#and a part of him that was groomed as heir

[thecatsaesthetics]

Hello! Hope you're doing well. A while back you said you could write a whole thing about Alysanne being weirdly sinister about her children, especially her daughters and Baelon. I completely forgot that she did not want him to remarry after Alyssa's death which was super odd. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on those things. If you want to that is.

I think Alysanne is an incredibly interesting character, I wouldn't call her sinister because that implies she is doing harm intentionally and I don't view her that way. Alysanne is both villain and victim, and I would classify her more as a tragic character then a sinister one.

I think Alysanne fits with the tragedy that is to be born a Targaryen woman. She is groomed from birth to be her brother's counter part, she is deemed "special" as a dragon rider, she watches as her brother-husband claims that their blood line is "exceptional" and then watches as her family becomes victims to the very common diseases and deaths that happen in Westeros. Her mother dies in childbirth, her son dies an infant, her daughter dies of plague, two of her daughters die in child birth, her son dies in battle, etc.

I think in terms of Baelon, she favored him. He was "hers" whereas Aemon was for Jaehaerys. She is the one who insisted upon a marriage between Baelon and Alyssa, despite Aemon being the son and heir (and thus being in need of a sister-wife counterpart). Baelon and Alyssa relationship mirrors that of Jaehaerys and Alysanne. You can read this meta on Alyssa, which I love because this fandom has really tried to act like Alyssa and Baelon are this "perfect" Targaryen couple but if you read the text closely you can see a bunch of issues that fans ignore.

In terms of Baelon post Alyssa, I don't think Alysanne's actions are sinister but rather her protecting herself. If she truly saw herself in Baelon and Alyssa then Baelon remarrying would be a threat to her own place in this Targaryen legacy. If Alyssa can be replaced, so could she if Jaehaerys needed. Again her marriage to Jaehaerys is what defines her, she was married as a child and groomed to be his wife.

Viserra is a threat in her mind, when really Viserra's actions scream of a child in need of help. First of all, the fact that Alysanne claims that Viserra wants to be Queen because she seems to want to marriage to her brother is very telling. Baelon was not heir at this time, and even if they knew Aemon would have no more children, it still doesn't seem likely that Baelon would have succeeded. Aemon as King could have easily declared his grandson his heir if he didn't want Rhaenys.

So how could Viserra know she would become Queen if she married Baelon? She would be a second wife to a second son. It's more likely that Viserra didn't want to be sent away from family, after watching what happened to her sisters Daella and Saera. So Alysanne's claim is more reflective upon herself, and her own desire to be Queen. And the idea of someone, even her own daughter, taking that from her is hurtful. So she chooses to send Viserra into a marriage where she would likely never seen her family again, to an aging lord (who likely had sons already). It's a punishment for attempting to take what Alysanne has been told is hers, her specialness.

It's just so fucking sad, and I don't necessarily think that Alysanne wanted to be a villain and in many ways she was a victim but she caused lasting trauma on her daughters. Similar to her sister Rhaena, who is both victim and villain, it's the lasting legacy of Targaryen women. They are the counterparts to their brother-husbands and thus also are complicit in their crimes. Alysanne really highlights this, Alysanne ends up alone on Dragonstone. After being denied the right to attempt to see her only living daughter, after being denied her granddaughters birth right, after losing her last daughter to a mysterious end. She is alone, and it seems she dies alone, for all the maesters do to push the idea that Jaehaerys had this great love for her he doesn't even seem to be there when she dies. Nor do we get any indication that he mourned her death. Alysanne is alone, abandoned in a sense. A haunting reminder that Targaryen women might be placed as a "counterpart" to their husband but can never escape or be allowed the same level of power.

[padfootastic]

☼ - appearance headcanon, so basically i wanted to ask- what do you think sirius looks like? do you have any fancasts for him or fanart that you think looks like him? what is his style and just overall vibe like?

oooh, i’ve talked about it a bit here and there but lemme give u an itemised list ;)

- pretty darn tall, like well over 6ft. used to slouch during the first few years of hogwarts bc he knew how much it annoyed his parents but as he grew older, stopped doing it & it made him look even more imposing.

- always well dressed. crisp, clean clothes; neatly knitted tie; pressed pants; shined shoes & buckle. even when he’s wearing racy muggle clothes it’s always ‘artfully’ ripped.

- started getting tattoos at a young age (he’s a bit of a masochist) and has a few piercings—lip, nose, ear.

- don’t have a fc myself bc i can’t do faces (tho dani’s is pretty good ngl) i do think his physical features were like—sharp, a bit like porcelain. makes him look a little delicate and a lot dangerous. kept himself mostly clean shaven.

- a lot of jewellery. rings. bracelets, chain necklaces etc. one is the black heir ring, one is a potter family ring that fleamont gave him, and the rest are cheap little trinkets he picked up in the muggle world.

- i think his vibe is very…’dangerous predator stalking gracefully towards you’ bc he’s better than most, knows the fact, and doesn’t try to hide it. it emits this aura of ‘stay away’ that makes most people very hesitant to approach him. (also said this once before, but i get similar vibes from bella hadid, particularly when she’s doing her ramp walk ykno? the straight back and intense gaze that doesn’t stray once?)

- doesn’t get embarrassed easily but when he does, he blushes so fast. (almost always bc of james tho)

From this character headcanon ask game

[cameleonvermillon]

Not to gush about his route for the millionth time but ouuuugh I looooove how despite wanting to get away from the yakuza and wanting nothing to do with that life, Koujaku feels like he almost embraces that lifestyle

leading his own gang, mobilizing them in service of his goals, working with corrupt cops, and almost all conflict leads to him getting violent

You can take the man out of the yakuza but you can't take the yakuza out of the man

[swordgrace]

𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 — 𝐈.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ daemon targaryen x otto’s wife!reader x otto hightower.

synopsis: as the young wife of otto hightower, your joy is threadbare, and your husband is absent. when you have a chance encounter with the rogue prince at the heir’s tournament, you become entangled in a web of desire that you cannot get out of.

SERIES — 1/?

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested, part of a series.

༺ WORD COUNT: 11.5K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT!, dubious consent / mild coercion, infidelity, cheating (on otto), legal age gap (for reader/otto and reader/daemon), inexperienced reader, otto is an absent husband, seduction, sexual tension & yearning, reader is sexually repressed, loss of virginity, risk of getting caught, choking, biting / marking, begging, groping, scratching, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, finger-fucking, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, possessive daemon, mention of child death.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am so incredibly excited for this fic series, I feel like it could be a good one! I really appreciate all of the support I’ve been getting on the Aemond fic, another one will be coming up soon! Hello to all of my new followers, I am so excited to have you all here! Please enjoy this part, it’s a big one, but it sets the stage for future parts!

𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — you often saw inklings of it in Alicent’s eyes whenever you held her gaze, and noticed the subtle twitch of her mouth with any attempt at conversation. It always fell short, a relationship that had no ounce of potential, nothing to kindle it.

Sometimes, you wished that you could hold her hands, cuticles raw, and tell her that you were one and the same. It always made you uncomfortable to contemplate the closeness in age between you and Alicent, and the longer you dwelled on it, the more bitter you felt.

You were only three years her senior — one-and-twenty, married to her father, Otto Hightower — the hand of the King. Marriage was a concept that you were groomed for, and to be wed to a man of such stature and importance was a great victory for your house.

Otto was an absent husband, at best. His proceedings as Hand left him occupied, and whenever he did return to you, he was often burying himself in whatever business the King had assigned him to. Otto often took much of it on himself, with little time left for you.

You were nothing more than an accessory — a beautiful accessory, at that.

Otto had little desire for another child, and for that, you were eternally grateful to the Gods for allowing such a thing. It was a rarity for a man of his station to take up a wife with no intention of children. In all actuality, he simply missed his wife and yearned for her presence.

Whatever you were, you partially filled the void, but it would never be the same.

There was an emptiness within you that intensified as each day passed, a gaping hole in your body that simply collected dust. You were nothing more than a shimmering jewel for Otto to reveal in the public eye, but put away when it was all said and done.

It wasn’t a horrible existence, but you were unfulfilled. Life felt mundane, and despite the lavish and privileged setting you dwelled within, everything seemed gray, as if you were simply gazing out of a window, seeing the happiness of everyone else.

The more time you spent toiling over your woes and steeping yourself into self-resentment and hopelessness, the more restless you became. You didn’t want to keep pushing yourself into that fray of unhappiness, not when it weighed upon you so heavily already.

Appearances were sacred to Otto, who insisted you join him at the Heir’s Tournament, a celebration to usher in King Viserys and Queen Aemma’s newborn child. A joust and seven days of feasting and revelry were upon you, a routine affair whenever royal children were born.

In the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by a flock of fussing handmaidens, you smoothed your palms across the deep emerald gown, silk soft underneath your fingertips. Your beauty was unmatched — the rare jewel from the North that Otto Hightower had stolen for himself.

It would be a long day, yet the sun shimmered down upon King’s Landing and the Red Keep — a good sign of the festivities to come. You were the picture of a true maiden, not an imperfection in-sight, thanks to the handiwork of your numerous handmaidens.

A knock at your chamber door alerted you to your husband’s presence — it was always stern and rigid.

“Come!” You called, peering at yourself through the large mirror of an upright vanity. The only thing that happened to be missing was a stone around your neck, but you had an impressive array to choose from.

Otto stood within your doorway, always so formal and calculating. He was a difficult man to read — you had been wed for a handful of months, and he was still that way after all this time. “Hm.” He appraised you with a stoic gaze, unwavering and indiscernible.

Sheepishly, you turned for him to see, folding your hands together. “Is this suitable for the Tournament?” You inquired, the colors of your regalia that of House Hightower — emerald with gold embellishments.

In Otto Hightower’s eyes, you would never measure up to his first wife, his true love — but you were perfectly adequate, and that was all you needed to be. He stepped forward, staring down at you with an inkling of warmth within his eyes, tracing a finger across the soft slope of your jaw. “You look resplendent.”

That singular grain of warmth was something you would hold onto, and you mustered up enough of a smile to press a chaste kiss against Otto’s cheek. The gesture was brief, yet even the Hand himself seemed perplexed by it. You wanted to show affection, but Otto never seemed interested in reciprocating.

His kind words were enough to appease you, prompting you to smile as you bowed your head. “Thank you, husband.” Pleased by this, you made sure to string a necklace of peridot around your neck before Otto offered you his arm. It was a courtly procedure — nothing inherently affectionate about it, as you expected.

The walk to the tournament grounds was a lengthy one, but it gave you time to admire the buzz of the Red Keep. The excitement for the birth of a new Targaryen heir was palpable, felt by all you passed. Otto was always stalwart, with a pensive and unreadable expression.

Both you and Otto joined Alicent and Rhaenyra in the stands above the jousting grounds, with crowds of common folk and nobles alike joining in the rancor. Alicent seemed less than thrilled to see you, but you weren’t met with her usual icy indifference.

“Lady Hightower,” King Viserys greeted you with a kindly smile, prompting you to drop into a curtsy. “I am surprised to see that Otto brought you along. It is good to have you here.”

“It is a beautiful day, my King — I certainly hope this favor shines down upon you and your family.” You replied, offering the King a pleasant smile. Admittedly, you were rather excited to see a joust — it was good to be outside amongst your peers, not hidden away within the Tower of the Hand.

Your manners and pleasantries, the eloquent way in which you spoke to others, was a quality that Otto did admire about you. You were soft and kindhearted, possessing all of the gentle traits of a young maiden, a Lady in the making. If it weren’t for such qualities, he might’ve favored you a little less.

As you sat beside Otto, he remained rigid, gazing down upon the field. His eldest son, Gwayne, was amongst the many competitors preparing for the Joust. You had met Gwayne on a handful of occasions, and whilst he did not harbor as much bitterness as Alicent might’ve, he was still rather obtuse about your presence.

You had learned to develop a thick skin — as much as you desired to be friends to both Alicent and Gwayne, you were not their mother. You never wanted that role, either. Motherhood, especially at your young age, sounded most undesirable.

Admittedly, you were enamored with the horses, too — the beautiful beasts that carried their riders to glory, or otherwise. Your love of animals was well-known, something that Otto occasionally treated you to.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, brother to the King, rode out upon a steed as black as the dusk, bearing the Targaryen crest upon his shield. The draconic motif of his armor and helmet had made him appear fierce — a most intimidating competitor.

Otto seemed less than pleased — you knew that your husband despised the Prince, and the feeling was mutual. In your brief encounters with Daemon, often in Otto’s presence, their disdain was palpable. It was all vitriol and hatred, a constant battle for who could obtain the upper hand.

Knowing that Daemon chose Gwayne to joust to spite your husband made you somewhat apprehensive, but admittedly, sometimes you felt that Otto deserved to have his skin crawl at times. You didn’t like it for Alicent’s sake, her brother in harm’s way, but you had to stake in it.

The Prince rode forward, parading around the length of the field before he approached the royal stand, jousting lance held high. His lips curled into a lopsided smirk, and suddenly, you found that he was looking directly at you — those violet hues of his held your bashful stare.

“Lady Hightower,” He called, loud enough for those to hear it. Alicent began to stand, but Daemon shook his head. “Not you, my Lady.” He gestured toward you with his lance, sneer subtle and his eyes full of intrigue and the desire to make Otto Hightower squirm.

Visibly surprised, you looked to Otto, who seemed entirely displeased — but he wasn’t one to make his weakness known. “Otto, should I …” You trailed off, glancing toward the small table with your favor sitting atop it.

“I am fairly certain that I can win these games with ease, by having your favor, Lady Hightower.” Daemon spoke loud enough for all around to hear, inviting an audience — in all actuality, he simply wanted Otto to bear witness to charming you. “Would you do me the great pleasure of granting me your favor?”

Otto grimaced, countenance beginning to simmer with anger, deep below the surface. He bristled, jaw unnaturally tight. His fingers curled into a fist, yet he had no intention of denying you such an act, if you so desired. This was a tournament, after all — and any reaction that he gave, Daemon would indulge himself in.

Startled, you looked to Otto for approval, yet he offered you none. Reluctantly, you rose to your feet, retrieving a wreath of beautiful blossoms — gold, ochre, and shades of pink. You stepped toward the terrace’s edge, meeting the handsome visage of Daemon Targaryen, with his lance ready to receive your favor.

“Where has your husband been keeping you all this time, my Lady?” Daemon questioned, loud enough for only you to hear. Your breath hitched within your throat at his brashness, lips parting slightly as you cradled your favor between your hands.

Instead, you dipped down, offering the Prince a sheepish smile, wrought with some confusion as you tossed it onto his lance. “Good luck, my Prince. I hope to see your victory in this joust.” You nodded, keeping your formalities intact before you curtsied, swiftly clamoring to find your place beside Otto.

Daemon smirked, his gaze hot enough to melt right through you, if you let it. It never left you, even when you ascended the steps to sit beside your husband, the Rogue Prince ensured that you writhed beneath his watchful eyes.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, Daemon’s incendiary stare was something that you were so unaccustomed to — Otto never looked at you that way, as if you were a treasure, something to be coveted. It left you to mull over your thoughts for the entirety of the tournament.

The carnage that ensued was typical for a joust, especially one with so many warring factions. Men tore one another from their horses, dueled in the dirt, bashed skulls in. The tangy scent of copper filled the air, one that had unfortunately become ingrained in you.

It brought you back to your youth, as you recalled your sister falling from her steed, head crushed to nothingness upon the rocks. The scent of blood would always loom over you like a black cloud for as long as you lived.

Otto glanced toward you, reaching for your hand as he gave it a subtle squeeze. He did not offer any words of reassurance, lips a thin, pensive line before one of the Maesters stepped in behind him, whispering news into his ear. His expression changed instantaneously.

Something was wrong — you could feel it in your marrow.

Alicent looked to you and Otto, and you saw her fingers, picked bloody and raw, and you felt nothing but sympathy. When Otto immediately stood, letting go of your hand, you watched with a furrowed brow as he momentarily disappeared — King Viserys was long gone, absent for a majority of the Tournament.

It was only when Daemon Targaryen and Criston Cole began to duel, that your attention went elsewhere. You watched in subtle awe as Daemon fought, clad in black armor and crimson scales, the colors of House Targaryen. Dark Sister in his right hand, thrusting at the Dornish Knight with an unholy vengeance.

At last, when it ended with Daemon haughtily retreating from the field, you wondered where your husband had gone, disappearing altogether. He had left behind guards to escort you back to the Red Keep, but his absence left you feeling more afraid of the walk back.

Nonetheless, you gathered your skirts, knowing that Alicent had long since left with Rhaenyra. You didn’t worry for her safety — as long as she was with the Princess, no harm would befall her.

“The Hand advised that we take you back to the Keep at once, Lady Hightower.” One of your guards prompted, ushering you towards the stands as the pair assisted you in getting back down. There was a sense of urgency in their steps, but you were confused by it. Had something happened that required Otto’s immediate attention?

You descended the steps from the stand, finding yourself in a sea of nobles and commoners alike, attempting to return to their homes and daily lives. Your guards remained vigilant, assisting you in pushing through towards the stables. There was a quieter path there, a shorter way to the Red Keep.

“This way, my Lady.” One guard made way, allowing you to go first as you made it to the tournament stables. Many of the Knights, those that still drew breath, were collecting their coin and saddling their horses, preparing to make an exit. There was one horse in particular that caught your eye — Daemon’s steed, as black as night.

The Prince himself appeared from the obscured view of the tent, and you nearly scuttled away at the insistence of your protectors, but Daemon saw you first.

“Lady Hightower,” Daemon greeted you, voice often tinged with something sly, a hint of arrogance. Those violet eyes of his bore down upon you as he approached, still clad in his armor. There were smears of dirt upon his face, flecks of crimson, yet it did not detract from his beauty. “Have you come to praise my victory?”

The guards who stood at your flank seemed less than thrilled with this interaction that was forming. They seemed to dislike Daemon as much as Otto did — and you wondered if there was an influence present.

“We are merely passing through, to return to the Red Keep,” Your soft gaze flickered toward Daemon’s horse, admiring its flawless dark coat. “Your horse is beautiful. It served you well through the tournament.”

Daemon noticed that flicker of admiration and happiness within your eyes, coaxing the stallion closer with a mere tug of the reins. He brought it close, close enough for you to touch. “He is yours, if you want him.” His words might’ve struck you as sardonic, but Daemon appeared to be genuine in such an action.

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t accept such a gift — and when would you have time to ride, anyway? Otto would never let you past the Keep’s gates, let alone into the forests beyond. “That is too kind of you, my Prince. I am afraid that I must decline — it would be unfair to have a horse that I cannot give any attention to.” You sighed, your features somewhat melancholy.

Fascinating — quite the ironic parallel to your own situation. If you did not see the amusement in it, Daemon most certainly did. “How thoughtful of you, Lady Hightower.” He hesitated, lips twitching into a rather mocking smirk at his next words. “Where is that charming husband of yours?”

You should’ve been offended on Otto’s behalf, especially with the Prince’s contemptuous tone, but you felt nothing. You couldn’t retort, mouth becoming dry as you cleared your throat. “My husband found himself preoccupied with duties as Hand, my Prince. He needed to leave.”

Daemon scoffed, lip curling slightly as he glanced toward your guards. “So he left you with this pathetic display of protection?” The Prince immediately drew the ire of the guards, who seemed less than pleased with Daemon’s remarks. “I could gut them before they could draw their swords.”

“Is that a threat, Commander?” One of your guards hissed, grip tightening upon the pommel of his shortsword. The weight of the scenario made you nervous, prompting you to direct your gaze toward Daemon, whose mouth was upturned in an amused smirk.

“Hardly. It is a promise.” Daemon retorted, hands interlocked atop the pommel of Dark Sister — a legendary blade of Valyrian Steel. You knew that your feeble guards were no match to a swordsman of Daemon’s caliber.

Before steel could be brandished, you immediately extended your hand, anxiousness welling within your heart. It frightened you to be so close to potential violence, but you had some station. “Enough — all of you!” You quipped, hands beginning to quiver.

Daemon chuckled, seemingly perplexed by your sudden display of authority. He did not dispute your call for peace, staring at your guards with a narrowed gaze. “If you are seeking better company than these fucking imbeciles, I will gladly escort you to the Red Keep, Lady Hightower.”

You shouldn’t — Otto would be so displeased.

Every fiber of your body screamed at you to turn away Prince Daemon’s proposal. It was improper, and you knew that your Lord husband would become cantankerous if he were to find out that Daemon was near you, let alone providing passage back to the Red Keep.

He could sense your hesitation, born out of loyalty to your withering husband, Daemon assumed. The conflict that danced within your eyes was one that he wholly intended on manipulating — you were much too sweet. The Prince clicked his tongue, awaiting your response.

“It isn’t a difficult question, my Lady.” Perhaps, his tone might’ve put you off just a little bit, but he was confident that you would accept. Daemon regarded you with those lilac hues of his, calculating and sly.

“Yes,” You interjected, much to the disdain of your guards, “but my guards will stay with me.” It was the smartest option — if you were left alone with Daemon, you feared what rumors could be spun from such an action. You were naive at times, but not completely stupid.

Daemon knew this — he knew your intentions, but he also knew his own. With a sardonic laugh, he readied his belongings, gesturing to take your leave onto the cobblestone streets. “Do you have such little trust in your Prince?”

A ripple of heat fluttered over your features, subsiding just as quickly as it came. You twisted your hands together, fingers interlocked as you fell quiet. Daemon’s salacious reputation followed him like a shadow — violent, promiscuous, and arrogant. It was common knowledge that the Prince possessed crude interests.

“It is not that, my Prince. My Lord Husband will wonder why the guards are at the Keep before I am. I do not want him to worry — he has enough to attend to as it is as Hand of the King.” A threadbare excuse, at best, but much to your relief, Daemon let the matter rest, for now.

The violet-eyed Prince let out a scoff at that, yet he elected not to fluster you further. Your announcement of Otto’s station was most amusing, as if he needed reminding. He joined you, walking side-by-side as you made it onto the noble path back to the Red Keep. It was a safer trek than taking the commoner’s route.

Silence filled the gap between you both, with your guards tailing you and Daemon, ensuring that no one interfered with such royal affairs. He was growing quite bored with the lack of conversation — especially with someone like you. You were interesting and new, something to be inspected.

“Isn’t it the duty of a husband to attend to his wife?” Daemon questioned, attempting to toy with you. He thoroughly enjoyed getting under Otto Hightower’s skin, but admittedly, he did want to know more about you. You were beautiful — a pretty maiden hanging upon the Hand’s arm; he wondered how that came to be.

Your jaw tightened, causing your frustration to brew as you held your skirts within one hand, continuing to make your way up the steps. “Why are you not in the Vale with Lady Royce, if that is what you truly think?” You quipped, somewhat unnerved with how he picked apart your marriage.

Otto wasn’t attentive — if anything, he only became attentive when appearances mattered most. There was no desire nor genuine interaction outside of that. You lived a very lonely life, even if it seemed so wonderful and lavish on the outside.

Daemon chuckled, bemused by your fiery retort. You became so flustered whenever he successfully managed to poke and prod at you. “I’ve no interest in my Bronze Bitch,” He replied, his tone dripping with an underlying venom, “The sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

You huffed, brows furrowing together. This seemed like a horrible idea, allowing Daemon to escort you back to the Keep. He was crass and unpredictable, yet you couldn’t help but find some merit in his examination of your relationship with Otto.

“I am sure that there are plenty of worthwhile subjects in your City to keep you satisfied, my Prince. This isn’t the Vale.” You exhaled, exasperated and agitated that Otto had simply left you at the Tournament grounds.

He could sense it — your repression, the twinge of desperation laced within your voice. Daemon didn’t expect any wife of Otto Hightower to be truly sated and satisfied, but you were the true picture of a jewel locked away in a chest, or hidden beneath mounds of soot. No one had bothered to truly see you as you were.

Emboldened, Daemon knew that tempting you with pretty words could have consequences — fortunately for him, he didn’t care in the slightest. “The only worthwhile subject is standing before me.” He countered, lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk.

A shiver ran down the length of your spine, heart galloping just a little faster when Daemon brazenly showered you in his silver-tongued sayings. You hadn’t been spoken to in such a manner before, and as much as you should’ve countered it, you didn’t.

Heat crept through your features as you kept your head down, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I do not know what you speak of, my Prince.” Your reply was weak, soft spoken as you continued on your path back to the Red Keep. You didn’t want to reveal just how warm it made you feel.

“I believe you do,” Daemon mused, stepping close enough to you to ensure that the guards wouldn’t eavesdrop. “Surely, your Lord Husband has offered you such pleasure before, has he not?” His Valyrian timbre made your breath hitch within your throat.

“Prince Daemon,” You were in disbelief at his brashness, at how forward he was being with you. You didn’t want to indulge him — yet part of you did. “You must stop.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, strained and throaty. The silence became overwhelming as you made it toward the gates of the Red Keep.

When his name rolled from your tongue, Daemon’s lilac hues glistened with something indiscernible. He enjoyed the way you said his name — trembling and uncertain, as if he had revealed some horrible truth to you. Instead, the Prince stared at you, looking toward the gates.

“As you wish,” Daemon’s arrogance wafted from him like a thick haze, enough to permeate your immediate space. The Prince opted to shift the subject matter to something more appropriate — for your own sake, of course. “I suspect that I will have a nephew, soon enough.”

Daemon sounded indifferent, as if the prospect of a nephew wasn’t at all a pleasant idea. It would make him lower in the ranking of succession, you knew this. Otto had made multiple campaigns against Daemon to keep him from reaching the Iron Throne. Their rivalry was petty, as far as you were concerned.

Your steps slowed, keeping pace with Daemon as you made your way to the gates of the Red Keep. “You don’t sound very jovial, for an uncle.” You replied, and your observation seemed to catch his attention. “King Viserys is your brother. Are you not excited?”

A scoff escaped him as he stared at you, violet hues narrowing at your perceptiveness. “Is that how I seem to you, Lady Hightower? Devoid of joy?” Daemon smiled disparagingly, perching a palm atop the pommel of his blade.

Swallowing the slight lump within your throat, you detected his shackled fury, and you did not want to provoke the dragon any further. “My apologies, your Grace. I did not mean to be presumptuous.” You replied, fingers curling into your skirts.

“Of course you didn’t,” Daemon mused, lips twitching into a sardonic smirk. He seemed to believe you — though, part of your line of questioning felt personal, in retaliation for his jabs about your Lord Husband. “Have you been permitted to see the Dragonpit?”

Of the many places in King’s Landing, Daemon often longed to be on the back of Caraxes — or with his blade driven into any that crossed his path. You hadn’t been to see the Dragonpit yourself, considering that a lady of your station could never go many places unaccompanied.

“No, my Prince.” Disappointment danced within your voice, pace slowing again to keep in-step with Daemon. “I would love to see it, if allowed. Dragons are gorgeous creatures, symbols of your strength.” With a soft sigh, you looked to the Red Keep, looming overhead.

Daemon stepped closer, in close quarters as he looked down at you, noticing the subtle hitch within your throat. “Hm,” He glanced at your stalwart escorts, lilac eyes flickering over your pretty countenance. He dipped closer, lips ghosting near the shell of your ear. “Should your husband release you from your shackles, I could show you.”

A strange wave of gooseflesh crawled along the length of your spine, brows furrowing together as you recoiled, as if being scorched. You looked to Daemon with bewilderment, lip curling slightly as you regained your composure. “Your offer is a gracious one, your Grace.” You murmured.

It often shocked you how reckless Daemon was — abrasive and careless with his position. He could bed whomever he wanted, fuck and fight whenever it best suited him. It wasn’t a possibility for you, a noblewoman married to the Hand of the King. Part of you wished you could be afforded the liberties of a man like Daemon, but it was merely a fantasy.

Silence drifted between the both of you, enough to bring you some discomfort as you heard the doors to the Red Keep creak open. Daemon’s incendiary stare never wavered, never faltered as he kept his eyes on you. Your guardsmen were less than thrilled, but kept quiet as the two of you stepped into the hall.

“This is where I bid you farewell, my Prince.” Your voice was shrewd, nothing more than the soft lull of a mouse. Daemon regarded you with the ghost of a smirk, bowing before you as any gentleman would.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Lady Hightower.” Daemon replied, glancing toward a group of Targaryen guards that made their way to him. Your own escorts were happy to take advantage of the gap in attention, whisking you away into the depths of the Red Keep.

The atmosphere had shifted, from jovial and celebratory to eerie and desolate, somber — servants and nobles alike seemed riddled with melancholy, their heads hung low. Whispers of a fallen heir touched your ears, and then you understood why Otto had left in such a hurry.

Queen Aemma and her newborn son were dead.

You remembered what the air smelled like, the day of your sister’s funeral — you recalled the swaying of golden grass against stone, those in-mourning unable to stifle their tears. It was your mother that had wailed the most, draped across the terrace where her body lay, cloaked by a funerary shroud.

Now, the memories seemed to dance along the fringes of your mind, standing within the open plain far from King’s Landing, along the coastline of Blackwater Bay. Salty air peppered your flesh in soft kisses, eyes stinging with the onslaught of tears.

The despondent look on King Viserys’s face had harkened back to your youth, moments that still haunted your steps. You stood beside Otto, who appeared resolute despite the tragedy, but even you could see the wisps of empathy that flickered across his countenance. Stoicism was his forte, but even death could break the strongest man apart.

Daemon appeared somber, violet hues occasionally drifting toward his brother, the King, who let out a muffled sob as Rhaenyra set the funeral pyre ablaze. Dragon’s fire would return dragons to ash, to the great beyond. You admired the strength of the Princess, even through dour moments like this.

Once the burning of Queen Aemma and Baelon had ended, what nobles were left gathered amongst themselves to pay their respects, to the deceased and to the King. Viserys seemed indifferent, so far removed from the moment as his subjects offered their condolences.

Otto’s hand pressed into the small of your back, the first comforting gesture that he’d offered, completely unprovoked. He dipped down, enough to murmur words reserved for you and him. “The King will need my council during these dark times,” He uttered, “Now more than ever.”

You nodded, knowing that it implied Otto would be less present than he already was. His lips briefly graced the crown of your head before he slipped past, stepping towards King Viserys and Rhaenyra.

Standing alone, you opted to wander, venturing away from the melancholy gathering and toward the sea of wheatgrass that danced with the saltwater breeze. The scent of the ocean filled your lungs, made them whole — it was far better than that of King’s Landing.

Rays of a dying sun sparkled down upon you, licking your flesh with a comforting warmth that you savored. It was enough to make you exhale, eyes fluttering shut as you imagined yourself worlds away, or perhaps sailing out to sea, where it was only your hands that guided you.

The evening breeze jostled your tresses, blanketing your face with its softness. The tears that had prickled your eyes no longer made residence there as you hastily wiped them aside, hands wringing together before you.

Footsteps reverberated from your left side, as the shape of Prince Daemon came into your view. Despite the whirlwind of emotions he’d left you with earlier that day, you were inclined to place them aside. His dark tunic, lined in dragonscales, glittered beneath the waning sunlight.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Prince Daemon. I cannot imagine the pain of losing two of your family in one day,” You murmured, lips forming a pensive line as you looked at the Targaryen. He was unusually quiet for a spell, which prompted you to fill in the void. “I hope that your brother will recover.”

“He is the Dragon,” Daemon echoed, hands folded in front of him. “He will endure.” As for the Prince, there was some discomfort knowing that such a bloody fate had befallen Aemma. His sister-by-law had always been a devoted wife and good mother, and such a loving woman was difficult to come by. “My sister was a good woman.”

You had met Queen Aemma on multiple occasions, and she was pure — softhearted and kind, with a gentle visage that was sure to put anyone at ease. “She was,” You lamented, echoing Daemon’s sentiments with a threadbare smile. “And a good Queen.”

That was something Daemon could not argue with, violet hues finally shifting away from the horizon and onto you, a picture of beauty. Even in black tapestries, the color of mourning, you were still rather enchanting. Tenderness blossomed from within you, a soft heart — it was enough to temper Daemon, for just a moment.

He searched your visage, able to detect the growing dolour that became etched into your features. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, many that threatened to spill over as you twisted your fingers together. “The last funeral that I attended was that of my sister,” You uttered, facing Daemon with a bitter smile. “I hoped that I would not have to attend another.”

A sister — Daemon was somewhat inquisitive regarding the finer details of your life, but he did not want to pry at the present. “Unfortunately, you will find that death is constant and unyielding,” He offered little consolation, but it was the hard truth. “Though, I trust that you will endure, just as my brother will.”

Daemon was often harsh and crass, always a realist with little desire to pull the wool over another’s eyes unless it was for personal gain. He knew that you were sweet, too malleable for this world — he hoped to see you blossom into something strong. With Otto Hightower for a husband, any woman would become as tough as steel.

Part of you wished for flowery words of reassurance from Daemon, but you found none — just a stoicism with an inkling of empathy. Though, you weren’t expecting much, and Otto would be of little comfort, too.

“You are more than just a wife, if you choose it. Do not allow yourself to sit underneath his boot forever.” Daemon murmured, boldly stepping inward to get a better look at you. Your subdued nature was partially Otto’s fault — he blamed the Hand for your sheltered demeanor, for your loneliness.

A brief stirring sensation erupted within your chest, and you looked to Daemon, a singular tear spilling across your forlorn features. “I do not have your luxuries, my Prince — I cannot bed whom I want, go wherever I please, abandon my husband — duty is everything. It may not mean anything to you, but it means something to me.” You quipped, your voice hushed yet strained.

Daemon huffed, lips curling slightly, as if to express disdain. Part of him understood your deep-rooted frustration, but perhaps he simply wanted to pass on his recklessness to you. “Quite presumptuous of you to assume that I care little for duty,” He replied, easily crawling beneath your skin. “You can do whatever you please, once you stop being so afraid.”

You nearly recoiled from him, clearly stung by the attack on your character. His assumption of your fear made you bristle, nostrils flaring as you turned your face away to mask the swell of anger. “This is where I leave you, Prince Daemon.” You hissed between gritted teeth, hands curled into fistfuls within your skirts.

He found your irritation to be somewhat perplexing — you were so repressed, tangled within your devotion to Otto and constant desolation. Daemon said nothing, merely watching as you retreated into the shadow of your Lord Husband.

You wouldn’t dare look back at Daemon — even as you felt those lilac hues pierce your defenses, you refused him, and made your way back with Otto.

If it were up to you, you would never see Daemon Targaryen again.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨���, 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 — there was no joy to be found anywhere. With the King’s son and wife deceased, the idea of succession was called into question by the small Council. Part of you felt disgusted by the suddenness of such a meeting, especially while the King was in mourning.

Otto cared little for such things. It was imperative that an heir be chosen — or produced yet again, by means of a new betrothal for the King.

Despite the melancholy atmosphere of the Keep, your thoughts remained disorganized and scattered, preoccupied with Daemon Targaryen — and that was a dangerous thing. After his whispered inquiry of pleasure, his berating of you at the funeral, you could not rid him from your mind no matter how much you tried.

Any attempt to flush the Prince’s brazen advances out of your mind were met with a powerful resistance — the other half of you that had little desire to forget. In all honesty, you wanted to know what it was like to be coveted and sought-after, to feel true pleasure, understand its intricacies.

The other half demanded that you reject him, unleash your shackled wrath upon him. He vexed you like no other had before — he far exceeded that of Otto. Daemon had crawled beneath your flesh and taken up permanent residency there, and he would continue to do so unless you plucked up the courage to put a stop to it.

That night, you couldn’t sleep — Otto was nowhere to be found, meeting within the dead of night with the rest of the small Council. Even if he weren’t caught within a meeting, he seldom came to bed with you. He was often in his study, mulling over books, writing letters, attending to matters that didn’t involve you.

You were never involved in much of anything.

Frustration festered within you, rising like the swell of an encroaching tide. Clad in your evening gown, you retrieved a candlestick, slipping out of the Tower of the Hand and into the corridors of the Red Keep. Midnight strolls were not an uncommon thing for you, but this one proved to be more than just elusive sleep.

Your path led you dangerously close to the Small Council chambers, but as you approached, a figure stood outside of one wall, leering in through the tiny gaps. Light slipped through, providing faint illumination onto the face of Daemon Targaryen.

The Prince had been eavesdropping, curious to know about their intentions for succession. Should Viserys pass, the Iron Throne would fall to Daemon — but they wouldn’t allow it. Otto, in particular, was rather vocal in the push against Daemon as the rightful heir.

Daemon turned, craning to peer over his shoulder. Those shadowed, lilac hues drifted across you, your supple form glad in some lace-laden nightgown. Your hair had been pinned-up when he saw you last, and now, it was freed from its confines. He found you to be a visual feast for the eyes — beautiful beyond compare.

In the background, you listened to the squabbling from the Council members, the infighting over who would become heir. It disgusted you, the manner in which they conducted themselves — the Queen and her son were deceased, and the only thing that preoccupied them were the rights of succession.

The silence that lingered between you and Daemon was necessary, necessary enough for you to hear the numerous slanders that your Lord Husband hurled at the Prince. Their hatred continued to fester, and for as long as Otto Hightower lived and thrived in a position of power, he would plague Daemon’s every step.

At last, Daemon stepped away from his eavesdropping, moving towards you instead. “Looking for your husband, Lady Hightower?” He questioned, his voice rich as it dipped lower, hushed and soft enough for only you to hear. The narrow corridor you stood within was as silent as a crypt, not a guard in-sight.

You shook your head, lowering the candle toward your chest. Warmth brushed across your exposed collarbone, and you glanced at Daemon, lips parting slightly. “I could not sleep,” You confessed, teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “I suspect that you are here for a different reason.”

Concealed within the listless shadows of the corridor, Daemon took a step closer, nearly within arm’s reach. His mouth curled into that familiar, cheshire smirk — and it worried you. “What reason would that be, my Lady?” He questioned, head canting slightly.

The calculated way in which he stalked towards you left you feeling somewhat unnerved, hand cupped around the flickering light of the candle. Whatever look he had in his eyes, it mirrored the one he’d given you at the Tournament earlier that day — incendiary and lascivious.

“To see if you will ascend the Throne.” Daemon’s ambition was well-known — and sometimes, his ambition drove him to recklessness and ruthlessness. You knew about his displays of violence as Commander of the City Watch, his prowess with a blade.

Daemon scoffed, continuing to press closer to you, looming above you. The candlelight flickered across his sharp visage, basking him in an orange glow that touched his violet hues. His lips remained permanently fixed into a perplexed smirk, his hand reaching to grab your chin.

As if scorched, you jerked away, brows furrowing together as you glowered at him. “I do not want to see you anymore,” You mumbled, shaking your head with an air of defiance. “You’ve angered me.”

A sardonic chuckle escaped him, enough to further your agitation. It pricked away at your flesh, giving way to a layer of perspiration as it crept along your spine. “Angered you, is that it?” Daemon questioned, attempting to make you writhe. “If you truly wish to be rid of me, walk away — go back to the Hand’s bed.” He challenged.

Your heart slammed within your sternum, lip curling in disdain as you shook your head. The tension crackled between the two of you, one charged with a dangerous desire and anger — two overpowering emotions. “All you care for is the throne.” You whispered, yet your words held no merit at all.

It was something Otto would’ve hurled at him, and you were not your husband — you were far from it.

It was a feeble attempt to bait Daemon into anger just as he had so easily baited you. He was not quick to fall to your ploy, and instead, he happened to stare at you as if you were everything he’d ever wanted. It made you shiver — no one had looked at you like that before.

“You think me so singleminded, Lady Hightower,” He uttered, thumb tracing along your jawline. “I have little interest in the Throne.” In an unexpected move, he dipped forward, lips ghosting around the shell of your ear. “I am far more interested in you.”

Goosebumps cascaded down the length of your spine, and fear rippled through you at Daemon’s close quarters. You were terrified of someone seeing you with the Prince, and you stepped back, wrenching yourself free from his grasp. “This is inappropriate, my Prince. I am afraid you are experiencing a severe lapse in judgment.”

As you began to retreat away from the Council chambers and into the darkness of the corridor, Daemon followed, a predator trailing after prey. He cornered you into an alcove, his chuckle bemused and sardonic.

“My judgment is sound — the only judgment that will be called into question is your own,” He challenged, pinning you against the smooth stone of the wall. His hand cupped your hip, keeping you locked into place. “My poor, sweet Lady Hightower, left untouched and without a lick of attention from your dutiful husband.” Daemon clicked his tongue.

You shuddered, attempting to squirm and ward Daemon away, but he simply kept up his pursuit. “Please,” You whispered, fright filling your startled heart. The Prince’s lust had grown astronomically — all for you, this hidden jewel now within his grasp. “We can’t, Prince Daemon. Someone might see.” You urged.

Daemon seemed unconvinced, lips hovering above your own, tempting you in the most unholy way imaginable. That strong hand that held your hip began to knead into the flesh there, desiring to feel your bare skin. “Fuck everyone else.” He uttered, hot breath fanning across your countenance.

A soft whimper escaped you, and every fiber of your being cried out for him — you wanted this, wanted him to show you what true pleasure felt like. You watched as he inclined his head, blowing the candle out with a faint grin, leaving the both of you in darkness, save for the moonlight that pooled within the halls.

“I can’t, I don’t …” You whispered, voice mousy and meek, yet your resolve was crumbling away, revealing your soul, bare and angry. Part of you loathed Otto for never showing you affection, never indulging in desire, yet the other half of you yearned for the Rogue Prince to steal your virtue. “Daemon.”

It was guilt that had consumed you, initially — the guilt of betraying your husband, despite his lack of desire towards you. You never had anything for yourself — perhaps this could be the one thing. A clenched fist pushed against his chest, but you were weak.

“Why continue to wait for something that will never come, hm? Toil over a man that doesn’t want you?” Daemon questioned, his voice dropping to a sultry octave, a purr that raked across your spine. His hand began to gather your gown, bunching it up to allow him easier access.

“You — You vex me,” You whimpered, knowing that you were simply a rabbit trapped within the maw of a dragon, and perhaps, that was where you wanted to be. “You don’t want me.” It was a valiant attempt to talk yourself out of it, to convince yourself that you were unwanted.

Daemon peppered a string of hot kisses along your jaw, grabbing at your chin to tip your head back. “You don’t know what I want.” He murmured, his stare shadowed with lust. He kissed the side of your face, forehead briefly resting against yours as you considered the sin that you were about to commit.

It was liberating when you no longer thought of sin, and simply thought of your own needs and wants.

His unspoken pressure finally broke your carefully-constructed barrier, and you leaned upwards, rocking forward until you crashed into him. You dropped the candlestick, yet it made little noise. Your lips, soft and compliant, melded with his own — domineering and triumphant. Need blistered through, and he kissed you with such blazing passion.

You felt his other hand shamelessly move toward your neck, flexing underneath your jaw as he kissed you over and over again. You hadn’t experienced such passion before — and you never wanted it to end.

Daemon coaxed you closer, countenance one of sheer lust and possessiveness. His thumb traced across your lower lip, hand snug around your throat before he looked elsewhere. “Fucking is a pleasure, for a woman as it is a man,” He uttered, noticing the hitch in your throat. “I am certain your Lord Husband never bothered with it.”

Abashed, you shook your head, reveling in the sensation of his hand firmly kneading into your hip. “No, my Prince. He did not,” You paused, your hand finding its way to his chest, fingers curling into his tunic. “Would you show me?” It was a fine line, a perilous one — but you did not care, not anymore.

You hadn’t felt desire quite like this in your life — but you wanted it, more than anything else. The void within you, repression tangled up into a ball wound so tightly that it might explode — Daemon stoked the fire, and he seemed eager to let you come undone. You wanted Daemon.

In High Valyrian, he spoke one word. “Māzigon.” Come — Daemon’s hand slipped around yours, urging you away from the small Council chambers and into the depths of the Red Keep. Your trek led you to unfamiliar parts of the castle, some left untouched and unused.

The dust-laden doors led you to a small study, sparsely furnished, yet all Daemon truly needed was a surface wide enough to bear your body. There was a chaise lounge, with a thick direwolf’s hide serving as the rug in front of the darkened hearth. The remnants of an old, four-post bed sat off within the room somewhere, just as dour as the rest of the room.

No one would find you here.

Moonlight pooled through the two large windows, enough for you to see his porcelain, perfect features, tinged with silver. His platinum tresses turned to white, violet hues drinking you in with a ravenous hunger. Rapture and lust, a smoldering desire to make you give into him.

Daemon’s hands cupped either side of your neck, thumb pressing into the underside of your jaw at the other flicked against your lower lip. “Tepagon ezīmagon nyke,” He purred, towering over you as he dipped down, kissing along your jaw. “Take off your clothes.” His command was stern yet dripping with carnality.

If it weren’t for the sheer intensity of the moment, you might’ve become flustered, but instead, your hands flew toward the ribbons and ties of your gown. You shrugged the lace-laden shawl aside, allowing the garment to simply drop around your feet.

Your body was perfect — Daemon wanted it all for himself. If the Hand would not indulge in you, then he would. The Prince let out a low hum, admiring your silky flesh and delicate curves, hand skimming from the hollow of your throat to your breasts.

“For this to be hidden away for so long,” Daemon uttered, hand moving to greedily cup your breast. It elicited a sweet gasp from you, unexpected yet exhilarating. “Is a fucking crime.” He growled, and without another word, he moved to kiss you, like fire washing over you, all-consuming and devouring.

Instinct drove you as your hands clamored to the nape of his neck, tugging at the silken crown of pale tresses there. Daemon seemed pleased by this, teeth grazing along your lower lip before he bit down, eliciting a whine from you. He thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of you underneath his palm — as soft as velvet.

His tongue lapped across your lower lip, soothing the ache brought about by the sharp bite of his teeth. He kissed you hard, lips parted, the action warm and wet — he imagined tasting something else, head clouded with the unshakable haze of lust.

“Daemon,” You whimpered, abandoning all titles and formalities. He no longer referred to you as Lady Hightower — that wasn’t who you were anymore, not to him. One of your palms dropped to his chest, hesitantly fiddling with the ties of his tunic. “I want to see you.”

Perplexed, the Prince kissed your throat, head canting to one side. “Have you seen a man before, jorrāelagon?” He questioned, partially bemused yet curious to hear your answer. His affectionate High Valyrian caught your attention, causing a small tremor to roll along the base of your spine.

Sheepishly, you shook your head. Otto had never bothered to bear himself at all, and to some extent, you could understand — he was aging, and the attraction was most certainly slim. “No, I haven’t — but I’d like to.” You shivered when Daemon pulled you close, palm cupping your hip before it brazenly traveled to your haunch.

Any sliver of space between the two of you became nonexistent, replaced with heat and tension, bodies entangled into one. Your digits danced along the collar of his dragonscale tunic, imagining what strength and prowess rested beneath.

Instead, he peered at your wandering fingers, brows briefly lifting as if to encourage you. “Go on, then.” Daemon coaxed, his voice somewhat gravelly and pitched lower, interlaced with a burning desire. He watched with rapture as you slowly unfastened the ties and buckles of his tunic.

Daemon thought about being rough — grabbing your throat and fucking you into the lounge without a second thought, but he wanted to explore you. Your repression wasn’t your fault, and he felt some sense of triumph in fucking the wife of the Hand.

He shrugged his tunic aside, letting the garment fall to join the pool of lace and silk upon the floor. He was pale and well-muscled, a vision of perfection. Your hands began to glide across his broad shoulders, and then to his chest and abdomen.

Admittedly, Daemon savored the sensation of you touching him, exploring him — something about it was sickly sweet. “Have you touched yourself before, my Lady?” Daemon asked, pointed and unwilling to go without a direct answer.

Flustered, you nodded, seemingly embarrassed in regards to such actions. “Yes,” You exhaled, skin hot to the touch. “I know I shouldn’t have, but —“ Daemon stopped you with a kiss, hungry and needy, teeth nipping at your mouth with a subtle growl.

“Afraid that your Lord Husband will admonish you for it?” The Prince smirked, violet eyes glinting with a twinge of humor. Your expression reflected a whirlwind of emotions — from desire, lust, and embarrassment to a flicker of sadness and frustration. Daemon decided to leave it all alone and focus on you.

He coaxed you toward the plush velvet of the chaise lounge, sitting down with an unceremonious thud. Daemon was quick to collect you into his lap, all perfect and spread for him. A lustful silence filled the void between you both as he kissed your neck, calloused hands gripping the swell of your hips.

“Allow me to rectify your husband’s wrongs,” Daemon chided, kissing along the hollow of your throat, teeth sinking into your sensitive flesh. You moaned and whined, writhing atop him, chest pressed against his. “You are beautiful.” He said with such assurance, causing you to shudder.

Daemon’s ring-adorned hand snaked along the length of your body, finding the apex between your thighs, warm and slick with arousal. As soon as his thumb and forefinger slipped past your folds, you lurched forward, letting out a gasp of surprise.

The sensation was foreign yet pleasurable, like an electrifying jolt rolling down your spine. His mouth relentlessly assaulted your sweet flesh, leaving behind a myriad of bites and less than desirable markings. Your scent — a concoction of lavish perfumes and oils — invaded his senses like a thick haze.

His digits deliberately explored your cunt, every touch eliciting some strangled sound from you. You felt his fingers tease your entrance before sliding back towards your clit, flicking across that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your heart pounded within your chest, slamming against your breastbone like a drum.

“Daemon,” You moaned, back arching as you absentmindedly leaned into the Prince’s embrace. One of your palms molded itself to his bicep, the other continued to clutch at the nape of his neck. “Please, don’t stop!” With a needy whine, your hips rolled forward, attempting to gain a lick of friction. You wanted him to keep touching you there — forever, if he could.

His thumb languidly circled your clit, other digits sliding against your cunt. You squirmed and careened forward, insides hot as liquid warmth pooled between your thighs. It felt incredible — it was everything you’d ever wanted and more. Nothing could compare to the bliss that rolled through you.

The Prince continued with assailing your flesh, kissing his way across your collarbone, dipping low enough to find the perfect swell of your breasts. A low rumble resonated through Daemon’s chest, one of clear approval as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking on the hardened peak.

A strangled whimper escaped you, one of clear delight. You hadn’t experienced any of this before — you wanted more, as much as Daemon was willing to give you. You gasped when his teeth dragged across your breast, causing you to jolt forward.

Ensuring that you would be well tended-to, Daemon sank his fingers forward, vigorously tracing across your cunt as his thumb did a majority of the work. Ripples of bliss rolled across your body in waves, and you rocked forward enough to ride his hand.

“Daemon!” You moaned, feeling his mouth drift away from your chest to the hollow of your throat. His teeth were sudden and sharp, nipping and biting wherever he pleased, one hand steadying you atop his lap. The other began to snake towards your neck, calloused digits able to feel the pounding of your heartbeat.

You whimpered his name as if it were the only word you knew — and for as sinful as it felt, you found yourself abandoning all sense of care and propriety. Daemon made you feel incredible, in ways that you had merely dreamed of.

As Daemon traced two digits along your slick entrance, his lilac hues fell across your visage, searching for any signs of hesitation. You felt the brief pressure, one hand comfortably sitting at the nape of his neck, the other gripping at his shoulder.

Deliberately, he began to sink two fingers inside of you, watching as your countenance blossomed into a look of bliss and startlement. Daemon soothed your worry with a kiss, head canting to one side as to deepen it, and you followed, flesh crawling with warmth.

A soft, smothered moan escaped you as he gingerly eased both digits in and out of your tight cunt, enough to make you gasp. The sensation was foreign yet incredible, enough for you to rock forward, brow furrowed in concentration. Daemon continued to litter your neck in kisses and bites, hand groping the swell of your plush hips.

“There she is,” Daemon growled against the hollow of your throat, lips traveling upward until they collided against yours. It was a messy, hot kiss, one that made your stomach slosh with molten heat. “A woman deprived of pleasure.” He murmured, prompting you to kiss him again, needy and desperate.

Some sliver of you knew how wrong this was — the infidelity, the disloyalty to your Lord husband, the selfishness that weighed upon you — you should’ve been aghast. Yet, in the heat of the moment, you thought little of it, content to let Daemon Targaryen finger-fuck you into a blissful oblivion.

You were lost to your own ecstasy, thoroughly reveling in the myriad of sensations you were now getting to experience. “Daemon,” You sighed against his mouth, feeling his teeth briefly scrape across your lower lip. “I want more.” A groan escaped you as his digits began to still, thumb circling your clit.

As he slowly removed his fingers from your tight heat, Daemon brazenly groped at your breast, pale brows furrowing together as he began to untie the laces of his trousers. You steeled yourself, feeling a brief pang of anxiousness strike at your gut. You knew that it was supposed to hurt, and the very thought frightened you.

“More?” Daemon echoed, the shadow of lust dancing within his eyes as he deposited you onto the lounge, hands seizing your ankles as he dragged you to the precipice. Without pause, he sank to his knees, broad and beautiful between your legs as he kissed your thigh. “You’ll have to beg me for it.”

You exhaled, sharp and excitable as your hand fell to the edge of the chaise lounge, nails digging into the wood and velvet. “Please,” You whispered, shifting atop the cushion as Daemon bit at your soft flesh. “Please, Daemon!” The sound that left you was pathetic — simpering, even.

He enjoyed hearing you whine — it was a stark reminder of what Otto Hightower could never have. Daemon’s mouth maintained the barest hint of a smirk, pressing a string of kisses toward the warmth between your legs. You were silk and saccharine beneath his fingertips, feverishly warm.

The first stroke of his tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that set you ablaze. Whimpers turned to ash within your throat, flesh unnaturally hot — you melted beneath Daemon, and that was exactly what he wanted.

A shiver coursed down your spine, hips canting forward toward Daemon’s mouth. His breath was hot, warm wisps of air fanning out across your slit. It was heavenly — you nearly forgot yourself, moaning his name as you fisted the cushions on either side of you.

His hum was satisfactory, tongue dancing along your weeping core, drinking you in like a fine wine. The cool, silver bite of his ring dug into your hips, his grip ironclad, enough to leave bruises behind.

If Daemon had it his way, he would bruise you again — in the light of day, able to see his marks etched into your flesh, knowing that they were his creation. Possessiveness swelled within him, an ugly and festering thing — he wanted you terribly.

Pleasure rippled through you, consuming every fiber of your being. Daemon’s mouth found your clit, suckling at the clutch of fiery nerves. You gasped, nails digging into your palm, thighs attempting to rub together, kept apart by the Prince’s broad shoulders.

“Daemon,” You moaned, your jaw falling slack as you rolled forward into his maw. A soft huff escaped you as his tongue caressed your cunt, returning to assail your clit again. It was bliss overwhelming, prompting you to reach for his shoulders. “Daemon!”

Tension furled within the pit of your stomach, a familiar knot of ecstasy that brought you closer to the edge. Daemon’s mouth sluggishly receded, peppering kisses and love bites along your inner thighs. He licked his lower lip, violet hues threatening to burn through you.

Your chest rose and fell with the throes of excitement, skin prickling with anticipation. Daemon kissed your hip, moving to stand between your legs. He loomed over you, physique eclipsing all inklings of firelight — a shadow of desire.

He stepped back toward the mound of furs, silently gesturing for you to follow. “Lie down.” Daemon purred, his voice more of a lascivious command instead of a question. With a simple pull, he loosened the strings of his smallclothes, gaze hooded.

A whimper nearly erupted from your throat, never coming to fruition as you stood from the lounge, following Daemon’s lead. You slipped down onto the furs, with only the moonlight as your guide. Your legs parted for him, expectant and waiting.

The loss of one’s maidenhead was often rumored to be an intense and bloody affair — it no longer frightened you like it used to. Daemon stepped out of his leather trousers, bare and statuesque before you, a porcelain god come to claim you.

Moonlight bathed his flesh in a sea of silver, pale rays dancing across his ivory complexion. There was something calculating and predatory in the way he moved, a confidence that few possessed. He sank down, crawling between your legs as he reached your mouth.

Lips clashed again, a dance of desire as the head of his cock brazenly brushed along your slick cunt. Daemon was sizable, to be sure, a man with a plethora of experience. You shuddered when he planted a hand beside your head, the other gripping your hip.

Again, the head of his length threatened to split past your folds, oozing with tendrils of precum as he kissed you once more. It was ravenous, with all the ferocity and vigor of a dragon as he prepared to rock his hips forward. His broad physique kept you spread apart, molten heat churning within your belly.

Daemon finally snapped his hips forward, cock sheathing itself inside of you with little resistance. You gasped, the intrusion somewhat painful and discomforting at first, but he made sure to distract you, pressing hot kisses along your neck. He wasn’t gentle, leaving behind evidence of his affections in the form of flourishing marks.

His cock bullied its way into your cunt, stretching you in new ways, a different sensation from his fingers or yours. Daemon grunted, a huff escaping him as he allowed you a moment to adjust, grow used to the feeling.

Your countenance blossomed with pleasure, gaze a touch smoldering as you found Daemon’s visage. Those violet hues continued to devour you, a visual delight to the Rogue Prince as he fucked you. It wasn’t as rough as he typically was, opting to spare you from the brunt of his usual debauchery.

He found a rhythm, each movement succinct and sharp, hips driving forward as his cock buried itself within you with each thrust. You moaned, feeling the occasional dull ache of pain as you surrendered your virtue to Daemon, nails digging haplessly into the muscle of his shoulders.

Part of you forgot about decency and honor, trampling it into the dirt as Daemon speared you with his length. Friction grew between the both of you, flesh against flesh, perspiration building along your brow. Heat openly oozed between you, cunt slick with arousal.

The angry lines of your eager nails raked over Daemon’s shoulders, the remnants of your sin. He seemed to be savoring your roughness, throat reverberating with a myriad of grunts and softer, subtle groans.

“Turn over.” Daemon huffed, able to detect a flicker of confusion within your gaze. Admittedly, seeing your pretty face contort into one of bliss as he fucked you was rather enticing, but he was chasing after his release.

Silent, you did as he asked, turning over onto your stomach. Something about the newfound position made you shiver with anticipation, and you gasped as Daemon grabbed your hips. He lifted half of you from the furs, hips pressing into the swell of your backside.

He guided his cock back to your slit, thrusting inside of you as he assumed a quick, needy pace. Daemon’s palms squeezed at your hips, layering over the already-formed bruises from earlier endeavors. He split you asunder; a clash of lewd noises filled the room, accompanied by your intermingled sighs of passion.

You moaned, hands scraping across the direwolf hide beneath you, gripping at the furs as Daemon plunged himself into you. His motions were repetitive, intensifying in their erratic pace as he grunted. You were perfect — the noises that emerged from you only served to encourage him, unbeknownst to you.

Liquid heat oozed between your thighs, arousal spilling onto Daemon’s cock. You were teetering along the brink of a blissful oblivion, feeling your pleasure mount. Daemon’s hand slithered between your legs, thumb rolling over your clit to give you some stimulation.

It was as if the dam had shattered, consumed by the squall of lust as you whimpered. A myriad of wanton sounds escaped you, followed by a rush of warmth that surged to your cunt. Daemon growled, feeling your slit tighten around him, your release an incredible one.

Daemon followed suit, painting your insides with his milt — a dangerous game, but one that he enjoyed playing. He removed himself halfway through, coating your thighs and cunt in ropes of his seed, enough for you to feel the heat of it.

He huffed, noticing the faint trembling of your thighs, rattling like leaves as you attempted to recuperate. You had little time for composure, knowing that you needed to return to the Tower of the Hand before your Lord husband emerged from his council meeting.

The Prince did not adopt your swiftness, watching with a tempestuous stare as you retrieved your clothing, flesh sparkling with perspiration. You did not want to leave, but you feared discovery — you feared what would happen if Otto were to find out about such nocturnal proclivities.

“Going somewhere?” Daemon questioned, knowing fully well what the answer would be. He happened to redress himself in his smallclothes, observing you with the ghost of a smirk.

“I must return to the Tower of the Hand,” You mumbled, slick between your legs. The combination of Daemon’s spent and your arousal proved to be sticky and uncomfortable, but you would endure the walk and clean yourself up as soon as you could. “I cannot be seen.”

Daemon scoffed, dismissive of your concerns, though he allowed you the courtesy of dressing and preparing to depart. “Still worried for your husband,” He mused, stepping forward to caress your cheek. “How sweet.” It was cajoling, but you cared little.

“Daemon,” You began, but he stopped you with a kiss, eyes twinkling with a semblance of mirth. He held your face between his calloused palms, thumbs gingerly gliding along your cheekbones. “I do not … I do not know when I can see you again.”

A bemused hum escaped him as he cocked his head to one side, feeling your palm press flat atop his muscled chest. “Already thinking of the next time, my Lady?” He purred, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “Perhaps, when next we meet, it will be at the Dragonpit.”

It was far away from prying eyes — what better place to let feelings run hot than the seat of dragonkind at King’s Landing? Even then, Daemon knew that any future trysts would be difficult to achieve, if they were to continue.

You kissed him — a sweet gesture, one that was chaste and ladylike. Daemon could not allow something so brief, seizing your chin to kiss you again. Your head was spinning with so many things, to the point of feeling so very overwhelmed.

“I have to go.” You whispered, squeezing Daemon’s forearm as you passed. Your state of dress was somewhat uncouth, but you had no time. You made sure to keep quiet as you slipped into the gap between doors, stealing another look back at the Rogue Prince.

Violet hues remained indiscernible, though his expression was telling — the very same incendiary look he’d given you at the Tournament. “Until next we meet, Lady Hightower.”

@ copyright — all works belong to swordgrace, please do not copy or translate this work onto any other platforms or accounts.

[the-daily-dreamer]

So a lot of people have talked about the weird sexual punishment and embarrassment utilized against team green and I wanted to weigh in because I think it’s the perfect example of the hypocrisy of this show’s messaging.

Because on the surface, HOTD takes a very sex positive stance. They champion Rhaenyra for being very open with her sexuality and for being sexually liberated in a very conservative society. They act as if she is an impressive beacon of feminism for this. And that would be great…if it weren’t for the fact that this sex positive outlook lives and dies with Rhaenyra’s and team black’s sexual experiences only.

Outside of Rhaenyra’s perspective, sex scenes are often degrading, predatory, abusive, and meant to embarrass the character to others in universe and/or the audience.

Criston is seen saying no and trying to leave when being coerced into sex with Rhaenyra which she promptly ignores by kissing him and blocking the door. Then that sex he consistently has with Rhaenyra is used as a joke for how pathetic he is for not accepting her offer to be nothing more than a personal “whore”. And his consensual sex with Alicent is seen as hypocrisy but also interrupted by Helaena after blood and cheese so that he can be blamed for this atrocity because of his “immorality”.

Aemond is seen cuddling in the lap like a young child of the woman who raped him when he was young, then being served milk, and then walking out of the brothel naked. With the whole scene being painted uncomfortable and rather degenerate.

Aegon has a scene of him being a rapist to ensure he is known as a bad and evil man. And then he has a scene where he explicitly states how his genitalia have been damaged. As if his disability from his attack is embarrassing and disgusting.

Larys one of the few disabled characters in the show, has a fetish that surrounds his disability that he uses to degrade Alicent. Thereby making him seem disgusting and pathetic.

And of course. Alicent. Her first sexual encounter we see her have is her looking dead inside while being raped by her pedophilic husband, a scene that seems to have the connotation of deserved assault because “she asked for this” by “seducing” Viserys. She is fetishized for information and thus makes her seem degraded and gross. Her sex with Criston is interrupted by Helaena after blood and cheese so that she, too, is blamed for the atrocity of the murder of her grandchild because she was “immoral” for…having consensual sex with someone after her rapist husband finally dies.

Every scene that any team green character experiences is painted in a way that portrays them as disgusting, perverted, and immoral; or is painted in a way that is meant to humiliate these characters to others in and out of universe.

How is this sexually positive? How is this an appropriate way to portray your “villains”, by painting them negatively and embarrassing them through their sexual encounters?

-

The worst part is that they’ve used these sexually degrading scenes specifically to “humble” a rape victim and child bride. Humbling her because they believe that she is power hungry and desperate for the throne and so she uses and betrays Viserys and Rhaenyra. And aside from that being a major mischaracterization (Alicent didn’t want the throne as a teenage girl forced to marry the king, and she doesn’t betray Viserys and Rhaenyra out of personal ambition but protection for her family), you know who that description fits? DAEMON TARGARYEN.

Daemon wanted the throne more than anything. Groomed his teenage niece to have a chance to marry her to get closer to the title of king. Betrayed, humiliated, and hurt his brother and niece wife to make himself a better candidate as heir. Choked his niece wife when she didn’t listen to him. And consistently asserted himself as king, a position to be viewed as higher than his wife the queen.

And similar to Alicent, he was “humbled” this season. But how was he humbled? By having private visions that are unknown to (almost) everyone. And these visions are mostly just him being shown the people he hurt in the process of seeking his power. Except for the one with his mother, which is sexually inclined, but not presented in the same depraved and humiliating way that the scenes with Alicent or any of team green are.

-

This whole show just has such a gross way of depicting the people they see as villains. And it shows how hypocritical their messaging is. HOTD is not a feminist, sex positive show. It’s far too obsessed with sexual violence and humiliation against people they dislike to be one. This show believes that sexual positivity and liberty is good. But only for those who deserve it. That it’s not a right but rather a privilege. And anyone they deem as immoral, evil, bad, or “unfeminist” doesn’t deserve it. They deserve to be ridiculed, humiliated, and humbled by their failures as people. And I can’t stand it.

This show isn’t sex positive and feminist. It’s Rhaenyra positive. That’s it.

[l0sercat]

NSFW alphabet with King Baldwin IV

Please note that this is not the historical figure but the movie version. Also MDNI for my sake and yours.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He's a god at aftercare. Literally will get you whatever you need or want. He puts his needs last. When you take care of him he is shy, but very thankful.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn't like his body that much due to his leprosy. He has to admit he was good looking before and during which he loved his hands, but now they're covered in sores. So maybe his eyes. He loves everything about you but more specially your hair. He loves his soft it is and he likes playing with it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He loves cumming inside you. He wants to get you pregnant so bad, he wants and heir to the throne when he eventually succumbs to his illness. Even if you can't get pregnant he still loves to cum inside you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He gets hard every time he sees you naked. Even if it's not in a sexual context. Taking a bath. Boner. Get dressed boner. Hell if you give him a kiss and shower him in praise he gets hard. He can't help it just loves you so much.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He is a total virgin. No experience. I mean he's a strict Christian so obviously no sex before marriage. He is super happy that your taking his first and he gets to experience these pleasures with you.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He really likes doggy. You can't see his scarred body which is a plus. He also likes how he can hit every angle in this position. He wants to make sure you feel good.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Serious 100% He views this act as sacred and something that your taken care of. Making a joke would just ruin the atmosphere.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Does leprosy affect pubic hair? I personally believe that he would try to keep it tame down there. It's not perfect but he put in the effort and that's all that matters.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He is sweet and a little clumsy but it's his first time so. Your pleasure is always number one. You'll have at least three orgasms before he has one.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He does not masturbate. He views it as an unholy act. The only way he will cum is by your "hands". Even thinking about masturbating grosses him out.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise. Oh my gosh does he love when you praise him. He feeds off of your praise. He performs better if you praise him. Especially when he cums and you praise him he will go wild.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

The bedroom. He'll only do it there because it's the safest. Why would he fuck you anywhere else?

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He really wants to get you pregnant, but at the same time he doesn't because he doesn't want his kid to have leprosy. So it's more so that he just really wants to be close to you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation. To him or you. If you say something degrading he will not stand for it and make you apologize immediately. And he could never degrade you because he thinks your near perfect. It would literally kill him to degrade you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He wants to give but is afraid he'll be bad at it and it probably might hurt his scarred skin. He doesn't mind receiving but is awkward the whole time. He doesn't know what to do with his hands.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He is slow until he is on the edge and picks up the pace a bit. His leprosy effects him a bit in this department. He can't go to fast or all his stamina will deplete.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

No, he prefers to take you properly. Also quickies just wouldn't be good because y'know he's king and all. He has not time to quickly fuck you.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

No he is comfortable with what y'all have now and that's all he wants.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He has bad stamina because of leprosy, so he can't last long. But he makes sure you'll have many orgasms and feel overwhelmed with pleasure. He always prioritize your pleasure over his.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Toys weren't even invented back then lmfao

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn't tease, much. He'll never deny your orgasm but he'll gently poke fun at the way your face is all red and teary eyed.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He isn't very loud but he doesn't hold back his voice. You'll hear everything that comes out of his mouth.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He likes when your on top and gently take you fingers through his hair and whisper praises. And maybe call his your king or majesty.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's about 5-6 1/2-inches long and kinda thick. It has a little scaring due to his leprosy but it looks normal. It is not cut but he does clean it well.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It's not high but not low. He wants to do it more frequently than he does but his body can't handle it. He feels repulsed by himself but seeing you moaning his name makes him feel better.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After your both cleaned up and taken care of he falls asleep pretty quickly. Your in his arms sleeping and then he falls asleep.

[ur-local-anti-hero]

Speak now

James Potter x Malfoy!Reader

Summary: If the marauders are against something, its agaisnt pureblood families ideologies. Sometimes that implies to wreak havoc on a white veil occasion.

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Fluff and a tiny bit of Angst. Arranged Marriage

CW: Forced Marriage, Familiar problems, talks about blood purity and blood traitors. Breaking into a weddig idk.

Word count: 2.2K

This is part of my Speak Now (Marauders’ version) collection 

“So don't say yes, run away now. I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door.

Don't wait, or say a single vow. You need to hear me out”

When you were younger you saw a fair amount of weddings. They were always presented to you as big emotional events in which two people promised eternal love to each other. 

Even when you didn't know anything about love as a kid, it was no wonder that you yearned to have your own wedding once you grew up. It was a dream to have your own white dress, a beautifully decorated venue and a partner you loved so deeply you’d be willing to spend your whole life with them. 

Looking back maybe you should’ve known better. The first sign should’ve been your surname. A Malfoy has expectations they have to meet, keeping the bloodline pure, for starters. 

The second one should’ve been your parents’ loveless marriage, when you were younger you used to wonder why they’d married at all, now it was quite obvious. 

The third and most evident should’ve been when Andromeda Black was disowned. At that time you didn’t truly understand what that entailed, and why it was such a hassle that she wanted to get married. Now you understood that the problem was not the wedding, if not the groom. 

All your fantasies about the commonly named ‘Big day’ were completely shattered when your 18th birthday came, and with it a letter from your parents which contained the name of your soon to be husband. You tried to fight it, which only made your parents move the date of the wedding forward and get you out of Hogwarts, your education didn’t matter anymore to them now that your future as a housewife was inevitable. And being away from Hogwarts also meant being away from the ‘bad influences’ in your life. 

Now the corset of your white dress was suffocating, you felt trapped. Looking at the mirror was like looking at someone else. The girl with lifeless eyes and heavy make-up that couldn’t hide her eyebags was supposed to be you, yet it felt like a perfectly modelated version of yourself, made to impress the high class families attending the wedding. 

Narcissa’s gentle hands were bradding your hair, finishing your look before the wedding. Usually her presence was able to calm you down. Ever since she married your older brother, Lucius, her presence was regular in family gatherings and you’ve always felt some kind of kinship with her, seeking shelter on her whenever the phony and pompous encounters became too overwhelming.

You could attribute your shifted feelings towards her to the fact that she was unknowingly preparing you for eternal misery, or maybe because she was replacing the ones who you would’ve chosen as bridesmaids - there was no place for muggleborns in an event celebrating the union of two pureblood heirs -. Or even because it was her little cousin the one you were to wed. 

“You look beautiful” said Narcissa once she was done with your hair. 

You nodded and gave her a small thank you. However, you disagreed completely, the girl she was looking at was not you, it was your parent’s perfect daughter. 

“You do look lovely, father and mother are going to be delighted” your brother’s voice came from the door, where he was leaning on. “I brought you some company” he gestured behind him. 

Pandora and Dorcas stormed into the room, the former embracing you into a tight hug when they spotted you. Lucius and Narcissa left the room. 

“How are you holding up?” Pandora asked as soon as the door closed behind Lucius and Narcissa. Her arms were still holding you tightly, Dorcas standing behind her. 

You shrugged at her, not being able to talk due the knot in your throat and the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. You kept your eyes glued to the mirror. 

Pandora stepped out of the hug and stood next to Dorcas, who had yet to speak. 

“Evan and Barty are with Regulus, I swear I never thought I would see him in a tux” said Dorcas, trying to make conversation. The thought of Regulus being in the same situation as you didn’t make you feel better, the knot in your throat was getting tighther by the second. You promised to yourself you wouldn’t cry anymore, to be honest you thought you had run out of tears days ago. 

“Sirius is here too” Pandora was trying to distract you from the wedding. If she was being honest with herself there was nothing they could do to make you feel better. But maybe knowing that your best friend was out there could help a little. 

That made you finally look away from the mirror, a small wave of hope cursing through you. If Sirius was here it meant that James could be too. In the eyes of your family his family’s name was not good enough for yours, but maybe it was enough for him to be a guest. 

Maybe it was selfish to wish for him to be there when you knew how much it would hurt him, but you needed to talk to him, he was the only one who could actually comfort you right now, the only presence that would make everything feel normal again. You yearned to feel his touch against your skin and his lips against yours, even if it was for one last time, as a farewell. 

“Is he… Is James here?” you spoke for the first time. 

The answer was clear in the pitiful look they gave you even before Pandora replied with a soft ‘no’. 

You don’t know what did it, if the look in the faces of your friends or the fact that you would never see James again, but tears started rolling down your face. In seconds you were being embraced by Pandora again, and Dorcas’ hand was wiping away your tears. 

“It’s okay, you are going to be okay” Pandora didn’t believe her own words, but there was little she could do to calm you down and you both knew it. 

There was a knock on the door and your dad’s voice came from the other side “Y/N, it’s time” 

Pandora gave you a squeeze before letting you go from the hug. They both left the room, not without giving you a forced smile. 

“Oh, merlin” you said to yourself as soon as you were left alone, going back to the mirror, you wiped the few tears that were left on your face, and tried to fix the smudged make-up around your eyes with your fingers. You didn’t want to give your parents the satisfaction of seeing how much this affected you. 

Once you looked mildly presentable again you exited the room. Your father was waiting for you and he offered you his arm to lead you towards the venue. 

You could see the whole venue from the end of the aisle. The green and black motives contrasted beatifully with the white flowers decorating the aisle and the top of the altar. The guests were placed in black chairs at both ends of the aisle. 

You weren’t brave enough to lift your glaze from the ground, knowning that you wouldn’t see the love of your life waiting for you as you had dreamt since you were a kid. The heavy veil of your dress made your steps slow and lethargic. 

It was not until you were halfway down the aisle that you gathered enough courage to finally look at the man in front of you. Instead of the boy with unruly curly brown hair and eyes filled with love, there standing was Regulus, his black hair slicked back and eyes drowned by the same defeated look you wore. 

Once you reached his side everything went in a blur, all you remember is him taking your hands into his and the officiant talking. 

“If anyone has any objection, speak now or forever hold your peace” 

You were really going insane because you swore you saw James standing at the end of the aisle, wearing a tuxedo and with his hand up in the air. 

“I oppose!” His voice was loud and clear, your eyes widened. 

All the guests' eyes went to his figure and several surprised gasps were heard. Maybe you were not hallucinating. 

───✥───

If Fleamont Potter ever found out how James was using his inherited cloak of invisivility he’d be horrified, or maybe oddly proud of his son. 

Not even James thought he would ever sneak into a highly patrolled wedding on a common Tuesday, but honestly if someone had told him a year ago he’d be doing this he wouldn’t be surprised. 

Sneaking in a wedding filled with pureblood families and slytherin students was the perfect setup for a Marauders prank. However, what would have surprised him would’ve been the reason for interrupting a white veil occasion. Dating a Malfoy was something he hadn’t expected to ever do, but you had gotten past all his defenses with your kind and bright personality that proved to be so different from your family’s pretentious ways. 

Therefore, he was now standing on the aisle you had walked minutes ago. He had a perfect view of you and Regulus from his stance, your white dress was gorgeous, and your hair was neatly done. If it weren’t for your puffy and bloodshot eyes, and the obvious defeated look in your face, a look that had no place in a wedding, he could almost believe this was a normal marriage ceremony. 

When you had received the letter from your parents you had been inconsolable, and rightfully so. James had tried everything to stop the wedding, he even went as far as asking your parents for their blessing and to be the one you'd wed instead of the Black heir. Turned out to be useless as his family had been marked as blood traitors for eternity. 

But James isn't known for giving up easily, and the Marauders were not going to let an opportunity to cause havoc pass by. 

With the promise of being on his best behavior, Sirius had convinced his parents to attend the wedding as a guest, acting as a mole for his friends' plans. Remus and Lily were outside the venue with their ride home -a couple of broomsticks they borrowed from Hogwarts' supply closet. 

And the last part of the plan, and its success rested on James' shoulders. 

The preacher spoke 'Speak now or forever hold your peace' James smirked, that was his cue. It was on. 

James took off his invisibility cloak and without a single trace of shame or shyness in his voice James stated loudly "I oppose!"

James would've loved to stop for a moment to memorize the looks of complete horror in the faces of the guests, but he had to be fast and make total use of the element of surprise. 

Without hesitation James sprinted towards the altar. He could see the way your brother had stood up and pointed his wand at him, his spell being intercepted by Sirius' expelliarmus spell. 

As soon as James made it to the altar chaos erupted from everyone in the venue, he could make out the shouts of your parents and some spells that were being intercepted by yours and James' friends. 

At the sight of James Regulus let your hands go, he raised his arms in defeat and left the altar without much hassle. 

"Gentleman" James greeted Regulus' groomsmen, Barty and Evan who were just as stunned as everyone, all they could do was nod in acknowledgement to James, not even trying to interfere. 

"Hi, love" he was finally looking at you, your eyes were wide with surprise and tears were gathered in your waterline. James took your hands in one of his and the other was raised to stroke your cheek. 

“James what- how-” you were completely astonished, and unable to formulate a single phrase. You knew your boyfriend loved you, and the lengths he would go to prove it, but you would have never guessed he’d be willing to break into your wedding ceremony. He was always proving you wrong. 

“Hey Peter, mate, it’s your moment to shine” Following james’ words a rat came out of his pants’ pocket. 

And suddenly Peter was standing in front of you. He pushed the appalled officiant slightly to the side and took his place. 

Peter cleared his throat before speaking “Do you, James Fleamont Potter, take Y/N Malfoy as your wife?” 

“I do” 

“Do you, Y/N Malfoy, take James Fleamont Potter as your husband?” 

You could hardly mutter a low “I do” before Peter spoke again 

“I declare you husband and wife. You might kiss the bride” 

James didn’t hesitate for a moment. To add dramatism he spun you around and dipped you, holding your weight with his arm. And without waiting for another second he kissed you, sweet and slow, conveying all his love for you with that gesture. 

When you became breathless you broke the kiss and looked at James straight into his beautiful eyes, which only show deep adoration. “I love you” you mouthed to him, which made his eyes sparkle with joy and a wide grin to break into face. 

He took you in his arms bridal style and walked down the aisle. You coudln’t even care about the chaos and spells that were aimed your way, all you could look at was James. 

And as he muttered “I love you too, Miss Potter” you knew he’d do anything to prove his love for you. 

Author's note: This one is of my faves of the collection ngl, James is my soft spot Thank you for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed and very appreciated. I'd love to hear what you thought about it so don't be shy!! To be part of the taglist Dm me or send me an ask <3 Taglist @feral-posts @izuoyarmin @aremuslupinsim @yourfavgay @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo 

[babybutchianthe]

to the people who want to have a conversation about john's being an indigenous man, a māori man, i would like to remind you that the first time we see māori spoke onscreen it goes as follows.

one person in this room is interested in the cultures and languages of the world that came before, to the point her name and mission in life are respectively a human chain reaching back ten thousand years and justice for the destroyed earth: a mission that allowed her to persist beyond death, which brings her to being in control of cytherea the first's corpse. the other is john, who is disinterested in her idea of justice for them and speaks over her multiple times.

that human chain, her name? he doesn't respect it just as he doesn't respect her. this conversation is beneath him and so is her full name. he is annoyed into reciting it.

māori is spoken by john here, and it is spoken with contempt for the woman who wishes to avenge earth and whose name preserved a part of the language that he helped annihilate, along with aotearoa and all other māori people.

the first time māori is spoken in the series it is spoken by an indigenous man—who received an extensive colonial scholarship, who was alienated from his culture and sought respect and recognition in predominantly white academia, who was burned time and time again by the systems of oppression that formed the basis for climate change and the earth's abandonment by the trillionaires—who speaks it with a tone of condescension and a complete lack of gravitas because it is irrelevant to him. genuinely sad, bordering on very funny.

the second instance of māori is when he renames gideon the transliteration of her name into māori. she does not identify with it and she likely does not know its significance.

she is also a corpse: killed indirectly by cytherea the first, who presented a threat to harrow's life that could only be dealt with via her ascension to lyctorhood via gideon's death, who groomed gideon into accepting her role as cavalier primary to harrowhark nonagesimus.

killed by one of the emperor undying's fists and gestures, killed by the ideals of cavaliership which he societally instituted, killed due to cytherea the first's disillusionment with him leading her to go on a killing spree at canaan house in order to gain his attention, killed due to john and john's actions and the systems of the society he created.

the only time we see john use the māori language in a way that isn't dripping for contempt is when he renames his daughter's corpse, wherein he clarifies that she is prince kiriona gaia, heir to the emperor divine and the emperor's only daughter, the emperor's construct.

construct, like the skeletons that farm leeks on the ninth. she is not entitled to resurrection: she is to ownership, to being the ninth's chattel in life and her father's construct in death. he uses the language to declare her his.

gideon is the name of his saint, his oldest friend, spoken by the ghost of the woman that birthed her, to the nuns of her house—kiriona is john declaring a corpse his heir, and his daughter his construct.

there is a conversation i would love to have about john's indigeneity: it's the one where we acknowledge that after wakes death he has preserved the legacy of the māori language by using it to name his daughter, a māori woman killed by his society and the consequences of his actions, something she doesn't feel any connection to.

john is an indigenous man, a māori man, who was born into a land settled by colonisers who rendered it rife with systems of oppression that alienated him from his culture, and led him to fall back on the same systems of oppression when he founded the nine houses. indigeneity describes a relation to colonisation and settler capital, primarily in the form of dispossession; when john declared kiriona his, did he do so as an indigenous man or as the emperor of an empire that ships populations between planets like cattle?

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 YOU AND ME (ALWAYS FOREVER)!

FEATURING: dark era!dazai osamu

SUMMARY: more than friends, not quite lovers. that's been your relationship with dazai osamu for as long as you can remember. you didn't want to push him, and you gave him plenty of chances, but there's only so long you can wait for someone. you thought you would be better off moving on—you were wrong, of course. (wordcount: 4.8k; sfw; angst (???) but with a happy ending)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: dark era dazai </3 my heart, i got a sudden urge to write for him and i wanted it to be fluff but then i got this idea and just had to go with it (warnings: fem!reader, smoking & drinking, suicide attempt mentions)

In your defense, you were never dating Dazai Osamu.

Not for a lack of trying on your part, of course. You’ve made your interest in him clear since you met him at sixteen during the Dragon’s Head Conflict, when Mori Ougai pulled you back from where you were stationed in Kyoto dealing with his associates to help with the declining situation in Yokohama. And you’d thought he felt similarly to you. You really did. The two of you had become inseparable within weeks of knowing each other, such a swift and strong connection that it almost felt unreal. You’d heard rumors of him, of course, before coming back to Yokohama—the infamous Demon Prodigy that Mori had brought in and groomed into becoming his heir, ruthless and cold and so terrifyingly intelligent that he had the entire upper echelon of the Port Mafia on edge. 

By the time you got back to Yokohama, he’d already had a heavy reputation following him, dark shadows clinging to him like a second skin. Demon Prodigy. Black Wraith. So many monikers attached to him, but he never really felt like the monster that everyone claimed him to be.

He and Nakahara Chuuya had been the one sent to retrieve you from Yokohama Station, an area very close to the heart of the gang conflict, and even from the first meeting, he’d always been… well, you’re not going to say normal because he’s not normal. He’s always had an unnerving air about him, eyes a bit too cold and dark, smile a bit too teethy, but he’s always come across as just another kid your age. Maybe a bit lonelier than most, which could be off-putting to other people, but it never bothered you. And yes, you’ve seen the way other members of the Mafia treat him—they’re scared of him, go to extreme lengths so as to not cross paths with him, but you’ve never seen him in the same light they do.

Well, not until recently, at least. 

Again. In your defense, you were never dating him. 

But you’d known he cared about you as more than a friend. And you’d cared about him as more than a friend too. And you waited. You waited almost two years for him to say something. You didn’t want to do it yourself, you know Dazai is flighty and he’s not used to emotions, and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but god, there’s only so much waiting you can take before you start to give up.

When the two year mark hit, you’d become convinced that Dazai was never going to act on his feelings for you; instead, he’d prefer to wait it out until they passed, and if they never did, he’d just pretend they didn’t exist at all. You can’t really blame him, the Mafia is not a place conducive for relationships, it’s only a matter of time before your luck runs out and one of you end up dead by a bullet through the head or captured by the enemy, and the thought of getting attached to someone only to lose them is enough to scare anyone away. 

But you don’t want to live your life in fear, no matter how short it may be, and you also don’t want to live it alone. So when an opportunity arose at a cafe near the main headquarters, where you met a civilian around your age who showed immediate interest in you, you jumped on it. And it’d caught a lot of people off guard—Kouyou was surprised, Chuuya was baffled and questioning what a civilian could possibly have that interested you, even Mori gave you a double take and an odd look the first time he overheard Elise interrogating you about your new boyfriend.

But no one took it as poorly as Dazai.

Your throat feels tight as you remember the hurt expression that crossed over his face when you told him. It was so brief and so foreign of an expression to see on his face that you’d thought you’d imagined it, he was quick to school his expression back into a cold and closed-off one (one that he’d never directed toward you before that moment), but there was no mistaking the way the corner of his lip twitched and the way he suddenly couldn’t meet your eyes. 

How nice, he’d told you, voice frighteningly icy, acidic, even, before he made a half-assed excuse about a mission that you knew he wasn’t assigned to. And it was so unlike him to offer himself up to handle missions, usually Mori has to force him with threats of giving Chuuya his executive position for him to do anything that makes him extend the barest amount of effort . But he did, and he handled it, very bloodily and uncharacteristically inefficient, as if he was releasing all of his pent up rage onto the unfortunate souls who happened to stumble into Port Mafia territory.

You were never, at any point, dating Dazai Osamu. 

You think you’ve told yourself it hundreds of times over the past three months, throwing yourself into your work and enjoying a relationship with a boy who clearly was invested in you and cares about you in a way that Dazai Osamu would never allow himself to admit. You also think that Dazai Osamu has no right being as bitter and angry as he is—you gave him two years to come to terms with his feelings and make a move, you’ve made your own subtle hints that he promptly ignored. If he wanted to be with you, he blew his chance a hundredfold, and he can go screw off if he thinks he can be upset about it only after you’d found someone else. 

Which is what he did, pretty much, and it was a lot harder than you expected—going from talking to him every waking second of every day, seeking him out whenever you have free time and vice versa, to only seeing him during the joint meetings between the executives and sub executives, where even then, he wouldn’t even spare you a glance. It was hard, and deep down, you don’t think being able to experience an actual relationship was worth losing your best friend, but the damage had already been done by that point, so you could only lie in the bed you made. 

And you did enjoy the relationship. The boy you’d met was sweet. He was good. He was impressively smart—a government and law major at one of the most prestigious universities in this part of the country—and humble to a fault. 

But he wasn’t Dazai. 

You knew in your heart that you didn’t want sweet or good, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise. You didn’t want the type of smart that he was, top of his class and on track for law school, seeking out a job as a public defender in Tokyo. You wanted the type of smart Dazai was, wicked and devious, putting together vicious and efficient strategies to take down enemies of the Mafia, on track for taking over the position as boss in the future. You wanted him for all of his twisted moralities and questionable thoughts.

And it was unfair to you, and it was unfair to Dazai, and most importantly it was unfair to the boy you kept leading on, that you’ve refused to acknowledge this for as long as you have just for the chance of experiencing a real relationship. 

Which is why you stand here now, outside the infamous Bar Lupin that you know Dazai has been drinking himself into oblivion at everyday for the past three months, notably single and possibly about to meet your end at the hands of a drunken and scorned Mafia executive. 

You think you must look like a fool right now. You’ve been standing right outside the door in the rain for fifteen minutes debating on whether or not you should actually go in. You’re nervous, and that makes you sad because you’ve never been nervous to talk to Dazai before, and you’re not nervous because you’re scared of him, you’re nervous because you don’t think you have the balls to actually confront him, knowing that you’d genuinely hurt the boy that everyone claimed didn’t have the emotions to be hurt. He let you in when he doesn’t let anyone in, and you chose to be careless and you chose to give up, and you hurt him. 

And you remind yourself again: you were not dating Dazai Osamu. You remind yourself that you gave him chances, he had opportunities, and he chose not to take them. You remind yourself that he’s just as at fault as you are for the falling out, but you can’t help but also remind yourself that he was the one that came out the most hurt by the situation. Yes, him cutting himself off from you was upsetting, but you didn’t have to watch him go around happy in a relationship with someone else. He did. 

With that thought in mind, you push the door open to the bar. A soft bell rings above you and instantly, three heads swivel in your direction: the bartender, and two men that you recognize as Sakaguchi Ango, one of the Port Mafia’s special intelligence agents, and Oda Sakunosuke, who you only know through Dazai’s high praise of the man from when the two of you were still on speaking terms. The only person in the room who matters to you doesn’t even bother to look to see who entered the bar, one hand circling the glass of whiskey in front of him while a cigarette dangles from the other. You watch as he lifts it to his lips to take a long drag, head falling tilting back to look up at the ceiling as he exhales a cloud of smoke, seemingly unbothered by your presence.

Already, you feel as if you’ve made a mistake, but you force yourself to continue.

The bartender nods his head in respect to you, although you can’t help but notice he flashes a wary look to Dazai. You wonder, pitifully, how much he’s said about you in this place. Sakaguchi and Oda share a look with one another. Both of them speak a low murmur of your name, inclining their head dutifully—you’re not quite an executive yet, but with the Piano Man of the Flags dead, you and Chuuya are fighting for the next spot to open up. Chuuya will likely be the one to get it, which you think he deserves from all of the heavy lifting he’s done on operations the past two years, but you feel a bit awkward when they give you your due respect when you're here with your tail between your legs trying to talk to Dazai.

Sakaguchi and Oda take their leave when you arrive, giving short goodbyes to Dazai, telling them that they’ll see him another day, and the bartender makes a fumbled excuse about going to the back to restock, leaving you alone with Dazai. Internally, you wither just a bit because you think if they’d stayed, Dazai might keep a handle on himself because you know he views Oda highly; instead, they left you in the lion’s den alone. Which you might deserve, but you digress.

You let out a quiet puff of air as you make your way over to the bar stool next to Dazai, taking a seat in it carefully. Still, he doesn’t look at you, but you look at him and the aching in your chest returns tenfold as your gaze sweeps over him fully for the first time in months. During the joint meetings between the executives and sub-executives, you were always sure to keep your glances short and sweet, not wanting to risk any lingering looks, but now, you can look at him in his entirety for the first time since that fateful discussion three months ago. 

He hasn’t changed much. Or, well, that’s a lie. He’s definitely changed. The circles beneath his eye are darker, his expression a carefully constructed blank mask. You think he might’ve lost some weight, his coat has always been big on him but the way it hangs over his shoulders now is looser than it was before. If it weren’t for the way his fingers were tense around his glass of whiskey, you’d have thought he was entirely unperturbed by your arrival.

You don’t know what to say, and you know you need to be the first to speak because you’re the one that showed up here to talk to him, but now that you’re sitting in front of him you’re floundering for words. You could just come out and say that you broke up with your boyfriend, but you feel like that would be a bit weird, and he’d probably laugh in your face and make a comment about how he doesn’t care. You could ask him how he’s been, but you think he might genuinely put a bullet in you for trying to make small talk with him like that right now. 

The longer you stay silent, the more awkward it becomes, and you want to cry because you’ve never been awkward with Dazai before, and for a brief second, you wonder if things really have changed too much to go back to how they were. 

Finally, you decide to just come out and say, bracing yourself for the inevitable derisive words that are going to leave his lips. “I broke up with him.”

Dazai’s scoff is loud and instantaneous, you bite your tongue, eyes sliding shut as you turn to face ahead instead of looking at him. Cowardly, you know, but you don’t want to see the sneer on his face when he asks you why he should care. 

But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say anything at first. If you were looking at him, you’d see the way his cold expression shifted into a more conflicted one, still staring ahead because he can’t bring himself to look at you. You count each passing second, and it’s agonizing waiting for him to speak, a part of you thinks that maybe he won’t, and you’ll just have to leave the bar with your tail between your legs, humiliated. 

But then he does. 

“Why?” he finally asks coolly, and your eyes snap open and your gaze slides over to him when you realize he did not, in fact, hit you with the derogation you expected.

He still isn’t looking at you, and you watch as he lifts his free hand back to his lips, taking another long drag of his cigarette as he waits for your response. You swallow thickly when you try to figure out what to say next. 

What you want to say is ‘because he wasn’t you,’ but you’re not ready to bare yourself vulnerable in front of him like that when he’s still so unpredictable. Just because he didn’t immediately hit you with the harsh words you expected, doesn’t mean he isn’t going to lure you in just to slap you in the face with it, which is how you’re sure he perceived what you did three months ago. 

Rather, you say quietly: “He was boring, I guess.”

It’s a lie. Well, a partial lie, at least. He was a good guy, he was just boring compared to what you wanted, and what you wanted was Dazai Osamu, who no one in the world could hope to compare to. 

“He was boring,” Dazai echoes your words, a cruel and mocking lilt to his voice, and you brace yourself now, taking the sudden switch in tone as the flicking off of the safety. But he shakes his head as he lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it’s another scoff or a laugh. “How cold-hearted of you. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given your track record.”

Two paths lay before you: you can take the words as well-deserved, trying to avoid the inevitable fight, or you can spit back equally venomous words, dive in headfirst so the two of you can get everything off of your chest. Both choices are double-edged. If you avoid the fight, it means avoiding the topic altogether, and even if the two of you choose to speak again, the resentment of what had happened will only poison and fester. If you dive into the fight, there’s a chance of saying words you can’t take back, and everything might fall apart anyway.

What do you want? You want to ask him, because you aren’t sure what the right decision is. Three months ago, if you and Dazai got into a disagreement about something, you would know in an instant whether or not he wanted to fight it out to let off steam or just pretend it didn’t happen. Now, you aren’t so sure. He’s still not looking at you, so you can’t use the look in his eye as a hint, but his shoulders are tense beneath his jacket, and his knuckles are white around his glass of whiskey. Your gaze drags up to his face, catching the way his jaw is tight, teeth probably grinding together, and you know. 

You look ahead again, leveling your vision on a particularly nice bottle of wine on the third shelf of the wine rack as you say: “I’d rather be cold-hearted than a coward.”

For the first time since you’ve arrived, Dazai’s gaze cuts in your direction, head snapping to the side. You turn your head toward him just enough for you to eye him from the corner of your eye, catching glimpse of the way his lip curled up into a snarl and the way flames now rage in the browns of his eye—a far cry from the bottomless void, but you prefer the anger to the emptiness. 

“A coward?” His voice is low, cold, dangerous. 

You’re treading on thin ice, but you choose to stoke the flame more, gaze sliding back to the wine racks ahead.

“A coward.”

The silence that hangs between the two of you is tense and damning, you have to force yourself not to react to it, keeping your expression as stony as his as you wait for his response. He’ll either hit you back with more venom or he’ll settle down, one will lead to a blow out fight and the other will lead to a very tense conversation. 

You don’t want to fight him, but if that’s what he wants, you’ll give it to him. 

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai makes another scornful noise but he doesn’t say anything, gaze snapping back ahead as he takes a drag of his cigarette, this one clearly fueled by anger, far more aggressive than the last one. As if to piss him off even more, he hardly gets half of a smoke, down to the nub already. Frustrated, he puts the lingering cinders out on the bartop before reaching for the pack in his pocket, pulling out a new cigarette and his lighter.

You watch as he tries to flick the lighter on, cigarette dangling between his lips, but the old thing refuses to cooperate. Distantly, you wonder why Dazai is so damn stubborn: working with an old lighter, living in a shitty shipping container, wearing the same few pairs of clothes every day when he probably has more money than god hoarded from his executive paycheck. But you only force yourself to not roll your eyes as you pull out your own lighter, flicking it on and holding it out to him without looking at him. 

You watch from the corner of your eye as he stares at your hand suspiciously before he exhales from the side of his mouth, dipping his head down to light the cigarette before he faces ahead again. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches out for his glass of whiskey, still mostly full, and then he slides it over to you.

An offering. A white flag. 

You barely withhold the breath of relief that nearly escapes you, accepting the drink and taking a long sip of it. It’s his favorite brand, smooth and familiar on the tongue; you haven’t been able to bring yourself to drink it since your falling out with him. 

“Was it really because he was boring?” Dazai finally asks. He’s not looking at you again, but you can see from the way his fingers are tense against the bartop that he’s probably waiting for a certain response from you.

You let your eyes slide shut. “No,” you admit.

“Then why?” he presses, as if he doesn’t already know. 

“You know why,” you say tightly, shaking your head and looking down.

“Tell me anyway,” Dazai responds quietly, you can feel his gaze on you but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Irrationally, even though the atmosphere between the two of you has shifted, you wonder if this is it: he’s going to get you to admit it and then laugh in your face, cruel but probably deserved. 

“Because he wasn’t you,” you finally force out.

He doesn’t respond. Your heart sinks to your stomach, a sick feeling churning. You brace yourself again—you don’t know what for, maybe a laugh or a derisive comment, but he does nothing of the sort. 

A long exhale, smoke billowing around his face, a heavy look in his eyes. He doesn’t look at you as he says: “You’re right.”

You don’t respond because you’re not sure what he’s referring to. Finally, he tilts his head to look at you, a wry smile on his lips—your chest feels warm at the sight, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him smile. Probably not since the falling out. 

“I was a coward.”

Oh.

The frustration you felt all of those months ago returns with a vengeance. You had danced with possibilities back then: that you were reading too much into things, that he didn’t actually care for you the way you did for him, that he simply did not want to be with you even if he did care about you that way. Now, faced with confirmation that he had felt the same but was just too pussy to act on it, your chest swells with that familiar anger. You force it away. 

“Why?” you ask after a few moments of silence, nails digging into the palm of your hands as you rest them on your lap. “I… I waited for two years, Dazai. I gave you so many openings. You knew how I felt.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet, barely audible. 

“Then why?” you repeat his words back to him, pressing hard just like he did. His throat bobs beneath his bandages as he swallows, averting his gaze, or trying to, at least, because you don’t let him. You reach out to grab his chin tightly, forcing him to look at you, and the pads of your fingers burn against his skin, hyper aware of the fact that this is the first time you’ve touched him in three months. “Why?”

His hand comes up to grab your wrist as if to pull your hand off of him, but he doesn’t, grip firm around your wrist, fingers pressing against your pulse point, and you’re acutely conscious of the fact that your pulse is probably racing but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“I told you why,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. Vulnerable in a way that you’ve never seen him before. “I was a coward. I… didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship... I don't have many friends. You know that. I would’ve rather just ignored how I felt and kept you as a friend, because I didn’t think there’d be a chance of losing you that way. I thought if I acted on how I felt, one day you’d eventually see me for what I am and I’d lose you altogether.”

“Some good that did you.” You can’t help the resentful words that spill from your lips, but you feel guilty when he winces, hand dropping back to your lap, his grip slipping from your wrist. “You think I don’t already see you for who you are? We’ve known each other since we were sixteen, Dazai. I know all of the sick and twisted thoughts that run through your head, I knew exactly what I was getting into.”

Dazai shakes his head, as if to deny your words. You get frustrated.

“I spend hours at your recovery bed after your attempts, I’ve caught you in the middle of them myself, do you know what the first thing I did was after I told you I had a boyfriend?” you demand, and he stares at you, unsure. “I put a protection detail on him because I thought you’d try to have him killed, or try to kill him yourself.”

Dazai winces. You shake your head and look away, settling down again. 

“For someone so smart, you really are so goddamn stupid sometimes,” you sigh, taking a long swig of his drink before placing the glass back down on the table. “I saw you for who you are, and I wanted you anyway.”

“Wanted?” Dazai asks, an uncertain expression on his face as he zeroes in on the past tense.

“Want,” you correct, voice little over a breath, and something akin to relief sweeps across his face as his gaze drops down to the bartop.

The silence that hangs between the two of you is more comfortable this time. Reassuring, even, because maybe things might still be awkward between the two of you for a while, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, one much brighter than the one the two of you lived in three months ago. 

“I can’t believe you went for a civilian,” Dazai suddenly says, almost sounding indignant. “A civilian. You!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you snap when you hear the incredulous tone he takes when he says ‘you’.

“You’re a stone cold bitch,” Dazai accuses and you gape, but you can’t find it in yourself to be offended because his eyes are lit up for the first time in months, a lopsided smile painted on his face. “And you’ve got as much blood on your hands as I do. You. A civilian. I think I would’ve been less offended if you went for Chuuya.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” you snort, and then you add, a bit amused, “you know what he wants a job as?” 

“Tell me,” Dazai drawls, resting his chin on his hand as he leans on the bar, watching you with such a fond expression that it makes you feel warm all over. 

God, you missed him the past three months. 

“He wanted to go to law school. Become a public defender.”

Dazai chokes over the smoke he inhales, and you press your hand to your lips to smother your giggles as he desperately wheezes between laughs. You’re not sure if he’s actually choking, you think he might actually be dying from how red his face is getting.

“Maybe you should keep in contact with him then,” he gasps between laughs, “we might need one of those one day.”

“As if you’re sloppy enough to ever get caught,” you say dryly.

He winks at you, his grin sharpening, and you know you’re not going to like what he’s about to say. “Oh, I’m not. By ‘we’, I meant you.”

“Douchebag.” You roll your eyes, letting another silence settle over the two of you, a smile on your lips now as you take another sip of your drink. He’s the one to break it again.

“... Odasaku convinced me not to, by the way.”

“What?” 

“To kill him. I was going to. Odasaku convinced me not to.”

You let out a sigh of utter suffering, giving Dazai a pointed look—see, you say silently, I know you. He has the decency to look a bit sheepish as lifts his cigarette back to his mouth in lieu of responding to your unspoken words. 

“Stop with the self sabotage, Dazai,” you finally say, tired. “For both of our sakes’.”

He doesn’t respond, and you know him well enough to know that he’ll probably never stop with the self sabotage, but he does reach out to lace your fingers with his, and the warm feeling that spreads through your chest is enough to satiate you. 

Little steps, because no, the Mafia is not a conducive place for relationships and yes, it’s only a matter of time before luck runs out for one of you, but if your life is destined to be short, there’s only one person you want to spend it with.

[ccscocoapuffs]

Aegon Targaryen NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Super Clingy, he wants you to hold him close to your chest and play in his hair. Maybe let him softly suck on your nipples while he lets out soft whines from coming down from his high. He adores skin to skin as well afterwards. If you were into to trying it he would love to cock warm with you and fall asleep still inside you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) His favorite part of himself is honestly probably his dick, the boy cherishes that thing, its probably the thing he uses the most on his body as well lmao. He is 100% a tit man, sucking them, biting, fucking them, it doesn't matter he adores your tits, he adores them no matter the size as well.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He loves cumming inside you no matter what, it inflates his ego to astronomical levels to see himself leaking out of you knowing that he is the only one who gets to fill you with his cum. If you dom him though make him cum all over his tummy and lick it off of him and he will go absolutely feral.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Definitely has stolen a pair or two....or more of your panties for him to wrap around his dick when you aren't around to please him. He loves the feeling of the soft lace going up and down his cock while he pleasures himself.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) He is pretty damn experienced in the world of sex, i mean come on the man is a bit of a man hoe. (We love our little sad man hoe though)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) He loves trying all kinds of different positions with but he has two favorites to use with you. His first favorite is facing each other on your side with your leg over his waist and he will just thrust up into you while looking into your eyes. The second is cowgirl he adores when you ride him and take charge f the situation.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) He can really be both, sometimes he will be kinda goofy with you and make you chuckle then other times he is so into the feeling he gets from having sex with you that he just kinda zones out and becomes more serious into the moment.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He has a very small bush o hair that borders on being a darker shade of a blonde, it certainly doesn't match the gorgeous silver hair that adorns his head. He doesn't really keep it tidy, but keeps it managed if that makes sense.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Depending on the mood of the moment, he can either be very intimate with you and kiss up your neck while he tells you how much he adores you or he can be very straight to the point which is what tends to happen of the point of having sex that day to simply make a heir.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He masturbates alot, even though you two have each other he just enjoys pleasuring himself when the moments you two can't be together arise. As I mentioned before when he does masturbate he usually wraps a pair of your panties around his cock and will moan the filthiest shit as if you are right there with him. "Oh fuck....baby....feels so good wrapped around me like that".

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Mommy kink Slight bondage feel like he might have a bit of a lactation kink as well pegging light spanking (like put him over your knee and give him a light smack to his ass, don't worry you'll see more of this later)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He doesn't give a flying fuck where you two have sex but his favorite place is without a doubt the throne. He loves setting you on his lap and letting you ride your king till he spills himself deep inside of you on the most wanted seat in the seven kingdoms.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Everything, Aegon stays in horny mood 24/7. He would get really into things though if you initiate things, like walk up to him and whisper in his ear "Be a good boy, Aegon and I'll reward you with your pretty cock in my mouth.""

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) I think Aegon would be very firm on never hitting him, he doesn't mind you smacking his ass or something like that but never hit him in the face. It would just bring back alot of memories about Alicent he doesn't wanna have at that time.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He loves to eat pussy, he would lowkey tell you it's his favorite meal. You will 100% have to push him away from you to get him to stop fucking you with his tongue. He will keep on till his face is soaked in your release.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) He doesn't have a preference on the pace sometimes he wants fast and rough other times he wants a slower pace and to savor the moment. He leans towards being slower and sensual more often then anything else.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He loves a good quickie, especially the ones where anybody could walk in at any second. His favorite place for a quickie is the dining room table, he loves to just bend you over it and fuck you to his hearts desire.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Oh he is definitely risky, he likes the thrill that comes with being so risky. We have already mentioned a few of the risky things he likes to do such as stealing your panties and the quickie locations.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Usually about 2 back to back, though if you have sex several times throughout the day then he can go for many more rounds then generally.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He definitely owns a few dildos, both for you and for him. He loves being pegged as well so there is for sure a strap somewhere in his room.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He definitively likes to tease and make sure you know that he is being extra needy for you. However if you tease him then he will be a whining mess.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Loud, he doesn't care who hears. If the whole castle hears him getting fucked then so be it, he will let out the loud whines and whimpers. If you peg him he may actually scream when he cums.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) When he's been a brat bring him to your chambers and lay him over your knees. Give him soft spankings while telling him "Mommy wants you to be a good boy for her *Smack* I want you to learn to not be a brat *Smack*" 9 times out of ten he will whimper back "I'll be go mommy, promise"

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Aegon is about 6 inches in length and has a medium sized girth. He is just big enough to make you feel the most sweetest stretch. Don't be fooled though he can still shove it down your throat and make you choke on it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) It's Aegon, he is possibly the horniness person in the world. He wants you all day everyday which I feel makes his yearning in the category of VERY VERY high.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Almost instantly, He wants to be snuggled up to you first before getting nice and coxy under the blankets. He would adore if you played in his hair while he drifted to sleep.

[nathaslosthershit]

A Little White Chapel Wedding (LS18)

(Part 3 of the Blind Item Series) Summary: Lance and his now wife had their reasons for eloping, he just hopes his dad will understand.

Lance and his girlfriend, now wife, had always wanted to keep their relationship out of the spotlight. Given how much hate and controversy surrounded Lance due to his father’s ownership of the team, he had already taken a major step back from social media. He knew that dating another heir apparent would piss many fans off, even if it was solely for love that they were together. Both of their families knew and greatly approved of the relationship but once Lance had proposed it seemed their families wanted to take over fully. Wedding preparations had been started without any input from the groom and bride-to-be. Seeing all these decisions made without the two’s consent had put a ton of stress on them. This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives and they had absolutely no say in the matter. Guest lists full of investors and other business partners took away from the intimacy of the event. No detail was left unscrutinized and it was going to be far too extravagant, as this was going to be the first time they announced their relationship and the families joining together.

When Lance and his fiancee had gotten to Vegas, they had no plans of getting married that weekend. The thought only crossed Lance’s mind after the race.

“P5 Lance! Oh honey I couldn’t be more proud.” She said as she ran up and hugged him. She had been waiting what felt like forever to congratulate him, as he had been so surrounded the minute the race ended. 

Pulling away from the hug, Lance put his hands on her cheeks as he said “let's get married”

“We are, Lance.” She responded, perplexed. 

“Tonight. Let's elope and have an actual wedding about the two of us. No one else.”

“Honey, our families would kill us if we did that.” While the idea sounded wonderfully romantic and gave her butterflies just thinking about it, it just couldn’t work with the way things were.

“Who cares? We don’t have to tell them right away. We get married now, take an extra long honeymoon over break and then tell them once the season starts.”

“I don’t know Lance.”

“Please? It is unfair we don’t get to have the wedding we want. Who gives a shit about the guestlist with a million business partners we’ve never met. If they still need a wedding then we will do it their way but let's have our way first.” 

She took a minute to respond, thinking the idea over before she finally gave her answer. “Okay, Lance. Let's get married.”

Lance had never envisioned his wedding going the way it did, but he also never saw it the way his family planned it to be.

Although as happy as he was, he felt so guilty when he thought of how his family would feel knowing that he got married without them there to see it. As important as business was to Lawrence Stroll, he knew his dad valued and loved his family above all else. 

Over break, the newlyweds had gone on a bit of a delayed honeymoon, posed as just a really nice vacation.

They only got the honeymoon suit because they really wanted to go all out. No other reason…

They thought they had made it out unscathed, planning on telling their family in a week when they had gotten back from their vacation. Too bad they didn’t get to.

Lance’s wife saw the post first. He barely checked socials anymore. When the photos of them confirmed that the Blind Items post was about them, she felt a chill run through her body. Their families had to have known already, public image was important to both of them so they definitely had PR teams constantly checking what was going on. And she was correct.

“Honey, I just got a call from my Dad. He sounded pretty upset, and said we had to come home quickly and meet with him.” Lance said, confused and worried. His dad rarely sounded as serious as he did on the phone. 

Wordlesy, she passed her phone to Lance with the tweet pulled up. She could see the color drain from his face as he read through replies. Fuck this wasn’t good.

What was probably the most stressful plane ride of Lance’s life was also painstakingly long. He couldn’t swallow the guilt building in his throat at how upset his father must be.

The once welcoming and happy house was now cold and silent as the couple walked inside. His father didn’t greet them, just told the two of them to follow him into his office. Lance just held his wife’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly as they made their way up there. 

Lawrence still remained silent as he sat in his chair, looking at his married son and new daughter-in-law for the first time.

Lance was the one to break the silence.

“Dad, I know this is a lot but please-” He was cut off by the simple raise of his father’s hand to silence him.

“Why, Lance? We spend all this time planning the two of you a beautiful wedding just for you both to throw it away? For what?”

“Dad, you dont under-”

“No, Lance, I don’t. I mean how could you be so stupid?”

“Please if you just listen, Dad-”

“I have never been more disrespected by yo-”

 “Stop!” Lance’s wife spoke up. She finally had to butt in. “You tell Lance you don’t understand and when he tries to explain you cut him off! How are we supposed to have a conversation when you won’t let anyone else speak?”

Silence spread across the room as no one dared to respond. She could practically feel the smoke coming out of her ears.

“Dad. We eloped because we wanted something that was for us. The wedding you were planning wasn’t ours. We didn’t have a say in anything. From guest list to menu, you all controlled that. We wanted to get married on our own terms. While I will forever be sorry you weren’t with us, I am not sorry for getting married the way I did, to the girl I love.” Lance grabbed your hand once again to squeeze, to remind him why he did what he did. 

His father didn’t say anything for a few moments. The newlyweds waited patiently, praying Lawrence wouldn’t fly off the handle again. 

Finally he said, “Then I owe you both an apology. I understand that you both had expectations for your wedding and not having any say in the matter didn’t feel good. I wish you both said something. At the end of the day though, this is still a big deal for our families business-wise. You are my only son though, Lance, I wish I could have seen you get married.”

“We can still have the wedding, Mr.Stoll. Our plan was just to have something for ourselves, then have the main event be for everyone else.”

Lawrence smiled at that. Happy he would still get to see his son get married, even if it is the second time.

This time luckily, the couple got a bit more of a say in wedding preparations. With no comment from either family, the Vegas elopement was quickly forgotten once more pressing gossip reached the public. 

While it still wasn’t what Lance and his wife had envisioned, having their families there this time was all they could ask for. 

lance_stroll

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lance_stroll One for us and one for them

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[thatrandomidiot182]

Pt. 2! This might be a bit vague and confusing so I might come back and edit it, but my internet is being super spotty and slow but I hate cliffhangers!!

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Continuing on with Velaryon! Reader who...

Has spent her whole life preparing for a succession everyone told her she'd have, (Queen/Lady).

Everyone told her that Driftmark was her birthright, that she'd be one to ascend the Driftwood throne and rule. That, unless she willingly gave up the title, it was assured hers.

They said if she did choose otherwise, an even greater title would surely be hers. After all, no other girl has proven themselves quite as capable, or deserving, of being the future queen as she.

It was guaranteed she'd be titled sooner or later.

It was fate, that she'd be a gracious, caring, benevolent ruler at some point.

It was supposed to be her.

Yet, in one thirty-minute meeting, all of that was taken away from her.

Her birthright, her inheritance, her future, her throne, gone.

All instead given to a bastard.

A bastard, who has no knowledge of ships, or the sea, or anything about politics.

A boy, of fire and blood.

Whereas she, pure salt and sea, has been groomed for it her entire life.

Readers so furious. Like, body numbing, ear ringing, jaw clenching, blood drawing furious.

For once, she agrees with Vaemond.

The king had no right to declare the heir of Driftmark.

Alas, she's far more in control of her emotions than her uncle.

Aemond is just as angry as her. Lucerys took his eye, and now takes his wifes birthright away from her! That just won't do...

Aemond is the only one who knows how much Reader has sacrificed and gave to make herself worthy. How much she's suffered and endured just to gain her parents' approval. All the dreams she's pushed aside, opportunities she's lost, blood she's shed. He's been right next to her all throughout her journey, so of course, he's the only one who ever truly understands her. (Man is rlly delulu but it's kinda.... 😍)

He also sees this as an opportunity. Now that she's lost everything, she's more likely to go along with his plans, seeing as she does not have many other options.

Jace is flabbergasted. Appalled, disgusted, and terrified. Does this mean he can't marry Reader? Why couldn't Rhaenys just announce their engagement instead? It would've made sense. Everyone knows she was going to marry him eventually, so where did Baela come from? Was his mother keeping something from him? Was this Daemons doing!?

Yeah, he's taken so off guard, but he's also wary of Readers' next actions. He knows of her ambition, and he knows how far she's willing to go for it (no he doesn't) and he knows she already dislikes Luke bc of Aemond. He's really conflicted.

Rhaenys has had enough of Readers' indecisiveness and decides to make the choice for her. In her mind, the worst case scenario, is that Reader was going to choose Jace, and they end up marrying the boy to two women.

Best case scenario is that Viserys accepts Rhaena and Baela as 'the great unification' instead and allows Reader to marry anyone she wants. Anyone besides Aemond.

(Bad parenting on her part)

Reader is pissed, sad, and panicking, so what does she do?

She goes to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra, who has always pursued her heart over anything else.

Rhaenyra, who has consistently pushed aside duty and perception for love.

Rhaenyra, who is her last shot at securing the iron throne.

Reader approaches Rhaenyra in private and breaks down. She begs Rhaenyra to wed her to Jace alongside Baela.

She loves Jace! She's always loved him, but never had the opportunity to inform anyone of her feelings (which is true tbf). She's fine being a second wife as long as she gets to spend the rest of her life with him.

She really sells it. Kneeling, tears, snot, the whole nine yards.

Rhaenyra believes it. She has seen how much her son cares for Reader and mourns the future that could have been. However, she's hesitant to go against Rhaenys. She trusted the older woman to help her and her sons, and she did. So she must have had a good reason not to announce Reader and Jace rather than Baela and Jace.

"I am afraid it is not my decision to make."

"You will be queen one day, if you speak it, my parents will have no choice but to heed your wishes."

Rhaenyra is torn, but in the end, she prioritizes her children above anything.

"I will ask your mother to reconsider once the dust has settled, whatever choice she makes will be final."

"If you do not command it, she will never reconsider! The longer we wait, the more people will know and if that happens, it'll never be accepted!"

"I am truly sorry."

Oooooh now Rhaenyra is on Readers shit list.

So, Reader feels backed into a corner. She's hurt, angry, embarrassed, and ashamed. She feels as if she's lost everything, all within the span of a few hours.

Then, Aemond visits her. He comes to her with open arms and sweet words. He kneels before her and proclaims his love and devotion and his desire to make her Queen.

Reader is so angry at Rhaenyra and her parents that she allows herself to believe his honeyed words and sweet smile. She loves him as much as she loves Jace, so it's not a total loss. Besides, Aemond has proven himself willing to do anything for her.

She announces their engagement that night at the dinner table.

Viserys is stoked. Three engagements in a day!!

Otto and Alicent are also happy. Otto just thinks this has been a long time coming, and Alicent is relieved to finally have Aemond off of her plate. (These two have no idea what's coming 💀)

Rhaenyra is flabbergasted. Literally, like an hour before, Reader was begging to marry her son, and now this???

Jace is utterly heartbroken. He understands that realistically, it was inevitable, considering he was now betrothed to another, but the pain was the same nonetheless.

Rhaenys is pissed. She did all this to avoid Reader marrying Aemond, and she turns around and does it anyway!?! She can't speak up though because it makes her appear weak and not in control, and she'd never willingly show that to anyone, much less with Daemon present.

Luke is terrified, his two worst enemies are now engaged!?

Helaena is so excited to have Reader as a sister in law!! Her dreams have shown her great things about this marriage. She makes sure to include Reader in her toast as well lol.

Aegon finds it hilarious. The two dragonless Targaryen's getting married, ha! (He'll regret laughing later lol)

Daemon is unnerved. He's probably the only one who sees the marriage as what it actually is. A power move. One unseen by anyone but him. Though he'd never admit it, he was sure he could handle Aemond or Reader alone, but together? Together, they might just be unstoppable...

That night was the last time Reader danced with Jace before the war.

Aemonds toast was unexpected, but Reader felt it was justified and even broke Baelas nose when her niece got up to help Luke and Jace.

Jace was astonished.

Aemond had a sexual awakening lmaoo.

The night King Viserys dies, a shadow flies above kings landing, quickly followed by a terrible storm.

The next day, during the search for Aegon, Reader approaches Otto, and offers a backup plan.

She knows that all he truly wants is a puppet, that he has no care about 'rightful' heirs, which is why they chose to be so insistent on Aegon being crowned.

She also knows how much Aegon despises the thought of ruling.

They both know that Aemond would do anything for the crown.

But only she knows that he'd do anything for her.

So she proposes a deal. Should Aegon falter, it would be best to replace him with Aemond.

A war is inevitable, and they both know that, despite his temper, Aemond would be far more likely to win against Rhaenyra and Daemon than Aegon has any hope of.

Aemond is also as loyal as a hound to his beloved, and if Otto agrees to crown him, Reader would ensure that Aemond heeds his grandfathers every wish for as long as he lives...

Otto hesitates. He has come to see the kind of woman Reader is and has no reason to believe that she would lie. He agrees with everything she says, as it is all the truth. He also sees her as another pawn he could utilize as he believes she respects him and listens to him well. (🤡)

He accepts her proposal but insists that Aegon be King for as long as rationally possible. After all, it was Viserys' dying wish to crown him so it wouldn't look great to immediately replace him. He also reminds Reader of Alicents loyalty to Viserys and his wishes.

Reader isn't very happy with the deal, but accepts it nonetheless. She's waited this long right?

In the meantime, she swears loyalty to the greens.

Aemond is surprised to hear of this deal, but is elated at how much easier this would make their succession. He's so impressed and in awe of Reader!!

Rhaenys and Erryk attempt to take Reader with them to Dragonstone, but she vehemently refuses.

"You have humiliated me countless times. Ruined my childhood and painted false images of honor and glory in my head only to whisk it all away without a second thought!! Now, you ridicule me for choosing the only person who has ever truly loved me? Scorn and curse me for not bowing down to the mutts who took MY birthright from me!?! You speak of honor and oaths... You are nothing more than a hypocrite."

Rhaenys is gutted. She finally sees how big she fucked up. Still, it's not like she can do much so she leaves without her, swearing to come back for her once she 'sees the truth.'

Thus, Aegon is crowned king, and the Reader chases Rhaenys out of kings landing on the back of a huge black dragon.

Ideally, and in my head, its Balerion. The parallels of Vhaegar and Balerion being the previous dragons of Visenya and The Conquerer and now Aemond and Reader are too compelling!! If you prefer to be a bit more canon compliant, I also can see her claiming a son of Vhaegar and Balerion, hatched during the conquest and hidden away. Maybe Vhaegar leads him to Reader cuz she feels a war is coming.

The smallfolk see it as a sign. Since they love Reader so much, they view her obtaining a dragon in such a time as a promise that she is destined for greatness. In the light of the battle for succession, word flits about the people of kings landing that perhaps it is time for a change. Perhaps Reader and her Husband should sit the Iron Throne. After all, they ride dragons from the days of the conqueror, and have shown much more care and compassion for the true good of the realm than either Aegon or Rhaenyra.

Corlys and Rhaenys mourn the relationship they ruined with their only daughter. Corlys' only requirement to swear to Rhaenyra is that his daughter be spared, no matter what happens. Rhaenys and Jace back him up. Rhaenyra agrees. (They're all delulu and believe Aemond has bewitched her or manipulated her in some way)

Reader uses the time between Aegons coronation and Lucerys' death to bond and train with her dragon. While Aemond was sent to deal with Lord Borros, offering gold and slaves, Reader flew to Driftmark and rallied a good portion of sailors and soldiers. She has a good reputation amongst the people of her home, and many of them refused to live under and serve Lucerys when she was their one true ruler.

When Aemond returns to kings landing with the news of Luke's death, Reader is disappointed and vexed.

She wasn't mad that he killed Lucerys, but because he did so at the worst time. Otto was bound to see this major fuckup and completely reconsider their deal.

Aemond is so upset bc he disappointed her.

Jace is now resolved to 'save' Reader from Aemond, if he killed Luke what's stopping him from killing her??

Reader now has to work to save Aemonds reputation. Not only is he 'deformed' but now he's a kinslayer! Any claim he has to the throne is dwindling the more he acts.

She also has to figure out how to deal with Alicent.

And find a way to get Helaena and her children out of the keep before all hell breaks loose.

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Okay, officially, the end of season 1! Season 2 might take me a bit longer to write because there's a lot more to figure out. Also, I like how this was originally supposed to be a vague outline and just fleshed into a whole rant, lol. I'm kind of forcing myself to finish this format bc I really want to write more in depth one-shots showing some scenes but I can't until I finish posting these.

Idk what to call these. It's not a full fic, it's not really headcanons either...

[bella-goths-wife]

What exactly do the Vs want from Pet? Whether to increase their power, what is each of the Vs looking with them?

🐢

What is each V member looking for in pet?

Warnings: mentions of adult film industry, emotional, physical and psychological abuse,mentions of sexual assault

Vox:

Originally Vox just wanted to use your power to gain him more influence and money

He saw you as a convenient person who he could use up until your powers ran dry before kicking you to the curb

But then you had to go and intrigue him

Your nature of cunning manipulation for survival and your lack of empathy for those who mock you just intrigued him beyond comprehension

He watched you for months as you handled mockery and abuse flawlessly, you had a strength about you that wasn’t common amongst hells population

He spent so much time with you and watched as your abilities grew and part of him felt like he wanted to show you how to use it to its full ability

But there was also a weakness to you that he wanted to exploit in a self imposed way, he wanted to rub away your strength to expose the fleshy vulnerability underneath

And he does as he used the power imbalance between you two to push you to your limits to see the truth underneath your act of strength

He wants a fatherly bond with you, he views you as the daughter he could never have when he was alive

He wants to groom you to be his heir, while also keeping you just powerless enough to never try and contradict him

He wants to raise you above the rest but keep you under his thumb

Velvette:

At first, velvette just wanted a competent assistant to make her life easier

And when Vox brought you in, she trusted that he hadn’t brought in some idiot so she decided to use you to assist her

And you were good at it, extremely good at it

You were so obedient, velvette often commented

Like a dog, she’d always state confidently

She just grew to like you as her obsession became sustained by working with you so closely

She quickly realised why she wanted your presence so much

You became a pet to her

Something cute to pet and show off

And something that she could hold power over you

She gains entertainment from you, you sustain her constant need for attention without her having to endure a friendship with you

She cares about you, but in the same way she’d care about an expensive car

Your a possession to her, you’ve gained her favour through obedience and she craves something to have brief affection with while being able to degrade you

She wants a pet most of all, and you make such a pretty mutt

Valentino:

Valentino wants a victim

Sure, he has plenty in his porn studios who he can abuse at the drop of a hat

But there’s something different about you

Your ability is able to calm him during his rages, and that makes you feel so much more of an intimate victim to Valentino

He has many uses of you, therapist, punching bag, assistant and calmer

He wants to provoke emotions out of you that he can’t get from anyone else

Your like a shiny toy that he wants to poke at to see what reaction you give

Your the perfect victim to him

The perfect toy

He treats you similar to his other toys but the fact that his touches only border on assault shows your a favourite

He doesn’t know what he wants from you, he just knows that he wants you

Your his favourite toy and he wants to keep you forever

This is probably the worst piece I’ve written for this au but I’m sleep deprived and it’s been in my drafts for too long 😭

I’m sorry it’s not detailed

@repostingmyfavs @buttercupfangirl @corvid007 @lilyalone @fandomaddict505 @perkypeony @sparkleyfishies @hazbinhotelxreader @the-faceless-bride @rerarlo @ivebeenthearchersstuff @idontreallyexistyet

[styxwanderer]

The Wrong Fake Identity | Twisted Wonderland [pt.6]

part 1 Part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 <part 6> part 7

[A for Abduction, B for Bribery]

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙˚*

Word of you secured in the dragon’s and his herds arms spread wide. Some were brought to despair, some are brought to joy, some are brought to anger, some are even more determined.

“Of course the final boss would be the dragon, but there is nothing me a genius can’t do hehe..”

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“Silver! How do i look!” You enthusiastically walked up to him, now dressed in the black and green uniform. 

“..it.. it looks good on you, y/n.” The precious boy stammered. His unique orb staring at you.

You had no idea why, but you felt yourself wanting to hug the silver haired boy, or maybe sleep on top of him. You just need to get him to lie down first.

“Come, we should show father and malleus!” 

“Alright.”

You intertwined your hand with his as you cling to him. Silver was shocked out of his mind from your boldness, even more so when you started purring in his hold, but he wouldn’t mind it either, it’s just a matter of keeping his heart steady that he mind. He could bow hear his heart beating in his ears, he just hope his complexion is not as obvious as his heart is.

“We are back father, Malleus.” 

“Oo welcome back—“ the both of them stood shock at your close proximity with silver, even so when you start to rub your cheeks against his biceps. 

“Aaa~ it seems this little kitty is very attached to you silver, after all you had been very good with animals.” Lilia can’t decide if he should be proud of his son or be jealous that he is favored by you. He had agreed to share you, but that doesn’t mean you can have favorites amongst them. 

Malleus was jealous, he had known you longer than silver but why must you choose silver? That’s alright, he would just prove to you that he is much kore deserving of your favour than the silver haired boy. 

“Child of man…” sitting in his throne, he called to get your attention, trying to get you to come to him. 

You ignored him, silence filled the room making silver sweat a drop, not wanting to offend his Leige. This makes malleus hurt.

“Come kitty, you can’t act so spoiled. When your king called you, you need to acknowledge him.” Lilia pried you off his son, sensing the jealousy that bubbles up the dragon fae.

“Malleus hold this.” Lilia throw a mouse toy connected to a string. This caught your attention, you begun to approach the dragon.

“Oh?! You wanted to approach me now that i have this? Interesting indeed.” Malleus swish the stick back and forth. Your head, of course follow. 

You leap to the toy trying to catch it, but Malleus had retracted the toy to his hand holding it. Your eyes remain slitted as you readied yourself.

“Oh?”

You pounced to his lap shocking the trio. In a reflective movement, malleus had stretched the hand to the air, and accidentally dropped it. 

“Oh no-“

You being a spoiled naughty cat you are deciding the best course of action is to jump over malleus, your feet stepping on top of his head, between his horn and leaped behind him to catch your prized mouse.

“Nyaa~” you meowed amused with your catch. The room once again become silent, 

“Ahahahahahha, how brazen this cat is, i have never had anybody even dared to think of stepping my head. Me, the heir to the briar valley. How amusing~”

“Hahahha.. if sebek is here he will either foam in his mouth, or have a mental breakdown, maybe both.” Lilia laugh

Silver too joined in, finding your boldness endearing and adorable, he wouldn't mind  if you had stepped on his head too. 

you returned to Malleus lap, finding it comfortable enough, this had made Malleus ecstatic tho he tried his best to hide it. you finding your foot print to be dirty and half guilty over your action decided you need to clean your mistake, you licked the top of his head grooming his hair back to its proper state. 

a prince can't have a messy hair! 

"oh my! your bravery is very admirable! The soldier in briar valley ought to learn a thing ir two from you." lilia mused

"lilia.."

"hmm.."

"how long does it take to plan a wedding.”

“Ohh my! Well it might take a year or two. But with a skillful fae it could take a day or two.”

“Malleus, is it not too early? We are still at school.” Silver chirped in.

“Doesn’t matter, they had accepted me as hers.”

“But-“

Malleus haul you up and spins you around. The blushing fae is spinning the room with you, still confused of the situation and more preoccupied with the toy in your hand:

“We shall be wed And have a kid or two. Our wedding would be the most magical! What a dream come true~”

Even though silver and lilia are a bit jealous that Malleus are abled to gain the title your husband, they wouldn’t mind at all since a king’s job would be plenty, and of course there should be somebody looking over you while your beloved husband is away. 

With Malleus preoccupied to plan the wedding he have silver and lilia to look over you, your over energetic drive have driven both lilia and silver out of their energy. 

“Oh no..” silver said mid playing as he felt himself getting drowsy and drowsier. Then  silver passed out on the floor.

“Noo.. you can’t leave me Silver, haaa-“ 

Lilia looked back at you thinking he have to continue to play with you alone but to his surprise you just walked toward silver before curling up on top of his abs and enjoying the boy’s warmth.

“ i guess the whole cat mouse game had also tire you out.” 

A rumble in your stomach became a bell to lilia.

“Oh! You are hungry too? What a demanding kitty, what can i do? I shall make you a grand fiest.” 

You were about to protest but all is too late since lilia bolted out of the room.

“I should just topple the plate over once he comes back for bow i shall enjoy this nice pillow” you thought.

“Psst…”

“PSSSSTTTTTTT…..”

There is a voice again, you looked around to find the source. A hand then came out of the big door.

“Come here kitty kitty kitty~~~” it whispered 

“What is this smell?” You thought 

“It smell, so… so very..”

“Nice!” 

You bolted towards the door to find the source of such delectable smell.

“Idia?? Nice to see you here! Also.. heyy~ what’s that sticking all over you? It smells so good~” 

You grow closer and closer to the guy sniffing him up and down. Idia is standing nervously, he had somehow managed to stick a lot of catnip all around his clothes hair and body, stuffing as much as he can inside under his jacket of course.

“It..it doesn’t matter, the smell, its just something special for you..” his voice getting lower towards the end.

“Ohh! Idia you are the best!” You hugged the now pink flame haired boy. 

“Eh uhm not really.. haha.. so you would want to come with me righht? Ill give you lots of these if you come with me.” The nerveous boy had somehow snapped his personality to a cocky bastard. 

“Yess! YES! Where should we go?” 

“Just follow me!” 

You are latching yourself to Idia as you give his occasional rub on his neck, his arm, his chest, sniffing the delectable smell. 

You had been successfully stolen by the timid boy. 

Once malleus and lilia came back and finding the passed out silver and not a single strand of your hair in sight, a thunder roars through diasomnia. This snaps Silver out of his dream. 

“FIND HER, and punish those who dare to steal from me!” 

“Yes, malleus.”

“What is this smell?” 

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Meanwhile in Ignihyde,

“Awhh whose the good kitty?” 

“Me! Me!” 

You had a brad new collar, a blue triangle patterned collar with a beautiful silver charm, which engraved “ property of Idia, please return” on the back side of it. You are given a comfortable ignihyde uniform. You are nuzzling Idia in his room, enjoying the comfort of his body and the addictive smell. 

You hug him close rubbing yourself everywhere around his body, sniffing him close. You can never get enough of his smell. 

“I am the best, i am a genius. Not even the final boss can win against my brilliance” Idia thought, patting himself on the back for his brilliant idea. No body could rival his brilliance he manically laugh inside. 

He decided to play his  game in his bed as you latch to his torso, sitting in his lap. The both of you comfortable with each other. A peck of pink flame always colouring Idia’s hair. 

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“Ignihyde dorm leader had taken y/n away from him.” The news spread. 

“That guy?!!” Ace half-shouted shock.

“Well he is quite a cat lover, Still we have to get y/n back!” Grim grumbled

“HOW DARE HE STEAL THEM AWAY FROM MY LEIGE!!” 

“We hafta to et em back! “

“Uhmm.. to get them away from my brother.. is going to be quite hard..” Ortho ponders.

“A! Its because you are on his side isn’t it!” Ace accused.

“Not its not!! Its just the fact that Idia manage to steal them away from the final boss means that he also come prepared, like a final boss.”

“What ever would make them go with that guy.” Deuce ponders. 

“Delivery for Idia shroud.”

The five of them glanced back at the rabbit delivery courier. 

“Oh! Deuce! Nice to see you here.”

“Nice to see you too, can we help you with something.”

“Ah its just, do you know where to find idia shroud.”

“Oh yes he is my brother.”

“Is that so, well i got a package, I don’t know where to drop it off, he said he is going to meet me but i guess he lost track of time.”

“Geez typical of my brother.”

“Right i will just leave the package to you, please sign here.”

“Okay.”

“And here is your package.”

“Uwaaaaa!” Ortho almost tumble down as he try to hoist the package up. 

“What is this? Why is it so heavy!!”

The courier had already left probably in a hurry.

“ hey.. that’s idia’s right?” Grim said.

“Yes..”

“The  he must’ve building something that capture y/n or some defense! If we get to know what he is building then we can defeat the final boss eaze peaze right?” Grim smirked

“Oh! Nice thinking! Now open the package!” Epel enthusiasticly said. 

“Wait! No! If brother know you went through his stuff! He will be mad!!!” 

“What he doesn’t know wont bother him!” Ace smirked closing in on ortho who is trying to protect his brother’s package.

“YES ! LETS UNCOVER WHATEVER THAT HUMAN IS PLANNING ON! HURRY HAND IT OVER!” 

“Im sorry ortho but this is for the best.” 

“NOOoooo..”

Jack hauled the box out of Ortho’s grasp as he open it. 

“Eugh this smell. Ah!” Jack had accidentally thrown the box down. Letting it’s content to spill.

“Hey! Computer program is very delicate ya know!”

“It isn’t computer program.” Jack answered.

“Huh?” 

“AAAAHHH!!!” A collective gasp were heard.

“Catnip?!!” 

“THAT BASTARD Is bribing my henchhuman!” Grim fumed. Even though, it smelled good, if you aren’t there to serve him he rather not have it. 

“ THAT BASTARD ID DRUGGING THEM!” Deuce yelled.

“That’s rude! My brother is not that low! He must’ve used this … for other reasons… probably..” 

“WHATEVER! Now this is ours we can used it however we liked, even to lure a certain cat!” Epel smirked.

“Nice thinking! Human!” Sebek.

“Oh what’s with the commotion here?”

“AAAHH!! Its Riddle, Trey, and Carter!!” 

“It is certainly noisy around here.” Azul and the tweek appeared 

“ stop yapping already, and what is this smell?” Leona said wincing his nose. Ruggie walking aside, hand behind his head. 

“Ohhh!! Is there something going on here?” The scarabia duo come in. 

“ what a troublesome thing, epel i expected you to be more reserved around these miscreant. “ vil and room has also joined them.

“Oya oya? Is there some sort of meeting we are not invited into?” The diasomnia trio appeared. 

“Ah look its the traitor group.” Leona taunted.

“Whatever shall we do to a grouo of traitor.” Azul joined in.

“A beheaded sure is filling for the crimes of betrayal is it not.”

“Truly it is, afterall  a dog that bites the hand that feeds them needs to be punished.”

“EEEKH!” 

“Hahaha, don’t be too cruel now you two, now that item, it’s idia’s is ot not?”Azul chuckle 

“Ooo? He is building something to building a project?” Malleus questioned

“My brother’s business is none of your business!!”

“Plus it’s finder’s keepers so HANDS OFF!”

“Oh still dare to bark?”

“Ohh look at all those catnip.” Lilia suddenly show behind them.

“ARGHHHH!” 

“Malleus could this possibly the smell from before?”

“Hmm.. It Is! Haaa unexpected of shroud, he dared to enter the dragon’s territory and claim his bride/groom? How terrible.”

“Ha? Whose bride/groom?” Leona retorted.

“Of course they should be mine, None of you know how to take care of them properly!” Vil joined.

The seven of them tried to escape but were soon caught by the tall huge juniors.

“Where are you going noww? I havent squeeze you all yet~”

“Hahaha, that’s true, floyd needs his fill for today.”

“Stop this little pups..” 

The potionlogy came with Crowley who was tied and forced to go whereever he is, Sam, Vargas, and also Trein. 

“Stop fighting against each other for once we have greater problem.”

“What is it?”

The first year could only sigh and surrender to  whatever fate is to come.

After the explanation the second and third year felt like hunting and mauling the crow. 

“Eekh! I told you im sorry already! It’s not my fault —“

“Its your fault ya kno..” Sam interrupted.

Vargas is trying to calm the boiling crewel.

“Ha, we need to catch them before the inspector comes and give them the antidote to their potion.” Trein concluded.

“This package, idia’s package might’ve proven to be useful to us.” Crewel said

“we need to come up with a plan.”

“Haaa, im sorry brother.” 

[ Words 2505]

>> to be continued<<

.·:*¨༺ ❈ ༻¨*:·.

[ maybe i should add tw: druging LOL]

Taglist:

@agaygothicmushroom

@feverish-dove

@jjsmeowthie

@losingmybrain

@mysticcyan

@valentinaagarcia

@fancyhawk45

@ayanokomu

@mel-star636

@haveneulalie

@lanxianschoenheit

@wisteriarose214

[spicy30]

Echoes of a Stolen Fate 2/2

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targ!Reader

cw: Blood, Bastardry stigma, infidelity, classism, regionalism (regional bias), childbirth

Rating: 16+

tags: AFAB reader, no use of Y/N, angst/no comfort, the reader has anger issues, reader is depressed reader takes issues against bastards, reader does not like the north, reader acts like a princess (discriminates against those who are not like her (gets it from her mom tbh, have you read about Rhaenyra?)), Reader has traditional Targaryen features (Hair and eyes, skin color nor body specified), Dino Dragon is named Acrocanthosaurus because I'm not original, Reader is assumed to be true-born due to traditional Targ features

(Not Proofread)

Bold text noted to be High Valyrian

First part: 1/2

Indulgence is based on this post. Inspo Dino Dragon is Acrocanthosaurus.

WC: 13.2K

You felt like you were withering as the weeks passed by here in the North, the same thing every day. You’d wake before your husband in the cold room, groom yourself until you were presentable, and then you would dress in simple clothes such is the Northern fashion, skip breakfast, and go to the cold Gods Wood to ‘pray’. Then you would begin your duties as Lady of Winterfell; planning meals, overseeing finance, delegating resources, planning events, preparing for the long winter cold that the Starks never seem to shut up about, planning the staff's daily doings, going to the Maester for your daily check in. They seemed eager for an heir for Cregan. Then and only then would you eat your one meal of the day, then get up once again.

You wrote daily to your brother and uncle for updates, and then you wrote letters to the alliances you secured through the possibility of marriage to you but as you are married now, they seemed to pull away. Those letters only served to infuriate you, so after a healthy dose of daily hitting the cold stone wall so no one would hear and toss their letters into the fire watching them burn, you would get ready to meet with whatever ladies you were set to entertain today.  

Then afterward, you made it a priority to go greet the commons of Winterfell, though you had to fight the urge to scowl when they smiled at you. Their ugly teeth greeting you, and commons touching you with their dirty hands. The only good thing about the North is the cold stifled the disgusting smell this place would surely have, but when commons got too close or spoke to you, you’d smell their rotten breath and their putrid scent. It was disgusting and every time you went out, you felt like running away, far away from here forever because Winterfell was oh so dull, gray, and cold.

Then after your daily nightmare of interacting with the commons of Winterfell, you’d go back home only to be badgered by the servants of Winterfell seeking guidance. Every day, every single damned day of your existence here in this cold desolate place called Winterfell felt like monotonous hell.

Then finally as the day comes to a close, you’d go to the dinning room only for your husband to bore you with his attempts at conversation. After your husband finishes eating, you’d both go to your shared chambers where you’d do your duty always having him finish fast never bothering to catch your own high then sitting still as you felt his seed sit inside you. 

You’d pretend to sleep until he slept, and then you would wake and sit on a nearby chair that was always cold, and stare at the map of Westeros. It was horribly dreadful as you wallowed in your own self-pity watching your allies dwindle.  

Truly a sad sight of you sitting there in a chair, bare as the day you were born with a sticky feeling between your legs looking at a map for hours never moving in this cold room. Then you’d stand up sometimes and just look at yourself in the mirror and at the nasty scar that was forming on your calf. Sometimes you’d stare so long that you’d hallucinate your face and body beginning to morph ever so slightly into the woman you wished you were. A woman with a crown on her head in the warmth of King’s Landing, a woman who was not wasted on simply being a lady of a cold household. 

Then you’d go to sleep for a couple of hours only to restart your pitiful day all over again. 

It was unbearable some days. On those days you considered simply flying off to the warmth of Essos and never turning back or just flying to King’s Landing and burning everyone in the Red Keep. Though sometimes you’d think you would just be content with burning anything or anyone, the heat would feel nice. 

So on those days, you’d take Acrocanthosaurus and fly him high, high above the clouds, and have him breathe fire and destroy the clouds around you as you relished the feeling of fire around you. You’d pretend he was burning the grimy eyes on you, the Northern accents that grated your ears, Aegon, Aemond, Alicent, Otto, and sometimes you even thought about burning your Grandsire. 

However, as the weeks went by, those days that used to be rare were now becoming all too common. Days where you felt your blood boiling at the desperation of your situation were becoming too frequent for your own good. 

So today as you made your way out to God’s Wood for your daily ‘prayers’ for the first time since you got here, you knelt. You knelt in the God’s Wood but in front of the tree, but in front of Acrocanthosaurus, and simply held him. You felt the warmness contrast the cold of your damp clothes and slowly you began to cry, anger that made you cry, uselessness that made you cry, an emptiness that made you cry.

“There is something wrong with me.” You whispered in a broken voice as tears fell from your eyes onto his snout. “I hate feeling like this, so pathetic. I wonder if anyone else can see me for how I truly am. I had everything, the gods were generous with me but now they don’t even answer my prayers, no matter how high I fly to see them.” Your body shivered from the cold that seeped into your bones. “I don't know why. What did I do? What is wrong with me?” You looked into the eyes of Acrocanthosaurus. “Please just tell me so maybe I can be better. I don't want to end up like my mother, fighting for people to simply accept me. I wanna be loved, I want to be supported like Aegon is, just for simply being born. I simply want to be.” 

…

It had been weeks into your marriage, Cregan had taken you several times, left his seed in you several times, left marks on your body several times, had touched you where no one else ever would, in all except one place, a place that he yearned for more than anything. 

Your lips.

Every time you’d avoid him, you’d never deny him any other part of your body, just your lips and it left him frustrated. What kind of wife does not kiss her own husband? It was all he needed from you. The very thing you denied him. Perhaps you did not feel comfortable with him? So he tried to give you gifts, they were always received and worn, but never once did you kiss him in thanks, he praised you for your work in Winterfell but never once did that ever result in a kiss, he talked to you during your shared dinner or more so his dinner as you never ate, and even then it did not make you any warmer when he took you once more. 

You were simply impossible. Never did you go out of your way to talk to him, touch him, hug him, kiss him. You were hard to talk to, only simply giving him those dismissive hums he was growing to hate. Despite the bed you both shared meant for sleep, he never really did sleep next to you. You gave him nothing on your shared nights or at any time, the only thing he could feel from you was a heartbeat.

Yet despite you only ever completing your obligation to him he never did find himself ever wanting to stop, because the only time he ever really got you to open up was when he got you undressed, and even if it wasn’t the way he wanted you to open up for him, this was still good enough, for now. 

Weeks passed and Cregan watched you, he watched you when he felt the bed shift from when you got up like you did every night after he’s marked you. He watched you sit in the same chair every night and simply stare at a map. He watched you become so lost that you never noticed that he watched you, every breath you took, every time you blinked, every time you shivered from the cold, he’d watch the tips of your breast harden then after a while soften only to harden again when you shivered as if suddenly noticing the cold again. He’d watch from the bed as you sometimes stood up and looked at yourself in the mirror, never noticing him in the same reflection as your mind drifted elsewhere. He watched you as you crawled into bed and slept beside him though the sleep never rejuvenated you. 

Cregan would always wake up as you left your shared bedroom. Cregan would always watch you, your practiced smiles to everyone, or the way you rode your dragon away from here. He always watched you, never understanding why you would not let him in. That night, that first night you told him: 

“I’d rather not share something so intimate.”

Those words haunted him, day and night. Never once did you let yourself be intimate with your husband and Cregan was starting to break. 

He didn’t know what they meant, there was no way you would have known about the kiss. There were only three witnesses and two of those witnesses had good reason to not tell and the third was a dragon who could not speak. You vexed him, vexed him, and frustrated him. You elicited reactions from him no one else has. Soon you were the only thing on his mind and it began to drive him insane. 

So he watched you and watched because it felt like that was the only way he could ever be intimate with you. Not when you were bare and your bodies connected but when he watched you.

He knows you don’t love him, not yet at least. He hopes you will, because it feels like he already loves you. You’re all he thinks about, but he can never tell you, not as you are now. It almost feels like a joke to him. One big joke, a joke he tries to gain insight into by watching you. 

Today when Cregan wakes and he looks over, he sees you, still in the bed beside him. You hadn’t woken up yet. Today he’d watch some more trying to understand. He watched your eyelashes flutter sometimes, he watched your hair become disheveled from moving, he watched your chest rise, and he watched every time you moved.

He reached over and brushed your hair back. It is shined with the light of the fire and your skin reflects the light. He was entranced watching you sleep. His hands traveled along the side of your face stopping on your lips. He touched them, and they were so soft and smooth. He pinched them softly and watched them turn a slight red and only then could he imagine how red your lips would be if you allowed him to kiss you. 

He moved closer to you, to observe every part of your face. He simply lay beside you, his hands never moving from your lips. 

Then you moved and he shut his eyes like a boy who was caught staying up late. He kept them shut pretending he was sleeping. He felt you stir more and finally he felt you take his hand in yours. He relished the feeling of your warm hands against his, though it was only to move his hand away from your lips. The he felt you stand and leave the bed. 

He opened his eyes slightly watching you get ready for the day before you walked out. Cregan quickly got up and put on simple clothes before following after you as quietly and quickly as he could. He watched you walk slowly through the walls of Winterfell as your calf held you back. He watched and followed you to God's Wood. He watched from behind a tree as you knelt, but not in front of the Weir Wood tree, but in front of your dragon, which he has told you to keep out of these woods. 

He watched you as you seemed to pray to your dragon, as you hugged him. He watched you shiver from the cold but felt the warmth your dragon exhaled. It seemed like you were saying something, but he couldn’t hear.  

He watched as your dragon then narrowed its eyes on him and for a second time stopped. He watched you turn your head slightly in his direction. He watched as you ignored him and instead grabbed onto your Dragon. 

He didn’t know why that rubbed him the wrong way.

You ignored him like you didn’t care that he was there. 

You didn’t care.

Cregan watched you fly away and you didn’t care that he was there. 

When you came back from wherever it is you went today, he didn’t greet you like he usually did. 

You didn’t care.

He didn’t talk to you during dinner.

You didn’t care.

He didn’t take you that night.

You didn’t care

For days he did this hoping you would do something, pleading that you would show him something, anything!

You didn’t care for it or his act. 

He did his best to ignore you, though he didn’t last long. How could he? When the Maester had just given him such great news. You were with a child, his first child with you. Something only you could give him, so how could he ignore his wife?  Damn the Wall and damn the South, all he could think of was his wife. 

However, the way things are would not do for him and the future child born between the both of you. There had to be something he could do to remedy this. He will be the first to admit that the game he is playing with you is childish. But he can’t help himself. He feels like a spoiled child crying and whining to get what he wants. He hasn’t acted like this since he was a child, yet this is what you have reduced him to, a little boy playing silly games vying for your attention hoping you’ll notice him and notice how desperate he is for you. 

Another gift perhaps? Surely it would be better than starving himself of you. 

You seemed to express a want for Arra Norrey to raise your children. He’d rather her far away from you, but if it is what you wanted, who was he to deny you that? 

Pulling out fresh ink and the seal of the Starks, he wrote to House Norrey. 

…

As you cried on Acrocanthosaurus, he breathed out steam that warmed your body. You looked into his eyes and saw them looking behind you. You looked over your shoulder and saw no one, however, it was clear someone was there watching you. Acrocanthosaurus reached his claw to you and you climbed onto it as he lifted you to your saddle. Not bothering to look deeper into who was hiding, you set off into the skies, hoping that maybe if you pray up there, the gods will hear you this time. Perhaps you’ll even fly to Old Valyria if you become desperate enough. 

Acrocanthosaurus flew and flew higher and you laid back on him. 

You sighed looking up. “It doesn't change anything. Nothing changes no matter how high I fly.  The Gods will never hear my prayers. I've lost everything. No matter how many times I pray, no matter how many times I plead, it's never coming back, Acrocanthosaurus.” 

You lift your hands to look at the simple clothes you have on. “And I’ve done this for what? For a man whose alliance was already secured? For a man who so clearly does not want me!? For a man who only seems to see me as what the world does already, a womb and nothing more?”

You crawled forward onto Acrocanthosaurus's neck as you held on tight. “Can't I just be loved? Be loved by the realm as they seem to love Aegon? Be loved…” Your voice lowered as you held onto Acrocanthosaurus trying to crawl forward as he made noises.

 “By my husband? Maybe if I had been born of love…” You trail as you finally reach the head of Acrocanthosaurus looking into his green eyes watching you as he flies. 

“You love me, don’t you Acrocanthosaurus?” You heard him make a deep rumble that you felt vibrate your body before he swung you high in the air. You screamed as he caught you with his snout. You sat as he continued flying and you hugged his face, holding on breathing fast.

“I hope that was a yes.” You breathed out as you held onto him. “Yeah, just you and me…forever. Maybe we could stay alone, just me and you, together.” You rested your head against his. 

You felt the rumble of his roar in the depths of your bones. “Yes, and while we're at it, burn the whore’s house down.”

…

After hours of riding and deciding against the idea of burning down the Norrey House, you flew back to Winterfell to a strangely quiet husband. He did not greet you, nor did he talk to you during his dinner, or even take you that night. Though it was all the same to you, one less person to talk to. 

It was all the same to you until it wasn’t. When you saw the coat of arms that held six green thistles crossing through the gates of Winterfell. For days Cregan hadn’t spoken to you, nor marked you. It wasn’t you missed it but he was still your husband, and the nerve of him to invite her to Winterfell. For what!?

Walking as fast as you could with an occasional limp and burst through his door interrupting his study. You saw him lift a brow and you swore you could see the smallest smile. 

“My lord.” You gritted out. “Why was I not told of the Norreys visit?”  He sat in all his glory, the gray stone walls surrounding him, his fur pelt, and the chair of Winterfell. He sat there with what you swore was a smirk and it aggravated you. 

“It’s not a visit.” He spoke as if it was the most normal thing. There were very few things that got under your skin and even fewer people who managed to bring out a resentful side of you. Yet this man here did it all without even trying!? 

Cregan Stark; the bane of your existence.

You spoke trying your best to hide your annoyance. “No? Then why are they here?”

“It is only one person. Arra Norrey.” He responded cooly watching you with eyes that seemed to drink up every expression you gave. 

“Why?” You walked forward looking at him leaning forward with your hands on the desk. 

“On the day of our wedding, you had told Arra Norrey you wished for her help to raise our children.” As Cregan spoke you felt your patience thinning.

“And?” Of course, the Northern brute did not register sarcasm, damn all these Northers who you swear will turn your white hair gray. 

You watched as Creagn stood and walked behind you taking you in his arms as you felt him inhale your scent. You watched as his hands intertwined with yours and finally had them settled on your belly. 

“Now that you are carrying our first child, heir to Winterfell, I figured you’d want her here.” As you listened to Cregan speak you felt your heart drop. Suddenly the feeling of his hands rubbing your stomach felt confining. The heir of Winterfell he called it. You felt as if he had just stabbed you through the heart. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did. It hurt to know that you were his excuse for bringing back his whore to Winterfell, and while you labored to grow this child, his heir as he called it. Cregan would be off fathering bastards, like his father did.

You knew the men of the realm did not see value in women, but it hurt a little more to know you had married one of them. A tie to your name and to your blood. 

“The Maester told me the news a couple of days ago-” You stepped out of his grasp, cutting him off. You took a second to recompose yourself. You turned and faced Cregan and smiled. 

“I was not aware of the news. Such grand news. However, I must make haste to prepare for Lady Norrey’s arrival.” You spoke in the calmest tone you could muster before dismissing yourself leaving Cregan in the dull, gray, cold room. 

…

The last thing Cregan wanted to do was to greet Arra. After what had happened between them, he never wanted to see her again. Guilt always pooled in him when he saw her. The day you became his wife, the day he was unable to take his eyes from you was the day he decided that what happened under the Weirwood tree was the biggest mistake of his life. 

Arra did not make him yearn. Not even after he kissed her, he did not yearn for more. He did not spend that night thinking of her. The night and days after his wedding only consisted of thoughts of you. In fact, in these past few weeks, the only time she has ever crossed her mind was when he thought that perhaps he should confess his mistake to you. Arra Norrey was only ever was brought up in his mind as a negative thought and in correlation to you. 

Arra Norrey in Cregan’s mind, never stood alone. 

Despite this, he put on his best face and gave a greeting that reflected his position, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. 

He watched as the Norrey guards held out their hands for Lady Arra. She walked with a big smile on her face as she greeted him first then you. As they welcomed her inside, she would not stop singing praises for Winterfell and how wonderful it felt to be invited back, this time as a lady-in-waiting for the Lady of Winterfell. Cregan watched for a reaction, a sign to assure him that he had done well. 

You gave him none. In fact, you seemed the opposite of pleased, you had recently gone on dragon back and had only come back an hour ago. Perhaps….the feast thrown in your honor would please you. 

Cregan felt nervous at your lack of enthusiasm. You were the one who wanted Lady Arra, were you not?

He would try once more to please the soon-to-be mother of his child in the coming days, try and have you lighten up as he prepared to share the news of your pregnancy.  

However, over those days, every time he stepped into your presence for something even as minuscule as holding his hand to your stomach, Arra would be there to ruin the moment. Never could he get you alone, and even then when he seemed to enter the same room as you, he felt Arra’s eyes on him. He had been the one to send the letter requesting her presence, but he did not invite the looks she would give him. Longing looks. Looks he did his best to ignore. Worst yet, you seemed to broil in anger every day since Arra’s arrival. 

Every day you would disappear for hours at a time leaving Arra with his half-sister Sara and consequently in his presence for all those hours you were gone for. Cregan found himself frustrated with your behavior and frustrated because he did not want to face Arra and what he had done on the day of your marriage. 

You were the one who held his hand so eagerly when speaking to Lady Arra about your shared children. How excited you had seemed, but now you detest being around him. Before, at the very least, you would give him dismissive hums, but now all you responded with was your eyes and the movement of your eyebrows, the rest of your face always set in a permanent scowl. 

He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong. He is trying, he really is. Trying to meet your every need and every want any lady could ever want. 

Sighing he pushed back his hair from his face as the background noise finally set. You had left once more early in the morning despite the Maesters advising you not to, leaving him alone with Sara and Lady Arra as they spoke of the upcoming banquet today in your honor.

Cregan figured that if he could not please you or Lady Arra, then perhaps Sara could, her talkative nature made it easy to become friends with. 

“Lady Arra, could you give my sister and I a moment alone?” Cregan spoke without looking up. He often tried to not look towards Lady Arra. 

He heard her obliged and stepped out. 

“Brother?” Sara spoke as she sat in front of him. He lifted his head showing his defeated expression.

“What do you know of my lady wife Sara?” He asked her with a sigh.

“Not much brother, on the day before your wedding I attempted to talk to her, though she seemed in a sour mood only giving me a smile before she left,” Sara spoke as she observed her brother. You had given him such a hard time, though Sara had seen your duties, you had even gone so far as to take what she usually did, giving her the excuse that you did more as Crown Princess and the work in Winterfell paled in comparison.

“Yes, she and her brother, Prince Jacaerys, were at odds that night.” Cregan rationalized.  

“In her days in Winterfell, I have not gotten the chance to speak to her much other than the greeting which she returned. The lady has such structured days that it is hard to find a time when she is not working on something. I believe the only time she spares is for you, Cregan.” Sara offered with a smile. 

Cregan nodded. “She does not seem fond of Lady Arra, though she had-” 

“I would not be fond of the company of Lady Arra if I was your lady wife either,” Sara said, cutting Cregan off. 

Cregan looked at her eyes slightly wide as his palms felt clammy. “Why?”

“Well if my lord husband invited the woman who he was supposed to marry and his childhood friend to be my lady-in-waiting, I would not be pleased either. Why would you even want to invite Lady Arra back to court?” Sara looked at her brother incredulously. 

Cregan felt a little sigh of relief, glad his sister did not know of what happened between Lady Arra and him under the Weirwood tree. However, this information should be unknown to you, how could you have come to find out? “Lady Arra and I were not promised to each other, my wife should not know of that.”

“Well, brother I may have…told her?” Sara mumbled as she watched her brother give her a bewildered look. 

“I did not expect you to invite her back to Winterfell!” Sara defended herself against the incredulous looks her brother threw at her. 

Sighing, Cregan rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Today, during the banquet, you will keep my wife company and try to remedy this…misunderstanding. She needs a friend here that is not someone who was supposed to marry me.”

“Are you asking me to put in a good word you brother?” Sara gave a small teasing smile at her brooding brother. 

“No. I am asking you to fix this. My lady wife seems to always be upset these days.” Cregan spoke as he looked towards the window. Your dragon seemed to return, going back to land in God's wood. 

“How do you know? She seems as she always is. She is silent and does her duties. She still goes to greet the commons of Winterfell. She is doing well brother.” Sara reaches over for her brother’s hand as she looks outside to see your dragon give a loud roar before disappearing out of sight as it lands. 

“She only ever goes riding when she is particularly upset or displeased with something,” Cregan says, giving his sister’s hand a final squeeze before retracting her own hand. “She is pregnant now, Sara. The Maester says such harsh movement such as dragon riding is not good. Sara, she is angry all the time, I can see it every day on her face.”

“She is the blood of the dragon Cregan, of course, her blood runs hot and consequently; her temper. However, she is not in her home, her home is in the South, you know as well as I do, that the North is not welcoming to outsiders, especially Southerners from King’s Landing. It is only natural that she should find comfort in her beast. ” Sara reasons Cregan. 

She watched Cregan give an exasperated sigh. “Fret not brother, tonight, I will be her friend and give a good word.” Sara smiled before excusing herself. 

Cregan watched his sister leave before standing up himself to go to the God’s Wood. Ever since the wedding Cregan has avoided going due to the dragon that now resided there, and the guilt that would build up in him as he looked at the Weir Wood tree. However, if he decided that if he truly wanted this to work, he would not be bullied out of the place his ancestors had been going to for solace by a dragon or guilt. 

Getting closer to God's wood, it felt warmer than the rest of Winterfell. He felt nervous, yes he is Cregan Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, but that does change that a dragon is a dragon. Dragons do not care for names or titles, only for blood, Valyrian blood, blood he does not possess. Despite this, he pushed forward into the new warmth of the woods. As he walked deeper he saw the growth of flowers he had never seen before. The more small life grew, the closer he went to the Weir Wood tree. Eventually, it was so warm he took off his coat and sat down on the bench near the Weir Wood.

This had been the place where he kissed a woman who was not his wife, in front of the ever-gazing eyes of the Weir Wood tree. Looking into the black water, which was so black it could work as a mirror. While looking into the black mirror he saw a figure moving across the pond. 

A large head reflected and Cregan simply looked at the creature through the water. The head was long, low, and narrow. Its eyes are big and green with black slits for pupils. The outside of its upper jaw up to its nasal bone looked rough and textured. Long, low ridges arose from the nasal bones, running along each side of the snout from the nostril back to the eye, where they continued onto the tear duct bone. As Cregan kept looking at the large dragon through the reflection, the dragon looked towards him. It did not bear its teeth but yet Cregan counted nineteen curved serrated teeth protruding from its mouth.  

From the pond Cregan watched it stand taller showing off its stocky body covered in scaly skin. It stretched itself seemingly intent on going towards Cregan now baring its teeth. Cregan looked up from the pond standing from the bench ready to back away if need be. Though despite the fact he had just spent the last couple of minutes looking at the dragon he never noticed you standing next to your dragon. 

It wasn’t until you stood in front of it stopping it from crossing the pond. He watched as your dragon nuzzled against you, more specifically towards your belly, blowing smoke, and even from the distance Cregan could feel the heat. It was hot, scalding hot, and he began to sweat. 

He began to worry that perhaps it may be too much heat for the child you carried, however, before he could say anything he was blinded by the large puff of smoke your dragon exhaled. His eyes burned from the heat and it wasn’t long before his skin felt like it was boiling. 

It hurt and he could hardly breathe, he panicked, but not for himself, but for you. What about you? What about the child in your womb? He found himself trying to yell your name, coughing with each breath he took. He yelled, coughed, and tried to find his way to you through the smoke. As he coughed he nearly fell tripping over a protruding root from the ground. Though suddenly with a large gust of wind, the smoke fell away leaving Cregan alone. You were nowhere in sight and your dragon was lying down ignoring his existence. 

Cregan stood up straight and wiped the tears away that had gathered from the smoke. 

“Cregan!” He heard a voice shout. Turning he saw Arra walking towards him. She was the last person he wanted to be seen with. Not with your dragon now opening an eye and looking at them both, where weeks ago he had committed an act that should never be repeated. He doubted whatever you had told your dragon would keep him at bay should Arra attempt to bring up what happened that day, or if she did anything he reckoned. 

“Lady Arra.” He spoke in a monotone voice. 

“Are you alright? I saw all the smoke and your shouts for the Lady, I rushed over as fast as I could.” Arra spoke as she came closer to him, seemingly trying to wipe soot away from his face. 

Cregan backed away, keeping a distance from her. He watched her face become confused before quickly giving a respectful smile. 

“I am alright, I was simply looking for my lady wife, have you seen her?” 

Arra nodded and stated that she had only recently entered your chambers to prepare for a bath. Content with the answer he left, hoping Arra wouldn’t be foolish enough to remain in the God’s Wood alone with your dragon. 

…

“The dragon’s blood runs hot maester. I assure you I will not burn if you increase the temperature.�� You spoke feeling the water which was lukewarm. 

The Maester spoke to you trying to reason.“You may not burn my lady, but the child you bear has Northern blood-” 

That title, ‘my lady,’ it irked you. Something that came along with this cold place, something you were not used to when all your life you had been called ‘your grace,’ it was your proper title and to have someone speak to you in such a manner, it irritated you. You were still a Targaryen, you did not take the Stark name, a noble woman never take her husband’s name. Especially not a royal one who was set to inherit the Iron Throne. You were born a Targaryen and would remain one for the rest of your life. Your mother was born a Targaryen and even when she married your father, Laenor Velaryon, she remained a Targaryen, when she bore you, you took your mother’s name, Targaryen. The child you had growing inside you would also bear the name Targaryen, by right, your child was a Targaryen.

“The dragon’s blood runs strong within me, and it will run strong in my child. I am a cold maester, I have been cold for weeks. Can I not have one hot bath?” You countered cutting him off. Winterfell rarely saw the sun and you could not enjoy the warm rays of sunlight you had in King’s Landing or on Dragon Stone. The only warmth you ever found was near Acrocanthosaurus or hot baths.

“When you are not with child my lady, you may have the water as scalding as you’d like, however, until then, this is the warmest I will allow.” You felt the slightest twitch at the title as the Maester finished. He seemed determined to not let you have your bath. So finally, desperate for some alone time, you agreed and dismissed everyone.

As you disrobed and slipped into the bath, you relished in the slight warmth it provided. It felt good to rid yourself of the scent of dragon. You loved Acrocanthosaurus, you really did, but it didn’t change the fact that dragons didn’t exactly smell the best. 

You cannot say how long you remained in the bath as every part of your being soaked in the scented oils of the bath, your ears plugged from having half of your head submerged, your hair stuck to your forehead and your hand subconsciously resting atop your stomach which now protrude outward ever so slightly. While you were born and given the name Targaryen, as was agreed upon when your mother married your father, it seemed that your father still resonated with you heavily. You always love baths and the weight the water takes from you. Weightless, a feeling that only the seas and skies can give you.

However, the peace broke when you heard someone enter. Giving out a deep sigh of annoyance you rose from the water and you felt warm water fall out from your ears as you watched Lady Arra lay out the dress on the bed. It was the dull colors of the North. You had just about enough of all these dull colors. You wanted vibrant colors for your house, bright crimson colors or deep azures from House Velaryon. 

“Take it away.” You spoke as you sat properly in the bath and drops of water cascaded over you. 

“My lady, this is traditional wear of the North and it is in honor of the next heir of Winterfell…” Lady Arra spoke as you pulled up the dress trying to show off the minimalistic design. As you listened to her, you lifted a brow at the title. The assumption of your child being heir of Winterfell and not heir of the Iron Throne grated you. 

“I don’t care. Take it away and bring me….” You told her to roll your eyes again. “One of my Southern dresses, a red one, with dragons embroidered.” Your child may be fathered by a Northern brute, but you were Southern through and through, and so would your child. 

“Such tight corsets would not be good for the babe you carry, my lady. Southern dresses are also not good for the North, you will run cold.” Arra told you as she walked closer with a robe to help you get out of the bath.

There was that title again, ‘My Lady.’ A title that insulted you. You felt your annoyance grow every time Arra spoke to you.

“I am the dragon’s daughter, my blood runs hot. Now fetch me the dress.” You spoke with an absolute tone. They would not claim your child as a Stark, you will show your alliance with your name. Your child would be Targaryen, as were you. The throne will always belong to a Targaryen.

“My lady I don’t think that would-” 

“Nobody cares…what you think.” You cut Arra off as you stood in all your glory, steam radiating off of your body as you stepped out of the tub and standing in front of her, your eyes met her plain ones You took the robe from her and put it on before looking her up and down unamused. “So bring me my red dress with dragons embroidered.” You spoke in a slow tone as if trying to dumb it down for her. 

You watched her look down before nodding and excusing herself.

…

As you walked into the great hall of Winterfell, you felt all their eyes on you. Your deep crimson dress contrasted the dull grays and blacks of everyone else and your elaborate Southern hair-do stood out from the boring plain ones that Northern ladies wore. 

You were made for the limelight, born for others to look to, born to rule. That was your purpose, a heavy one to carry. 

As you sat next to Cregan, you nodded allowing the feast to begin. From the table you watched everyone scarf down the food and you felt your eyebrows crease in disgust. You felt sick when your own food was placed in front of you. The white meat was glistening under the candlelight and the smell wafting in your nose nearly made you lose your lunch. As you pushed the plate away you drank water, content with only that. You rested back drinking while looking upon the people of the North. The Northerners who thought you were bearing their heir. This was your child, your heir, not theirs, not anyone but yours. 

Just like that, you found yourself standing with your chalice lifted in the air giving a forced smile. You waited until it was silent and everyone watched you, the candlelight casting a dark shadow over you. 

“I’d like to make a toast, as the newest Lady of Winterfell and the alliance this marriage between my lord husband, Cregan Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, and I, your Crown Princess.” You smiled as you reminded them of your position. “We hold this banquet in honor of the babe Cregan has gifted me.” You looked down at Cregan with the softest smile you could conjure, though it was an empty one. He looked up to you and as he nodded towards you then faced his men, and you swore he sat up a little straighter. 

“Who will be born Targaryen, as I was, and will be my heir to the Iron Throne as I am to my Mother, your Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen.” You felt your smile widen into a grin as you saw the people in the hall make the realization that you had every intention of taking the Throne, making you first and foremost, their Crown Princess and then Lady of Winterfell.

“So I toast to the future heir of the Iron Throne.” The cheer they gave was loud as they drank. You gave a small sip. “And should the Gods be generous, Cregan will give me more children who will then bear the name Stark.” With a promise that the Stark name would live, the cheers increased in volume, though the only person you looked at was Arra Norrey who had a neutral face on, which amongst happy flushed places, looked misplaced. She met your eyes and you greeted her with a smug smile. 

Cregan was your husband, for better or worse.

Finally sitting down keeping your eyes on her, to drive your point further, once more, as you did on your wedding day, you took Cregan’s hand and held it near your belly, which now carried your heir.  

As you sat happy, you felt the hand that held Cregan’s being lifted. You looked and watched as Cregan brought your hand to his lips and gave a long soft kiss. You looked deep into his eyes and for the first time, you realized just how gray they were. Never had you really looked towards Cregan as you did now. The forming creases on his face from stress, his long brown hair, but he was handsome, more so now as he looked up at you mumbling a “your grace” acknowledging you as his Crown Princess. 

For the first time since you had met Cregan, since you had married him, since you had been with him, a genuine smile crept on your face unwillingly, forgetting the sin he committed against you. He looked like perfection at that moment. Such gray eyes you had never seen, a sharp nose, a nicely sculpted face. If you had a son, you desperately hoped he inherited his father’s handsome and manly looks rather than the beauty Targeryens were known for. 

“More children, may the gods bless us.” He murmured against your hand which was still resting on his lips. You felt a pulse of desire hearing his Northern accent. Never had you wanted to hear the damned Northern accent more than right now. You could imagine it, hearing his rough voice and pronunciation whispering sweet nothings in your ear while he gives you another babe. The mere thought made you take a deep breath to calm yourself. You felt the warmth of his soft lips leave your hand and you felt almost deprived of his touch. His lips which you had forbidden yourself from touching. 

Why? 

At this very moment while looking at your husband who had done so much for you, giving you expensive gifts, accommodating your every want, giving you the warmest room in Winterfell, excused your leaves with Acrocanthosaurus, putting up with your attitude all without complaining, and giving you an heir for yourself. You honestly couldn’t remember why you would deny yourself such a man. 

You looked into his pretty gray eyes and then down at his perfect lips. You felt yourself lean closer into him seeking him out. For the first time in weeks, you sought him out. As you came closer and felt his breath, which smelt of sweet wine, you grew eager to taste him. Taste the flavor of the wine which was surely left on his tongue. 

Cregan reached his hand to cradle your face and you leaned into the rough calloused hand. Despite the fact that he is a Northerner who came from the cold North, you swore his hand was the warmest one you’ve ever felt. A warm hand to comfort you in the never-ending cold Winterfell seemed to produce. 

Just as your lips touched his own you turned away as someone called for your attention. As you looked up, you saw none other than your lady-in-waiting. 

Lady Arra Norrey. 

Suddenly the cold reality came crashing down on you. Your refusal to share something that should only be yours reminded you of why you treated Cregan Stark, the way you treated him. What he represented to you. The loss of your home, your throne, your place next to your mother as you both fought for your birthright. As you drew your face away from him and his warm hand you looked up towards the woman who stole what was yours. 

Your eyebrow quipped up in annoyance as you looked at her. To your side, you heard Cregan give a sigh, it appeared you weren’t the only one who didn’t want her presence anymore. You didn’t want to see her ever. She too was a constant reminder, a reminder that she ruined something for you. 

As you tuned out her little ramblings you simply looked at her to see what she had that you did not. She wasn’t prettier than you, you spoke better than her, were probably better educated than her, you had a dragon and she didn’t. Why would Cregan want her? Suddenly you felt very annoyed by her. Annoyed by her presence as you had been these last couple of days. Annoyed that she caused you to doubt yourself. Annoyed that she would forever remain a stain on your marriage. 

“My Lady, I am grateful for you and I am also thankful to Lord Stark for extending the invitation.” Arra finished as she bowed and excused herself.

My Lady. She had called you my lady again. Insult after insult she gave you. You wanted her gone. 

Permanently. 

You kept your eyes as she went to converse with other Northern ladies. Ladies you never bothered to entertain. You watched her for as long as you sat, it wasn’t until the bastard of Winterfell tore your eyes away by tapping you. You looked at her with a perplexed look. The nerve of her to touch you. You watched as she smiled at you and as she was to open her mouth to speak, you stood up and excused yourself with a flat smile before she could get a word out. You could care less about what a bastard had to say.

As you made your way through the crowd to the corner where Lady Arra and her friends talked and laughed. You approached behind Lady Arra and the other ladies around her quickly fell silent. 

“Lady Arra.” You spoke and you watched her give a small yelp. 

“Oh, my lady, I was simply speaking to them about how wonderful it is to be your lady-in-waiting.” She gave a smile. 

Once again she insulted you and you felt your eye give a small twitch. You watched her take a breath and open her mouth again to speak. Before she could you raised your hand telling her to stop. She stayed silent. Then you looked behind her at the ladies whose names you didn’t bother with giving them a lifted brow. No doubt you’d have to spell it out to them to leave you. Luckily at least one of them had common sense and left. The rest followed like sheep. 

You looked Arra up and down with disgust and annoyance present on your face.

“That day in the GodsWood. You did something you weren’t supposed to do.” You spoke with a blank smile. You watched as Arra’s face fell. “Keep your face girl.” You were reprimanded. “That day you angered the dragon, my dragon. Who nearly burned Cregan alive, because of you. What do you think will happen when I’m not there to stop him? If he was willing to burn the Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell. Do you think he would think twice about burning an insignificant girl, from a minor useless house that annoys me?” 

You watched her look away from you and towards the ground before looking back up at you with pleading eyes. “My lady, I never meant to annoy anyone!”

“But you are.” You stressed anger boiling threatening to spill over and cause a scene here in the middle of a banquet. “You’re annoying me right now. Every breath you draw in my presence annoys me, everything you do within these walls annoys me, so here is what I want you to do. I want you to leave my presence. Leave Winterfell right now and go back to whatever part of the North you belong to where they use pinecones as money.” You gave her an annoyed smile struggling to keep your face neutral. 

“My lady, Lord Stark, Warden of the North has-” You cut her off having enough of being called a lady. “Your Crown Princess is telling you to leave Winterfell. Whether in a carriage or a casket, I will be merciful enough to let you have that choice.” You watched her face drop at your implication. “So…are you going to try and wake the dragon who has already decided to burn you alive for your insolence against me, or will you appeal to me? Who’s still mulling it over?” 

You smiled as she bowed, mumbling a small ‘your grace’ before leaving the banquet. A smirk grew on your face as you watched her leave. 

Content with your work and a small smile on your face you went to walk back to your seat next to Cregan and on your side, the bastard of Winterfell. Despite the clear insult, you were happy with your work today. 

“Your grace, you are the eye banquet!” A cheerful voice sang next to you and you felt your smile nearly falter. 

The bastard of Winterfell stood next to you with a wide smile. Sara Snow. The same Sara Snow who had thrown a small look towards your brother Jacaerys during your wedding. As if a bastard would ever be worthy of your brother. Your brother was recognized by the crown and was named heir to Driftmark. This bastard had nothing to her name and only lived at the mercy of her brother. 

“Well, I am a Targaryen.” You give a smile as you look at her from your peripheral not bothering to even face her as you speak. 

“I am happy that you have taken well to your duties here in Winterfell. Even more so now that you have taken mine.” She spoke with such enthusiasm it hurt to listen. However, when she hugged your arm you looked down in shock that she would dare touch you. However, you kept face and kept that same practiced smile on your face. 

“I know my brother can be difficult at times and he can make such rash actions, but he means well. He has gone through so much in his youth. You must understand. However, you should not fret sister-” The moment she said sister you turned her out. You were in utter disbelief that someone who was not your family would touch you so casually.

 A bastard nonetheless. 

A bastard who was making excuses for her brother. She was an annoyance to you. A shame and right after you had just rid yourself of one. 

Breathing in you smiled towards her facing your body slightly more to her. “Who are you?” You asked with an unfaltering smile. 

“I’m sorry for your grace?” Sara looked towards you with furrowed brows and a smile on her face.

“Who are you Cregan?” You resisted rolling your eyes at her. You stood in front of her to block her face from Cregan who you could feel staring towards you.

“His sister,” Sara spoke in low tones as her grip around your arm lessened.

“Half-sister no? You have a different mother, yes?” You corrected her. She needed to learn her place. A bastard had no place talking to you or even a seat at the main table.

“Yes,” Sara spoke in even lower tones as she stared down in shame, feeling your burning eyes and unforgiving smile on her.

“Did the late Lord Stark remarry after Cregan’s mother?” You feigned confusion as tilted your head to the side slightly.

“No…” This she whispered out as you felt her hands start shaking a bit. 

“So that makes you what?” You lowered your face to her level as you leaned in with a mocking smile and fraudulent innocence. 

“A…” She couldn’t even say it as you saw tears on her waterline. It pleased you to know that you were the one to properly educate her on the place of bastards in society. 

“Bastard.” You finished for her as you lifted your hand which she had cupped in both of hers. “Even a common true-born is higher than a bastard.” You kept your smile as you peeled her hands off of yours. Finally, as her arms dropped and you forced her to look you in the eye your smile dropped revealing an unamused disgusted face.  “You ever presume to touch me or call me sister again, I will have Acrocanthosaurus burn your already average-looking face off. Nobody wants to marry a bastard, much less an ugly one.” 

You watched her give you an incredulous look. “And don’t ever make excuses for your brother in my presence again, do you hear me?” A futile effort on Cregan’s part to justify what he did on your wedding day. Your face twitched slightly as you watched her nod. Deciding you’ve had enough, you gave a flat smile and turned away from her, walking towards Cregan to inform him you were retiring for the night. 

…

Cregan watched you walk away. The Southern crimson dress contrasted the dark walls of the Great Hall and the clothes of everyone else. The Southern up-do of your hair, elaborate with jewels, twists, and braids. Gold dripped from your fingers and your neck. You were regal, and it was all he could bother to pay attention to, even if his sister came back with a solemn face and Arra had left after you’d finished talking to her. 

You had made a promise to him. More heirs, made by you and him. It was all his mind focused and soon his pants felt tight on him. He watched you until the doors of the Great Hall finally closed, your figure leaving his sight. He replayed the memory over and over in his head. His lips are on the back of your hand. Your eyes looking into his and a small smile on your lips. Lips that he was so close to kissing tonight. His hands are on your face tonight, when before, he was only able to touch you when you slept. The weight you pressed on his hand when you leaned into him. Everything about it was perfect. You were perfect, and tonight he was so close to tasting it. 

However, it is ruined when Lady Arra interrupts. A shame, though he supposes he could ease you tonight, as you seemed in a rather generous mood. To carefully undo the laces that held your Southern dress together, he’d hate to ruin such a dress that looked so pretty on you. The golds around your neck and on your fingers. It all served as a stark reminder of where you were from, and where he is from. Polar opposites. However, opposites attract, don’t they? 

The feeling in between his legs was beginning to hurt. So while he would normally ask his sister what was wrong with her, his mind was only clouded with one thing. 

You. 

So ignoring his sister, he stood and left the banquet, chasing after you.

When he entered you chambers he found you bent over placing your golden jewelry in a chest. 

He loved Southern dresses.

He raked the room finding it filled with your Southern ladies-in-waiting, and luckily for him, no Arra Norrey. 

With a look, the ladies bowed and left. He watched you look at him over your shoulder and he heard a sigh. 

Seems he would have to ease you just a little back into the woman he had in his hands hours before. Walking behind you he hugged you, praising himself. Northern dresses tended to be thick, better for insolation and keeping the women warm. These Southern dresses were thinner, let him feel you. Cregan would make sure to have more Southern dresses made for you. 

Inhaling your scent he pressed soft kisses against your exposed shoulder and like always you gave him better access to your neck. His hands traveled up your front side against the hard corset you wore until one of his hands cradled your face and the other lay on your stomach. He tilted your face towards him intent on finally claiming your lips after weeks of agony. 

As he went to kiss you, he felt your head tilt down and he instead made contact with your forehead. He sighed and closed his eyes in annoyance. 

“I am already with child Cregan.” You spoke in low tones as he rubbed your belly though he could only feel the hardness of the corset.  

He let your face go and buried his face in your neck. 

“Why do you deny me my wife?” He mumbled against you. He felt you shudder under him. Then he felt your finger massaging his scalp and you rested your head on his. 

“Why don’t you understand?” Cregan heard you mumble and he lifted his head looking towards you. You looked at him with unmoving eyes, a tired look on your face. 

“What is there to understand? Every night you deny me.” Cregan walked in front of you cupping your face with both hands looking down at you. “I have played your game, wife, what more can I give you?”  

“What game Cregan?” You lifted your hands holding onto his wrist, perplexed by his answer.

“I have tried to give you everything! I have respected your space, I have tried to understand you, and I have done more than what anyone else would do in my position!” His grip hardened on the sides of your face as he looked trying to decipher you. 

“It is truly a shame, I thought you were an honest man.” You pulled your face away from his hand as you pushed him away, narrowing your eyes at him. “You don’t think I know of your whore!?”

“What whore? I have been faithful to you, I have never needed anyone but you.” There was no way you would’ve known about the kiss, and in any case, you were not married to him yet. Though Cregan knew they were excuses. To kiss someone under a weird wood tree. Any Stark knows that only oaths are sworn under that tree.

“What happened that day? The day where you were nearly burned?” You finally asked him, your patience had run out. You watched him as he avoided your eyes and stayed silent. 

You scoffed and an unbelieving smile on your face. “You cannot even face yourself! I would’ve never thought it of you. You didn’t seem the lying kind, had it not been for my dragon, I would’ve been none the wiser.” You shouted at him while he stood in silence. You walked closer to him, your eyes narrowed in anger and betrayal. “And you never would’ve told me. You’d be happily prancing around with her, behind my back whilst I labor?” 

“Fine! Yes, I kissed her-” Cregan admitted, but never did he ever think of taking her as a mistress. 

“At the very place where you and I wed!” You cut him off. You didn’t know what to name this feeling. It was humiliation and something else. Something for which you did not know the words for, and it caused you to doubt yourself. What did she have that you did not? 

“It was a mistake, one I will spend the rest of my days atoning for it! I do not care for her!” Cregan spoke desperately trying to make you understand that Arra means nothing to him.

“And this!” You made a gesture towards yourself and him. “What a waste! This is such a waste!” Your hands covered your face as if trying to hide you from the ridiculousness of it all. “This marriage could’ve been so much more! If you had just- IF YOU HAD JUST THOUGHT WITH WHAT IS IN BETWEEN YOUR EARS AND NOT WHAT'S IN BETWEEN YOUR LEGS!” You screamed at him, it was the first time you had ever raised your voice at him. Raise your voice at anyone in Winterfell. 

“It was a mistake and I am sorry, truly!” He gripped onto you trying to keep you still as he reasoned with you. “You are the only woman in my life! Never once did I ever think of Arra once you and I married. Not another woman has held me as you have! I do not ask for your forgiveness, not yet, but I ask for understanding. I ask that you know that you are the only woman I will ever love, the only woman I will ever give children to. You are the mother of my children. You are all that matters to me!” He held your face and you tore away from him

“You have disrespected me, Cregan! Humiliated me in front of someone who doesn’t compare to me in any way. Yet you…” You breathed before looking at him with an accusatory look.

“You made me doubt my worth.” You spoke in low tones as if confirming it to yourself. 

“Do you know how much I was worth before I married you?” Your voice rose as you pointed to yourself. “I secured crucial alliances all with the possibility of my hand! Not even a promise, but just a possibility that my blood, the blood of the dragon, would flow through their family line!”

Cregan watched you and though you yelled at him, he felt pity for you. All you saw yourself, all your worth was from your name. From what you stood to inherit.  

“I am worth a thousand of your men and twice as many noblewomen because of my blood! There is not a power that can hope to stand against the House of the Dragon if it were united!” You yelled your chest oscillating as you attempted to catch your breath. Your hair was loose as golden trinkets fell on the floor. 

Looking at the gold that fell, you pulled out another piece and threw it at Cregan who had just been standing there, giving you this…a look you couldn’t describe but it irked you.“Do you see this gold? All of it means nothing when compared to me! Others wear gold to elevate themselves in the eyes of others. When I have gold, the gold wears me. I elevate anything I touch and you make me doubt myself! And for what? A lady of a lower house!? Nearly common!?” You yelled. That woman was nothing to you, yet he saw fit to degrade you to her level. It was unthinkable. You were heir to the Iron Throne, the blood of the Dragon. You would always be worth more than anyone else. 

You watched as Cregan stepped closer, and as he did you stepped back. For every step you took backward, he took one forward. You wouldn’t let yourself fall for this man. Someone who did not see your worth. Someone who had you questioning everything about yourself. Suddenly your back hit the warm rock. You had never noticed the walls being warm. They always seemed so cold to you. 

Cregan’s warm rough hands cradled your face once more. You tried to move but his grip was firm. He had never used this force with you, always letting you tear yourself away from him, but now, you were caught between a wall and him. 

“Let me go.” You hissed out looking away from him. 

“That is not what you are worth to me,” Cregan spoke in a low voice. 

Your eyes turned to look at him with confusion. “What?” It was a small whisper that came out a bit muffled with his hands on your face. 

“The blood of the dragon means nothing to me. I did not agree to marry you for the blood you carry.” He spoke as he watched your face morph into a puzzled look then into a defensive one. Your hands came to hold his own while they held your face. “You are to be the mother of my children. You simply are yourself to me. That in itself is worthy enough. Your blood was not the one that captured me when you first kissed me, even if it was not where I wanted you to kiss me.”

You felt disappointment pool in your stomach as he spoke. “I only matter because I will be the mother of your children!?” 

Cregan sighed as his thumb caressed your cheek. “You matter to me because you are my wife. If you were not, then you would matter to me because I made an oath to you. You matter to me not because of the worth you carry, but because you are mine and I am yours. There is no one else.” He rested his forehead against yours.

As you felt his skin against yours, you wanted to rip yourself away. Your entire life has been defined by one thing. Your blood. Blood of the Dragon, Blood of the Seas. It had been questioned, your worth had been brought into question. All your life had been spent telling you how important you were because you were your mother's heir. Always had to act the part, always had to look the part because your it was your blood’s worth, your worth was always called into question. For someone to tell you this, for the very man who had managed to make you feel as if you lost all your worth by marriage, for him to tell you this, it was like poison to you. No one can live with such poison. The hope that it gives you, the hope he gives you. It is a poison that anyone could become addicted to. If taken away, it would kill you. 

You shook your head refusing to accept the poison he was feeding you, but as much as you shook your head, you tilted your face upwards, closing your eyes, a yearning that should not be there. 

You felt his lips brush yours. A slight roughness to them, and before you could register, you found yourself pulling his hands away from your face desperate to kiss him.

However, he lifted his face upwards instead of kissing your forehead. 

A pang of humiliation hit you hard as you looked down. Even now he humiliated you, even as you gave in to him.

You felt his hands cradle your face again and made you look up. But your face was a shade of red that no matter how hard you tried to push down, it wouldn’t leave. This room that had once been so cold, now you felt as if it was burning your skin. 

“I swear to you, my Crown Princess. Your grace, now and forever, till the end of our days. I will always tell you the truth, truths about yourself, and truths about myself. Never will I give you a reason to doubt me. I will not let myself have you until you accept your worth to me.” Once more he leaned forward and you let yourself close your eyes not having the will to say anything back. 

You felt his soft lips against your cheek before he let you go. 

You stood there as he let you go. You kept your eyes closed as you felt the cold air hit your face when he walked behind you, his body no longer shielding you from the cold. 

You felt his hands on your hair, taking out the gold pieces and undoing your braids. Then you felt his hands undo the laces on your dress. As he took your arm pulling out from the sleeve of the dress, then doing the same to the other. Until your dress fell down leaving you bare, safe for your undergarments. 

Despite that, you felt awfully vulnerable as his hand went to take yours. You had been bare in front of him many times before, but this time, you felt like hiding away from him. Your hand went to cover your breasts as he sat down on the bed facing you. 

Cregan took your hand and pulled you to him. You fell onto his lap as he laid back. You hid yourself in him. He fixed himself on the bed bringing you with him as you stayed hiding within his chest. You both stayed like that. His hands wrapped around you holding close to him as his fingers traced symbols on your back, and you relished the safety of being able to hide away and the warmth he provided. In the same room where the cold had been unbearable, you now took cover from it using your husband.

…

You cried out shaking your head begging. “I can’t, I can’t! Make it stop! Please! Please make it stop, I can’t, I can’t!”

“You must push!” The Master spoke as the wet nurse cleaned the sweat from your brow. 

“No! No! No, I can’t!” You cried as you felt the excruciating pain between your legs. The child refused to come out, and you couldn’t anymore. It was too much. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t” It was all you could say and only stopped to gasp for air. 

“It’s too much, it hurts, it hurts. Please just make it stop” You continued to cry. 

Cregan stood by you watching as you struggled. He watched the Maester stand as Cregan followed.

“Help her.” It was a command. Cregan had watched you struggle for hours, but the child simply wouldn’t come. The Maester looked at him with a helpless look as your cries continued in the background. 

“I do not think the child will live like my lord.” The Maester spoke. 

“Will my wife?” A child, they could make another, but you? After these past months, everything he’s built with you? There was nothing that could replace you. 

“Possibly, at the expense of the child my lord.” The Maester spoke with such carefulness. “We can extract the child and it will live…however it would cut into the mother’s womb directly-”

“No, save my wife.” Cregan rejected the idea immediately. There would be too much blood loss, he would lose you and that wasn’t an option for him.

“If the child does not live, there is a possibility that she will become infertile.” The Maester tried once more. “Save. My. Wife.” Was all Cregan said before returning to your side as you cried. 

“They're going to take out the baby, it’ll be over soon.” Cregan watched you nod as tears spilled from your eyes. 

He watched the Maester as you gave one final push.

“The child! It was crowned! Push once more! Once more, the child will be out!” The Maester urged and gave it all you had, you pushed and you heard a cry. 

Cregan furrowed his brows. The Maester had said only one of you would live. Cregan stood up leaving you to carry your newborn. 

“What did you do?” Cregan asked in a low tone, narrowing his brow at the Maester. “I did nothing, I swear it. It was your wife. She persevered.” The Maester assured him.

Cregan looked back at you, a gleam of sweat on your face as you held your child. White hair on the top of its head. 

“A boy your grace.” The wet nurse smiled. You looked towards Cregan and gave him a smile and he returned it. 

Cregan walked to you and kissed your forehead as he looked down at his son, your heir. “He looks like you.” 

“A shame, I wished he took after his father.” Cregan gave another smile as he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“Hold him.” You told him as you handed him off to your husband smiling, feeling the warmth radiating off your husband. Though you think the window is left open, because even as you felt Cregan’s warmth, the cold air seemed to overwhelm it. You shivered a bit as you looked towards your child and Cregan. 

“A Valyrian name. He was born Targaryen, as his mother.” Cregan leans against you, warming you. 

“Meaximus.” You whispered out smiling. “Meaximus Targaryen, my heir.”

Cregan went once more to kiss your face, but before he could process it, you moved yourself so that you would be kissing his lips. Your lips fit perfectly against his, moving in perfect motions as if this was your millionth kiss when it was your first one. The first kiss was shared with your husband. 

As you broke off the kiss to breathe, you gave him a smile. “You are my love,” You kissed him again. “My joy.” Once more you kissed him cupping his face. “You are my refuge.” Kissing him as if it were the last and he returned your eagerness. “And the truth of my life.” Once more you kissed him hoping to feel the warmth you had spent the last months basking in.

However as you kissed him, the warmth that he once filled with was overwhelmed by a cold. As you pulled away from him shivering and giving a smile you pulled the sheets up trying to keep yourself warm. You had never felt this cold, the fire in your blood, never allows you to run this cold.

But here you were, shivering. “P-perhaps they should…close the window no? It’s cold Cregan. He could catch a cold.” 

Cregan furrowed his brows. There were no windows open, in fact, this room was the warmest in all of Winterfell. He had made it so, knowing you much preferred warmth. He looked back toward the Maester whose hands were coated in blood. A slow shake of his head made Cregan shiver. He looked back at you, the flush of your face that always seemed to be there was now gone, and instead, your teeth clattered and your eyes looked tired. 

“Come!” Cregan spoke in desperation trying to keep you warm. “Just come,” You listened and cuddled close to Cregan, fingertips touching the cheek of your son who flinched away and made a face as he began to cry. 

“I’m cold Cregan.” You spoke as your hands touched his face. You were trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist. 

Cregan felt your cold hands draw him closer and once more he kissed you, but your lips were no longer warm, instead, they were cold and he felt them chapped. He leaned back. He watched you give a small smile as you began to cry. 

You looked up at him, then down to your son and as you did a lone tear escaped your eye. You didn’t want to die. Not yet, not now. Not when everything was going so well. You wanted to live, to have more children with Cregan, give him an heir. To see your son grow and you hope that he inherited his father's rugged handsomeness and not the beauty from the Targaryens. To see your little brothers meet your son. To see your mother rise to the throne and bless your son. You didn’t want to die. Not yet. However, it didn’t stop the black dots from taking your view. 

“Please…” You heard it faintly being spoken, like prayer or more so begging and you faintly registered a feeling of something on your lips. Closing your eyes you leaned into the kiss. A final kiss from your husband.

…

“He is beautiful,” Rhaenyra whispered as she looked at the boy whose beauty was unparalleled by any other child she had ever seen while tears escaped her eyes. She watched as Cregan nodded. The son between you and Cregan would be beautiful. A beauty that would transcend time and be sung about in ballads hundreds of years from now. 

Your son, your heir, your legacy. All that remained of her firstborn child. Her first and only daughter had lived with her. Try as she might, Rhaenyra could not stop the tears from falling. Her daughter, her heir, lost to childbirth as her mother was. Your dragon, Acrocanthosaurus, stood off to the side ready to burn you when commanded. Cregan had been kind enough to bring your body back to her to be burned like how all Targaryens left. 

Once more, she was made to burn her own family. As she tried to move forward, she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to burn her daughter. Not her daughter. So she stayed still watching what remained of you in his father's arms. 

“Dracarys!” Rhaenyra heard and she turned her head to find Jacaerys with that same look she once had when she had to burn her mother. Rhaenyra watched her sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey look at their sister as she burned. Little Aegon and Viserys in Daemon’s arms as he watched ahead with an unmoving face. 

Then she looked over to see your son who did not look upon your burning body but instead looked up towards Acrocanthosaurus. A wobbly smile grew on Rhaenyra’s face as she began to sob. 

The only thing that remained of you, it would only make sense if your blood once again reclaimed Acrocanthosaurus.

Notes: Jon Snow would hate to see reader coming. She does not fw these bastards 😭

Took inspo from Cerslay of Cuntly Rock (this edit pushed me to finish it)

All credit to tik toker: moonqsnat

To be added on Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

[francis-writes]

FEYD-RAUTHA HARKONNEN NSFW ALPHABET

A/N: btw in these headcanons as well as my other posts about Dune i kinda mix movie and book versions of character

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Feyd-Rautha isn't the most affectionate person, even if you're together. He just falls asleep, hugged into you. He may help you clean yourself and take care of the wounds if it was particularly rough session.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It would be a hard decision but if he had to choose, Feyd would say that he most likes his hands. The way they use a knife, how they engulf your neck... he loves how many lives he took with his hand and you still kiss them and want them on your body.

When it comes to you, Feyd would probably choose all these spots that he uses to make you shiver and writhe. He knows you body well and remember where he needs to focus when he wants to give you pain or pleasure.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

In you, almost always. He sees it as a kind of marking his territory (there was that one fanfic where Harkonnens had black cum so basically everyone could notice stains and knew that they fucked and I absolutely love this headcanon), moreover he needs to secure his line and get an heir.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It takes a bit of time together for Feyd to accept this (and even longer to admit it) but he enjoys being soft with you. He still loves violence and rough sex but he also likes cuddling with you and being petted.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I suppose we all know the answer. Sex and violence are two things he mastered.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He can't choose just one. Missionary is good for keeping eye contact and observing your reactions. Anything where he takes you from behind, gives him feeling of control and domination. Also there are a lots of moment when you're restrained in all possible positions.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Feyd isn't a very humorous person in general and sex is no exception. Smile is the best you can get from him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I'll go here with his 2023 movie look and say that he's as bald and smooth down there, as everywhere else.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Well, he's not the most romantic person. Even if he loves you, he doesn't know how to show it except for being more delicate and caring with you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He rather doesn't do it. When he's horny, he can just find you or one of his concubines.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

You can pry that headcanon from my cold dead hands but I think that he has a mommy kink. He didn't got much affection in his life, growing up in Harkonnen's family and in movie version he killed his mother sooo lots of issues here (in comics he was just kidnapped from parents as a small kid so not much better). Anyway, he wouldn't admit it but he loves when you hug him and stroke his head as he rests on your chest or belly. Praise him, tell him that you love him, you're proud of him and he will melt in your arms.

Also, of course, all kinds of BDSM. Feyd prefers to cause pain but he's sadomasochistic and lets you torture him as well. I won't list specific things he likes because it would be easier to list things he doesn't like.

And semi-public sex? He wants people to hear how he fucks you and to know that you're his and his only.

Perhaps breeding kink (but in Dune almost everybody has breeding kink; bene gesserit is as if somebody had breeding kink and decided to make this everyone's problem). As I mentioned, he sees this kinda as marking his territory and bounding you to him? And of course, he needs an heir (not that he actually likes children).

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His bedroom is the best. There's a big bed and all of his toys and tools... but Feyd isn't picky. If mood strikes him, he may fuck you on any surface.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Almost everything lol

But just to give a random example, he's always horny after fight, especially if he kills someone (same if you love violence as well and kill somebody).

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hmm he's rather possesive so it may be hard to convince him to a threesome. But at the other hand, he's a hedonist so maybe he would like it.

It's hard to say what he wouldn't do because as I say later, this man is down to try almost everything.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

It's not his favourite sexual thing to do, but he never refuses a blowjob. He prefers receiving, giving you oral is a rare occasion. He can do this, just usually his pleasure has priority.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually fast and rough, Feyd only goes slow when he wants to tease you or to torture you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Feyd prefers longer sessions when he can focus on the act and perhaps torture you a little but quickies are not far away in the ranking. As I mentioned, he has a very high libido, so it often happens during the day that he's busy and don't have much time so he just pulls you to the nearest room. And if some servant walks in (very unlikely, considering all the noises alarming people what's happening behind the doors)? Then that's their problem. Feyd doesn't stop thrusting into you, as they leave the room in hurry.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Feyd is that type of man who will try anything in his life at least once, so take care of yourself.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

In general, he has amazing stamina (years of training paid off) but it depends on situation, like, whether you have a standard fast fucking just to satisfy your lust, or you have a whole session with long foreplay. Amount of rounds varies but he can go for a few hours.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Feyd has a whole collection, whatever he could get. Dildos, clamps, spreader bars, ropes, whips, knives, needles, wax candles, dick rings, chastity belts, butt plugs and a few things that look like torture devices. Anyway, both of you use it rather frequently.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves to tease you. With his voice, his words, even his gestures seem sexual. He also likes to touch (or rather grope) you through the day. Fortunately, he has a high libido so it won't take long before he pulls you to the nearest free room.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He isn't very loud, if he moans or gasps, he does it rather quietly. But he likes every once in awhile talk to you and tease you. Maybe it's nothing special but even "How does it feel, my pet? Don't be shy, look me in the eyes" said in his low voice can make you shiver.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is actually a switch. Top leaning but occasionally enjoys when you take control. And, no matter who's in charge, he's still a sadomasochist so even when he's dominating, he wants you to give him pain.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Perfectly average but he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Probably you all expected this, but yeah. Very high. There's no day without sex and not just one round.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Rather quickly. He has a good stamina but sex takes a lot of his energy, especially considering how long you do it and how much he engages in it.