you’d claw his fucking eyes out – get your dainty hands under his hood and scrap the pulsating flesh, turn his face into a mush of blood and gore. If you were real Princess, you would declare war on the Empire and die the protector of your kingdom – not a terrified girl. 

But you’re neither a Princess nor a commoner. 

You push your lips together, allowing König to take you away. Accepting your fate not with dignity, but with quiet, fearful acceptance. 

[esther-dot]

[I posted a list of SEASON 6 AUS before but these are book verse]

the cold inside our bones 2k @xylodemon (just have to point out that this was posted in 2012)

The Wall is no place for a woman, but Jon looks at Sansa's gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes and knows he will not send her away.

we're a different kind of same 3k by @jonsaslove

"I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will” Or; Sansa flees the Vale. Jon retakes Winterfell. When they meet again, they are changed.

Varg-hamr/Wolf-skin 1k by @cappymightwrite

hamr: the ‘shell’ or ‘shape’ of a person — the physical body, a state that can alter. hugr: what a person really is — the absolute essence, that which can leave the hamr behind. (Or, Jon in the body of Ghost, coming across a girl in grey fleeing north, along the east side of Long Lake...)

Pearls of Water ficlet by fedonciadale

Someone wakes up in Castle Black.

Saw You In The Snow 1k by @theemberalchemist

Sansa used the last of her strength to crawl to the foot of the tree, placing her head on its roots like she would lay on her mother's lap lifetimes ago. She could die here, perhaps, in the halo and ghost of her mother's warmth. Her mind drifting to gentle hands pressing against her head, tucking her hair back, humming a sweet song Sansa knew all the words to.

tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme 1k by @hoaryoldbitch

Satin averts his eyes and all around her bodies shift and uncomfortable looks are exchanged. Something akin to fear grips her and automatically she reaches out. Ghost is right there beside her. She wraps her arms around him and buries her fingers in his fur, kissing the top of his head. A buzzing of whispers and hisses arises around her, but one man bursts into a loud and booming laugh. He's tall and burly with reddish hair and a rusty beard. "Is this the beast you've all been afraid of? The pretty little lady tamed the ferocious wolf with a touch of her hand," he snorts, before walking toward Sansa in long strides. Brienne tenses up beside her. "I'll take ye to Lord Snow, lass."

In the darkest night, a song so sweet 2k

The Lord Commander stood atop the Wall and watched as the girl in grey came riding north, her army at her back.

old timber to new fires 27k by @setnet

When Alayne Stone hears word of the marriage of Arya Stark to the Bastard of the Dreadfort, it prompts her to leave the dubious safety of the Vale and set out on a dangerous journey north to Sansa Stark's homeland and her last remaining relative. But home is not safe. Winterfell is burned and broken, the Baratheon King and the Northern Lords are fighting to influence the future of the realm, the dead are stirring... and the old gods of the North are not half gods, worshipped in wine and flowers; they require blood.

And From the Ruins 15k by @thewolvescalledmehome

After awaking, Jon Snow's sole focus is trying to get his sister back. Alayne Stone is trying to survive the Vale. After an accident, she's forced to flee.

Stay With Me 5k

As her eyes shut, probably forever, Sansa Stark thought of one last thing: Jon. Then everything went pitch black.

now we're dead roses 22k

From Ghost’s eyes, he saw a lone, grey horse racing south. On the back of the courser mounted a girl. He could hear her breaths come out in little hitches and gasps as she grasped with all her might to the reins. Ghost chased after her, sprinting fast and nimble on his feet. She was a delicate little thing. Like a breeze could throw her off the horse. Her back shook as she stifled her sobs. Ghost followed on the horse’s rear, eyes sharp on the hooded figure. She must have sensed him behind her because she turned around and suddenly-- Jon woke up with an impossible name on his tongue.

a wind with a wolf's head 13k, WIP by @branwendaughterofllyr

The cold numbed everything. From her nose, to her fingers, to the breath in her lungs, the cold froze and stiffened. Sansa shoved her cloak up around her face and tucked her free hand under her arm. The grey cloth billowed and faded into the darkening twilight as the wind tore at her. Somewhere, a wolf howled, but Sansa was not sure if it was in her mind or not. A ghost wolf, she told herself and pressed on.

Art: The Girl in Grey and Jon's Resurrection by @palominojacoby, The Girl in Grey by @jonsawilldanceanon, The Girl in Grey by @thetullystark , The Girl in Grey by @ozzy698 , The Girl in Grey by @cute-poison20102014, Jonsa Reunion by knightmarescape, Forehead Kiss by colleendoodle, Jonsa Hug by CristianaLeone, Forehead Kiss by rosenroot

PRE CANON - WESTERN - REGENCY - FAIRYTALE - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS

[delilah1990]

DUTY

PAIRING:  Rhaenyra x Northern! Reader

SUMMARY:  Y/N receives news that may affect the promise she made to the princess. Viserys finally announces who he will marry. His choice changes everything for Rhaenyra and her friends.

ADDITIONAL COMMENTS:  Alternate Universe. There will be slight Rhaenyra x Harwin Strong, Rhaenyra x Daemon Targaryen, and Northern! Reader x Cregan Stark.

WARNINGS:  Angst, character death, fluff, possessiveness, slight abuse, smut, and violence

WORD COUNT:  3,769

Part 3 of Fire and Ice

It’s been six months since Queen Aemma’s passing. And though Viserys named his daughter his heir, his small council encourages him still to take a second wife. Much to Rhaenyra’s ire. While there was a small part of her that understood her father had to take a second wife, she wasn’t ready to see another woman by his side.

Y/N wishes she could offer words of comfort to her friend. But she has no experience in what the princess is going through. She never knew her own mother, and her father never had to remarry. His wife had already bore him a son before dying.  

She’s pulled away from her thoughts with the sound of a knock at her door. Y/N grants whoever it is entrance, and a servant girl enters her room with a sealed letter in hand. Instantly recognizing her house’s sigil on the melted wax, she thanks the servant and dismisses her. As soon as the servant leaves, Y/N breaks the seal and reads the letter sent from her brother.

Sister,

I hope all is well for you in Kings Landing, and that both the king and princess are recovering from their loss. All is good here at home. Your niece is a force to be reckoned with. She’s walking about always giving the nurse maids the slip. She reminds me a bit of you when you were that age. Our father is growing rather impatient with my wife and me. He’s eager for a grandson, but we are heeding the Maesters advice and waiting a year before trying for a second.  

Speaking of which, there is something I feel you should know. As of now nothing is set in stone, but that could all change in an instant and when it does, I don’t want you to be caught off guard. Father has begun to receive marriage proposals for your hand. He hasn’t considered a match yet; I believe he is waiting to see if our future child will be a boy before deciding.

I pray it does not come to that, but you should prepare yourself. I look forward to your next letter, sister. Your brother, Rob.

Just as Y/N finishes reading the letter, there is another knock on her door before it opens to reveal Alicent. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I’m heading to the Sept; Rhaenyra is coming with me. I thought you might like to come as well.”

“You know I do not worship the seven.” Y/N says as she folds the letter and places it under her sleeve. “And I hate going to the Sept, I feel as though I’m being judged every time I set foot there.”

“I was hoping you would come for Rhaenyra. It would seem she’s had a bit of a day and wishes to leave the Keep.” Alicent continues.

“She’s been having all sorts of days since her mother’s passing. There is only so much you I can do to remedy that. She must find a way to deal with what’s happening on her own.” Y/N says in a frustrated tone. Alicent immediately senses something is wrong.

“What’s happened?” She questions and Y/N waves her off. “Anytime Rhaenyra has needed us you are the first by her side, and now you speak of how she needs to figure things out on her own. That’s not like you, so I ask again Y/N. What’s happened?”

Y/N stands and approaches Alicent. “I will go with you to the Sept, but I will not enter.” Y/N makes a move to exit her chamber, but Alicent wraps a hand around her wrist to stop her. Taking a deep breath, Y/N turns to her friend in a more calming manner. “Nothing terrible has happened. I just received some unexpected news that I am currently processing. I just need time Alicent.”

“It sounds like you need a moment with your gods. Go, I’ll take care of Rhaenyra.” Alicent says in understanding. Y/N squeezes her hand in thanks and leaves for the Godswood.

Though the Godswood here is nothing compared to the ones at home, Y/N has found herself growing use to this one. She kneels before the great tree and bows her head.

She always knew her father would marry her off someday, it was the only way he could ever be rid of her. But when he agreed to leave her here to serve the princess, Y/N had thought perhaps he would forgo marrying her off. She shakes her head at herself for having such foolish thoughts. Rhaenyra will be angry. I promised her I’d always be there for her. It’ll be hard to keep that promise once I move away from King’s Landing. Y/N thinks to herself.

The crunching of leaves interrupts her inner thoughts, she turns and spots the king approaching her. She stands to curtsy, but he raises his hand. “Forgive me, Lady Y/N. I did not mean to interrupt your prayer.”

“You didn’t your grace. I was thinking more than I was praying.” Y/N admits.

“I wanted to get your opinion on something.” Viserys says almost nervously.

“I’m not sure what opinion I could offer your grace.”

“It’s about Rhaenyra. She doesn’t speak much, at least to me anyway. I’ve been told I should probably go to her, that if I did, she would open herself up to me. What do you think?”

Y/N is unsure what she should say to the king. Normally she would just be honest and speak her mind, but she did not want to risk offending the king. Sensing her inner struggle Viserys reassures her. “Please speak freely. Northerns are known for their honesty, and that is what I need right now.”

“I think you both need to open yourselves up to each other. You share the same pain, yet instead of coming together, you’re distancing yourselves.” Viserys hums at this. “You both just need to speak with one another. Talking often goes a long way.”

“Thank you, Lady Y/N., That is wise advice.” Viserys says grateful.

“Happy to help your grace.” He gives her a small smile before departing the Godswood. Y/N turns around and places a hand over the face in the middle of the trunk. She closes her eyes and attempts to actually pray this time.  

After spending a couple of hours at the Godswood, Y/N heads back to her chamber, where she runs into Alicent. “How was the Sept?”

“Good, I think it helped the princess a bit.” Alicent responds.

“That’s good, I’ll check in with her tomorrow…I’m sorry for my behavior earlier.” Y/N apologizes.

“Have you sorted it out yet?” Alicent asks.

“Not quite.” Y/N answers honestly. Alicent takes hold of both her hands.

“Whatever it is that is plaguing you, you do not have to suffer it alone. I am here for you, and though she has a lot going on, I know Rhaenyra will be there for you too.” Y/N pulls Alicent into a hug in thanks and bids her goodnight. Perhaps by morning she’d be more open to speaking with her friends. For now, she still needs time to herself.

The next morning Y/N decides to seek Rhaenyra out. She knows she won’t be able to keep to herself much longer. She walks around the Red Keep until she hears two familiar voices speaking. As she walks closer towards them, she realizes the voices belong to Rhaenyra and Rhaenys. “I did not ask for a lesson in politics. I asked whether this bothers you.” Y/N hears Rhaenys say.

“Laena is your daughter, Princess. Does it bother you?”

“Of course it does. But I understand the order of things. I’m not sure you do.”

Laena must be a potential candidate to be the king’s wife. Y/N realizes.

“If you mean to elicit some anger from me, you should know that you’re failing, Princess.”

“Quite the opposite. Whether it’s to my daughter or to someone else’s, your father will remarry sooner than late. His new wife will produce new heirs, and chances are, better than not, that one of those will be male. And when that boy comes of age and your father has passed, the men of the realm will expect him to be heir, not you. Because that is the order of things.”

“When I’m Queen, I will create a new order.” Rhaenys chuckles softly.

“How I wish that could be, Rhaenyra. But the men of the realm already had their opportunity to appoint a ruling queen at the Great Council and they denied it.”

“They denied you, Princess Rhaenys. “The Queen Who Never Was.” But they bent the knee to me and called me heir to the throne.”

“Do you remind your father’s men of that as you carry their cups? Here is the hard truth, which no one else has the heart to tell you. Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne. And your father is no fool.”

As soon as she hears footsteps walking away, Y/N steps out from her hiding spot. Luckily for her it was Rhaenys who walked off and not Rhaenyra. “Did you hear all that?” The princess questions.

“Some of it, yes.” Y/N answers as she leans across the rail facing the royal garden.

“Do you think she’s right?” Rhaenyra questions.

“I think that we both know she is.” Rhaenyra joins her at the railing. She clasps both her hands and lays her head on top of them.

“I made a suggestion to the council yesterday, a good one I thought, and they looked at me as if I was a dragon flying without a head. When I tried to give my father further insight at dinner, he dismissed me. How can I get him to listen to me, to see me as his heir and not is little girl?”

“You want your father to see you as his heir, then you need to start acting like it.” Rhaenyra looks at her, confused by her statement. “Your father is the King, and every king needs a Queen.”

“I know that.”

“You may know that, but you’ve yet to accept it. Why do you think your father hasn’t chosen a bride yet?” Rhaenyra begins to consider her words. Y/N cups her cheeks in her hands and lifts her face up to look at her. “Your father has to marry, just as you will someday soon.” The princess closes her eyes and leans into Y/N’s touch. “If you cannot accept his duty to the realm, how is he to accept you as his heir?”

“And what of the council?” Rhaenyra questions as she opens her eyes.

“First, stop filling their cups. That is the job for a cup bearer, not the heir. Second, remind the council that you are no ordinary princess, you are a dragon. And dragons don’t take shit from sheep, they eat them.”

Rhaenyra can’t help but laugh at Y/N’s statement. As soon as her laughter dies down, she turns back to face the royal garden. There is a moment of comfortable silence between them before Rhaenyra turns to her friend. Alicent had mentioned the day before that Y/N had received unexpected news and that she needed time to herself.

She didn’t mind granting her friend that. Y/N has always been there for her whenever she needed, but now it’s her friend that is in need, and Rhaenyra wants to be there for her. “I can feel you staring princess.” Y/N turns to her with an amused look.

“Alicent mentioned there was something going on with you.” Rhaenyra simply states, and Y/N knows she won’t be able to keep the news to herself.” She reaches for the letter she’s been carrying around and hands it to the princess. “I must warn you; you will not like it.”

Rhaenyra takes the parchment and unfolds it. She smiles at first, but as she reads further her smile begins to fade and is soon replaced by a frown. She hands the letter back to Y/N and considers every word.

“I could speak with my father, maybe he…” Y/N interrupts before Rhaenyra can finish.

“He will not interfere, not with this.” Rhaenyra shakes her head and then considers something else.

“Even if you do marry and produce a son, that son would be heir to your husband, not your father.” The princess points out.

“If I am able to produce a son, then I can produce another. If my brother does not have a son of his own by then, my second son would be his heir.” Rhaenyra lets out a sigh of defeat. “There’s still time, I’m not leaving anytime soon.” Y/N says in comfort.

“No, but you could. Even if your brother manages a son, it’ll only delay the inevitable. Eventually, you will have to marry.” Y/N doesn’t say anything, she knows Rhaenyra is right. She leans her elbows against the rail, and Rhaenyra joins her. Placing her head on her shoulder, while Y/N leans her head on top of hers.  

Later that evening, in Y/N’s chamber, she lies in the tub reading her brother’s letter again. She knows wither her brother has a son or not, she will eventually marry. Letting out a heavy sigh, she stands from the tub and dries herself off. Once in her nightgown, she sits at her desk and writes a response letter.

Dear Brother,

It gladdens me to know that my niece is taking after me. When she comes of age, I’ll have to teach her the bow and arrow.

As for my possible future betrothal, I thank you for your warning. When you send your next letter, I ask that you include what suitor’s father is considering, that way I can thoroughly prepare myself.

Give my good sister my best and give my niece a kiss from me. Love your sister, Y/N.

Y/N roles the small parchment paper and melts wax to seal it. Just as stamps her family sigil over the wax, Rhaenyra enters her room with a burst of energy. “I did it, I did it!”

“What did you do that couldn’t wait until morning?” Y/N asks.

Rhaenyra sits on the long couch in the center of the room and pats down the spot next to her. Y/N sits next to her and gives the princess her full attention. “So, shortly after our talk, an emergency council meeting was called. Daemon apparently stole the dragon egg meant to be my brother’s, fled to Dragonstone with a whore, and took most of the City Watch with him.”

Y/N is speechless at first, until her mind processes what the princess just told her. “And how exactly do you fit into all that?”

“My father sent Otto to confront my uncle and bring back the dragon egg. I knew Otto would not be able to retrieve it, and that there would be bloodshed. Daemon and Otto despise each other.” Y/N nods along in agreement. “So, I got on Syrax and flew to Dragonstone. Confronted my uncle and safely retrieved the egg.”

“That’s quite impressive.” Y/N comments.

“That’s not all. My father found out and summoned me. He scolded me at first, but once he realized I went to Dragonstone and retrieved the egg without bloodshed. He calmed down. And we spoke, actually spoke. We talked of my mother, and how her death affected us both. About how he must now take a new wife.”

“And what about your status as heir?” Y/N questions.

“He has no intention as replacing me as heir, even if his new wife gives him a boy.” Rhaenyra answers with a smile.

“That’s good, that’s really good.” Y/N says, happy for her friend.

“I think he intends on marrying my cousin, Laena Valaryon, he makes his announcement tomorrow. Will you come with me to the small council?”

“Is that allowed?” Y/N questions. She had never been to a small council meeting, much less been inside the small council chamber.

“You will be accompanying the heir to the iron throne, of course it’s allowed. Alicent will be there as well.”

“Then it will be my honor.” Rhaenyra smiles at Y/N’s answer and stands to leave but a thought enters her mind. Something she had been thinking about on the flight back to Kings Landing.

“As for the matter of your possible betrothal…I’ve decided that no matter how far North you move, you’ll only ever be a dragon ride away from Kings Landing.” Y/N smiles widely at this and nods in agreement. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Rhaenyra then places a kiss on Y/N’s cheek and exits her room with a satisfied grin on her face. Y/N’s face on the other hand, is bright red.

Inside the council room the next morning, Visery’s is the first one to arrive. He’s looking out the window, hoping his announcement will go smoothly. He already knows not everyone will agree with his decision, but he knows his choice is what’s good for the realm and himself.

At the sound of the council doors opening, he turns to greet his council members. His daughter is also present, along with her friend lady Y/N who stands beside her. He also notices lady Alicent has entered the council chamber with her father.  

“Good morrow, my lords.” Viserys greets, and they each greet him back. “I have decided to take a new wife.” He looks over at his daughter, ensuring she will be ok with this. She gives him a small smile and a nod of approval. “I intend to marry…” He looks over at Alicent, when she realizes he intends to choose her as his next wife, she has a shocked look on her face. “The lady Alicent Hightower, before springs end.”

With exception to Alicent, Corlys, Rhaenyra, and Y/N. Everyone else seems to be happy about the outcome. Corlys slowly rises from his seat and looks the king in the eye. “This is an absurdity. My house is Valyrian, the greatest power in the realm.”

“And I am your king.” Viserys points out. Unable to remain in the room any longer, Rhaenyra exits the chamber. She had accepted the fact that her father would remarry, but she had not realized he had intended on marrying her childhood friend. “Rhaenyra.” Visery’s calls after her, but she ignores her. Alicent and Y/N quickly run after her, following her into the Godswood. The moment Rhaenyra sees Alicent, her blood boils.

“How long?” Alicent only looks at her. “How long have you hidden this from me?” Rhaenyra asks again. It’s hard for Alicent to admit, but she knows she has no other choice but to tell the truth.

“My father sent me to console him. After your mother…” Y/N turns to Alicent in shock. Alicent had been secretly meeting with the king since the queen’s death. Rhaenyra realizes this as well; she also confirms Y/N had no knowledge of Alicent’s secret meeting with her father. While she is thankful, it doesn’t alleviate her anger at Alicent.

“Whore.” Rhaenyra accuses, Y/N immediately turns towards the princess.

“Rhaenyra.” Y/N scolds but is ignored.

“You seduced him.” The princess continues with her accusation.

“No…we only talked…about history, about your mother and mine, about you…never about a marriage.” Alicent says in defense of herself.

“You were seeing him in his chambers. What did you think would happen?” Rhaenyra retorts.

“It was at my father’s command.” Alicent says weakly, only fueling Rhaenyra’s rage.

“You should have refused him!” The princess shouts.

“That is enough. This is not a conversation to be had out here. Let us take a moment…” Y/N’s attempt to calm everyone down, and move the conversation elsewhere is interrupted by Alicent.

“Not all of us have such an easy way doing only what we wish, only when we wish it.” Alicent snaps back, instantly regretting it. “I had no choice.” She says meekly.

Rhaenyra’s emotions alternate between anger, accusation, and hurt. “They cannot do this. I am the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, the Realms Delight, Heir to the Iron Throne. I shall annul it…” Rhaenyra stops when she realizes her friend is silent, that she has made no real protest. “Is this what you want?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Alicent says in defeat as she turns from her friends and walks away. When Alicent is out of sight, Y/N turns to Rhaenyra, who has her head turned away and her hands wrapped around herself.

“You should go to your room princess.” Y/N suggests.

“Will you be joining me?” Rhaenyra questions.

“I need to check on Alicent first, then I will stop by your room.” Rhaenyra scoffs at her. Y/N approaches the princess and places a hand on her shoulder. “She could not refuse her father Rhaenyra, just as I can’t. And deep down beneath your anger, you know that.” Rhaenyra does not acknowledge her, she simply heads to her room, but Y/N knows the princess agrees. Even if she won’t admit it out loud.

She heads inside the Keep, towards Alicent’s chambers and knocks on her door. There is no answer. “It’s me Alicent.” She does not hear a response. Y/N begins to think she may have gone to her father’s chamber, but then hears Alicent softly call to her. She enters her room and sees her friend sitting on the long couch. Eyes read, and face stained with tears. Y/N immediately sits beside her and pulls her into a hug.

“She hates me.” Alicent sobs.

“She doesn’t hate you, but it will take her a while to get over this.” Y/N says honestly. The two girls sit in silence. Y/N continues to hold on to Alicent as tears continue to fall down her face. She has terrible feeling their friendship may not last, and that the worst has yet to come.

***Here is part three of Fire and Ice. It’s a little bit shorter than the first two, hope you still enjoy it anyway. Thank you for all the likes so far, it motivates me to write more. Please feel free to comment as well. I’d love to hear your opinions on the story so far.***

[jackoshadows]

A tale of two marriages.

The vast difference in how Jon Snow deals with the marriages of Arya and Sansa Stark has already been mentioned. However, I noticed there are also other differences in the overall narrative as well.

First, two Kings - Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon - refer to and use Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion to affirm that Sansa will never get Winterfell while positing that Jon Snow should be Lord of Winterfell.

“Young, and a king,” he said. “A king must have an heir.  If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north  would pass to her.” His mouth tightened. “To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north.” - Robb Stark, ASoS

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa."

"Lady Lannister, you mean? Are you so eager to see the Imp perched on your father's seat? I promise you, that will not happen whilst I live, Lord Snow." - Stannis Baratheon, ADwD

In contrast, two Kings - Mance Rayder and Stannis Baratheon - are trying to save Arya Stark from her marriage to Ramsay Bolton for Jon Snow.

He glanced at the letter again. I will save your sister if I can. A surprisingly tender sentiment from Stannis - Jon, ADwD

Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon, ADwD

It’s interesting that Stannis has this ‘tender sentiment’ while vowing that Sansa will never get Winterfell considering that Arya too is married to his enemy Ramsay Bolton. Maybe he intends for Ramsay Bolton to be dead soon which would free Arya to make other alliances. Or maybe he hates the Lannisters more than the Boltons.

Additionally there is no other mention of the Sansa/Tyrion marriage in the Northern context, no Northern houses or lords who bring it up, no secret plotting that revolves around this marriage. In contrast Arya’s marriage to Ramsay is mentioned in the four corners of the North, from the Wall to Winterfell, from Deepwood Motte to White Harbor and is a driving force for many of the characters’ actions and plotting. It’s more important in terms of ‘The North Remembers’ and Northern uprising against the Lannisters in King’s Landing, the Freys and the Boltons considering it revolves around Lady Arya Stark present in Winterfell.

This is why - as GRRM has pointed out in interviews - Arya’s marriage to Ramsay is a necessary and important book plot.

Unintentionally. A little change in a long narrative can have big changes further on. You know, when we remove Jeyne Poole from season one, then you don’t have Jeyne Poole to be the fake Arya, as happens in the book. So what do you do then? The butterfly effect has done that.

It’s not Jeyne Poole’s marriage to Ramsay Bolton that is driving all these mini subplots in the North.Yes, it’s sad that no one would care if Ramsay married Jeyne just like no one cared that Jeyne got send off to the brothels while Sansa was a high value hostage of the Lannisters. Just like no one cared about Jeyne’s story in the books until the show replaced her with Sansa and suddenly there were discussions about rape in the series.

GRRM: I was trying to set up Jeyne for her future role as the false Arya.   The real Arya has escaped and is presumed dead.  But this girl has been in Littlefinger's control for years, and he's been training her.  She knows Winterfell, has the proper northern accent, and can pose as Arya. Who the hell knows what a little girl you met two years ago looks like?  When your a lord visiting Winterfell, are you going to pay attention to the little kids running around?  So she can pull off the impersonation.  Not having Jeyne, they used Sansa for that.  Is that better or worse?  You can make your decision there.  Oddly, I never got pushback for that in the book because nobody cared about Jeyne Poole that much.  They care about Sansa.

In the books, it’s Arya marriage that has two kings trying to save her, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch breaking sworn oaths, the Mountain clans and Northern houses marching with Stannis for the Ned’s precious little girl. They all think that’s Arya Stark in Winterfell. Arya may not be physically there, but it’s the marriage of Arya Stark in Winterfell in front of the Heart Tree, being given away by kin, Theon Greyjoy, that’s being used to hold the North and lend legitimacy to Ramsay Bolton as Lord of Winterfell.

[damneddamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part iv)

While it was perverse and unacceptable, Prince Aemond and Princess Aemma took no heed of their noble steads, crossed the forbidding sea on Vhagar, chose a single witness, Princess Helaena on her mount, Dreamfyre, and united their blood in marriage. Dragonglass split their lips and hands, sealing their fates and promising their futures. Blood of two caught in chalice joined as one. The secret wedding was one for the books, the eerieness of the night, the rising tide and the fire kindling their vows. You'd expect them to have their conscience pricked but no, they knew this was their true calling. Not a force on this godforsaken planet could bring them apart.

Due for their return, Aemma was too quiet as she nimbly scaled Vhagar and straddled the saddle. Aemond observed in satisfaction, how his bride was so quick to form a connection to his dragon with a mere touch of her fingers and her soothing Valyrian tongue. This woman was truly meant to be his.

This time, he luxuriated behind her, the thrill of having her this close and belonging there, nothing couldn't arrest this. As Vhagar rumbled lowly beneath them, just as excitable as her rider, Aemond stroked his temple against Aemma's and stole a kiss from her cheek.

"Having regrets?" he murmured. Her skin shivered beneath his hold on her waist. The night was growing frigid.

Aemma shook her head, her teeth eventually gleaming with a smile. She turned her head to rest her forehead against his. "Never. This feels right. I only wish we didn't have to go back."

"The night is yet young. Let us take to the air." She laughed when his lips did their bidding against her neck, an idea with each kiss. "Dorne is within reach. Shall we soak up some sun? Beneath the blood orange orchards?"

Aemma pursed her lips. "Sounds delightful."

"It is decided." He eagerly twisted the leather harness around his dominant wrist to awaken Vhagar. "We'll come back when the time is ripe."

She let out a weary sigh, stopping his motions. Aware of her hesitation, he leaned his lips against her nape.

"We must go back," she whispered. "Reality awaits."

When they retreated to the dawning stillness of the Red Keep, they spoke of their marriage to no one. No one noticed the prince walking the princess to her chambers, placing a kiss upon her swathed hand and wounded lips, swearing to never speak of this until the time was right, and biding his wife good night.

All but one saw this. The word was dispatched.

It was Otto Hightower who sent for Her Grace and Prince Aemond, summoning their presence in his chambers forthwith. They discussed the atrocity that the young prince had committed while ushering in a new dawn.

"Surely this is some farce!" Alicent blustered, her voice vindictive.

Aemond undid the swathes of bandages to reveal a definitive scarlet scar sliced across his palm. "I have done my duty as the king's heir and taken a bride."

Otto was tolerant but only to an extent. He was reaching his breaking point. "That girl—your bride—is supposed to treat with the Northern lord next moon. How would he respond to this but with slight?"

"Then request him to politely fuck off to the world's end," Aemond mumbled, sinking to a seat and crossing his legs. He should've flown away with Aemma when he had the chance.

"He is a king! You would risk a conflict in the realm!" Alicent said, horrified.

"I would for her."

"You've gone mad, Aemond. You've fallen in love to lose your mind instead?"

"Aemma has been spoken for in my name since we were children. I've only made haste with the affair," he insisted, already bored of it all. He was a newlywed, he should be warming their marriage bed.

"We could've done this in front of your kin, in due diligence, reliably under the sacred eyes of the Seven. Rather you've decided to elope with the princess, cut your hands and feast upon blood like barbarians!"

"I don't expect you to understand our gods, Mother." He set his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers, and looking her dead in the eye. "You're not Targaryen."

She gritted her teeth at his audacity. "You'll face the dragon princess' wrath soon enough for what you've done to her girl."

"This matter is concluded. Aemma and I have wed, good tidings are in order and I thank you for yours," Aemond announced, rising to his height. "If you'll excuse me. The sun has risen and my wife will be expecting to see me."

"I take it you haven't consummated this secret marriage?" Otto eventually voiced his concern.

Aemond smirked at him. He would leave nothing to be questioned, even if it meant deceit. "As a true barbarian, I would never seek to disappoint," he lied through his teeth. "Her maidenhead is mine, as is her heart."

"Seven hells," Alicent whispered and put her head in her hands.

"'Tis only custom, mother."

"And when the whispers start. When Daemon holds your head to Dark Sister," Otto continued, "what will you answer then?"

He side-eyed his grandsire before he shifted to take his leave. "I've made it explicit that I will raze this fucking city to the ground lest a single tear is shed from my wife's eyes. My uncle is but a piece of piss next to that."

Another one, a maester, promptly took this information to Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon. They were awakened after the hour of the wolf, insisting on the message's urgency. But the circumstances were faced... differently between them.

"Bravo!" Daemon raised his wine glass in a toast. "Couldn't have done it quicker and better myself. Took a massive, stinking shit on the Queen's precious stars and spokes, didn't they? Let's see how that hoary bitch spiels for her septas now."

"Daemon," Rhaenyra cautioned quietly before diverting to the maester. "And you are sure of this? Aemma wasn't coerced by the prince?"

"No, princess. They even took the prince's sister as a witness. As it happens, they've already consummated."

"Ingenious," Daemon chuckled into his wine.

"Who else knows?"

"Her Grace, the Hand, the prince, and yourself, princess."

"Spread the word," Rhaenyra ordered. "It was a private Valyrian affair to protect the intimacy of the prince and princess. Ensure that no libel comes to the princess' virtue. Or it won't be their tongues I'll have, it'll be yours."

The maester gulped and nodded. "Yes, princess."

As soon as the maester left, Rhaenyra turned to Daemon with a victorious grin. He stretched his hands above his head and groaned. "Wedded bliss awaits our daughter now. I wish her well."

"Aemma rivals me on this," she hummed.

"She's instinctive."

"She's fire and blood. Of course, she is."

X

By high noon, Prince Aemond's private wedding to Princess Aemma was the one word on everyone's fuller lips. They couldn't care less about how they had gone forth with it, but why. Did the prince take her against her will? Did he abduct her and force her into submission? Perhaps, they were made for each other, the one-eyed monstrosity marrying another freak. It was overtly claimed that the princess was of unsound mind, toiled by terrors, and this affair was carried with to keep matters quiet. The one-eyed prince of the realm would have to bear this burden until her dying breath. This outrageous claim was extinguished as soon as it was spoken.

When the secrecy of their union had been broached, Princess Aemma lingered behind closed doors and waited for the match to strike. It wasn't her conscience that moved her, but the weight of her impatience. She had nearly paced a line of gravel under her feet, hoping Aemond would come to her as he had promised.

When the doors opened behind her, Aemma's face softened to relief and she spun to face him.

"Aemond, we must..." Her lips parted with a breath. "Mother."

Princess Rhaenyra paused by the closing doors, possibly clothed in red to match her ire, and limply joined her fingers before her. Her expression was set in stone, and behind her, her brother, Jacaerys, was a towering column of outrage.

Aemma lowered her eyes, however unafraid. "If you want an apology, you will not hear one from me."

"Have you no remorse for us, Aemma?" Jace hurtled toward her and began to shout. "For desecrating your very birthright? For all the considerate privilege that our mother has offered you all your life and this is how you repay her?"

"Jace," her mother warned.

"No, I will not hear it, mother! You have coddled her enough. Blinded her to her own vanity. I should've ended this lunacy when she began courting that monster. Now, look! She has exploited an opportunity and whored herself out to that loathsome—"

"Jace!"

Rhaenyra's indignant roar rang past them. Aemma flinched, at the word and her mother's voice, her vision blurring with the onset of tears. She would dare not cry, that would stand to invalidate everything she had accomplished. And she had nothing to feel sorry for.

"Your sister is still a princess and you will treat her as such," Rhaenyra said blackly. "Aemma has desecrated nothing. She has wed a prince and, more so, a Targaryen, per the customs of our old gods, following her own inclination. One which I permitted—"

"You permitted!" he snapped.

"—and some prior announcement would've done nicely," she eyed Aemma knowingly, "but 'tis pleasant news nonetheless. We cannot incriminate her except perhaps reprimand her for undue urgency."

Jace's sneer refused to wane. "She has taken that vile snake to husband." He glared at Aemma. "His family hails your little brothers as bastards. Are you to turn a deaf ear when he calls you that someday? Or your children?"

"You would patronize my lineage?" Aemma spat. "Because I've wed someone you despise?"

"Accept it, Aemma. Laenor Velaryon has furnished us nothing but the title of his house."

"Our father loved us until his dying breath!"

"Laenor's gone and the duty has fallen upon me to defend my kin!"

"Enough of this," Rhaenyra hissed at them. "I will not tolerate such disgraceful talk among my children. Jace, leave us. Now."

Jace bore his unforgiving scowl at Aemma long and hard before leaning to whisper clearly, "You will soon realize what you've given rise to. When he reigns in ruin, I cannot protect you."

Aemma got ahold of her brother's arm desperately. "Jace, please," she whispered.

"It'll be too late, sister."

Jace touched her hand, squeezed it once and pushed it off him. He said nothing more and left the room with a resonant crash of the heavy doors.

Aemma fell back into a chair and hung her head between her shoulders. A deep-seated sting had started to worm up to the front and among all the torment that she shouldn't have to face, this was one, too. Her mother's hands stroked at her shoulders and hair, speaking nothing. She didn't have to, it was evident she held no ill feelings towards her daughter.

Her mother gently took her scarred hand into hers, tracing a finger down the swathing. "Congratulations to the both of you, dearest daughter," she said quietly.

Aemma sniffed, unable to respond.

"I wish you would've informed me. I would've followed you on Syrax in a heartbeat."

"I'm sorry, mother," she murmured, looking up at her. "But I am not ashamed of what we've done. Neither will I made to be."

The door opened once again and Aemma, for a split second, wished it was her brother returning to make amends. Her hope morphed into confidence and consolation when Aemond appeared, armed with his blade. She noticed a smidge of delight in his usual brooding look, probably of seeing his dear friend turned wife first thing in the morn, before it vanished off into scepticism and became aware of Princess Rhaenyra near her.

"Prince Aemond," her mother greeted, stoic. She refused to slip her arms from around her daughter.

Aemond barely spared her a glimpse, a prince on a mission. With his head held high, he cupped Aemma's chin, lifted it slightly and searched her face for something. His lips pursed when found it, his single eye harshening.

"I shall like a word with my wife in private," he requested, nearly insensitive and still unmoving.

Aemma's eyes flickered to Rhaenyra who looked between them, apprehensive of his stance. Her jaw flexed and she nodded once at Aemma before taking her leave. Aemond waited until he heard the creak of the hinges to signify they were truly alone.

"Were she not someone you loved," he said, leaving the words to hang like a noose in the air. He would've coated these flowery walls in red.

Aemma shook her head and pushed to her feet, wobbling slightly from vertigo. She placed her palms around Aemond's neck to steady herself. Responsively, he curled his arm around her and pressed a greeting kiss to her forehead.

"My mother did not upset me," she shared. "In fact, she was pleased to hear of it."

"It," he echoed.

She managed an elfish smile. "Our wedding."

He tilted his head, pretending to forget. "Hmm. I have no memory of this."

"Then allow me a gentle reminder, my friend," she murmured, expectantly leaning on her toes.

His mouth twisted in disdain. "I ought to fuck that word right out of your pretty little mouth."

Aemma dropped to her feet, taken aback, and looking to be sure. "What?"

He smirked, proud of himself. "Shall I repeat it?"

She stuttered with her words. "I—uh."

"So," he flouted easily. "You were reminding me."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know if I want to anymore."

"I want to."

He met Aemma's shy lips midway, sweet, soft and slow. Modesty fled when she gently coaxed him closer at his nape and bowed into him, her faint moan spearing through them. Utterly unbridled, he trailed his fingers down her delicate neck, the fine creases there, whilst his lips hunted down the delve of her collarbones, breathing her deeply. Such a naive temptress.

Aemond wanted to undo those flimsy laces and take her right there, in the brightness of dawn, but obligations burdened him. He dropped his head into the curve of her neck, holding her there for a second.

"You've chosen an inconvenient time to tempt me," he breathed out.

Aemma laughed, caressing the back of his head. "Shall I offer you a little distraction?"

"Is it under all these skirts?"

He felt his hair tugged hard albeit playfully. With another quiet laugh, she took his hand and led him to sit by the table, replete with a sweet breakfast for the newlyweds. She had waited all morning to break bread with her new husband.

Aemond was twice as pleasantly surprised when she ensconced over his lap, a slim arm curving over his shoulder. He didn't wait on slinging his own around her thighs.

"I quite like this approach."

"Distracted?" she asked.

"Worse. Ravenous." He sunk his teeth into her soft neck and pulled. Something of a moan left her fluttering lips.

"Then I'll need to act better," she whispered.

She cocked a cheeky brow as she grabbed a sour cherry, bit into it and offered him the other half. Just as though they were six years old again. Fate may have stolen his eye, but it left the other one to witness this; his dear friend, now the jewel in his crown, his wife, all too content to be with him.

He noticed the inflamed wound on her hand, yet to scar. The fresh seal of the bandages was still stained scarlet. He took her cherry-bearing palm into his, comparing their plasters.

"One more scar to match," she laughed.

He arched a side of his lips. "My favourite one."

"So."

"Hmm?" He was too preoccupied in exerting pressure over her bandage, trying to clot her wound.

"What's our first order of business as husband and wife?" She thought about it, swinging her legs. "Hmm... we could go down the Kingsroad and visit an inn. Trade a few coppers for—"

"I want to depart the city soon," he interrupted to say, decidedly.

She smiled until she dimpled. "Or that."

"Good. Now, I will have a ship and crew commissioned from Lord Corlys, who would do us a good turn as your grandsire, and sail to Pentos where I will have made arrangements with Prince Reggio who will be waiting to welcome us. From there, we'll go where the wind takes us on Vhagar."

She gaped at him, waiting for his information to slowly make sense. When it did, she couldn't breathe.

There was not a trace of humour on his face. "I've never been more intent."

She looked away, out the window adjacent to the table, attempting to think this through.

"Don't you think it to be too soon?" She didn't try to hide the fear in her voice. "We only wed last night. I've barely spoken with my family as I'm sure you with yours. We haven't even..." She glanced at her bed, a soft flush burning at her neck.

"Aemma," he cupped her cheek to urge her to see at the sincerity in his eyes, his throat bobbing, "we've done our waiting, sweetling. For years. The longer we stay, the more this becomes a fantasy. I simply won't allow it."

Her panic faltered, and weakened, as she stared at him. All those years she had counted on paddling that oar on her little rowboat further than the untamed tides on Dragonstone or escaping into the Maegor tunnels with a lit torch like adventurers, it all came to this. Here she was, her dear friend, offering it up on a plate. She would be an idiot if she let the chance slip through her fingers.

She drew in a deep breath and grinned as wide as she could. "Me either."

He smiled away his triumph, cradling her chin to kiss her softly. His fingers knotted in her hair when she moved to embrace him snugly, pouring her anxiety into him. He accepted it all, vowing to never let her feel such a thing ever again.

"I will need clothes befitting a traveller." Her words were muffled into his shoulder. "And I'll need sufficient space on Vhagar, a journal to note our findings, some ink, oh! A cape!"

"Anything."

He pressed his lips at her jaw, nuzzling the hair on her neck. He had come to adore the length, bristling with the bearing of a warrior. He pushed it away to look at the rampant excitement in her dark eyes.

"The end of this moon," he marked. "I'll see to it that we set sail in accord with our families."

X

you can read part v here!