#fan frankentober

[zaldritzosrose]

Carpe Noctem (Modern Goth!Aemond x Goth!Reader)

Summary: Aemond enjoyed the darker side of life; the morbid, the macabre. He reflected his outside with how he looked on the inside, ignoring the unusual stares he would get from passersby. His world revolved around it, losing himself in dark and fantastical worlds...and then he met you. His real life gothic heroine.

CW: MINORS DNI, afab reader, she/her pronouns, gothic coded reader, gothic Aemond, dark/morbid fantasies, outdoor sex, graveyard sex, mild exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, phone sex, innuendo, profanity, (yes this is probably my truest self insert, sue me), Aemond wishes he could live in a gothic novel.

Words: 4535

Surprise I posted earlier than expected!

Happy Spooky Season! This is my second fic submission to our Fan Frankentober Event (masterlist will be found here) in collab with a few lovely moots! Head over to @fandomeventcenter for more info!

There was a darkness in Aemond. A darkness that had been left unconsidered and unloved until he had met you.

Aemond was a lover of all things macabre and morbid. It had started when he and his family had moved houses, living just a short walk from a cemetery. Horror stories had always fascinated him. Tales told to scare around a campfire or in a darkened room. Stories meant to get the heart racing and the hairs to stand tall on the neck.

The older he got, the deeper he delved. Collections of stories, ranging from the well-known classics to lesser-known fables, lined the walls of his room.

His interests soon followed. His music reflected his darker curiosities, from haunting musical classics to heavier, grungier sounds of heavy metal and gothic rock. And his clothing choices followed not long after, modelling himself after his favourite artists and horror icons. Even covering his injured eye – a mishap in his childhood – with a bespoke leather eyepatch.

Aemond lived his life by the darkness he always felt within.

You had always felt a little outcasted, though some of it was self-inflicted. You preferred solitude, with the only company being the fantastical beings within the pages of your favourite books.

Your love of art and photography helped you channel the morbidity within into something beautiful. Wandering around derelict buildings and darkened graveyards. Styling your images after the scenes in your novels.

Holding an affinity for the tragic heroines and broken damsels in your books, you began to create art of yourself. Posing for timer taken photos in intricate costumes. Collating the photos and creating your very own spooky, fantastical online presence.

That’s where he found you. He had joined the site to follow his favourite authors, artists and musicians. Simply to immerse himself further into the world he enjoyed.

He had been scrolling through posts, mindlessly passing time while his siblings bickered about something or other. And there you were.

It was like you had been pulled from one of the novels on his shelf. The layers of lace that draped over your body, the red as deep as freshly spilled blood. Makeup dark and deathly. Before Aemond knew it, he’d opened your page. Trawling through photo after photo, slowly getting lost in the dark, ethereal draw you seemed to hold.

After weeks of keeping himself updated with your posts, he decided he had to know you. No matter what happened, he had to try.

Tentatively, he opened his messages and, inspired by your ‘Spooky Season’ posts most recently, he chose one of his favoured quotes from Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

“I have crossed oceans of times to find you…your work is beautiful, almost as beautiful as you.”

Aemond could feel his heart beating hard enough he feared it might burst from his chest. Was that too weird? Was he too forward? Would you find him creepy?

There wasn’t much he could do now; the message was out there and deleting it would be even more suspicious.

So, he waited.

Your phone dinged and the message notification surprised you. A message from the username ‘truetooneanother’. You instinctively checked the profile first; it wouldn’t be the first time a stranger had messaged you in response to a photoshoot. Most were harmless, but you were always cautious.

A quick scroll showed almost exactly what you expected from a Frankenstein inspired username. Aesthetic pleasing images of books, his cat, shots out music gigs and records. Even a mix of beautiful photographs of what you guess was where he lived – perfectly framed images of graveyards, lakes, and some of the most gorgeous gothic architecture you had ever laid your eyes on.

But what you wanted, was a picture of whoever this stranger with classic horror knowledge was. And some deeper scrolling came up with your prize. One of few shots of your mystery messenger. A posed photo lit by what you guess was a fireplace or candles. The profile of his face was in main focus, and you were sure you could see what looked like an eyepatch, maybe?

A couple more scrolls and you found a full image of his face and you could have sworn your jaw dropped just a little. There was just something about him that had you intrigued.

Immediately, you reopened his message.

“That’s very kind of you, and how did you manage to choose one of my favourite literary quotes?”

You hit send and waited. Soon, you could see that he had read your message. You were surprised that you felt a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. You had never been like this over a stranger online before. But when your phone pinged again to say he’d sent a message, you were chewing your lip in excitement.

“Because it is my favourite, I can’t count how many times I’ve read Dracula. And your last post inspired it, you looked like you’d fallen from one of its pages.”

You could feel the blush on your cheeks. No one had ever spoken to you that way. Complimenting you without making you feel uncomfortable. Most comments or direct messages were failed attempts at flirting, sexual innuendo or just downright creepiness.

This time it felt different.

“Classic horror is one of my greatest inspirations, everything in those books is pure darkness and fantasy…making it real is a passion. Can I ask your name?”

There was something about the words he chose, the way he wrote his messages that gave you butterflies. How could you be so fascinated about someone you didn’t know?

“Aemond. May I ask yours?”

“Then you manage it perfectly, it suits you.”

Those two messages only made you blush deepen. Why was he having such an effect on you?

You gave him your name, feeling the heat radiating of your cheeks as he continued to compliment you – almost poetically.

You and Aemond continued to talk, moving your messaging from you social media to giving out your phone number. Those messages soon turned to phone calls, his voice bordering on hypnotic. You could barely get enough.

His phone calls were as poetic as his messages. The gentle timbre to his voice would sink into your mind and settle there.

A few more weeks and those phone calls became video chats. Hours spent talking about books, music, films. Where your favourite places were to photograph – for you it was where to set your shoots, for Aemond it was the places he wanted to create art from.

It wasn’t long before things turned a little more…x rated.

Behind the scenes pictures of your photography outings, showing off the variety of corsets, barely there lace dresses you would don for your ideas.

This was how you’d found out Aemond also enjoyed fencing. It was both expected and unexpected. When you’d learned his surname, you realised he came from a pretty well known Westerosi family, so higher class pursuits weren’t too far out of the question.

But the picture he had sent this morning, post training but pre-shower…

It had set your whole body on fire. Silver hair let loose and hanging over his shoulders. Clad only in his white fencing trousers and no shirt. Pale skin, lean torso on show. And his caption had waves of arousal coursing through your body.

He was beautiful. Like a dark character from one of your fantasy novels. It took you a moment to formulate a reply, and what you gave was far from your usual ability.

“Are you trying to kill me off?

You’d ended your message with a couple of emojis, the hot face emoji and the winking face. It wouldn’t be the first time you and Aemond had shared more racy messages, but this had been the first time he’d sent a photo like that.

And your heart was in your throat, desire wet between your thighs when you saw him typing.

“I would never, but nice to know you find me that attractive… you could see this in person if you wanted?”

“Fuck…” you muttered aloud, staring at the screen in disbelief.

A cheeky thought entered your mind. A picture for a picture was only fair, right?

You made sure the angle was perfect, showing off the shape of your body, your hand tucked seductively between your thighs. Your shirt bunched up to show a little skin. You added only a few dirty emojis and one word.

“When?”

Aemond almost dropped his phone when you sent that message back. Between the photo and your message, his skin felt hot, the crotch of his trousers getting tighter the longer he looked at it.

Fuck, you were stunning. Seduction and sensuality personified. His hand was tucked into the waistband of his trousers before he could stop himself. His other frantically messaging you back.

“Next week? You have that graveyard shoot planned right?”

Aemond’s hand shook as he typed. He needed release and he needed you.

“You have no idea what you do to me…I crave you…you have witchcraft on your lips.”

You fingers were like lightning as you replied, your own hand still nestled between your thighs. Part of you wanted to call him, hear his voice talking you through the desire that was thick in your veins. Your fingers dipped beneath your underwear, the ones holding your phone hovering over the call symbol.

And then the phone rang. Aemond’s name flashing on your screen. You barely even said ‘hello’, your voice soft as you dropped back onto your bed.

“Talk to me, please just talk to me…”

Aemond let out a soft chuckle, ending in a groan as his hand settled entirely into his trousers.

“Do you need me, sweet girl? Did my bare chest turn you on that much?” his voice was in that tone you adored.

Low and soft, almost a whisper. It sent a shiver down your spine in the most delicious of ways, settling deep within your core.

“You have no idea. Now I know what you hide under all that black and leather.”

Aemond only hummed in response, the rustling of material telling you exactly what he was doing. But you wanted to hear his voice. The soft sound of his breath told you he was as aroused as you were. Sometimes, the simplest things were enough to get the two of you going.

“Oh, darling, I hide a lot more than that. How badly do you need me?”

The tone, the implication behind his words had you sighing softly, fingers toying with your pearl. Circling softly at just the thought of what the rest of him might look like. You tried to calm yourself, to muster some of the darker more erotic poetry you had read on his recommendation.

“I…oh...I want your lust to tear the flesh of my bones, fuck…and leave me ravaged…”

Aemond felt his good eye roll into the back of his head. Having you read that poetry was one thing, but hearing it fall from your lips and mixed with sounds of pleasure. He could have come there and then.

“And ravage you I will, my darling…”

He could hear the movement of your hand against your body, the faintest sounds of your slickened fingers pushing you closer and closer to orgasm. His own hand working himself furiously at just the thought of having you beneath him, moaning his name. He laid himself entirely back on his bed, his phone on his chest as his hips began to rut up into his hand.

“I’d like to taste you in ways my tongue dare not speak…”

That was all it took to have you softly sighing his name down the phone, your release coming like waves over your body. Aemond followed soon after, rough grunts matching the rhythm of his hand.

Both of you panted as you calmed, the silence falling comfortably until Aemond spoke.

“I can’t wait to meet you.”

The day had come. Months of messages, calls, video chats had all led to this. You were going to see him in the flesh. And he was going to see you.

You had both agreed to meet just as you finished your planned Halloween shoot – a bit on the nose admittedly but you had chosen a graveyard near your hometown with your favourite horror heroines as your style inspiration. Ranging from classics like the Bride of Frankenstein to newer icons such as Morticia Addams. Simply, the shoot was entirely self-indulgent for you.

You knew you wouldn’t miss him. A few friends had come to help you out, setting up the camera, getting changed into another costume and all that. But other than that, the graveyard was relatively quiet.

Your focus remained on the shoot. Remembering your poses, the props, what you envisioned for the final images. But you could see the silver hair in the distance, contrasted against the entirely black palette of his outfit. Aemond kept his distance, leaning against a headstone as he waited patiently for you to be done.

The shoot was done, you had changed into what could only be described as a more casual combination of the costumes from the shoot. A flowy black dress, paired with Victorian inspired boots and a lacy black shawl you’d had since you could remember.

You could see Aemond walking towards you, your friends having long packed up and dispersed – most of them knowing what you had planned afterwards. Nerves set in your stomach.

What if he didn’t like you? What if, despite seeing you through the screen, he was no longer interested?

But all of that disappeared the second he stood in front of you. His long, lean form clad head to toe in layers of black. From the thick wool of his coat to the silken fabric of his shirt and the leather of his boots. That eyepatch laid perfectly over his eye – you had asked what happened and despite being a little unwilling, Aemond explained he’d injured it as a child but said no more. It was almost as though he enjoyed being mysterious.

“Aemond…” you smiled, moving to slip down from your perch on a stone wall.

Your smile only widened when Aemond held out his hand, offering his assistance to help you down. And you took it gladly, letting his fingers wrap around yours without hesitation.

Aemond kept hold of it, toying softly with one of the rings you wore.

“That shoot was truly a sight to behold,” Aemond whispered, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

He knew what it did to you, you knew he did. You were sure that he would choose that tone purposefully in calls to rile you up. And you loved it.

“So, you liked it? Horror Queens wasn’t too obvious for Halloween?”

Aemond laughed, and you let him lead you to a little clearing in the gravestones. Everything felt comfortable, his hand holding yours, the feel of him stood next to you. It just felt right.

“You were perfect, as always. Even now it’s as though you’ve stepped from, dare I say, one of Shelley or Stoker’s pages.”

You squeezed his hand in response, not knowing how to respond to such a compliment. But you were struck even more silent when you saw where he was leading you.

A large blanket was stretched out on the ground, perfectly placed between a group of headstones. A small gift, wrapped in black and red paper and finished with a velvet bow sat beside a hamper filled with food. More specifically, your favourite foods.

“Well, aren’t you a romantic?”

You sat down on the blanket, stretching your legs out in front of you as Aemond sat at your side. His arm instinctively wrapped around your waist. It was like you’d been beside each other for the longest time, everything felt so natural.

“A romantic? I am simply a man who wishes let you know how important you are.”

Aemond felt a need to restrain himself a little. Part of him wanted to spout all of the poetry and stories that wandered around his mind, to declare his love for you.

But he had just met you, in the literal sense. And he’d be damned if he scared you off now.

You, however, liked that about him. How open he was with how he felt. How he wasn’t afraid to give in to every emotion he felt.

“So, tell me. Don’t you know how much I enjoy your poetry?” you said it almost shyly, feeling Aemond’s arm tighten around your waist.

Aemond felt he could have melted there and then. But at the same time, the idea you enjoyed his words so much set a fire in his veins that he didn’t expect.

“Then you will very much like your gift, my darling.”

He leaned away, tugging the neatly wrapped gift towards him. Part of you felt guilty, you hadn’t bought him anything. But at the same time, you knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t mind.

His fingers brushed yours as you took the present from his grasp. As carefully as possible, you tugged at the ribbon and unwrapped it. They felt like books which didn’t surprise you at all, from Aemond. But what they truly were would surprise you.

Two beautifully bound notebooks, in black with shades of purple and red. Your breath caught in your throat as you opened the first one.

Pages upon pages of both of your favourite quotes, lines from poetry. You were already overwhelmed by the time you opened the second.

Handwritten versions of the poetry Aemond himself had sent you. The lines he had written to express his feelings towards you now preserved in his equally beautiful handwriting.

“Aemond…this is…”

You simply couldn’t find the words. So, you did the one thing you felt could express what you were feeling. You kissed him.

You almost threw yourself at him, the books discarded at the side as Aemond scrambled to catch you. Arms wrapping immediately around your waist and holding your body to his. Your legs straddled his waist, and you poured every ounce of affection and desire into your kiss.

Soon, Aemond reciprocated. Sliding a hand into your hair as his other gripped at your thigh.

He’d imagined everything about what kissing you would be like. How your lips would feel, how you would taste and how your body would feel beneath his hands.

The reality was more than he could ever imagine. And he wasn’t about to waste a single second.

Your own hands roamed over his body, gripping the soft, silk of his shirt while the other began to push the coat from his shoulders. You didn’t care that you were outside, there was no one here anyway.

All you needed was him.

Aemond shrugged his coat from his shoulders. The moment the fabric slid from his body, he moved to lay you on your back. The picnic could wait. You were the only meal he wished to devour.

Your dress bunched around your waist. Aemond slipped easily between your legs, and you could feel just how much he was enjoying the kiss. The swollen length of him pressing against you with only his jeans as a barrier.

His hips instinctively began to roll against yours, the hand on your thigh pulling your leg up to wrap around his slim waist. His lips began to trail down your neck and your head tilted back to let him continue his path.

Your breath came out in soft pants, your hand tangling into his hair as his lips settled on the exposed skin of your chest. Just as the first moan left your lips, Aemond pulled back.

His eye found yours, the blue entirely eclipsed by his pupil. Pure lust settled in his gaze.

“Shall I ravage you as I promised, my love?” Aemond leaned down, teeth nibbling at your ear lobe as he spoke.

You pushed your hips up against his in response. Words were failing you, but you could see in the look he gave you that he wanted your words.

“Please, Aemond, please…”

Your voice was embarrassingly whiny, need dripping from every syllable. And his response was immediate, latching his lips back onto your neck with a little more force this time.

“Whatever my love wishes, she will have. Your pleasure will know no bounds…”

His words were muffled as he buried his face into the swell of your chest, but what he said didn’t really matter anymore. All you both needed know was the touch of the other.

Your eyes rolled back as he continued his descent down your body. Pushing your dress higher as he reached your core. Your hand tangled tight in his hair, the pain only spurring Aemond on.

This was like a dream. The softness of your skin, the scent of your arousal as he licked a stripe over your clothed cunt. Aemond wished to commit every second to his memory.

He draped your legs over his shoulders, feeling you shift to rest on your elbows. The idea of you watching him had a heat licking up Aemond’s spine in the most delicious way.

Slim fingers tugged your underwear down your legs, a smirk thrown your way as he tucked them into his jeans.

“A souvenir?” you asked, chewing on your lip in anticipation as the cool air hit your slick folds.

Aemond didn’t answer, head dipping back down and settling between your thighs. His breath hot against your skin, sending goosebumps over the flesh of your thighs.

The moan you let out as his tongue licked over your core was almost sinful. Echoing through the empty graveyard as your head dropped back in pleasure. The sound only spurred Aemond on, now lapping at your folds as if he was a man starved.

“Delicious, so fucking delicious…” he almost growled the words into your body, sending vibrations through you that only heightened your desire for him.

His lips latched onto your pearl, suckling it between them and relishing the high-pitched keen that fell from your lips in return. He could already feel your thighs tightening around his head and Aemond was desperate to taste you on his tongue.

Your hand tightened to the point of pain in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that had him moaning into your cunt. He was rewarded with a fresh gush of slick over his tongue. Your fleshy walls pulsing around his tongue as he delved back in.

His name was like a prayer on your lips, chanting it over and over again as you felt the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Come for me, my beautiful creature…” Aemond grunted out the command as you tugged his face harder against your body, rolling your hips against his face.

Everything had sparks of pleasure biting at your body. His tongue licking at your walls, the slope of his nose rubbing against your clit in the most perfect way, his grip on your thighs almost painful.

You came with a scream of his name, a final pull on his hair earning you a hiss of pain but Aemond didn’t relent. He lapped up everything you gave him until you had to wriggle away from overstimulation.

“Fuck…” your voice was barely more than a whisper as you pulled Aemond back up your body.

Your skin was flushed, your cunt still pulsing as your high slowly left you. But Aemond’s hardened cock pressing against your damp core reminded you that he still needed to be taken care of.

And Aemond could see the look of mischief in your eyes. Your hips canting up to press your soaked core against him.

“Insatiable, hmm? Do you wish me to take you here, among the dead?”

You pressed your lips to his, sliding a hand between you to palm at the thick bulge in his jeans.

“I would let you take me anywhere; I am desperate for you…”

Your teeth tugged at his lip, his eye rolling back in his head.

“Besides, you did say you would ravage me.”

You punctuated your words with a squeeze of his cock, rubbing your palm down the length of it as he dropped his head to your neck. A few more touches had his cock twitching beneath your palm. Your fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper. Aemond came back to his senses just enough to push his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself.

He immediately lined himself up with your entrance, slowly pushing inside. The head of his cock stretching your walls in a way that had your sighing out his name.

The day had gotten darker, but it only made the whole experience more perfect. The sun beginning to set just as Aemond began to thrust into you, the orange glow illuminating him from behind. His silver hair painted gold and his skin almost glowing.

“Yes, oh, yes…”

Your moans were the only sound Aemond ever wished to hear. His name had never sounded more beautiful that when it fell from your lips in pleasure.

His hands tangled with yours as he held them high above your head. His thrusts slow but punishing, feeling like he was filling every inch of your core.

“You are everything I need, my darling. A dream come true, a dream I never wish to wake from…”

Aemond’s words were answered with your mewls and moans, your heels in the small of his back spurring him on. His rhythm sped up in response, all but pounding into you with abandon.

You were both now solely chasing your pleasure. The only sound aside from your joined moans was the rustle of leaves and the faint cawing of birds.

Aemond’s lips locked with yours as he felt your walls clench around him. Pleasure overtook you and he drank down every one of your cries as his own release was milked from his cock with every twitch and pulse of your cunt.

His movements slowed, but he wasn’t ready to pull from your body just yet. He released your hands, resting his head against your chest. Your hands found his hair and back, calmly stroking as you both relaxed.

Neither of you knew what to say, but you both felt it. A calmness, a connection that tugged at both your hearts.

Aemond had known you were meant for him from the moment he had seen that first photo. But you, you believed it now. No one had made you feel as he did for the longest time.

It wasn’t love; it was more. Something darker, deeper.

You felt empty as Aemond pulled out of you, finding something to clean you up with. But it wasn’t before you were wrapped in his embrace again.

“I’m so happy I met you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Though I fear I cannot be without you now.”

Aemond pulled away, tilting your face up to his.

“Darling, you’re already in my veins.”

The kiss he pressed to your lips was filled with nothing but love and promise. Promise of a darker, deeper love that you had only ever read about.

A love you would now get to experience.

Aemond Taglist:

@legitalicat @anjelicawrites @sylasthegrim @aemondsbabe

@aemondsbabygirl @blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @multyfangirl

@thenameswinter99 @tumblin-theworldaway @kaelatargaryen

@hoosbandewan @thought--bubble @mysticalendings

@towriteloveontheirarms @arcielee

[anjelicawrites]

Written as part of the Fan Frankentober event organized by @fandomeventcenter. Read the other works in the masterlist here!

Pairing: werewolf!Osferh x human!reader x vampire!Aemond Targaryen.

Synopsis: you just wanted to go the bookstore and buy some Halloween reads to celebrate Halloween. Now you’re running for you life, hunted down by two creatures that should only exists in stories

Warnings: DDDNE, Consensual noncon, oral (m & f receiving), facefucking, p in v sex, manhandling, mind control to force your partner to have sex, monsterfucking, biting, body horror, blood drinking, double v. penetration, squirting, slapping, dachryphilia, fighting overstimulation, demeaning language, multiple orgasms, creampie, tummy inflation.

Your breath burns in your lungs, you have been running for how long? It can’t be hours, can it?

A slim branch slaps your face as you try to power through the thick forest surrounding your home: where are you? You’ve never reached so deeply, not during a moonless night and without your dogs to guide you back on the beaten path.

Your foot catches a raised root, your body falls on the soft underbrush, your hands barely cushioning your weight as you scream in surprise.

It is a mistake. Now he knows where you are.

In this story thee people consensually decide to play out a non con fantasy. Read at your own risks. Be responsible for the fiction you consume!

NSFW and 18+ only please.

Crying you manage to stand up again, you don’t wait until your back is fully extended to start running again, half blinded by your own tears of terror now that you can hear his dark laugh reverberate through the black forest.

“I’ll find you little lamb, wherever you are. And when I do, I will bleed you dry!”

A desperate no slips from your lips, choked by your broken breathing.

You keep running, trying to look behind you in the desperate attempt to locate your assailant, feeling his cold breath down your neck.

“What do we have here?”

You feel big hands on your arms, a sturdy chest blocking your body.

You didn’t realize you have reached a clearing, too focused on running for your life to notice the tall man in front of you.

For a split second you let your mind believe you’ve found help, when the stranger smiles gently at the panicked way you try to explain yourself.

“He’s coming!” You scream, twisting your body in his hold. “He’s dangerous!”

He looks young, younger than he probably is, and far too calm for the situation.

“Please! We need to go!” You beg.

His smile turns darker at your words, only now your eyes pick the strange yellow of the irises and the vertical pupils: you could swear his eyes were baby blue, framed by the undercut of his blond hair. Through the stream of adrenaline coursing through your veins, you feel pinpricks on your arms. You gasp when you see his long nails and claw like hands around the red cotton of your hoodie.

“Little red riding hood all alone and lost in the woods. I guess you met the big, bad wolf.”

Your legs give under your weight when you see the way his face has switched: gone the elegant nose and sharp chin, now replaced by wolf-like elongated features and sharp teeth.

You’re so paralyzed with fear you can’t even scream.

“You smell delicious. I can’t wait to eat you up.” He growls, pulling your body closed to his, now, hairier one.

His scratchy tongue licks the side of your neck and smacks against his palate when he can taste you fully: your cunt must be delicious, he plans to eat it before and after he’s fucked you full of his cum.

Before he can tear your clothes to shreds, a dark shadow flies from the threes towards him, fangs ready to slice his neck apart, forcing him to throw you away like a rag doll, to defend himself.

Your body slams painfully against the trunk of an oak. For precious seconds you remain crumpled against the ancient tree, the pain cutting through you when you try to take a deeper breath, your eyes peeled open to look at the two monster fighting under the pallid light of the stars, one silver haired and armed with dangerously sharp fangs, the other more lupine than human in his rage and hunger.

Before your brain can make a plan, your body decides to escape them both, hoping they’d be too focused on killing one another, to notice you slipping away, back into the dense forest.

Snuffing moans of pain as you roll on your fours, you start crawling towards the edge of the forest, ignoring the squelching sounds of ripped flesh and animalistic groans as your hands plunge in the wet underbrush.

You’ve almost made to where the threes start to thicken, that a big hand grabs your hair, pulling you backwards with a painful tug.

“Where do you think you’re going, little red riding hood?”

The man wolf turns your head until you can meet his monstrous face, his body is a wall of muscles and fur behind you.

To your front, the other man, the one who had charmed you so easily during your monthly run to your local bookstore, who truly is something your mind refuses to name, smiles, showing fully his long fangs. How did you not notice those? How did you manage to find yourself in one of the books you usually read during the days before Halloween?

He hums, the one who had so charmingly introduced himself as Aemond, one eyebrow slightly raised to chide your silently.

“Trying to run away when we were fighting for you.” He growls. “Youth these days.”

In a vain attempt to free yourself, your hands go for the paw in your hair, your too small fingers try to pry the vice that keeps you on your knees, against his healing body.

“Please.” You cry. “Please just let me go.”

Tears stream down your cheeks: you don’t want to die.

The one named Aemond shush you gently, as if you were a child. He kneels in front of you to dry your tears with fingers as cold as death; the more he tries to calm you, the harder you cry.

“What should we do with this sweet little thing here?” The one behind you asks. “We can fight for the rest of the night and go home dissatisfied.”

You try to squirm in his hold and he simply pulls your hair harder, making you yelp in pain.

“What do you propose, wolf?” Aemond asks, eyeing the two of you with masked interest.

“We can reach an agreement that would leave us all satisfied.”

The thing that was supposed to be a man hums, his one eye roams your ruined clothes as if he’s trying to imagine the shape of your naked body.

“Do you want to go home, little lamb?” He asks you, the fake gentleness of his voice opens a new abyss of fear in your heart.

“Yes. Just let me go.” You manage to respond with a broken voice.

“You have to give us something in return, red riding hood.” The monster behind you interjects. “A little quid pro quo, I’d say.”

You try to squirm away again, your hands useless against the thick fingers curling painfully in your hair.

“Service us both, and we’ll let you go unscathed.”

You spit in Aemond’s face, angry and foolish, he backhands you, your head turning painfully, blood pouring from your split lip.

“Or as unscathed as you deserve.” The monster behind you murmurs in your ear. “The name’s Osferth, you’re going to scream it a lot.”

You’re thrown face first on the wet grass of the clearing, before you can even imagine to escape, their hands find your ruined clothes, tearing at your hoodie and leggings, until you’re left in your pretty underwear.

“Playing so hard to get.” The one named Osferth grabs the ornate silk of your panties and rips it apart. “Wearing these!”

You want to say that use pretty underwear because it makes you feel good, not because you want to be fucked, they don’t give you the time, nor do they care.

They manhandle you, uncaring of your whines of pain and your tears of absolute terror at their strength that can tear you apart in a second of carelessness.

You’re sitting on Osferth’s face, his big paws keep you keeled with your legs framing his head, he’s fucking your hole with his abnormally long tongue, moaning at your taste, his claws biting at your skin when you try to move away, too overstimulated.

Your hands are tied behind your back, since you don’t need them now; they used your pretty bra to secure them, the knot painfully tight and impossible to loosen.

Aemond is fucking your skull with abandon. His thick erection lodged in your throat pulsates with every contraction of your walls, his hips grind against your face; dizzy you try to move away, needing the oxygen he’s depriving you of. He grunts like an animal, your desperate moans arouse him even more, your trashing in his hold spurs him on in keeping your face plastered against his groin as he grinds and grinds, in tandem with Osferth’s fucking of your hole.

You want to scream, you want to get away from the pleasure possessing your body, enhanced by the lack of oxygen. Your clit fires and fires with every movement of Osferth’s nose, his paws force you to grind against him again and again, until the knot in your stomach breaks, and you come.

Aemond’s cum sprouts in your mouth at the same time, uncoordinated you choke on it, feeling the seed leaking from your lips and nose as he keeps fucking you face, despite your coughing and trashing, until he pushes you backwards and sideways, letting your spent body fall on the grass.

You try to catch your breathe, pulling oxygen in with desperate gulps, hoping they’re sated.

They’re not.

Aemond cuts your bindings and roughly turns you on your back, his hands grab your legs before you can close them. Osferth’s paws grabs your wrists to pin them over your head, stilling your body.

“Please.” You cry, receiving a fast slap on your cunt.

“You’re a liar, little red riding hood. You came all over my face.” Osferth leers from your side. “You should try their cunt. It tastes delicious.”

Aemond has you legs already over his shoulders, opening the lower part of your body to his hunger; his fingers pry your lower lips apart, freeing your clit and hole.

“Little lamb, why pretend? I can see how much honey you gave Osferth. Wouldn’t it be better to enjoy yourself?”

You close your eyes, turning your head to the side in the vain attempt to ignore the pleasure still coursing through your body.

Aemond is ravenous between your legs, kissing and sucking your tender clit until you arch under him, desperate, coming when he bites the inside of your tight to pull ravenously at your blood. He alternates between playing with your bud and drinking your blood in greedy gulps, moaning at the combined taste.

Osferth is at your chest, sucking and pinching your breasts, enhancing the pleasure exploding throughout your body, keeping your still when you try to squirm away, praising the taste of your skin and the smell of your arousal.

You can feel pleasure grow again, a tight knot in your belly ready to break soon, so soon…

Aemond abandons your cunt abruptly, grinning cruelly when you whine in displeasure.

“Those first two orgasms were free. Now you have to work for them.”

He grabs his thick erection, so big you start begging him to stop, that it will not fit, please!

“We’ll make it fit.” Osferth growls, curling his paw even tighter around your trapped wrist.

“We never said you’ll go home in pristine condition.” Aemond adds, stroking his cock.

You arch when he enters you and doesn’t stop to let you adjust to his size; he simply grabs your tights and pushes in with long strokes, uncaring of your whines, drunk already on the way he has to mold your walls around his cock.

He bottoms out with a groan; because he can, he grinds against your pearl, forcing a pained moan from your lips.

“Stop lying.” Osferth’s fingers pinch your clit cruelly. “You’re dripping around Aemond’s cock.”

“Please.” You beg, desperate. “It hurts.”

“Then why do I have a ring of your come around my base? I can feel your muscles trying to pull me in even more.”

You feel so full, fuller than any other lover, or toy, had ever made you feel. As deep as he is, Aemond’s cockhead is kissing your cervix painfully, Osferth’s fingers keep pinching and slapping your clit, the sensations working havoc on your poor brain, pleasure and pain fighting as you arch and beg.

You squirt all over Aemond’s cock, and he almost comes inside of you.

“Tell us again you hate this. That you don’t want to be fucked full of our seeds until sunrise.” He groans.

He fucks you with abandon, short and fast pushes against your cervix that make you scream in pain and kick with your feet against his back. Uselessly you try to free you wrist, earning a slap that reopens the cut on your lower lip.

At the sight of your blood, Aemond folds your body under his to fuck you deeper, his cock head battering your g spot repeatedly, his pubic bone torture against your puffy clit. He sucks your blood and bites you again, hungry for you, drunk on your taste and on the way your cunt strangles his cock and doesn’t let it go, keeps him in the warmth of your hole, greedily works him for his seed.

“Going to pump you full, give you all of it.”

You squirt again with a desperate scream, and then come, the vice of your hole so tight Aemond can’t control himself and comes inside of you; he keeps fucking you, milking himself using your hole, until it hurts too much to continue.

You lay on your back, legs splayed and tummy inflated by Aemond’s seed; under you the grass is wet, the humidity makes you shiver as your unfocused eyes try to look at the vague shapes of the stars above you, your body trying to come down to the incredible high you’ve just, unwillingly, experienced.

A scared whine escapes your lips when Osferth crawls between your legs, his face an elongated muzzle not completely the one of a wolf, hovers over you, an almost kind sparkle illuminates his yellow eyes and the alien, vertical pupils.

“Shh, don’t be afraid, you were so good for Aemond. Are you going to be good for me as well?”

A small part of you wants to beg him not to take you, to simply let you go; you know perfectly he will not, you have to give him what he thinks it’s due.

Tears fall freely from your tears as you let him turn you on your front like a rag doll, your arse up in the air.

You feel the pinprick of his claws on the soft skin of your hips, the warm palms grab your arse to pull you towards his erection, his big head opening your abused cunt to yet another brutal round of fucking.

With your face on the wet grass, you scream when he pounds inside of you, Aemond’s leftover seed and your own wetness helping him in bottoming out with an animalistic grunt, the pain of it forcing a whined sob out of your lips.

Osferth’s warmth envelopes you when he lays with his front on your back to kiss your nape.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. It makes me want to never stop fucking you.” He growls in your ear.

Fear fills your senses and his nostrils. Your natural scent takes a tantalizing turn for the predator living inside of him, and for the one in Aemond, who is naked on the grass, his one eye focused on your bodies as he slowly caresses his own growing erection.

“Keep smelling like this and I will never be able to leave your holes be.”

His hands curl tighter on your skin, his talons cut deeper, long lines of blood already dripping down your skin as he prepares to take what your body is offering him.

Despite being fucked open by Aemond, your cunt envelopes his thick cock and pulls him in, your hips kick back in his hold, forcing him deeper and deeper with every movement, his cock agony and pleasure against your screaming nerves.

Your mind can’t comprehend what’s happening, torn between the part of you that still refuses this, and your body that craves every push, every scratch down your back: you let go and stop fighting, letting your instincts take control and follow Osferth wherever he wants to take you.

You come on his cock, the pleasure a backlash that courses through your body and takes even more control away from you as he fucks your cervix hard and fast, reveling in the screams pouring from your bleeding lips, only to shift and focus on your G spot with brutal efficiency.

Your strength abandons you as you feel another orgasm surge through your battered body; you can’t match his fast pushes and let yourself be moved on his cock, like a living, breathing fleshlight for his use.

He fucks you through your orgasm, grinding against your body when you squirm and cry with overstimulation, one big paw pushing on your lower belly and you’re too far gone to understand what he wants from you: all you can feel is the stretch in your cunt and how the pressure grows and grows in your lower tummy, until you squirt for him, who comes immediately, filling you with his thick cum, inflating your abdomen with it when he doesn’t slip out but stays to feel even the smallest contraction of your battered muscles.

You’re laying on him, his bigger body shielding yours from the cold earth and wet grass of the clearing; deprived as you are of any form of strength, you don’t have the willpower to stop his big hands from caressing your breasts, or move your head when he kisses your neck, almost apologetic after fucking you within an inch of your life.

Between your legs, Aemond is drinking from your again, his long canines opening the bite on your tight to pull at your essence; he’s not ravenous now, the sucking motions almost lazy, as if he needs the contact with your skin more than he does your blood.

Over the sensual and horrific tableau of your bodies entwined the silent stars shine against the dark backdrop of the night.

You whine again, in fear, when Aemond’s bloodstained face hovers over yours, the red of your essence a blotchy splash against the white of his skin and hair; your mind almost formulates the thought, that Aemond answers you with a calm voice.

“Why would we kill you? You’re servicing us so well.”

You become even more agitated at the thought he can read your mind, that you don’t have a safe space even within yourself; they try to ease you with long kisses and even slower caresses on your abused body, but you can feel how hard they still are, the hunger hiding under the gentleness they’re showing you.

You will not survive another round, you’re too sore! The mere idea of your body being at the receiving end of such brutal, violent energy makes your heart lose a beat.

Under you Osferth nuzzles your neck and licks it as a dog would: he can smell your fear, now a rancid smell that kills his desire. He wants to give you pleasure again, so much of it you’ll forget all about the way he’s met you and that will ruin you for any other male, of any other specie, you’ll ever encounter in your life.

“One last encore, little red, riding hood.” He murmurs in your ear, trying to ease you. “We were both charged by the hunt and the fighting. There’s no need for that anymore.”

Aemond kisses your lips, his tongue seeking yours to share your heady taste with you; you whine at the ferrous taste of your own blood, yet your hands grab his sides, your nails scratching his ivory skin.

When your lips part, his one lilac eye burns with hunger, and something else foreign to you. The slash of the scar cutting brutally the perfection of his face, seems to burn redder now that he’s drank from you.

Aemond’s big palm presses on your still inflated belly, forcing a moan out of your lips when their combines seeds seep out of your puffy lips.

“I wish it would take inside of you.” Aemond growls. “I would keep you filled and plugged with it until your body swells with it.”

You whine, your body already in overdrive in their combined embrace.

“It can’t happen.” Osferth nuzzles his words against your neck. “Neither of us can plant our seeds in your fertile womb.”

“Please.” You hiccup, unsure why you’re begging: the heat in both their voices scare and excite you.

“What is the phrase you mortals use? One last rodeo?” Aemond says. “Have us again and then you’ll free to go.”

“I’m so sore! Please not my cunt again!”

“Shh. Shh.” Aemond lays his forehead against yours.

In horror you feel his mind linking with yours to force you to relax; you’re a passenger in your own body who is watching in horror as your muscles follow the will of another.

You feel Osferth open your legs with his to push his cock inside of you, your cunt’s nerves protest, but it’s so far away it might as well be someone else’s hole that’s being ravaged again.

No! No! No! Screams your mind when Aemond grabs his own erection and breaches you as well. I’m going to tear! You want to scream, yet only a litany of moans spill as the two monsters fill you until they can’t push inside of you anymore.

You come back to your lungs breathing furiously, to so much pressure in your lower belly you don’t understand how your body is managing.

“See?” Aemond smiles over you, showing his long fangs. “All is good.”

He kicks his head back and moans when your muscles clench around their cocks reflexively.

“You’re so good.” Osferth whines under you, his control ready to snap.

“So full.” You whine.

“Such a perfect scabbard you are, little lamb.” Aemond adds.

If you thought you were full before, when they start moving you feel so stuffed your mind blanks at the signals your body is firing.

They try to go slow, to open you up even more, pushing and pulling in tandem, to never leave your hole empty; the more your cunt squelches with their seed and your own honey, the faster they go, fucking you like mindless beasts.

You scream in pleasure, the pressure overwhelming, yet your cunt seems to be insatiable for their cocks, your muscles desperately try to pull the two monsters in, until they fuck you at the same time, hitting all the spots that take your sanity away from you.

You lose count of your orgasms, lost in the sea of pleasure your body doesn’t belong to you anymore, it’s their plaything, their refuge. It’s theirs to fuck and pummel, spurred by the sweet honey coating both their cocks.

You whine in displeasure when they both desert your hole to manhandle you in a kneeling position, only to breach you again at the same time; you’re so lost it’s their bodies that keep yours from folding, your head lolled back on Osferth’s shoulder, your mouth agape to let animalistic sounds spill as you bounce on their erections, the pressure building inside of you like a tide that explodes when you squirt violently around them, their fingers finding your clit to prolong your pleasure, and it’s never too much, the thin line of overstimulation long gone behind you three.

“One last orgasm.” Aemond commands you.

“Come with us!” Osferth moans under you.

You whine and cry at the sky as they redouble their efforts, fucking you wildly, scratching and kissing your tired body with increased hunger, until you clench around them, forcing them to follow you into the precipice, both their cocks unloading inside your battered walls, their seeds leaking out as soon as they exit your hole and fall on the grass with you.

“Was it too much, issa mēre drēje jorrāelagon, my one true love?” Aemond asks concerned.

He knows you’re safe and warm, since Osferth is shielding you again from the rough terrain with his naked body; almost on instinct he has turned fully into his wolf man form, so that between the fur and the heighten body heath, you will not feel the bite of the cold while you come back to them.

“Nouh.” You slur, so very tired now.

You lift your hand as if to touch Aemond, and leave it hovering next to his cheek: despite the fact that he has fed fully multiple times in the past few days, in preparation for this scene, and that he has drunk from you, when you’re coming down from your high, you can’t stand how cold his undead body is. You know he needs the physical contact to be sure you’re all right, but that’s all you can offer him.

“You were perfect.” Osferth’s face is now a full wolf muzzle, his wet snout familiar and calming against your burning skin. “Did I throw you too hard against the tree trunk?” He asks, concerned of his own brutish strength against your frail body.

Tiredly you turn your head and kiss the side of his muzzle, butterfly kisses that tickle him.

“I… I don’t think so.” You answer, but you know you’ll need Ibuprofen in the next few days.

Aemond’s ivory body seems to glisten with sweat and all your combined fluids under the placid light of the stars. Slowly he unfolds his long body and heads to the tree where the backpack housing the warmest, thickest blanket of the house is hidden.

With care and love he helps Osferth bundle you in, until he can see only the small oval of your face.

“Can we do this again? Soon?” You ask, nuzzling Osferth’s neck.

“You need to recuperate, first.” He tells you. “Tonight was taxing on your body.”

“And you need to be good for us.” Aemond interjects. “Taking your time to build back your strength.”

You preen, feeling their love for you: they might not be human anymore, yet their feelings are stronger than the ones of any other person you’ve ever met in your entire life.

“It’s not a ‘no, though.” You giggle. “I really want to play the idea that you two never let me go home, and decided to keep me as your human plaything. Your shared chew toy.”

Through the mental link Aemond provides, you can feel how excited they both are by the idea of locking you in the play room until you use your safeword.

“And you have to hunt for me again.” You add. “Because I managed to escape and you want to punish me.”

Reflexively, Osferth’s paws curl around your body: you can’t say things like that when he’s still covered in your combined scents.

“You need to be extra good, if you want that little idea to pan out.” He says, trying to control the excitement in his voice.

“Or very, very naughty.” You giggle.

“I can assure you that is the best way to never live that little fantasy.” Aemond tries to warn you.

Who is he even trying to convince? One word from you and he folds like a deck chair. You know that, Osferth does as well that he lives to serve you.

“We need a nice, long bath.” He tells you. “Followed by a long napping session.”

Osferth looks at the sky.

“Sunrise is approaching.” He tells Aemond.

“I know. Take your time, I’m starting the fire and the water.” He answers.

Faster than any human ever could, he collects the shreds of all your clothes and pushes them in the old backpack. He cups your face, fancying he can feel your skin over the thick blanket, before he rushes home.

“Can we have a horror movie play as we nap? Please?”

“You can have anything you want. Do you want to hot cocoa and cinnamon cookies when you wake up?”

You don’t respond, already asleep, safe in his embrace.

[fandomeventcenter]

Welcome, to the Fandom Event Center...

This is a multi-fandom collab blog ran by @foxyanon, @legitalicat, @thenameswinterfics, and @zaldritzosrose. It is a space for us to celebrate holidays and the momentous occasions in life with our favorite thing...FANDOMS!

Here, we will be running events and holiday bashes for all of our favorite fandoms and actor-verses. The universe of A Song of Ice and Fire, The Last Kingdom, Dune, Wheel of Time, The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim, the Fedaraverse, the Ewanverse, and the TGCverse. We will be writing, creating, highlighting, and showcasing various works by not only ourselves, but also beloved members of our communities!

Our Upcoming Events:

Fan-Frankentober (running the entire month of October).

Events and Masterlists:

Fan-Frankentober 2024

Masterlist

[foxyanon]

Fan-Frankentober Day 13: Álfablót

My first contribution to the @fandomeventcenter Fan-Frankentober event. Take a look at the masterlist here for the other entries!

Note: Due to the nature of álfablót and surviving information, this is a normally secret pagan practice that would’ve been practiced in the home by the woman (allegedly) and would’ve included things like ale and possible animal sacrifice. Because the word itself means “elven sacrifice”, this would’ve included offerings of some sort to the elves, who were typically associated with ancestor practice and fertility. The light elves, who this blòt derives the name from, were also associated with the god, Frey. We can only assume what the whole thing would’ve entailed, so for that reason I choose not to dive into the specifics and keep it private. I also used this HV translator and this Old Norse translator (thank you @thenameswinter99 for this)

Summary: Rhaenerys joins Sihtric for a look inside a secret blót.

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Rhaenerys Targaryen

Word Count: 1096

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: none, this serves as a companion piece to TLAD

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the images used or any of the characters from The Last Kingdom or A Song Of Ice And Fire. I only own my own OC, Rhaenerys.

Dividers by @zaldritzosrose and @arcielee

The weather had started to cool and crops were being harvested from the fields near where the princess and her entourage had set up camp. In his time serving her, Sihtric had learned many things about the people of Westeros and their culture. Most notably however, was the fact that despite the differing religious beliefs, they all worked and lived rather well together. That had been one of the reasons he still felt comfortable to practice his own faith and had even shared stories with some of the other people in her household when they asked about it.

Tonight though, he was preparing for álfablót, which was a much more secretive celebration compared to the other blóts. Despite being the only Dane amongst the encampment, those who knew him had helped ensure he had whatever he needed for the sacrifice. While he wouldn’t go into detail about what he was doing, he had been given some food and ale as well as the evening to himself uninterrupted. As he was taking the pitcher of ale that had been acquired for him back to his tent, he was stopped by the princess herself.

”There you are, Sihtric. I had heard that you were partaking in some sort of ritual and I wanted to ask you if I could join you. I will admit to some curiosity about your gods and customs,” Rhaenerys said, stopping short of him with a small smile on her face.

He won’t lie, it took him a second to compose himself before answering, the sight of her always rendering him a little speechless. Funny how today was a day to sacrifice to the elves, and she was as pretty as one herself.

”Forgive me, princess but…” he started to say, though he stopped himself when he saw her smile fall from her face.

“No need, I had heard from Captain Beren that you were being vague and secretive. I suspect this is a more private thing for you so I will not impose any further,” she responded, turning to presumably leave but Sihtric didn’t wish for that.

”Wait!” He called out, the hand not holding the pitcher gently grabbing her wrist. She snapped her head towards him, one brow raised inquisitively. “I…I would like for you to join me. I only ask that you not speak of the rites, your highness.”

”I would never betray your trust like that, Sihtric,” she said softly, not making any move to yank her hand from his grasp. He tried to ignore the flutter in his chest at the thought, simply giving Rhaenerys a shy smile as he led her towards the small tent he had been given.

It was odd and a little embarrassing for Sihtric to see Rhaenerys standing inside the simply furnished canvas tent that served as his temporary home. The furnishings were simple; nothing more than a cot with furs, his weapons and armor, one three-legged stool and some candles surrounding a crude altar adorned the space. He almost apologized for the lack of luxury he knew she was accustomed to, but she simply sat on the ground in her gown, seemingly uncaring if she got grass stains on the red fabric.

”If I may ask, what does álfablót mean?” She asked, looking up at him with a curious glint in her eyes.

He chuckled and sat beside her, placing the ale pitcher on the stool and preparing to light the candles. “It means ‘elven sacrifice’, princess.”

Rhaenerys tilted her head, leaning on one hand towards him as the small space was engulfed in soft, warm light. “Elves? How intriguing. What does this sacrifice entail?”

He gave her a look over his shoulder, the candlelight dancing in her amethyst eyes reminding him of what Maester Gelyn once said to him; that the Targaryens are believed to be closer to gods than men. Perhaps his gods would forgive him for sharing this sacred day with a stranger. After all, she looked to have come from Álfaheimr herself, and how could he deny telling her everything? So he did.

Between drinking ale and placing a few items on the altar, Sihtric spoke of his old gods and their legends. He told her of the Æsir and Vanir, of their wars and peace. He told her of the nine realms and Yggdrasil, of Ratatoskr and Niðhöggr. The sun had long since set and the knowledge that he was sitting with a royal unchaperoned had floated across his thoughts, but Rhaenerys showed no care for the implications of them being caught. She listened attentively, asking questions and generally making Sihtric feel like she cared. In return for every story he spoke of his people, she told him one of hers.

While she told Sihtric that her knowledge had been hindered by the Doom, she spoke of secrets known only to her family. They both eventually made offerings to their ancestors in the holiday spirit, the solemn atmosphere not as heavy as he had expected in her company. He couldn’t help but think how much his mother would like Rhaenerys, and how much he wished she were here to meet her.

“Kirimvose, Sihtric, ao teptan nyke mirri hen ao bisa bantis,” she said sleepily, resting her head on his shoulder as they leaned back against the cot in his tent. He tried to ignore the racing of his heart at the gesture, his face flushed from her proximity and the ale. He didn’t know much of what she said, but he knew that first word was something she often said when thanking others. (Thank you, Sihtric, you gave me some of you this night)

”Þú ert velkomin, prinsessa,” he responded in his own native tongue, a tired giggle slipping from the young woman’s lips. He looked down at her, a smile on his face as she glanced up at him. (You are welcome, princess)

”You must teach me your language one day, so that I might know what you are saying to me,” Rhaenerys spoke softly, her breath warm on his neck and reminding Sihtric once more that everything about this moment was improper between two of their station, but he wasn’t about to push her away now.

”Only if you teach me yours, Princess,” he whispered back, the stirrings of something more than just loyalty towards her blossoming in his chest.

Her responding smile before looking back at the altar will forever be imprinted on his memory, the two of them sitting in companionable silence, no longer strangers, but as friends and maybe one day, something more.

Tagging: @gemini-mama @zaldritzosrose @legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @alexagirlie

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Jacaerys Velaryon Sweeney Todd AU moodboard

Happy Halloween month everyone! Today's moodboard marks my first entry for fan frankentober. To see all the entries made by my beautiful friends head over to @fandomeventcenter and leave them some much deserved love💕

[thought--bubble]

Surprise Sweetheart

Will (Salad Days) X Reader (Scream AU)

Word Count: 3,140

This is my submission for @fandomeventcenter 's FanFrankentober Event.

Thank you for reading my rough draft @schniiipsel and @anjelicawrites

Beautiful Header by @vhagar-balerion-meraxes

Will (Salad Days) Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Dividers and Banners by @arcielee

Warnings: Violence, Death, Threats, Fear, Smut (P in V unprotected), Emo Angsty Boy Activities

The night was heavy with an unsettling mix of fear and festivity. While you were typically a big fan of the Halloween season, even you felt that having this party, after what had just happened mere weeks ago, was macabre.

Tom's house was filled with the smell of beer and the sound of drunk people laughing and yelling, but Leah couldn't join in on the revelry.

Just a week ago, she had been with Matt, planning this very party when they received a call that would forever change her life.

“What's your favorite scary movie?” A question that seemed innocuous but was the catalyst that set her world hurtling into chaos.

Both you and Leah had tried to convince Tom and Will that the party should be canceled out of respect for Matt, who had recently been eviscerated by the Ghostface killer while Leah helplessly watched from her sliding glass doors.

Yet they both claimed it would be more disrespectful to Matt if they were to cancel the party, citing how much it meant to him and how “This is what he would have wanted.”

Thus, you both acquiesced, and with that reasoning, neither of you felt that you could skip the party without it being seen as disrespectful to Matt's memory.

When you entered the house, pushing through those you recognized from your area, Leah stood in the corner of the living room, her eyes glossed over as she watched their friends dance and drink. You noticed her disassociated demeanor and walked over to her, quickly wrapping your arm around her shoulder.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice softer than usual. You wanted to handle her as if she were made of glass because you were terrified she could shatter at any moment.

Leah forced a smile. “I’m trying. It’s just... everything feels so different without him. He should be here.” Her eyes flitted around the room, passing over each party guest before she softly repeated, “He should be here.”

You nodded, trying to be understanding of her grief. “Let’s get some fresh air, yeah? We can have a chat.”

The two of you stepped outside; the cool October air chilled your skin, freeing you to breathe after the stifling feeling of being inside. You could still hear the music and voices carry through the air. It sounded and smelled just like every other party, yet felt so different.

“I miss him so much,” Leah whispered, her eyes beginning to water as she valiantly attempted to blink the tears away. You pulled her into a comforting hug, wishing you knew how to help her, yet having no idea how. What does one do to help someone who watched their boyfriend die in such a gruesome way?

Eventually, you got her inside and sitting next to you on the sofa. It was actually nice as you sat in the living room with friends telling stories about Matt and all the wonderful and silly memories people had of him.

Tom and Will talked the most; it didn't surprise you. The three of them were as close as three friends could be, always taking off into the night together and somehow coming back with money, jewelry, and electronics. You learned quickly not to ask where it came from when Will randomly gifted you an MP3 player filled with classical music.

Leah listened for as long as she could, her heart breaking with every story and memory. So when Tom got up and said they were out of beer, Leah jumped at the opportunity to get some air.

“I'll get it!” she said quickly, jumping up from her place beside you. “It's just in the garage, yeah?”

“Yeah, just in the fridge,” Tom gestured toward the garage door.

“Well, while she does that, I’m gonna pop to the toilet,” Will stood and stretched, the blonde curls from below his gray joggers slightly peeking out.

Your cheeks heated up, and you looked away, hoping beyond hope that Tom didn't catch you staring. Yet as soon as Will walked off, Tom called you out.

“Get a good view, did ya?” he teased. “Only a sliver of stomach, and you're tripping over yourself!”

“Shut it, Tom!” You whacked his chest and laughed. “It was… slightly distracting.”

You chatted and laughed with Tom for quite some time before realizing that Leah hadn't returned.

“She's taking ages, isn't she?” You turned around on the sofa, looking toward the garage door.

“Uhh… yeah… I'll go see if she's alright. I'll be right back.” He jumps up off the sofa and heads toward the door.

“Don't say that! Remember Matt's rule!” You chuckled, recalling Matt's rules for surviving a scary movie.

Tom put his hands up, wiggling his fingers and trying his best to make eerie ghost moans. “I'll be right back!”

You chuckle to yourself as the garage door closes behind him. Tom's a goofball and if Leah is in there crying, you know he will be able to provide her at least some sort of comfort.

Yet, as the party begins to clear out the sky outside growing dark you once again turn toward the closed garage door.

“What is taking them so long?” You think out loud. Then you heard a thump upstairs and felt relieved. That must be Leah. She probably went off to cry by herself or just get away from the overwhelming atmosphere.

Annoyed, that Tom couldn't have been bothered to come and tell you Leah wasn't in the garage, you slowly walked upstairs and peeked your head around the bannister once you reached the landing. “Leah?” you whispered.

“Nah, just me, love,” Will walked over to you. “What are you sneaking around for?”

Your cheeks flushed again, as they always did when Will spoke to you. “I'm looking for Leah. I think she's wandered off somewhere to cry or something. Tom was supposed to find her but hasn't come back yet.”

“Trusting Tom when he's off his face?” Will chuckles “We are gonna have to find her then.” Will's hand slipped into yours as he led you down the dark hallway.

You followed him with a goofy grin on your face. You knew you should be worrying about Leah and her current emotional state, but with Will's hand in yours, you couldn't help but lose focus. Leah would understand; she's your best friend, after all.

Will pulled you into a bedroom and flicked on the light. “Not in here…” he said softly, closing the door behind him with a deafening click.

With your heart racing, you turned and looked at Will. “This is Tom's room, isn't it?”

“Aye, that it is.” He nodded slowly, his eyes raking over you as he takes a slow step forward.

You quickly turned your back to him, attempting to distract yourself by looking at the things Tom had on his shelves: a few dusty books, a silver chain, a mug that should be brought to the kitchen.

Will slowly walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before resting his chin on your shoulder. “Are you aware I'm a bit mental over you?” His warm breath skated across the sensitive skin of your neck, and your chest constricted.

It took you nearly a full minute before you could respond.

“M-me?”

“No, the other bird in this room,” he chuckled lightly into your ear. “Yes, you.”

He turned you around in his arms, brushing his nose up the side of your face. “So pretty, so sweet.”

You preened at his praise, so caught up in the moment that you forgot what you even came up here for.

Will kissed along your jaw, cupping the back of your head in his large hand.

“Been wanting this for a long time.” He mumbled against the skin of your neck as he walked you back toward Tom's bed, and you let him, melting like putty in his hands.

When your legs hit the bed, he gently pushed you down, lifting your thighs around his hips.

“Tom… this is his bed…” you protested weakly as Will continued to pepper kisses along the side of your neck.

“Tom's a mate; he won't mind.” He slid his hand up the bare skin of your thigh and under your skirt. “Trust me, he won't care.”

You lay back, succumbing to his charm. He smirked, knowing he had you right where he wanted you.

“So fucking pretty,” he grunted, pressing his clothed cock against your core. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me,” he demanded, sliding his hand up between your thighs.

“I want it… I want you,” you whimpered pathetically.

“They always act like they do,” he smirked, bringing his mouth back to the crook of your neck.

Your brows crumpled in confusion, but before you could say anything, he thrust two fingers into your hot core.

“Ahh oh fuck, Will!” You panted as he started to thrust his fingers in and out, biting and sucking on your neck.

“You like that, sweetheart? Feel good?”

You whimper and manage to get out a weak “Yes” Your head fell back against the bed as he continued with his hand, bringing his thumb to your clit and rubbing circles on the swollen nub.

“Let's get these off, yeah?” He pulled his fingers out of you and slid your thong down your legs, tossing it out of sight.

“Hey!” You reached after it, and he grabbed your wrists, placing them above your head. His long, thin fingers wrapped around your two wrists with ease, locking you in place.

“We'll find them after. Right now… I'm gonna take what I've been after.” He nipped at your earlobe before reaching down with his free hand to hastily shove down his gray joggers.

You didn't even get a chance to see his manhood in all of its glory before he was sweeping the leaking head through your wet folds.

“We need a con—ahh oh fuck!” Your call for protection was quickly cut off as Will thrust into you to the hilt.

“What was that, love?” He panted above you, his silver chain dangling just over your chin. “I didn't hear you.”

As soon as you went to speak, he thrust into you harshly again. “Speak louder, love. Or… I'll have to make you louder.”

“Ah ah ah fuck, Will!” Your head fell back, and your eyes closed as he increased his pace, the headboard of Tom's bed rhythmically smacking the wall.

“Louder,” he growled, his tempo continuing to increase. Your skin grew hot all over your body, a pressure building between your legs unlike anything you had experienced before.

“Come on, love, give it to me.” He bit into the cove between your neck and shoulder. “Be mine.” He reached between your bodies, searching for your nub, the magic button he could use to send you soaring. He made quick work of rubbing you in harsh circles.

“Say it again” he growled directly into your ear. “Say you want me, you would choose me”

Your brain has turned to mush but you tried your best to get the words out. “I want you! Fuuckkkk oh god!” Your back arches as pleasure shoots through your body. Crackling like an electric snap through every limb, vein, every inch of skin heated and charged with and overwhelming pleasure.

“YOU WOULD CHOOSE ME! SAY IT!” he yelled and gripped your thighs pushing them forward changing his angle.

With a hint of desperation you whimper “I would choose you! Everytime! Oh god yes every fucking time!” Your legs clamp around him involuntarily and you dig your fingernails into his shoulders.

It's hot, It's explosive, it's electric and god damn it's good.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as Will gripped your hips harshly, battering your insides, his narrow-minded focus on reaching his end taking over.

“Fuck, pet, you look so pretty when you cum,” he gasped out between hard thrusts.

“You have to pull out,” you whimpered as his eyes rolled back and he dug his fingernails into the fat of your hips.

He pulled out at the very last second, his warm seed splashing onto your lower belly.

“Fucking brilliant,” he panted above you, his hips still jerking slightly. “Wait here; I'll get you cleaned up.” He kissed your forehead and pulled his sweatpants and boxers back up.

You lay on Tom's bed looking up at the ceiling, panting, willing the harsh thrumming in your chest to slow.

He returned with a warm, wet handcloth, gently wiping away the aftermath of your encounter from your skin.

He helped you redress, his hands moving slowly and gingerly as he lifted each scrap of material back over your skin.

The soft gentleness of his touch now, was in stark contrast with the rough grip he had handled you with before.

Just as you went to wrap your arms around him and revel in your newfound closeness, there was a knock on the bedroom door. You rolled your eyes and let out a huff. Of course Tom would come to his room now.

“Go away, Tom,” Will stated curtly, with a small smile curling at the side of his mouth. He pressed his forehead to yours and moved in for a kiss before the knocking resumed at the door.

Will growled under his breath. “Hold that thought, darlin.” He disentangled himself from you and went to the door, whipping it open quickly. “WHA—” his word was cut short when he saw Ghostface in the doorway.

“Run, sweetheart!” Ghostface drove his knife down into Will's chest. The scene was too horrific for you to comprehend.

You brought your hand to your mouth and gasped. This can't be happening.

As Will fell to the floor, Ghostface ascended upon you, and your fight-or-flight response kicked in. As he rushed you, you turned, grabbed the empty mug on the shelf behind you, and smashed it on his head before jumping over the bed.

You cringed as you jumped over Will's motionless body and flung yourself into the hallway.

“HELP!!! SOMEONE HELP!” you screamed through the hallway as you flew down the stairs to find the front door blocked by the wooden TV stand from the living room.

Your eyes quickly landed on the garage door, and you rushed towards it. You could hardly get the door open fast enough before sprinting inside, only to come to a screeching halt.

There before you, crushed under the refrigerator, was blonde hair and copious amounts of blood.

“Leah?” Your voice cracked in agony as you took a tentative step toward the gruesome scene. “Leah, please get up… please… PLEASE!”

Your heart nearly stopped as the garage door started to slowly lift, the clanking of the aluminum material feeling like a fatal chime.

As soon as you saw boots with a slight covering of flimsy black material across the front, you bolted back inside.

The hair stood on the back of your neck as you tried to think of a way to escape. You couldn't go through the blocked front door or the garage. The only option left would be the back door through the kitchen.

You scurried down the hallway with such speed that your feet hardly touched the ground.

As soon as you reached the kitchen, you screamed—a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream—when you felt Ghostface’s cold, clammy hand wrap around your arm.

“GET OFF!!!!” you screamed in sheer terror. You had to get away. Ghostface turned you around to face him, and you were staring directly into that mask. That horrid mask.

“Who… who are you?” You didn't bother trying to hide the trembling in your voice, basically succumbing to the idea that you were going to die right here, right now.

When he pulled his mask off, your jaw dropped to the floor. Tom was staring back at you, a smile on his face. He was smiling. How was he smiling?

“You?” You stopped fighting, suddenly overcome with confusion. “But why? Matt… Matt was your friend! Will was your friend!”

“He needed me to,” the eerie response chilled you to the bone.

“Who?” Your voice came out as a broken whisper.

Tom's face changed from one of deep thought to one of deep rage as he lifted the knife over your chest. “He needed me to be a fucking man! I let him down before, but I won't this time!” He plunged the knife down toward you, and you pushed away with all your might.

As you broke free, the knife swung past you, with a movement so strong you could hear it cutting through the air, you turned to run again, towards the back door, but instead ran directly into a hard chest.

You looked up to see Will looking down at you, a soft look on his face.

“Hey” His voice is soft and he strokes your hair gently. Its completely out of place for this moment.

“Oh thank god! Will! It's Tom! Tom's the killer!” The words tumbled out of your mouth as relief flooded your veins. Surely, Will was going to keep you safe after all you shared earlier.

You felt the sticky wetness of his shirt and looked at your fingers. The blood. There was so much blood.

“How… how are you… how are you standing right now?” You looked up at him, your bodies still pressed tightly together.

Will looked right back down at you, but instead of that cute crooked smile you're used to, there was a smile that set your nerves on edge. There is no love of care in this smile. Just pure mania. You felt his hand slide up the side of your body as he brought a white plastic box to his mouth.

“Surprise, sweetheart.” His voice came out garbled and distorted, and your heart sank down to the bottom of your stomach.

“No… no… this can't… no…” Your voice cracked as your world seemed to cave in around you from all directions.

“But why?” Hot tears streamed down your face as you looked up at him. “Leah? Matt? How… how could you!” You smacked and punched at his chest in frustration.

“Leah chose him over me. Rejected me like it was nothing, like they all do, LIKE EVERYONE DOES!” His voice boomed throughout the room, a sound so foreign.

At a loss for words, you simply stared up at him.

He gripped your chin and tugged your head towards him. “Like you would have done.” He rubbed his thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

“I wouldn't… Will, I swear I wouldn't.” You brought your hands up and held onto his biceps, willing him to believe you. “Please.”

Will chuckled and let go of your chin before reaching into his back pocket and raising his knife above you.

“I know, love. You'll never get the chance.”

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[thenameswinterfics]

CAOINEADH

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Banshee!Reader Settings: Season 2, brief mention of moments from S3 to SKMD Summary: While wandering outside Dunholm with his mother, Sihtric is visited by a creature whose presence brings terrible news to his family. Years later, the Banshee returns to the mortal lands and Sihtric, now grown up and in the service of Uhtred, faces the consequences of a bad omen. But the tragedy also brings them closer together. Word Count: 5,2 K Warnings: Angst, mention of blood, mention of death, mention of main character death(s), human/monster romance, hopeful ending? , me writing Finan's Irish accent. A/N: After a long time, I'm back to writing for my favourite Dane rat boy. I'd somehow forgotten how much I loved and enjoyed writing for him, especially after a period of putting him aside for a while. This feels like I'm republishing a fic of his for the very first time, so I'm terribly nervous. I hope you like and enjoy it. If you find the ending a bit rushed, I'm sorry. I finished it while it was late at night in my timezone, and everything will be fixed eventually when I'm awake and more aware of my actions. Many thanks to @foxyanon , @legitalicat and @zaldritzosrose for helping me with the Banshee lore, for writing Finan's accent, for the emotional support, for the beta reading and last minute corrections, and to @sylasthegrim for the early beta reading and emotional support as well.

This fic is my entry and first submission to the Fan-Frankentober event, organized by @fandomeventcenter. Here the masterlist to take a look at the other works.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header by me (template by @zaldritzosrose) Dividers by me and @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3 (COMING SOON)

Caoineadh: Irish and Scottish Gaelic pronunciation of "keening" (to cry, to weep); traditional form of the vocal lament for the dead in the Gaelic tradition.

By the time Sihtric stopped running, he had no more memory of the place he was in.

His hands, clenched into small fists, rubbed his tired eyes as he tried to scan the surroundings, looking for any detail that might help him orientate himself in the unknown space. He could not recognize the long tree trunks rising from the ground, their dry branches seeming to touch the twilight sky as he watched the sun's rays filter through the few remaining canopies. 

The place was eerily quiet, the sound of the wind blowing and moving the branches and leaves on the ground the only sound to break the surreal yet disturbing atmosphere. He felt a shiver run down his spine and the little Dane suddenly hugged his shoulder, as if to hide his head between them like a turtle. 

It was one of the few times he and his mother had left the strong walls of Dunholm together, Sihtric enjoying the fresh air of the forest while Elflaed was busy gathering flowers and herbs that he had little interest in. Sometimes his curiosity would get the better of him, his big, mismatched eyes fixed on Elflaed's wooden basket and how many herbs she had managed to gather. When his mother felt his eyes on her, she would patiently stop picking and crouch down beside him, patiently explaining what she was doing as she wrapped his small body around her, only to see her son wriggle out of her embrace soon after and play with small sticks nearby. 

Sihtric was usually a quiet and obedient child: when his mother asked him to stay close to her, he obeyed without a fuss. That day, however, something caught his attention, a heartbreaking wail that filled his ears and shook his heart: it was a gentle but sad song that carried pain and sorrow, hiding a sense of concern and care towards to whom it was addressed. Armed only with a small stick and with curiosity teasing him, Sihtric dared to disobey his mother for the first time, and entered into the woods while leaving his mother behind.

And there he was, lost in an unfamiliar place, with nothing to defend himself but a small stick. He was too young to call himself a warrior, barely able to hold a knife, let alone wield a sword that was too heavy for his tiny hands and a shield properly. Hiding and fleeing was the only option he could take in case of real danger, for he had spent his whole life hiding from the wrath of his cruel father; but the surroundings would make the task impossible, as the tall and twisted trees casted long shadows, and the undergrowth cracked with every step he could take.

Suddenly, the silence of the forest was broken by the same sorrowful chant that dragged him in the deep of the woods. Holding his wooden stick in his hands, Sihtric moved carefully in the direction of the voice, trying not to make noise while the ground cracked beneath his feet. 

The walk was short, and he found himself in front of a small lake he had never seen before. Squatting on the bank was a young lady in a blue gown, her black hair cascading down her shoulders like pitch-black watercourses, giving the little boy her back as she continued to sing her lament. Sihtric could hardly understand what she was doing, her head almost hidden beneath her shoulders, her hands working frantically to move the water in small ripples.

Holding his breath and trying to be as quiet as a mouse, Sihtric crept up behind her, lifting his small head and trying to find the right angle where he could see what she was doing underwater. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, fear and anticipation creeping into his bones as he felt the keening close to him, the chanting drawing him in even if he couldn't understand it. But as he crept closer, something beneath his boots cracked softly, and the sound was enough to make the lady turn and show her face to the boy.

It was the first time he met you. 

Sihtric watched with frightened eyes as your icy blue gaze locked on his and a low hiss escaped your mouth, your pale complexion adorned by scarlet tears rolling down your eyes. Behind you, piles of clothes lay scattered on the grass, others dripping in the water that had lost its transparency and had become muddy with blood. 

The little Dane found the strength to stand up and try to run away, but he soon fell, tripping over a stone behind him. Your ghostly presence, now calmed down after the initial fright, lightly approached him and crouched down. One of your slender hands rested on his cheek, your touch as cold as the death itself. But the words that came out from your lips were way colder, breaking the silence with your voice as soft as the silk but sharp as a piece of glass. 

“She cannot escape to the Other World.”

“She?” “Escape from what?” “What is the Other World she is talking about?” These were the words that filled the boy's mind, filled with nothing but fear and the coldness of your touch. But soon Sihtric's tiny body was enveloped in a familiar warmth, and two arms lifted him from the floor. It was only when warm, trembling lips were pressed to his forehead that he recognised the touch of his mother, who had searched for him after losing sight of him.

“Sihtric!” Elflaed cried while holding her son close to her. “Why were you here all alone? I told you never to leave my side, never! Oh, my sweet boy!” 

The young Dane watched as he silently pointed to the spot where you appeared before him, but a cold realisation hit him as you were no longer there, gone like ashes in the wind.

Sihtric did not answer, too lost in his mother's warmth and love, and the bad omen you gave him still shook him to the core. He clung to her presence, and each time your words echoed in his mind, he sought comfort in his mother's presence, even when they left the forest and the warmth of her small hut welcomed them.

But a few days later, the opening of the Other World shook nature and its creatures. And his mother's soul was claimed after a long agony.

Standing outside Eoferwic, you looked up at the walls that surrounded the town, admiring the mix of Roman, Danish and Saxon architecture that was unfamiliar to you: you were there when the Romans laid the foundation stone on the ground, and the same souls were the first you guided to the Other World, announcing the sad event in the form of a manifestation to the families you watched over. 

And you were called to do your duty again: to find the same boy you met years ago, to tell him that more of his family's souls will be claimed in the days to come. They will not be gentle and innocent like those of his mother and grandparents you guided through the other world: they were violent, reckless, stained with blood’s innocents and sins far from forgotten. But it was up to the god or gods to decide where their souls would go in the afterlife. 

Your pale eyes scanned the area, and when you found a small stream where you could wash the dirty clothes you were carrying, you walked over and dipped your hands into the cold water. You watched as your fingers swirled around the cloth and the water lost its translucency, a faint reddish tinge staining it.

The night was still, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees, lightly caressing your raven locks. You continued to scrub the clothes in the water as your wailing began, your lament filling the air and mingling with the sound of the rushing water as your eyes watered and scarlet tears rolled down your white face. 

As on that night, something soft cracked on the ground and your wailing stopped. You lifted yourself from the ground and turned towards the sound, and soon found yourself crouched beside a young man, probably trying to sneak up on you without attracting attention. 

He was a handsome man, the most beautiful your eternal eyes could ever have seen; his features sharp, his fair skin adorned with a few scars on his forehead, eyebrow and cheekbone, a knotted tattoo crossing part of his head, his dark hair cut at the sides and combed into three plaits and knotted at the back. These were features that were strangely familiar to you, your mind trying to remember when was the last time you saw him. 

But it was his eyes that captured you the most. There was pain, melancholy and innocence in them - the same light you had found in the bicoloured eyes of the little Danish boy you had reached outside Dunholm. You felt a sudden flicker of recognition, your eyes widening slightly as you recognised that lost and frightened boy in the man he had become. The years had moulded him into a skilled warrior, but the softness of his eyes remained unchanged, you noted. 

You chose a cautious approach, slowly closing the distance between you. You noticed his body trembling and his jaw clenching, his muscles not moving from where he was: it was still unclear to you whether he wasn't moving out of fear or anticipation.

“It has been a long time, sweet boy,” you broke the silence, using the same nickname you had heard his mother call him. Sihtric stood frozen, partly enchanted by your ethereal appearance and your voice, as melodious as the birdsong at sunrise.  

His eyebrows furrowed and his expression changed from alienation to curiosity: your figure was too familiar to him, but he could not remember where he had first met you.

 “Do… Do I know you, lady?” the Dane asked, holding his breath as the silent nod of your head answered his question. 

You took a long pause before answering him, "You do, in a way," you said in a soft voice that carried the weight of your grief. You took a step closer, noticing that the Dane was shifting his incongruous gaze slightly away from you, "But I have known you since you were a little boy playing spy in the deep forest.”

One of your hands reached out and rested on his cheek, the cold touch awakening something in Sihtric that he thought he had buried deep in his heart. He remembered your figure knelt near the lake shore, your icy blue gaze that penetrated deep into his soul, the cryptic prophecy you had given him but he was too young to understand.And then he remembers the mother he lost, and how it was one of the last nights they wandered the Dunholm woods together, and how after her death the Dane desperately tried to find you to explain, but you never showed again.

Instinctively, one of his calloused hands reached for yours, shivering at the cold of your pale skin. But he never pulled you away: instead, he leaned against you, finding the softness of your touch endearing.

“I remember your touch,” he murmured shyly, lowering his gaze as it briefly met yours, fascinated by your pale eyes, “It was you, all this time,” he continued, earning your satisfied hum.

“It is your family that forged our bond,” you announced with a solemn tone, absently doing circles on his skin with your thumb, “It was your mother’s souls that bound you to me.”

The mention of his mother made Sihtric snap back to reality, and pain filled again his mismatched eyes, “My mother’s soul?” he repeated in a whisper, a slight trembling could be heard in his voice, “What did you do to her? Why didn’t you save her?” 

His voice broke down when he asked his final question, and the red tears rolled down your cheeks furiously “Why did you take her away from me?” 

“It is not me who willingly chose to wrestle your mother from your arms,” you murmured softly, your other hand resting on his other cheek, cupping his face completely. Your thumbs gently wiped away his tears, and you could hear him draw in a sharp breath. Under the moonlight, you could see a faint blush in his cheeks.

“It is fate that foretells a mortal's permanence in this world and how their entry into the Other World will come about,” you explained carefully, as if you were talking with a child. “It is my duty to show myself to you and to guide you through the painful parts of death. Your pain is my own burning.” 

An uncomfortable silence fell over you, the weight of your words making it almost impossible for you both to speak. Finally, you summoned the courage to speak again, and your next words sent shivers down his spine. 

“The Other World is shaking, more souls from your family should be claimed,” You solemnly stated, and your words brought a sense of uneasiness and confusion in Sihtric. 

“Lady,” The Dane lowered his gaze, his cheeks burning at the sight of you, his body trembling at the surreality of the information he was receiving that night, “I have no family left outside my mother and my grandparents,”

You chuckled softly and shook your head, amused at his naivety, "Even if they neglect you, there are still ties of blood that fate will sever."

Sihtric clenched his jaw, his gaze darkening at the memory of a father who neglected you and looked at you with disgust only because he was guilty of being born a bastard, and of his half-brother who always looked at him with the same disgust for their father. The news of their imminent deaths brought him an unexpected sense of peace, and the chains of his tortured past will be broken forever: but he would fear how their deaths would affect him, when the damage they had done was far from repaired, and the memories of his past would knock furiously at his door, reminding him that no matter how hard he worked to forge his own path, he would forever be marked as a slave.

The Dane was about to open his mouth to reply to your words when a loud, rough voice called him out from a distance. 

“Sihtric! Come back here, yer little runt!” Finan’s voice brought him back to reality, forcing the Dane to shift his gaze and look at him. 

“I am coming, Finan!” Sihtric replied to him as quickly as he could, so that he could face you and ask you about the fate of Kjartan and Sven in death.

But when he turned his eyes again, you were gone. And a sudden emptiness filled his heart and saddened his soul.

Later in the evening, the atmosphere within the walls of Eoferwich was playful and joyful. Warriors gathered around small tables outside, filling their stomachs with food and ale while telling stories of women, successful raids, or simply myths and legends from their homelands. 

Sihtric's mind was elsewhere that night. It was common for the warriors who shared a seat at his table to see the young Dane so shy and taciturn, a pattern they justified from his earlier days as a slave in Dunholm, his eyes darting around while his body tensed at the proximity of the too many people in front of him.

But this time it wasn't the echo of his past that tormented him: it was you, your stunning, ghostly presence and melodious voice had bewitched him and altered all his senses. It was as if he was seeing you for the first time, for he had seen you when he was a little boy, unaware that his world was about to collapse upon him and that he would have to rebuild it all by himself. Now that he was a young man and more aware of his own feelings and the world around him, it felt like a string pulling him towards you, longing for your touch and the way you spoke of destiny and its inexorable flow. And the mystery surrounding your figure made you even more desirable in his eyes, and he often wondered if he was facing a goddess herself.

Sihtric's thoughts about your figure were suddenly interrupted by Finan's speeches about his homeland, Ireland, its customs and its most famous legends. One in particular caught the Dane's attention, and he shifted his gaze from his reflection in the mug to the Irishman.

“I told yer tha these creatures ain’t nothin’ but an omen of death!” Finan spoke with such emphasis, looking at Clapa and the few men at the table listening to him. When he felt Sihtric's gaze resting on him, he continued his story. “Legends say they’ll appear in front of yer, sometimes washing bloodied clothes, and they’ll cryin’ and wailin’ somethin’ terrible tha will hit ya family.”

Sihtric listened intently to Finan's words and felt his hand tremble as he gripped his mug of ale. He felt all the dots connect at once, especially when he saw you washing dirty clothes and singing a mournful chant, your wailing so tearful that it filled the listener's heart with sadness. He also remembered facing you twice and seeing the tears of blood leave your eyes. 

There were no creatures like you in the Norse legends and beliefs, and Sihtric wondered how a creature from a different faith could become the spirit guardian of his family.

“I found a beautiful lady washing a pile of clothes not so far from here,” The Dane murmured against his will and soon the animated atmosphere died down and he shrugged as he felt all eyes on him. His mismatched eyes found the Irishman's brown ones and with a slight nod he silently ordered him to continue.

“She was singing something,” Sihtric continued, his voice faltering slightly as he could feel the intensities of their gaze on him, “It was a lament, something so heartbreaking that it chills the blood in your veins.”

His gaze rested on Finan while he spoke his last words, “She brushed my skin and was cold at the touch. And then she was looking at me with her pale eyes, crying blood-“

“Cryin’ blood, yer said?” the Irishman asked in an urgent tone, and Sihtric nodded his head. Then he reached for the Dane's shoulder and squeezed, but not too hard: Finan knew what the wrong touch could do to a former slave, especially one as young as Sihtric.

“That woman you claimed to have seen before… Did ya know what a Banshee is?” Finan asked Sihtric, and received a shake of head as an answer. The Irishman sighed quietly, and leaned his face close to the Dane. 

“Tha’s the spirit I was talkin’ about before. They’re bound at yer family and they’ll come wailin’ and cryin’ blood while announcin’ the death of yer loved ones. She can be either a gorgeous woman or a vindictive old witch. Tha’s someone ain’t to be trifled with, remember this.”

Sihtric gulped at Finan's description of the Banshee, which was nothing like what you really were. You were so gentle with him, taking care of his pain and not putting the burden of grief on his shoulders. How could such a sweet creature as you be the dangerous spirit that Finan described earlier?

“She treated me with nothing but kindness, Finan,” the Dane replied almost innocently, and the Irishman grinned at his words. 

“Then ya were a lucky bastard!” he retorted in an ironic tone, gently slapping Sihtric’s cheek and returning to his seat. 

The conversations continued with more stories of the Banshees and Irish legends until Uhtred broke the mood by calling for Sihtric, who obediently rose and reached for his Lord. And after preparing the final strategies of war, everyone fell asleep, thinking of the battle they would face at Dunholm and how you would draw the veil of death over their heads.

After a day of celebration, Sihtric found an opportunity to sneak out of Dunholm fortress through the small door in the east wall used by the servants. He followed the small watercourse that flowed into the forest entrance and, armed with his sword and dagger, he walked into the heart of the forest, his movements light as a feather to avoid any upcoming dangers.

Once again, the prophecy you told him about your family proved true, and on the day of the battle both Kjartan and Sven were killed, their souls taken by you and sent to the afterlife. While the event lifted a great weight from Sihtric's shoulders, free at last to forge his own destiny without the cruel shadow of his father tormenting him, he wondered if you knew the difference between your afterlife and his, and if his father's soul did not rest beside Elflaed's. The image of Kjartan distressing his mother even in the afterlife made his heart skip a few beats: he would rather accept slavery under the cruel Lord of Dunholm than see his mother tormented in heaven, having found the peace she never had in life.

Finding you would be the only way for him to be reassured and to have the answers he wanted. But finding you would also mean surrendering to your cold touch, losing himself in your lifeless eyes that stirred emotions he could not believe he was feeling. Finan had warned him to be wary of spirits like you, but you were nothing more than a comforting presence at his side, a guardian who would watch over him even if he could not feel you.

Fortunately, Sihtric found the little spot where he had found the two of you the first time, remembering the details of the foliage and surrounding vegetation. And there you were, sitting near the shore, gazing out at the shimmering water, your presence quiet and not filled with your lamentations. When you appeared, Sihtric noticed how your pale face was cleared by your scarlet tears and held his breath at how even more beautiful you were without crying, the pale rays of the moon caressing your skin.

"You came," you said with a gentle smile as you stood up and approached him.

"I thought I would find you here, lady," Sihtric replied sheepishly, his cheeks turning red as he saw you closing the distance between us. He swore he had never seen such a beautiful creature as you. 

"I realised I never asked what your name was," the Dane continued, but you cut him off with a shake of your head. 

“Names are not important for eternal creatures like us,” you explained while you cupped your cheek in your hand, brushing his skin with your slender fingers, “you do not need to know my name to feel close to me. I will always watch over you, Sihtric.”

“I refuse to believe a creature as beautiful as yours is deprived of a name that does her justice,” Sihtric replied, closing his eyes while abandoning himself to your touch, ignoring the lump that was forming in your throat. 

You could not remember what your real name was, for you had forgotten it when death took you in its arms. You did not remember your former life as a young woman full of hopes and dreams, and how a violent death, coming from those closest to you, extinguished your light forever.

Ignoring all your thoughts, you shook your head and looked at Sihtric, who covered your hand with his calloused one and pressed his lips to your palm, feeling the coldness of your skin against his. It was a small gesture of affection that set a heart beating that you had forgotten you had, for it beat only with sorrow and grief.

"You claimed the souls of my father and half-brother today," it was Sihtric's turn to break the silence, wrapping his strong arms around your slender waist and pulling you close. Even though you were a ghost, you looked so real in his eyes and he was content to touch you and cradle your form.

"The doors of the Other World have indeed been opened to them," you replied, almost lost in his touch, "but for them there is another path to take, one filled with eternal pain and damnation."

The sight of his body tensing at your words saddened you, so you spoke quickly to reassure him, "Your mother and father have taken different paths in the afterlife. They will never meet again.” 

Sihtric felt another burden lifted from his shoulders, and his body suddenly became light: he was glad to see that his dear mother's soul was enveloped in the eternal light of beatification, while his father was probably rotting in the depths of Niflheim, surrounded by cold and darkness, for he died without a weapon in his hands. But even if he had gripped his sword tightly with his last breath, Sihtric did not believe that Odin would open the gates of Valhalla for him.

“Thank you,” the Dane whispered softly, giving you the first sincere smile you’ve ever seen while watching him growing up. His bicolored eyes shone with a renewed life, tasting that freedom he thought he could never have in his life. 

But a new realisation hit him hard, and the light in his eyes was replaced by a look of suffering: your duties were done, and you would return to the veil that separates the living from the dead, and watch over him silently but without concealment. He was not ready to say goodbye to you, not after he had found a person who would treat you with kindness and make his heart beat faster, it mattered not if that person was a creature from the afterlife or not.

“Do not go, please,” Sihtric pleaded in a feeble voice, his jaw clenching as well as the grip he had on you, afraid that you might vanish at any moment. He moved your body close to his own, resting his warm forehead on your cold one.

“I have to, Sihtric,” you explained quietly, though you felt your eyes burning and your scarlet tears about to escape. “I am bound to the spirit world, preparing families for their upcoming deaths. You are a young warrior, with life burning inside you.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the warmth his living body is giving to you, a warmth you used to radiate as well. And when you felt a rivulet of blood escaping from your eyes, Sihtric’s arms were quickly cupping your cheeks, wiping them with his tattooed fingers. 

"One day, when the doors of the Other World open again and the veil between our worlds forms its rift, they will give me the call to take you, and only there will you be mine forever," you added, the words slipping easily from your tongue as you lifted your gaze and locked it in his eyes. You have never had anyone look at you with love in their eyes, not even in your previous mortal life. Sihtric was sent to you to show you that a damned spirit like you could be loved and deserve to be loved. But he was the right person at the wrong time. 

“Promise you will live and wait for me until your hour will come.”

Sihtric took his time to calm down, closing his eyes and breathing slowly to calm the tears that were about to fall and to suppress the pain inside him. He thought he had found the right person to spend the rest of his life with, to take you as his wife and build a family with you. But he had to face the cold truth that you were not a living being and that you would soon have to leave his side.

The Dane opened his watery eyes again and looked at you with burning desire as he gently lifted your head with his hands. "I promise I will wait for you, my love," he swore, clutching his Thor's hammer with one hand, "and when that day comes and death takes him, I will be ready to go. And there I will be yours forever."

You both raised your faces to each other like a magnet drawing you close, sealing your eternal promise with a kiss that poured out all the love you both had carved out of each other, but that your time had not yet allowed. And when you reluctantly broke the kiss, you slowly turned and walked towards the small lake, your body disappearing into a cloud of mist that slowly dissipated into the air, the sound of a bird flapping its wings in the distance. Sihtric watched your disappearance with pain in his heart and watched over the lake until morning, when he returned to Dunholm to be reunited with Uhtred and the others.

Over the years, Sihtric had kept his promise and lived a true warrior's life, the once shy boy growing into a skilled warrior and confident man. He became one of Uhtred's most trusted allies and closest friends, and together with Finan and Osferth they wandered the borders of Mercia and Wessex, the Danelaw and East Anglia, eventually reclaiming Bebbanburg for Uhtred, who reclaimed his birthright and became its lord.

Feeling that you were always watching over him, you only appeared sporadically to bring him and his band of friends bad news: it was your job to inform him of the impending deaths of Gisela and Thyra while he was at Coccham, to warn him of Father Beocca's death before their first attempt on Bebbanburg fortress, and to claim Osferth's soul at Rumcofa. Uhtred was next, succumbing after a long and arduous battle, followed soon after by Finan, too old to even stand properly on his feet.

You were at his side, emptying his heart of grief as his mouth claimed yours in fleeting kisses before you went back to hide in the veil. You watched Sihtric grow old over the years, loving every single wrinkle on his face and every white hair that appeared over the years, while to him you were always the same young woman he fell in love with when he was a young and inexperienced lad.

And when he grew old and grey, surrounded by nothing but the walls of Dunholm, of which he had become lord, he felt the doors of the Other World open and a bird flap its wings, followed by the sound of a gash. With dying eyes and a tired smile, he watched you keep your own promise and claim his soul as he breathed his last, and feeling his body rejuvenated by the effects of eternal life, he took you by the hand as you reached the gates of the Other World, and with a long, desperate kiss, you sealed your eternal life together, and your souls at last lived and rested in peace.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Sihtric Kjartansson Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm @sihtricsafin @arcielee

@volklana @gemini-mama @ladyinred2248

[asa-do-your-thing]

beware the woods at night

18+ MINORS DNI Robb Stark x Margaery Tyrell 4.6 k Warnings: Monsterfucking, shapeshifting / werewolf / skinchanging, p in v sex, doggystyle (heheheh), cunnilingus, as always no beta no nothing written for @fandomeventcenter 's fan frankentober <3

Margaery sighed and turned aroud once more, grumbling and sticking a leg out of the furs that covered her. Sleep seemed to elude her tonight; Renly’s death still laid heavily in her mind and the slow travel up to the Riverlands in disguise had been gruelling as well. Sleeping on the ground like some peasant had been humbling, if not humiliating.

She could not complain though, for whatever she has heard of King Robb was far better than what she had heard about Prince Joffrey… she only hoped that her Grandmother’s gamble would pay off. Staring up onto the dark wooden ceiling, she tried to find a comfortable position to lie in.

Atranta was where the King and his closest, most loyal men would collect her - well, that was the plan, at least.

Lord Norbert - an old, frail man with close to no eyesight - had merely shrugged and pointed out into the wilderness. “My sons are in Riverrun and are accompanying him, but there is still a war going on. You’re important, yes, but the gods only know what is going on around here in these times,” he muttered and held out a plate with salt and bread out for her to chew on.

Her retainers (as many as she could take with her without giving away her true identity until they reached Atranta) had immediately tried to correct him - she was THE Margaery Tyrell, who would marry their King and supply their army with thousands of men - but Margaery made them stand down. What use was it to antagonize and old man who had no love for their sort, strange ‘southerners’ from the Reach?

Grumbling, she stood up and slipped into her silk robe, trying to find a passage to a place where she could catch some fresh air. Thankfully, she thought, the Riverlands were still relatively warm compared to whatever would await her in the North once this blasted war was over.

Margaery stepped out into the cool night air, the gentle breeze caressing her face and rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. The moon cast a soft glow over the land, illuminating the rolling hills and distant forests that stretched out before her. She breathed deeply, savoring the sweet scent of wildflowers and the earthy aroma of the damp soil beneath her feet.

Despite the beauty of the night, Margaery couldn't shake the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. The uncertainty of her future weighed heavily on her mind. Would King Robb accept her as his bride? Would the North welcome her, or would they view her as an outsider, a southerner unfit to be their queen?

She thought of her grandmother, the formidable Olenna, and the calculated risk she had taken in arranging this marriage. Margaery knew that her family's fortunes rested on the success of this union. If she could win the heart of the Young Wolf and secure an alliance between the Reach and the North, it could turn the tide of the war in their favor.

But first, she had to meet her betrothed.

The journey to Atranta had been long and arduous, and now that she was so close to her destination, Margaery found herself growing increasingly anxious. What if King Robb was not the man she had heard him to be? What if he was cruel or indifferent, like so many other men in positions such as his? Picking at her nails, she sighed.

Acting, surviving - those were her great talents, though they drained her beyond belief. Marrying Renly had been a good idea, yet… it made her tired. Tired that even though she played her part magnificently, Renly barely even tried.

Margaery's heart raced as she hurried back inside the keep, her silk robe fluttering behind her in the cool night breeze. The ancient stones of the castle walls seemed to close in around her, their rough surfaces casting eerie shadows in the flickering torchlight. She quickened her pace, her slippered feet padding softly against the worn flagstones.

As she reached her chamber, Margaery hastily closed the heavy wooden door behind her, the iron latch clanging loudly in the stillness of the night. She leaned against the door, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The room was dimly lit by a single candle, its wavering flame casting a ghostly glow across the sparse furnishings.

Margaery made her way to the bed, the old frame creaking under her weight as she lay down upon the musty furs. She pulled the covers up to her chin, her eyes wide and staring into the darkness. Despite her exhaustion, sleep continued to elude her, her mind racing with thoughts of the uncertain future that lay ahead.

As the night wore on, Margaery's eyelids grew heavy, and she finally drifted off into a fitful slumber.

In her dreams, she found herself wandering through a dense, misty forest, the trees towering above her like ancient sentinels. The air was thick and heavy, filled with the musty scent of decaying leaves and damp earth.

Suddenly, the snap of a twig behind her made Margaery whirl around, her heart pounding in her chest. Through the swirling mists, a figure emerged - tall, almost as big as a horse, with fur that was as grey as stormclouds and eyes as golden as her grandmother’s clothes. As he drew closer, Margaery could make out the sharp planes of its face, the sharpness of its fangs. This dream wolf looked so familiar, and yet… she couldn’t quite place it.

"Lady Margaery," he said, his voice deep and resonant and unbelievably captivating. "You should not wander around such forests."

Margaery curtsied low, her eyes downcast. "My Lord Wolf," she murmured, unsure about how to respond. This was a dream, was it not? Talking, threatening wolves were never a regular occurence in her sleep. "I… I do not know how I came to be here."

The wolf stepped closer, his gaze intense as he studied her face, slowly but surely pushing her against a tree with its massive body. "I must admit, I had my doubts about you and still do. There have been rumours that you’ve killed your husband and have laid with half of King’s Landing. Is that true?"

Nervously looking around the dark forest, she tried to get herself to wake up and tripped over her robe, tearing it, as she tried her hardest to get away from the beast. “I- what do you want of me? Are you the same demon that killed Renly?”

The wolf's golden eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat. "I am no demon, Lady Margaery. I am the one who seeks the truth. Answer me plainly - did you have a hand in your husband's death?"

Margaery's heart raced as she pressed her back against the rough bark of the tree, the torn fabric of her robe fluttering in the chilly breeze. "No, my Lord Wolf," she said, her voice trembling. "I swear it. I loved Renly, and his death has brought me nothing but grief."

The wolf studied her intently, his hot breath ghosting over her face.

After a long moment, he seemed to relax, his massive form shifting slightly as he stepped back. "I believe you," he said, his deep voice softening. "But the rumors of your... indiscretions in King's Landing. Are they true?"

Margaery felt a flush of shame rise to her cheeks. "They are not, my Lord," she said firmly, meeting the wolf's gaze. "I have always been faithful, in both body and spirit. Those who spread such lies seek only to tarnish my reputation and undermine my family's position."

It felt like somethign was pressing the air out of her longs, yet it was not the wolf - it seemed like the mist punished her for her lie. “Alright, I might have laid with one or two people, but what could I have done when Renly was busy ramming Loras?”

The wolf nodded slowly, a glimmer of interest in his golden eyes. "And he did not attend to your needs, did he not fulfill his duties?”

Huffing, Margaery tried to straighten herself, but the wolf would not budge an inch. It even had the gall to sniff her - although, was that not what most dogs and wolves did?

“I even offered him to take my brother into our bed if that would have helped, but he declined. I swear upon my Grandmother’s soul, Lord Wolf, I tried all I could, I even offered him my other hole even though I knew it would not have been conducive to conception, but even that did not change his mind,” she muttered, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

What filth was she spewing, to a figment of her imagination, no less?

The wolf's eyes widened slightly at Margaery's frank admission, a hint of amusement playing across his lupine features. "It seems your husband was a fool, Lady Margaery, to neglect a woman of your charms and willingness to please."

Margaery felt a strange flutter in her stomach at the wolf's words, a mixture of indignation and something else, something darker and more primal. She lifted her chin defiantly. "And what would you know of pleasing a woman, my Lord Wolf? You who stalk these misty forests, far from the warmth of hearth and home?"

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped the wolf's throat. "Do not presume to know the desires of beasts, my Lady. We too have our needs, our hungers." His golden eyes seemed to glow in the gloom, fixed intently upon her face.

Margaery swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The wolf's presence was overwhelming, his powerful form radiating a heat that she could feel even through the thin silk of her torn robe. "And what hunger is it that drives you, my Lord?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The wolf leaned in closer, his muzzle mere inches from her face. "The hunger for truth, for loyalty, for a mate who will let herself be pleased by me and that will yearn to be round with my pups." His words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Was she… was she seriously dreaming of an improper encounter with a wolf?

What on earth was in Lord Vance’s dinner? Or was this just beccause her maid chattered about meeting the ‘Young Wolf’ so many times that Margaery’s mind had conjured this nonsense up? But she knew it was not fully nonsense. Somehow, the dampness of the moss and leaves under her feet felt too real to be classified as ‘nonsense’. “Pleased by you and round with pups…? You’re a wolf and I’m, what, I cannot-”

The wolf gently licked across her face, effectively shutting her up. “Of course you can.”

Margaery's breath caught in her throat as the wolf's rough tongue rasped across her cheek. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, a strange mixture of fear and fascination. She knew this was madness, that she should push the beast away and flee, but some primal part of her yearned to see where this dream would lead.

"And how would you please me, my Lord Wolf?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "With tooth and claw, like the wild creature you are?"

The wolf's eyes glinted with a hint of mischief. "Oh, I have far gentler ways, my Lady. Ways that will leave you trembling and aching for more." He pressed his muzzle against her neck, inhaling deeply. "I can smell your desire, your need. Let me satisfy it. Take off your clothes - let me see you."

Margaery's heart raced as the wolf's words washed over her. She knew she should resist, that this was nothing more than a fevered dream brought on by the stresses of her journey and the uncertainty of her future.

And yet, the promise of pleasure, of fulfillment, was too tempting to ignore.

Slowly, hesitantly, she slipped out of her robe and her shift, before tangling her fingers in the wolf's thick fur. It was softer than she expected, like silk spun from moonbeams. The wolf rumbled approvingly, pressing closer until she could feel the heat of his body seeping into her skin. "Lie down, my Lady - you are beautiful, so beautiful,” it whispered, nudging her with its wet nose.

Slowly lowering herself onto the ground, she shivered and almost yelped as she felt the beast pushing her legs apart, its tongue lolling out as if it would devour her in the next moment.

The wolf's rough tongue dragged slowly along the inside of Margaery's thigh, its hot breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. She gasped at the unfamiliar yet exhilarating sensation, her fingers tangling deeper into the beast's thick fur. The damp earth and moss pressed into her bare back as the wolf settled between her parted legs.

"My Lord Wolf," Margaery panted, barely able to form coherent words as the creature's muzzle brushed against her most intimate places. "This is madness, utter madness..."

A low rumble emanated from the wolf's chest, almost like a dark chuckle. "Madness, you say? Nay, sweet Margaery. This is nature, pure and untamed. Let yourself feel it. Embrace it."

With that, the wolf's long tongue delved into her slick folds, lapping at the nectar that flowed freely from her body. Margaery cried out, arching off the forest floor as jolts of pleasure raced through her veins. She had never known such sensations, not even in her most wanton imaginings. The wolf's ministrations were relentless, driving her higher and higher until she thought she might shatter from the sheer intensity of it all.

"Please," she whimpered, though she knew not what she was begging for. "I cannot...it is too much!"

The wolf paused, lifting its great head and licked its teeth, before nudging her to turn around onto her knees. “You don’t know what too much is, my Lady,” it growled.

Gasping, Margaery turned around and closed her eyes, slowly counting down numbers in hopes that she would wake up and forget this foolish, lusty memory. “I can’t, this is madness, this is… I am too wanton for my own good,” she mumbled, shivering as she felt the beast looming over her.

Suddenly, Margaery felt the wolf's weight pressing down upon her, its powerful form covering her like a warm, living blanket. She trembled as she felt its hardness nudging insistently between her thighs, seeking entrance to her most secret place.

"My Lord Wolf," she gasped, half in fear, half in desperate anticipation. "Be gentle, I beg you..."

The wolf nuzzled her neck, its hot breath stirring the fine hairs at her nape. "Fear not, my Lady," it rumbled. "I shall be as gentle as the spring rain, as tender as a newborn pup."

With a slow, deliberate motion, the wolf began to press forward, its thick length parting her slick folds and delving deep within her body. Margaery let out a long, low moan, her fingers scrabbling at the damp earth as she was stretched and filled beyond anything she had ever known. The sensation was overwhelming, bordering on pain, yet shot through with such exquisite pleasure that she found herself pushing back against the wolf's steady thrusts, craving more.

"Yes," she panted, all thoughts of propriety and decorum fled from her mind. "Oh, yes, my Lord..."

The wolf's pace increased, its powerful haunches flexing as it drove into her again and again. Margaery could feel a great pressure building within her, a coiling tension that threatened to snap at any moment. She ground her hips against him and slowed as she felt her buttocks grinding against… skin. Skin, not fur.

Her head flew up as the wolf, or whatever her mind had conjured up, pulled her up by her dark locks. It was then she realized, moaning wantonly, that it was not a wolf that was above (or behind? Margaery was too far gone into her own realm of pleasure to know anymore) her, but a man, a man with beautiful, broad shoulders and auburn hair.

The revelation sent a fresh wave of shock and desire coursing through Margaery's body. She twisted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had taken the wolf's place, but he held her firmly in place, his strong hands gripping her hips as he continued to thrust into her with a steady, relentless rhythm.

"Who are you?" she gasped, her voice ragged with need and confusion. "What sorcery is this?"

The man leaned forward, his muscular chest pressing against her back as he nipped at her earlobe. "No sorcery, my Lady," he murmured, his voice deep and rich, with a hint of a Northern burr. "Only the magic of the wild, the primal force that flows through all living things."

Margaery's mind reeled as she tried to process this strange turn of events. Had the wolf been a man all along, some shapeshifter or skin-changer out of the old tales? Or was this all just a fevered dream, a product of her overwrought imagination? She found she no longer cared, lost as she was in the exquisite sensations that were building to a crescendo within her.

The man's thrusts grew harder, faster, his breath coming in hot, ragged pants against her neck. Margaery pushed back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, her body singing with a pleasure she had never known.

Margaery felt the man's thrusts become more urgent, more primal, as he drove into her with a force that made her toes curl. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he pulled her back against him, impaling her deeply on his thick, hard length.

"Yes, my Lady," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Take all of me, let me fill you utterly..."

With a final, powerful surge, the man hilted himself fully inside her, his release pulsing hot and deep within her body. Margaery cried out, her inner walls clenching around him as she teetered on the brink of her own climax. But even as the man's movements slowed, he did not withdraw from her. Instead, he reached around, his calloused fingers seeking out the sensitive pearl at the apex of her thighs.

"You have pleased me greatly, sweet Margaery," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "But I would have you find your own pleasure as well."

He began to stroke her, his touch deft and sure, circling and teasing the swollen bud until Margaery was writhing beneath him, her body wound tight as a bowstring. She could feel him still hard inside her, filling her so completely that she thought she might break apart from the sheer intensity of it.

"Please," she whimpered, barely recognizing her own voice, so wanton and needy. "I need... I need..."

"I know what you need, my sweet girl," the man murmured, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder. "And I shall give it to you. Come for me now, let me feel your pleasure."

With a final, deft flick of his fingers, the man sent Margaery hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. Her body convulsed around him, her inner walls fluttering and clenching as wave after wave of pure, unadulterated bliss crashed over her. She cried out, a wordless, primal sound that echoed through the misty forest, mingling with the man's own grunts of satisfaction as he thrust into her, prolonging her climax until she thought she might faint from the sheer intensity of it.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the tremors subsided, leaving Margaery limp and panting in the man's embrace. He held her close, his strong arms encircling her as he pressed tender kisses along the column of her neck.

"You are a wonder, Lady Margaery," he said softly, his voice suffused with warmth and admiration. "So responsive, so eager to please and be pleased in turn. You will make a fine wife, a perfect companion to share my bed and my life."

Margaery's heart leapt at his words and as she tried to fully turn around she woke up with a start in her chamber in Atranta, her maid shaking her.

“M’Lady, wake! The King will arrive in less than an hour, Lord Vance has instructed me to wake you!”

Gulping, Margaery nodded and tried standing up, yet her legs buckled beneath her, almost as if she’d really just lain with a lover.

Margaery's heart raced as she hurried to compose herself, her mind still reeling from the vivid, almost tangible dream that had consumed her. The sensations had been so real, the pleasure so intense, that she could scarcely believe it had been nothing more than a figment of her slumbering imagination.

With trembling hands, she smoothed her rumpled clothing and ran her fingers through her tousled hair, trying to erase any evidence of her nocturnal fantasies. Her maid bustled about the chamber, chattering excitedly about the King's arrival and the preparations that needed to be made.

"They say he's a handsome one, the Young Wolf," the girl babbled, laying out a fresh gown for Margaery to wear. "Tall and strong, with eyes like the summer sky and hair kissed by fire. And so gallant, so brave! They say he rides into battle on a great grey direwolf, fearless and fierce..."

Margaery's breath caught in her throat at the maid's words. A great grey direwolf... just like the one that had haunted her dreams, the one that had transformed into a man and brought her to such dizzying heights of ecstasy. Could it be mere coincidence, or was there some deeper meaning to the visions that had plagued her sleep?

She had little time to ponder the question, however, as her maid was already urging her to dress and prepare herself for the King's arrival.

Margaery took a deep breath to calm her nerves as she made her way down to the great hall of Atranta. Her emerald green gown swished around her ankles and the delicate golden rose necklace rested cool against her throat. She had taken extra care with her appearance, wanting to make the best possible impression on King Robb when they finally came face to face.

The ancient stone walls seemed to pulse with energy and anticipation. Servants scurried to and fro, making last minute preparations. The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meats and fresh baked bread. Minstrels tuned their instruments in the corner, getting ready to play fanfares heralding the king's entrance.

Margaery's stomach fluttered with nerves and something else, something that made her skin flush as she recalled flashes of her incredibly vivid dream - the powerful grey wolf with golden eyes, morphing into a wild, passionate man with auburn hair who had ravished her so thoroughly in the misty forest.

It had seemed so real, his rough hands on her body, his hard length inside her, bringing her to shuddering ecstasy...

She shook her head, trying to banish the wanton images. It was folly, letting a mere nighttime fantasy affect her so. She needed to focus on reality, on charming and winning over the King in the waking world, not pining for an imaginary dream lover.

Lord Vance and the other nobles were already gathered in the hall, talking in hushed, excited tones. Margaery took her place among them, head held high, a serene smile gracing her lips. She would not let her inner turmoil show. She was a Tyrell, a rose of Highgarden, poised and confident and ready to do her duty.

A sudden fanfare of trumpets silenced the murmurs. The great oaken doors swung open. "His Grace, Robb of House Stark, First of His Name, King in the North and of the Trident!" the herald announced.

Margaery's breath caught as the king strode in, surrounded by his bannermen. He was every inch as impressive as her maid had described - tall and powerfully built, with a mane of thick auburn curls and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight into her soul. He wore simple leathers and furs rather than rich silks and velvets, a snarling direwolf embroidered across his broad chest.

As he drew nearer to the assembled nobles, those striking eyes met hers. Margaery's heart stuttered. Though his face was new to her... those eyes... she knew those eyes. Those were the eyes of the man from her dream, the eyes of the passionate man he had become, boring into her with the same primal intensity as he moved inside her, bringing her to the peaks of pleasure.

It couldn't be. It just couldn’t. Margaery curtsied and kept her head trained on the floor, not wishing to look up at him and blush.

King Robb approached the assembled nobles, his steps sure and purposeful on the stone floor. Margaery held her curtsy, not daring to look up, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, intense and penetrating, just as it had been in her dream.

He stopped before her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her bowed head. "Lady Margaery," he said, his deep, rich voice sending a shiver down her spine. "Rise, please. Let me look upon the face of my future queen."

Slowly, Margaery straightened, lifting her eyes to meet his. Up close, he was even more striking - chiseled features, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, those remarkable blue eyes that seemed to see straight into her very soul. He regarded her intently, a small, almost knowing smile playing about his lips.

He extended his hand to her, and she placed her trembling fingers in his warm, calloused palm. He bowed over her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles in a gesture that was both courtly and strangely intimate. "Welcome to the Riverlands, my lady," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

As he straightened, he leaned in close, his mouth barely an inch from her ear. "I hope I did not wear you out too much last night," he whispered, evidently trying to suppress a grin. "In the forest.”

Margaery's eyes widened in shock at Robb's whispered words. Her heart raced and her breath caught in her throat. How could he possibly know about her dream? Unless... unless it wasn't just a dream after all. Had some strange magic truly connected them in the night, allowing them to share that wild, passionate encounter in the misty forest?

She searched his face, trying to read the truth in his expression. That small, knowing smile still played about his lips, and his blue eyes danced with a mix of mischief and heat that made her knees feel weak. There was no denying the intense connection that crackled between them, the same primal energy she had felt with the wolf who became a man in her dream.

Robb straightened, still holding her hand in his. He turned to address the assembled nobles, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "My lords and ladies, I present to you Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, a true rose of the south. She will be my queen and the Lady of Winterfell, a shining light in the North."

The hall erupted in cheers and applause. Margaery smiled graciously, curtseying to acknowledge the accolades, but her mind was reeling. What happened was now undeniable and made her want to rub her thighs together once more.

She was marrying the right man, she thought with a small smile, even if he was a bit… furry sometimes.

[legitalicat]

Keeping Up With The Targaryens - Episode 25 (Spooky Season)

AN: HAPPY SPOOKY SEASON!! Once again, Lana ( @zaldritzosrose ) creating this with you is one of the greatest things of my life and I am so grateful for you and our friendship.

This episode is brought to you for Fan Frankentober 2024!! Go check out @fandomeventcenter throughout the month for more spooky season fun!

Series Masterlist here!

Summary: Our favorite family gets prepared for their Halloween shenanigans.

CW: Language, dirty jokes, Aegon being an absolute simp treasure,

Relationships: Aegon Targaryen ii x Reader, Helaena Targaryen x Cregan Stark, Jacaerys Velaryon x Sara Snow, Baela Targaryen x Tyla (OC)

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Taglist: special shout outs @anjelicawrites @alexagirlie and @lady-phasma

@fan-goddess @thenameswinter99 @abecerra611 @ilikechocolatemilkh @whore-of-many-hot-men @callsignwidow

@tomgcsmrs @aegonswife @barnes70stark @foxynali @decaffeinatedparadisepost

[recklessufodriver]

Frankentober 9th (late)

Theme: splatoon

Prompt: fan species

These are like anemone people, I actually really like this so I might make some ocs of it

[zaldritzosrose]

Ours to Love (Feyd x Bene Gesserit!Reader x Paul)

Summary: The Bene Gesserit were a force that few Houses would trifle with. Rumours of witchcraft had circled them for as long as anyone could remember. Their webs of manipulation wrapping around even the post powerful of rulers. You were the definition of that, proving there was little a Sister could not achieve. So what would happen when you were sent to seduce not one, but two Heirs to powerful Houses?

CW: MINORS DNI, afab reader, she/her pronouns, mentions of manipulation, Paul being a little submissive, Feyd being more forceful, comparisons of Bene Gesserit to witches (descriptions of their powers as bewitching etc), profanity, innuendo, slight rough sex, p in v sex, kind of a threesome but not, mentions of BG breeding programme.

Words: 5541

Happy Spooky Season! This is my third fic submission to our Fan Frankentober Event (masterlist will be found here) in collab with a few lovely moots! Head over to @fandomeventcenter for more info!

The Bene Gesserit were a group few understood. Dancing the line between mortal and something more. Their abilities made them both dangerous and curious in equal measure. Houses would, willingly or unwillingly, bend to the will of the Sisters. Most old and great Houses knew better than to deny a Sister.

Some accused them of being witches. Bewitching the minds of anyone they chose. Controlling the world as though they were master puppeteers.

Even Houses like the Harkonnens and the Atreides weren’t free from Bene Gesserit influence.

But the depth of that influence would soon show its true nature.

You were a marvel really. The gem in the Reverend Mother’s collection. Excelling in every way, ‘a natural talent’, the Reverend Mother had said. Showing your proficiency in all manner of ways to manipulate and coerce someone to your way of thinking.

Some might call it magic, so many Houses calling you and your Sisters witches. But you were simply in control of your minds, honing your craft to bend others to your cause.

So, it was no surprise to you when Mother Helen requested your presence in her study after the whisperings of a potential path to the fulfilment of the Bene Gesserit’s long standing breeding programme.

“Reverend Mother,” you said softly, inclining your head before seating yourself before Mother Helen.

You waited patiently. Though you could sense why you’d been summoned, you didn’t want to overstep yourself.

“I presume you know why I have asked you here?” Mother Helen said sternly, the light from the window behind her illuminating her just enough to see the faint smile on her lips.

“Yes, Reverend Mother.”

Your hands fidgeted with the embroidery on your dress. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or excitement, but either way your stomach was in knots.

Luckily, Mother Helen wasted little time in explaining the situation.

“We have two prospects, my dear. Paul Atreides, the Duke’s son. And Feyd-Rautha, of House Harkonnen.”

Your heart seemed to speed up. Two prospects?

“Two? That is unusual, isn’t it?” you asked, keeping your tone as calm and respectful as possible.

The Reverend Mother’s smile tightened before she spoke.

“Not necessarily. It is safer to have several avenues to follow than relying on one.”

She wasn’t chastising you, but her tone left no room for argument. But her words made sense. Why would an organisation as powerful as the Bene Gesserit rest all of their hopes on one person?

You simply nodded. You had a feeling more instructions would come when you needed them.

“And you have been trusted to follow both of these paths, to see which ends in success.”

You couldn’t stop your expression changing. Surprise colouring your face. Both. You were to pursue both men in the hopes of fulfilling plans that had been laid for centuries?

“Reverend Mother, I…”

But the hand Mother Helen raised stopped you immediately.

“No questions. You have been honoured with this, my dear. Both Houses are to be in Arrakis for an Imperial court in the next week, Feyd and Paul will be attending.”

Mother Helen leaned in, almost inspecting you.

“As will you. You are tasked with testing both heirs, everything has been prepared for your departure.”

Her words were final. You were travelling to Arrakis whether you liked it or not. There was little use in arguing, many of your Sisters could only dream of being given such a prestigious task.

The weight of the breeding programme now lay on your shoulders.

The meeting on Arrakis was something neither Paul nor Feyd wished to attend, if they were asked to speak honestly on the subject.

They had been named heirs to their Houses and it was expected for them to be there. To hear about the Imperial plans, to what would be expected of them as and when they took control of their respective Houses.

But honestly? Sat on either side of the long table, surrounded by Lord, Barons, Dukes – all of whom they’d long forgotten the names of – they would rather be anywhere else.

So, when the meeting took a break and they were finally granted a reprieve, they all but marched out of the room. Paul made immediately for a balcony, inhaling the warm but fresh air of Arrakis to clear his mind. Feyd simply walked, wandering the winding halls to distract himself.

Little did they know, they were being watched. The Bene Gesserit, aside from the Reverend Mother herself, rarely attended meetings like this so you had simply been sat in a shaded courtyard, waiting.

The wives and daughters of the political leaders were also seated around you, but you paid them little mind. You had a job to do. Your lace veil remained draped over your face; the matching gown you had chosen thankfully light enough to fend off the desert heat.

The other ladies openly avoided you, from fear or hatred, you didn’t know. You liked it, if you were honest. The fact that your mere presence could instil such drastic feelings into strangers.

The doors to the main hall opening and closing drew your attention, though it was now a choice of who to find first. The meetings were to last a week at the least, so you had time enough. But two potential prospects was going to be a challenge even for a seasoned Sister such as yourself.

But the Reverend Mother had asked you for a reason. You knew it without her even saying it.

So many believed the Bene Gesserit to be witches, using long forgotten magic to bewitch and beguile their intended targets. You only added to that belief. There was simply something about you. A magnetism, as the Reverend Mother called it. An aura that drew people, especially men, into your web and entangled them before they even knew what you were doing.

Which is exactly what you needed to do with the Atreides and Harkonnen heirs.

Ensnare. Entangle. Entrance.

Paul was too lost to his thoughts to notice someone joining him on the balcony. His eyes trained solely on the seemingly infinite expanse of desert that was Arrakis. Only a soft voice alerted him to his guest.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He turned his head sharply; eyes widened a little in surprise. He hadn’t even heard you enter, never mind stand at his side. He took a moment to take you in. The veil, the black lace that seemed to melt into your gown below, though you had revealed your face now. Paul knew enough about the Bene Gesserit to read the clues.

But beyond that, he couldn’t ignore how beautiful you were. Already, he could feel a pull he couldn’t ignore.

But you spoke again before he could respond.

“I apologise for startling you, young Master.”

Paul simply frowned and nodded. You knew him then, enough to know his title as the Duke’s son.

“No apology needed.” He said quietly turning back to the view in front of him.

You took that time, as he had, to study him. The sharp lines of his profile, the messy, warm brown curls that framed his face. Already, you wagered, you had struck lucky on the first path you were meant to follow.

Paul could feel you watching him, like a specimen being studied. Something tingled in the back of his mind, putting him on edge. He could only guess that it was you. It was like you were searching for something within his mind.

And everything he knew of the Bene Gesserit, from his mother had him immediately paranoid. But you were persistent, letting your presence linger in his mind before retreating.

“Is there something you needed?” he asked, flitting his eyes toward you.

You smiled. You knew his mother was one of your own, so you were prepared for a little resistance from him. It was half the reason you had come to Paul first. But you also knew he was no different to any other man.

You just might need to push a little harder to get him to break.

“Am I bothering you? I can go if you wish…” you played up the hurt in your tone, having sensed it would chip away at his defences.

You even turned to leave, and immediately felt his hand on your arm.

“No, that’s not what I meant…”

His touch was gentle, but enough to stop you moving further. You turned back, placing your hand over his. You could have sworn you even saw a small smile tug at his lips.

You had him…almost.

“I know how tedious these events can be, maybe you simply need some company?”

You stood a little closer, his hand having let you go, but your arm now brushing against his. Paul huffed out a laugh. Maybe your company wouldn’t be so bad. You were beautiful, a welcome distraction from long, political meetings.

And a little peek into Paul’s mind told you just the same.

Your claws were already sinking in.

Soon, Paul was drawn back into a meeting with his father. You could see the hesitation in eyes as he left, but your hand on his arm seemed to soften him.

“I’ll be here all week, to distract you whenever you choose,”

The hint of flirtation in your voice had a soft blush creeping on to his cheeks. He simply nodded, turning quickly and hurrying to meet his father.

Your focus now turned to Feyd. The Harkonnens were, by your research, wary of the Bene Gesserit compared to most Houses. So, you knew your plans would need to change.

A few well-placed questions told you that Feyd was down in the palace’s armoury, which was no surprise. Feyd’s reputation travelled a little further than Paul’s. The Harkonnen heir was well known for his ferocity and his combat prowess. But you knew from experience, that there would be far more beneath the surface.

You just needed to find it.

Feyd’s head snapped around the moment you entered. Barely crossing the threshold before he spoke.

“Whoever you are, I don’t want to be disturbed.”

You held back your smile. Impressive, you thought. Though you were more than prepared for more of a challenge with Feyd. Where you could sense a timidness, a weakness almost in Paul, there was little of that in Feyd. You were going to need a different tactic with him.

But his tone didn’t deter you. His body turned completely to you as you continued to approach him.

“Then I won’t disturb you. The room is large enough for us both.”

You could see Feyd’s jaw twitch, simply at the fact someone didn’t immediately bend to his will. With slow movements, you walked straight past him and made a point of looking over the different weapon displays. But you could feel his eyes on you.

You could tell Feyd was a man of action, one who let his reputation speak for him. Of letting fear be his weapon.

So, you made a point of ignoring him. But you could hear the steady thump of his footsteps as he approached. Despite his proximity, you continued to ignore him.

He was mere inches from your back when you spoke again.

“I thought you didn’t want to be disturbed, Na-Baron?”

You could almost feel the frustration coming off him in waves. He was a man who wasn’t used to being told ‘No’.

But just like Paul, you knew you had him intrigued. And you had a feeling Feyd would be more inclined to make how he felt known.

“You are truly something,” he mumbled, his voice a low rumble, almost quiet enough for you to miss it.

He was almost pressed against you now, the solid plane of his chest with barely inches between you. His arm reaching round, trailing over one of the knives on the wall.

“The armoury is not where I would expect to see a Bene Gesserit…” he whispered, leaning even further in.

Your head turned ever so slightly, leaning back to close the distance between your bodies.

“I like to do the unexpected.”

You were sure you heard him chuckle. His cheek almost pressed to yours now. His skin was cool against yours and you relished the feeling. Maybe breaking Feyd wouldn’t be as difficult as you thought.

You were almost caged between him and the display. Both arms now reaching around and leaning his weight against your back.

“I am sure there are a lot of things you like to do, hmm?”

You knew he was trying to intimidate you, believing he was the cat, and you were the little mouse.

But how wrong he would be.

Neither Feyd nor Paul listened to anyone who warned them against you.

Paul’s mother was the first to berate him on his fascination with you, even after only a few meetings. Warning him of what a Sister like you was capable of. That could have already clouded his mind and there would be nothing he could do.

But he refused to listen. You had done nothing to harm him. You had been nothing but kind. He had no reason, in his mind, to not trust you.

In Feyd’s case, it had been his uncle. The Harkonnen Baron had immediately questioned Feyd on his interactions with you, recognising immediately why the Bene Gesserit would show interest in his nephew.

But much like Paul, he refused to listen. In his opinion, he wasn’t weak enough to succumb to such manipulations. The myths he had heard of the Bene Gesserit were just that, myths that would scare weaker minds.

Little did they know, that was exactly what you wanted them to believe. The first step in having them entirely trapped.

Your first meetings with both men felt successful. Knowing you were now firmly in their minds only bolstered your confidence in completing your task. You could see it in how they looked at you.

Feyd was clearer, desire burning dark in his gaze. Paul, however, was more subtle, though his eyes rarely ever left you.

Throughout the week, you met with both of them whenever you could. Separately of course. It wasn’t quite the time to cross that line yet. Though the time may come.

You had seen them interact during the more social side of the political meetings. Finding common ground, it seemed, only through being heirs to prominent Houses.

You had seen the suspicious stares from their family members, wagering that both men had been warned against you. But that only told you that your plans had worked. You were in their minds; you had captured their hearts.

Exactly as you intended.

Tonight was a grand affair. The middle of the week and break from politics and strategy meetings. Everyone attended, including you.

The hall was decked out with tables laden with food, a stage that housed a band and a large space in the centre that could only be for dancing. A surefire way to get nobles socialising was a ball.

The Reverend Mother had told you to focus on this night especially. When most everyone would be more relaxed, including Feyd and Paul. 

Part of you wondered if either of them had noticed your attention being split between them both. Whether Paul’s knowledge of the Bene Gesserit had in any way clued him into what you had planned.

Either way, it mattered little. From the moment you arrived in the hall, you could feel their eyes on you.

Your interactions with both men had been intimate in their own ways.

Paul was gentle, timid almost when it came to you, and you had taken your time with him before he had got comfortable enough in your presence. But when he was comfortable, he was like putty in your hands.

Feyd on the other hand was a man who knew what he wanted and was willing to take it. And take it he did. He was experienced, there was no doubt in that. And his desires for you were not something he concerned himself with hiding.

So, it was no surprise when Feyd was the first to approach you.

His hands reached instantly for your arms, stroking up and down the bare skin and tugging you gently back towards his chest.

“I have been waiting for you to appear, my little mouse.”

You smiled at the name. It was more of a tease than a condescension. He knew as well as you did, you were his equal in many ways.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long, Na-Baron?”

Feyd leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he chuckled.

“I would wait forever for a moment of your time, you know that.”

It was a simple flirtation, but you bit back a smile at the implication. You had your teeth in deep and Feyd had no means of escape. But despite yourself, you leaned back into him.

“That’s quite a promise, am I truly so memorable?”

Feyd’s hands had travelled from your arms to your waist, fingers digging into your body just a little. There was almost a possessiveness to how he touched you, both in bed and out in public. You couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down your spine at the coolness of his skin through your dress.

“Memorable is one word to describe you. Tempting is a far better word, I wager.”

His voice was so low, a dark rumble in your ear. Inviting you to give into him this time, to satisfy the mutual desire between you both.

You entwined your hand with his, twisting in his arms.

“Tempting enough to follow?”

You didn’t wait for an answer, you simply walked. Feyd following at your heels like a loyal pup. A sure sign, even if he didn’t know it, of the hold you had on him.

What you didn’t see, however, was Paul’s eyes on you the entire time. Or that he walked out seconds behind you and Feyd.

You hurried down the halls, Feyd easily keeping pace. You slipped into one of the many guest lounges, neither of you concerned with closing the door behind you. As far as you were concerned, no one would disturb you.

Now you were alone, Feyd was on you within seconds. Lips crushed to yours with a ferocity you welcomed. Hands gripping anywhere they could, all but tearing the clothes from your body.

If you had to describe how Feyd loved, it was like being pursued by an animal. His emotions laid bare when he was alone with you, burning through him and dragging you along with him.

But you could take it. You relished it. He was fully entangled in his need for you that he didn’t notice how much control you truly had. How you had wormed your way into his mind and bewitched his very soul.

Your back hit the wall, his lips travelling down as he tugged the sleeves of your dress down your arms. Exposing your skin to his hungry touch. Your own hands gripping at the fabric of his tunic.

This was how it had gone every time you and Feyd were alone. You were a temptation he couldn’t resist, which is exactly what you intended.

His hand travelled lower, tugging your leg high and around his hips, pushing his body tighter against you.

This was how far you usually got. Entwined with each other without fully submitting to desire. But you knew you needed to move things along, to truly test what kind of man Feyd was.

Deft hands pushed his tunic from his shoulders, followed by the thin fabric of his shirt. It wasn’t the first time you had seen Feyd in a state of undress, but it was a sight every time.

His face was buried in your neck as he rolled his hips against you. Your other leg quickly pulled to circle his waist, his rhythm only increasing as your nails dug into his shoulder.

“Tell me I can have you this time?” he mumbled, nipping at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

He was almost pleading as he spoke, the smallest sliver of vulnerability in his words. Hips rutting harder into your waiting body. There was a desperation to him, a deep seated need that made you sure you had a strong hold on him.

You paused for what seemed like an eternity to Feyd, earning you an impatient growl.

“Yes, you can have me…you’ve been so good waiting.”

The praise sent a shot of desire straight to his cock, his arms wrapping tight around your waist as he carried you over to a nearby table. A bed would have been preferred, you thought, but you weren’t about to stop him now.

You laid yourself back immediately, tugging your dress high over your thighs as Feyd caged you beneath his body. His lips quickly finding the soft swell of your chest, nipping and licking your skin through the fabric.

Your moans were soft, but they were like music to his ears. His hands gripped your thighs, tugging your closer to his body. Grinding himself against you until you sighed out his name.

In control or not, you were enjoying this as much as he was.

Feyd quickly had his belt and trousers opened, freeing himself without hesitation. Right now, he didn’t have the patience for foreplay. He wanted you, and he wanted you now. But strong hands on your waist had you on your front, your ass bare and on display.

You moaned in unison as he pushed inside, stretching your walls in the most delicious of ways. The stone of the table was cool against your stomach as Feyd set a steady but punishing rhythm.

Neither of you heard the door push open wider. Feyd’s face pressed into your skin, biting at the flesh as he slammed himself into you.

All Paul could see was the slam of Feyd’s hips against yours. All he could hear was the sound of you moaning Feyd’s name over and over again. It was like a knife to his heart. Was he so uninteresting to you? Had he been too soft, too gentle for you to even consider his affection?

He stood motionless as your moans seemed to get higher and higher. He felt his own cock twitch in his trousers at the very sight, torn between desire and jealousy.

The table seemed to slam against the ground with the force of Feyd’s hips, your moans reaching a crescendo as you all but screamed his name in pleasure. Feyd’s moans devolved to growls as he thrust into you a final time, painting your insides with his thick seed.

Only then, did you realise Paul was in the room. You recognised his mind immediately. Feyd turned at the feeling of someone else in the room.

The Harkonnen’s eyes darkened at the sight of the Paul.

“Enjoying the view?” Feyd snapped, making no moves cover himself as he turned, slowly tucking himself back into his trousers.

You turned and sat up, wrapping your arms around Feyd’s waist and tugging him backwards between your legs. His back pressed to your chest.

“Don’t be cruel, Feyd. Why don’t you come closer, Paul?”

Feyd snapped his head to you, but the look in your eyes told him not to argue. Your hold was strong, the fog in his mind returning and dragging him over to your will. His jaw tensed and he growled low in his throat.

It was like Paul’s mind wasn’t his own as he began to walk closer. Closing the distance between you with quick steps. Before he knew it, he was at your side.

Your hand stretched out to him, drawing him even further in. Your hand carded through his hair as the other rested on Feyd’s back. You could see the desire behind Paul’s eyes, and it was as though fate had delivered you both men on a silver platter.

“You could join us, if you wanted?” you asked, stroking Feyd’s back as though calming a wild animal.

Paul visibly swallowed. Were you really asking what he thought you were? The bite of fear at the way Feyd glared dissipated as you tugged a little at his curls.

He nodded, not trusting his own words. Feyd moved to stand on your opposite side, but you could still see how his body tensed at the mere idea of Paul touching you. And it gave you an idea. You let your presence linger in Feyd’s mind and gave him an instruction.

…Show him. He’s nervous, and I know you want to show him who I belong to…

Your words echoed in his mind, and you knew he’d heard as he smirked.

“Let me show you how it’s done, Atreides. Up close this time.”

You knew that would get him. If there was one thing you had learned to play on with Feyd, it was his possessiveness. To know that he had control of you.

With Paul, he needed to know he was enough for you, to hear how much you wanted him.

Before Feyd could take you again, you made quick work of Paul’s jacket. Throwing the dark material behind him and tugging him down for a kiss. You poured every ounce of desire into that one kiss, feeling Feyd slip back between your legs in the process.

His hands were on your thighs, pushing your dress even further up your body. Revealing more and more of your skin to both of your lovers. His lips found your stomach, hot kisses making your moan into Paul’s mouth as Feyd travelled lower and lower.

Your own hand slipped down to Paul’s waistband, deftly undoing the fastenings of his trousers and slipping your hand inside. Your kiss swallowed Paul’s moans as your wrapped your hand around his length, starting a slow, almost torturous rhythm until he was pulsing in your palm.

Your other hand rested on Feyd’s head, holding him close as he finally found your core. There was something so filthy about how his tongue began to clean his own seed from your skin, but that was another thing you had learned about Feyd.

There were few things he wouldn’t do.

The pace of your hand around Paul’s cock increased as Feyd buried himself entirely between your folds. Your thighs tight around his head as he devoured you.

Paul’s hand rested against the table beside you, steadying himself as he felt his release licking at the base of his spine. But when you grabbed his free hand, bringing it up to massage at your breast, he moaned deep into your mouth.

His touch was needy, relishing at the feeling of your soft flesh beneath his own. He quickly tugged the neckline of your dress lower, freeing both of your breasts from their confines. But what surprised you most, was when his lips left yours and began to suckle at your flesh.

Your moans were a tangle of their names, your heels digging into Feyd’s back as your second orgasm spilled onto his tongue. The salty mix your juices and his seed had Feyd’s eyes fluttering closed.

“Let…let Paul have a turn, Feyd…” you gasped, pushing Feyd back gently.

Feyd huffed, wiping his chin on the back of his hand but he did as he was bid. But you could see the way Feyd’s eyes trailed over Paul’s body, all the way down to where your hand remained wrapped around his cock.

He stepped back, giving Paul just enough space to slip between your thighs.

Paul’s hands were more tentative as they trailed up your thighs and over your hips. Where Feyd was rough and animalistic, Paul was soft and gentle. Almost timid in how he touched you. You had seen it in both their minds. Feyd had almost lost count now with how many conquests he’d had. Paul on the other hand had lost his virginity and little more.

Your legs spread wider, your hand slipping down and resuming your rhythm over Paul’s cock. Feyd watched intently, your free hand rubbing mindless circles over his stomach.

Paul was slow as he entered you. Your slick walls welcoming him with ease, his cock stretching you almost as much as Feyd’s.

You knew this likely wasn’t what the Reverend Mother intended. You were supposed to test them both and choose who to take to the programme. But they were both too much temptation for you to ignore.

“You feel so good, Paul…” you sighed out as he finally bottomed out.

You could feel him preen at the praise, your other hand trailing up his torso and pulling him down for a kiss. The change in angle had Paul groaning into your mouth, your legs wrapping around his hips and urging him to start moving.

His rhythm was slower than Feyd’s but no less satisfying, dragging his length in and out of you slowly. Letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock.

Your nails dug into Feyd’s skin, letting him know from experience that you needed more from Paul.

“She likes it harder, Atreides.” Feyd growled, making Paul stutter in his movements.

Paul glanced at you, and you nodded, telling him that you believed he could do it. That was the push he needed.

Slowly but surely, he sped up. Spurred on by the increased volume of your moans. Feyd smirked, and he couldn’t help but tease Paul just that little more.

“Come on, she won’t break. Fuck her like you mean it.”

Feyd’s taunts made Paul’s jaw tighten, his hands gripping your waist just a little more. What if that’s what made you choose Feyd? Maybe that’s what made you prefer Feyd over him? Even if that wasn’t true, it spurred Paul on.

His face buried itself into your neck, hips now slamming into yours. He wasn’t as rough as Feyd, but the force was much the same. Jealousy was what pushed Paul harder and deeper into your core.

Feyd’s lips found the other side of your neck, biting and licking at your skin just the way you liked it. He wasn’t about to let Paul have you all to himself.

It wasn’t long before Paul’s rhythm began to falter, signalling his release.

“Make her come first, Atreides. I promise the feeling of her squeezing your cock as you come will be worth it.”

Paul huffed into your neck, pulling back to look at Feyd. The taunts were getting to him, but you could also tell they were only making him work harder. And his hesitation had Feyd mocking him again.

“Use your fingers…” Feyd growled, his own hand sliding down your stomach and circling just over your pearl.

“Just here.”

Paul shoved Feyd’s hand away in frustration. He was going to prove to both of you that he was just as good as Feyd was. His fingers were soft on your skin, putting just enough pressure on your bud to have you arching your back in pleasure.

“That’s it, keep going until she can’t take anymore.”

Paul tried his best to keep his rhythm going as he touched you. But luckily, your third peak came quick enough. Your walls squeezing his cock so tight he could barely push inside. You keened his name as you came, Paul following not long after. His seed now mixing with Feyd’s inside you.

He pulled out slowly, and you sat up. Your hands found both of their necks, pulling them in for a kiss one after the other.

You wondered if they knew what your plans had been, but at the same time you didn’t care. You were satisfied, and by the looks in their eyes, so were they.

The political tour soon came to its end. The Reverend Mother had called you to her side after hearing the rumours that you had taken both heirs to bed.

“You are telling me that you’ve had them both?” Mother Helen asked, a mix of surprise and disappointment in her eyes.

But you had already prepared your reasonings.

“I have. I have seen both their minds, tested their resolves and both of them are more than adequate to sire a new generation.” You said simply.

Mother Helen looked at you for a moment and you did your best to hide whatever emotions you had when it came to Feyd and Paul.

In reality, you had found yourself desiring them both. In the days that followed, encounters between the three of you had only increased. Together or separately, it didn’t matter.

All you had to do now, was convince the Reverend Mother.

Feyd and Paul were sat in their final meeting, their relationship remaining cordial but closer than it was. Both of them wanted you, and neither wanted to let the other have you.

So, without your knowledge, they had come to an agreement.

Paul’s knowledge of the Bene Gesserit had clued him in to the existence of the breeding programme. And it was the best explanation they had for your initial interest – they were both heirs to great Houses with once members of your Order as mothers.

But they both agreed that your interest in them, now surpassed your duty.

All that remained was figuring out how to share you.

Dune Taglist:

@blissfulphilospher @tumblin-theworldaway

@lady-phasma @anjelicawrites @aemondsbabe

@alexagirlie @kaelatargaryen

(If you want to be added/deleted, please let me know)

[ellvie]

↳ INSTAGRAM: @elviecroft UPLOADED A PHOTO

this year marks the 200th anniversary of the publishing of one of my favorite stories of all time, frankenstein, the modern prometheus! written by the queen of modern science fiction herself, mary shelley. be sure to celebrate this #frankentober by stealing body parts from your local cemetery and attempting to cheat death by resurrecting a grotesque sapient creature of your own design which will slowly but surely lead to the downfall of you and everyone you’ve ever known! or just read the book i guess

❤ 19,350 ✐ VIEW ALL 2,184 COMMENTS

@ghostiegallery: spooky!

@elvcroft: anyone else feel like the amount of times elvie has attempted to discuss grave robbery with his fans is getting a little out of hand at this point?

@nwillfans: um where is part two of your not what it looks like conspiracy theories video?

[fandomeventcenter]

Fan-Frankentober 2024 MASTERLIST

Below you'll find out entries sorted by fandom. Happy Spooky Season.

House of the Dragon:

Keeping Up With The Targaryens Episode 25 Episode 26 by @legitalicat

Team Black Kids on Halloween Moodboard by @zaldritzosrose Team Green Kids on Halloween Moodboard by @zaldritzosrose

Jacaerys Velaryon Sweeney Todd Moodboard by @towriteloveontheirarms

Carpe Noctem (Goth!Aemond Targaryen x Goth!Reader) by @zaldritzosrose

A Song of Ice and Fire:

Women of ASOIAF Board by @asa-do-your-thing

The Last Kingdom:

Let's Cause A Little Trouble (Romantic Sihtric/ Osferth x Reader & Platonic Uhtred/Finan x Reader) by @zaldritzosrose

The Red Thirst by @gemini-mama

Álfablót by @foxyanon

Forgive Me, Father (Priest!Osferth x Brat!Reader) by @zaldritzosrose

Dune:

Ours to Love (Feyd x Reader x Paul) by @zaldritzosrose

Baldur's Gate 3:

Astarion Addams Family board by @towriteloveontheirarms

Ewanverse Characters:

Tom Bennett - Halloween Headcanons by @zaldritzosrose

Abraham (Grantchester) - Halloween Headcanons by @zaldritzosrose

Will (Salad Days) - Halloween Headcanons by @zaldritzosrose

Werewolf!Osferth x human!reader x Vampire!Aemond Targaryen smut by @anjelicawrites

Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) - Halloween Headcanons by @zaldritzosrose

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Astarion Ancunin Addams family AU moodboard

Get ready for my second entry for Fan frankentober. An AU of two of my most favourite things. Head over to @fandomeventcenter to see everyone else's masterpieces for the event and maybe leave some love for my wonderful friends!

Please reblog and credit if you use!

[fandomeventcenter]

Fan-Frankentober Day 10

Today we have an entry from @gemini-mama!! Super excited for this one as it's a Finan fic titled The Red Thirst! Check below the cut for a tease.

"But why would they abduct or enthrall humans, aside from forcing them to work? Surely there has to be some other reason,” Osferth mused.

“Oh, aye,” Finan nodded, his gaze turning to Osferth. “There are lots of reasons. One of the biggest, it is said, is that they no longer have the ability to reproduce children of their own, so they look for a human, man or woman, to procreate with. Hence all the glamour magic to make themselves so much more pleasing to the eyes."

The conversation was derailed by the arrival of one of the serving girls who brought over a new pitcher for them.

“Better make that two pitchers, please," Finan winked at the young woman, who smiled and set down the other pitcher she carried. Uhtred and Sihtric had gone off to piss, leaving Finan with a frowning Osferth.

“How do they abduct a person? Carry them off under the cover of night?"

Finan shook his head as he refilled everyone’s cups. "No, most often, they play tricks; they will either use their magic to confuse a person, making them lose their way, or they will lure the person to follow them.” He paused to take a drink. “I have heard that it makes their magic more potent if their victim goes willingly."

Osferth uttered an oath under his breath as he took a drink of his own ale; the return of Uhtred and Sihtric drew his attention toward them as they sat back down. Finan pinned Osferth with a dark gaze.

“Just keep yer wits about ya and don’t travel alone at night, and you’ll be fine.”

Uhtred rolled his eyes, smirking, as he realized they were still on the subject of the magical beings of Ireland. “Do not listen to him, Osferth. You are in no more danger of anything magical happening to you than you are of Sihtric twisting a curse on you."

Sihtric grinned at Uhtred. "And how do you know I have not been learning witchcraft in my spare time, hm?”

“Because I know your wife," Uhtred replied wryly. “And I see how many children you have. You have no spare time."

[fandomeventcenter]

Teaser for an upcoming Fan Frankentober submission...

Brought to us by the lovely @thought--bubble (board created by @vhagar-balerion-meraxes)

Title: Surprise Sweetheart (Scream x Salad Days AU)

Teaser:

“She's taking ages, isn't she?” You turned around on the sofa, looking toward the garage door.

“Uhh… yeah… I'll go see if she's alright. I'll be right back.”

“Don't say that! Remember Matt's rule!” You chuckled, recalling Matt's rules for surviving a scary movie.

Tom put his hands up, wiggling his fingers and making a ghost-type sound as he went into the garage.

Then you heard a thump upstairs and felt relieved. That must be Leah.

She probably went off to cry by herself or just get away from the overwhelming atmosphere.

You slowly walked upstairs and peeked your head around the bannister once you reached the landing.

“Leah?” you whispered.

“Nah, just me, love,” Will walked over to you. “What are you sneaking around for?”

Check out their blog for when the fic drops!