#how are alice's alive though??

[paintedpawz]

Just when I think I'm done with series, the little smiling devil ALWAYS returns and makes me obsess like it's 2017 again! Plus BADR was actually pretty good and surpassed my expectations and reminded me why I loved this series in the first place. <3

And yes, this comic was inspired by real life events when I first saw little Bendy in the trailer, and to me it's the most realistic reaction you SHOULD have upon seeing your favorite character come to life! So don't expect this to be the last time I'm drawing Bendy again either. :P

(I’ll translate the speech bubbles too since the scanner cut them off =_=‘)

Audrey: Wait!  You’re the first friendly face I’ve seen!  I promise I won’t hurt you... let’s be friends, ok? 

Me, in the 3rd panel: oOOH MY SWEET HONEY BBQ-D JESUS!  You’re REAL?!  Here, as a real toon?  In Joey Drew Studio?  That murderous mad man did it... that crazy son of a gun!  Look at your lil SUIT~ I waited for SO LONG and you’re perfect! 

Bendy, while thrashing against my affection: PUT ME DOWN!

[angelfoodscake]

i know i joke a lot about my diet being bad (atleast in my head) but i think today was agtually the worst of them all …… i had like , hungry jacks for breakfast then the rest of the day i had like one sausage and skittles and coke and sherbet

[lowkeyerror]

Ours Together pt 2

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: Graphic depictions of violence, could be described as slight gore, more hurt/comfort, fluff, hopeful ending (i think), protective Rio and Agatha

Summary: With the three of you on the same page, walking the road should've been a cake walk. However things take a turn, when you end up with your own trial.

An: Yall asked for a part 2 so you know I had to deliver 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Part 1 | Masterlist

Waking up in between Rio and Agatha brought a small smile to your face. It’s a luxury that you thought was long forgotten. You were careful to rise without waking them. Your back cracked as you stretched, the ground of the road was not comfortable in the slightest.

“So you’re a familiar?” Lilia speaks, staring cautiously.

The way your eyes cut over to her is soft. It’s softer than you want it to be. You look at the ground and then the sky, deciding not to look at the witch.

“Yep,” a rough sigh comes out with the simple word.

“It typical that familiars have a second form. A pet or a-"

“Do they look like pet owners to you?”

The others begin to stir, before the conversation can go any further. You’re grateful for the interruption. You were not here to dig in to your past. Well, not any more than reigniting your relationship with Rio and Agatha.

“Look alive, witches. Let’s get this show on the road,” Agatha yawns as the words leave her mouth.

Though you’d rather do anything else, you prepare yourself for the journey.

“What’s wrong?” Rio falls into step with you as you begin to walk the road.

“I still don't want to be here,” you admit kicking some of the dirt up with your heel.

Rio takes your hand in hers, “We can leave whenever you want.”

You dismiss the thought with exasperation, “I’m not abandoning Agatha.”

Rio squeezes your hand, “I don’t want to leave her either, but I don’t want you to be burdened by whatever this is.”

“Woah,” Alice’s voice, makes you look away from Rio.

The other witches also stop, most with their mouths agape. The sight before them unfathomable. This was drastic change from the other trial they had come in contact with.

Instead of a house, there was large mansion. The building was purely white with gold accents. The pillars that stood on each side of the building seemed to go all the way.

The color leaves your face staring at the building. You drop to the ground and begin to scramble away from the building. You shake your head vigorously. Your eyes wide in horror, you try to find the breath in your lungs but you struggle.

“No, no, no, no,” you begin to mutter under your breath.

Agatha and Rio are by your side at a moments notice. Agatha’s hands rest on your face and you can feel Rio’s arm wrap around you.

“Breathe baby,” Rio whispers in your ear.

You search Agatha’s face frantically, “Agatha, I can’t… I can’t. I’m not even a witch, I’m not in the coven. Why?”

“It’s not real, sweetheart. We know it’s not real,” she whispers for only you and Rio to hear.

You close your eyes and begin nodding your head. You swallow hard, trying to focus on the feelings of their hands on you.

“I’m guessing this is her trial,” Jen says, breaking the moment between the three of you.

Agatha glares at the witch, “She’s not going in there.”

Teen interrupts, “I don’t think that’s how the road works.”

The scowl on her face only deepens, “Then make it work Teen. She’s not a witch, she’s not in the coven, she shouldn’t have a trial.”

Alice interferes, “Is it possible it’s not her trial? The three of you are close.. could it be Rio’s or Agatha’s.”

“It would be mine, if not hers,” Rio offers up.

Lilia interrupts, “We have to go into this trial.”

“NO!” Your voice didn’t boom when you yelled, instead it cracked in desperation.

The conversation dies there, but not because of your outburst. You feel the energy shift all around you.

“The seven are coming,” Agatha mumbles under her breath.

“Nope,” Jen immediately turns to run into the building.

Lilia goes in after Jen. Alice and Teen hesitate, but they follow the other two women forward.

You can hear the seven getting closer.

“My love, we must move forward,” Agatha tries to hide her panic, but you see through it.

“We will protect you,” Rio helps you to your feet.

You look behind you, the seven quickly approaching. You look at the building once more, before rushing ahead inside.

Agatha looks at Rio, “Take her out if things get too much.”

Rio shakes her head, “We do not know the repercussions of leaving in the middle of a trial.”

“We both know what happens in there Rio. I can’t bare to see it.”

Rio grabs Agatha’s hand as they rush towards the building together, “She is stronger than we give her credit for.”

As they enter the building a bright light almost blinds them. They see the coven members dressed in all white. Most of them having full halos. Agatha looks similar. Rio however is dawning an all black hooded cloak. If it weren’t for your distress, she would’ve laughed.

The clothes felt wrong against your skin. There wasn’t much around. The walls were painted with clouds. The only other thing in the mansion was staircase in the middle of the room. It looked like it led nowhere, but you knew better.

“Where’s the trial? Do we just get to leave?” Teen says focusing on the stairs.

You try to keep your breathing normal, “Just give me a minute. I know what we have to do.”

“What is this place?” Alice looks around.

Lilia’s eyes sparkle, “I think this is Heaven.”

The coven turns their attention to you.

“Are you-”

Agatha interferes, “We’re already in the trial, save your questions to the end.”

Rio adds on, “Or better yet, don't ask any questions.”

“Let’s get this over with,” you wipe your hands on the white pants.

You stand at the bottom of the stairs. Agatha stand on the left and Rio on your right. The link their arms through yours.

“Up we go,” Agatha directs the coven.

When you get to the top, you can see an abyss waiting for you at the bottom. You can’t see the bottom, and you know what you have to do.

“It’s easier if you don’t look,” you turn your back to the abyss.

“Are you seriously just going to-”

Before Jen finishes her question you are leaning back first into the abyss. Your lovers at your side trusting you completely. The rest of the coven is hesitant, but they eventually all jump into the hole.

It's like you’re being pulled down. It feels like it’s never going to stop. When it does, it’s abrupt. You’re expecting flames and heat, but instead there’s only dirt around you.

The space is shaped like a cylinder. There’s a gracious amount of space. The floors and walls were both constructed of dirt. You looked at the ceiling and it too seemed to be dirt. It was like you all were buried alive.

“Take me back upstairs,” Lilia says looking around the dark and dirt filled hole.

“So, Y/n what now?” They turn to you, looking for guidance.

You use your hands to dig into the ground. You pull out a scroll.

“How did you-”

“Where else would it have been?” You snap at the Teen.

Rio peers over your shoulder, “Fly free with your clipped wings or submit to the sin of the earth.”

The dirt begins to rise as Rio finishes reading the paper. You look up again, this time being able to catch a glimpse of the white room where you had come from.

“Taking us down, to go right back up. How clever,” Agatha says.

“So is now the time we ask the questions?”

“Stand back,” you ignore the question, hoping to get this over with quickly.

The group listens to you. With much discomfort you pushed out the muscles on your back. There were a few loud pops and cracks. You bit your tongue to mask the pain. Your wings popped out and everyone in the room gawked.

“They’re-”

“White?” Rio says with confusion.

You wrapped them around your body, surprised to see white wings sprouting from your back.

“Questions later, fly up,” Agatha says and you do as she instructs.

You begin to flap your wings, dirt flying about in the space. You shoot up to the exit in less than 5 seconds. Instead of freedom you find yourself smacking hard against a piece of glass. You pound on it, hoping to break it.

“I can’t break it,” you call back down.

“Then we’re missing something,” Jen calls out.

The dirt begins to rise in the room at a faster pace.

“Start digging, maybe we’ll find something else,” Teen starts digging, the rest follows.

“Shit,” you hear Agatha cry out.

You decide to fly back down. You land close to her. “What is it?”

She pulls a pair of scissors out of the ground. Her palm bleeding from the cut on her hands.

You scramble back again.

“Didn’t it say something about clipped wings?” Alice recalls.

“That’s why they’re white,” Agatha connects the dots.

“Fuck no,” Rio stands in front of you. “I’m not letting you clip her wings.”

“We’re going to die,” Teen argues with the Death.

Agatha shares a look with Rio, “Get her out of here.”

You shake your head, “No, I’m not leaving you here. Give me the scissors.”

“Y/n, you don’t have to do this,” Rio tries to reason with you.

“Just heal the wounds when it’s over,” you say to her softly.

Agatha still has the scissors in hand, “I won’t let you.”

You get close to her. Your hand reaching for the scissors as you lean in. You can see her squeezing them firmly in her grip, deepening the cut in her hand.

“It’s not real,” you whisper to her just like she had done with you outside.

Her grip loosens just enough for you to pull the scissors from her hand. The dirt is piled at the mid thigh level now.

You once again fold your wings over your body. You turn your head to get a good look at your back. Your eyes follow the seam of where your back is lined with your wings.

Your hand shakes as you open the scissors, opting to use them like a letter opener. The nerves are piling up inside you. Your eyes close and you get a glimpse of your past. You see yourself kneeled over in pain with your back covered in blood.

“We’re running out of time,” Lilia says, as the dirt begins to climb higher.

You scream as you cut off your wing in one swift motion. The pain makes you want to fall to your knees , but its impossible with the dirt surrounding you. Tears fall rapidly as blood pours from your back. Snot drips from your nose as you sob at the pain.

You’re in too much pain to notice, but the dirt begins to rise at a slower pace. No one is happy, or joyful as they look at you in agony.

“Fuck,” you mutter as your body shakes violently at the pain.

The scissors had slipped from your hand at the sheer force you made the cut with.

“Rio,” it comes out of your mouth through gritted teeth. She’s close to you, and you know she carries a blade. “I- you have to do the other one.”

Rio’s eyes widen, “ I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please, my love. I- I can’t die like this. Please, I just got you back, please.”

Your pleading breaks Rio’s heart. This didn’t feel fake, it was real. The wound pouring from your back, the tears in your eyes. The panicked look in Agatha’s face as she watched this unfold. The suffering felt real.

Rio pulls her dagger out, wading through the sand to get right behind you. It was hard, with the sand covering most of her torso. The sand burned as it pressed into your open wound.

Rio’s hard was cool and soft as it touched the bottom of your wing. She felt through the sand to find the seam of the wings. Once she found it she took a deep breath.

“Forgive me, my love,” her cut was much more swift than yours.

You fell forward as the yelled ripped through you throat. It burned your esophagus. You folded forward, Rio’s arms try to hold you from underneath your stomach, not wishing to touch your back.

The wings lay in the dirt beside you. The dirt that had covered everyone started to sink down back into the ground. Once it was all gone, one side of the wall began to open up. Stairs appeared, indicating the trial was over.

Rio is quick to carry you out of the trial and back on to the road. She hopes that bringing you back to the road will erase the injuries. However as she feels the blood coating her clothes, she knows they are here to stay.

She lays you on your stomach and you groan. She straddles the back of your legs. The weight of her is lost on you, all you can feel is the burning from where your wings were supposed to be. You squirm under her when her tongue connects with your back.

She licks the brutal cuts on your back, the taste of your blood clouds her thoughts, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Her own tears gather as she waits for the wounds to heal.

Agatha rushes to her side, “Is she going to be ok?”

Rio holds her breath, but as she sees the wounds slowly closing she nods, “She’s going to be ok.”

Agatha pulls Rio into a chaste kiss, “Are you ok?”

Rio’s forehead rest against Agatha’s, “No, I’m not.”

The rest of the coven watches the scene unfold with intrigue.

“So your familiar is an angel?” Teen can’t help, but ask.

You whine under Rio as you feel a new pain simmer in your back.

“Off,” you mutter, and Rio gets off of you.

You stay laying as you feel a well-known ache spread through your body. You dig your palms into the ground and let out a huff of irritation. In the spots that Rio had just healed, a set of wings popped out.

This time, they were black like tar. It hurt just as much as before. You prop yourself on your knee before standing to your full height. Just like when your voice had echoed, your eyes were purely black.

“I was an angel,” your voice vibrates through the road.

“What happened?” Jen asks, mesmerized by your wings.

Agatha and Rio are seconds away from forbidding the coven from asking questions. You use your wings to bring them into your sides.

“I fell in love. The higher ups, said it was… impure. Which was a falsehood; there had been nothing in my life or after that was as pure as this love. They wanted to have me banished to hell. I was ungrateful, wasting my eternal happiness by fraternizing with… Rio.”

“Why not Agatha?” Alice questions.

You look at Rio, who gives you a nod, “They didn't like my relationship with Agatha much either, if I’m being honest. Rio was different, forbidden because she is Lady Death.”

The coven members all look to Rio, their eyes wide in shock. Rio simply waves her up, wiggling her fingers in response, “Guilty.”

Lilia speaks next, “But if you’re her familiar, why would your relationship be an issue?”

“I wasn’t her familiar then,” you explain. “I became Agatha’s and Rio’s familiar because Rio interfered during my banishment ceremony. These ceremonies were somewhat of a public shaming. My wings had been forcefully yanked out of my back. Brute strength just ripped them right out of my back. They were in the middle of speaking when she appeared. I’ve never seen her so furious, yelling at Life and God and the other angels. She made an offer for my soul.”

Rio clicks her tongue a few times, “No, no I made a threat. They were going to give me your soul or I would take every soul that passed to hell. There would’ve been no more angels. A demon uprising would've been imminent. They didn't really have a choice.”

“Wait, I know this story. An angel who was swayed by darkness due for banishment, but saved by Death itself. You’re the first fallen angel,” Teen speaks enthusiastically.

You chuckle, “Not exactly the first, there’s one before me, but I am the first with this look. The black wings, dark eyes, echoing voice.”

“So what happened after you threatened them?” Jen is extremely invested.

“She took me to Agatha. I was powerless without my wings. They were trying to figure out what to do. When Rio went to heal the wounds they left on me, we didn't expect new wings to sprout, but they did. The power was different, stronger. They helped me navigate it.”

“It took us some time to realize what the agreement meant for her. They did not believe in our relationship, which is why they made her our familiar. It was a punishment,” Agatha adds some more context.

“How is that a punishment?” Teen’s confusion shines through.

“It burns to be away from them. Literally boils my insides,” your wings fold back into your back.

“Ok, kids, question time is over. We’re setting up camp for the night,” Agatha claps her hands together.

You can see them want to protest, but an eyebrow raise from Rio quiets them all. They begin to set up a camp similar to the night before.

“Come with us,” Rio tugs at your arm.

You follow her and Agatha away from the rest of the coven.

When you feel like you’re far enough from the rest. Your shoulders slump and your body trembles, getting the last of the aches out.

The two witches stop both worried for you.

“I’m fine,” you say softly.

Agatha can’t help but pull you into her, “You’re not, neither of you are. I think it’s time you left the road.”

Your head rests on her shoulder. Your lips press a gentle kiss against her neck, “I don't want to spend any time apart. Especially now.”

Rio is careful as she presses her front against your back, wrapping her arms around you. You grab her arms pulling her flush against you. The warmth of the two women, soothes the aches in your body.

“Baby,” Rio tries.

“Just hold me for a few minutes, please,” you beg the both of them.

The both tighten their grip.

“We’re not going anywhere sweetheart,” Agatha kisses the top of your head.

“Not ever,” Rio doubles down.

You breathe them in. Finding comfort in their presence. Agatha’s hand find a place in your hair, rubbing the tension away. You lay your hands over Rio’s keeping them against your skin.

“Aggie what do you need from this place?” You whisper against her skin.

“My purple.”

You raise your head to stare at her, “I can get them to blast you. Then we can all go home, together.”

“I tried that already, sweetheart. They know about my powers,” she admits to you.

“What if there's nothing at the end of this? We don't know what this is?” Rio tries to reason.

Agatha meets Rio’s gaze, “I do know what this is, you know too. We all know that the road isn’t real. Yet, here we are standing on it, going through trials. This magic is familiar to me, the sigil prevents it, but I know who that boy is. He’s just like his mother.”

“We can find another coven,” you suggest.

Agatha lets out a humorless laugh, “My reputation proceeds me, sweetheart. There are no more witches who wish to gather with me. Lilia, I trust her divination. This is the only way.”

“Then we have to stay,” you turn around to look at Rio.

Rio averts her gaze, “We must go after the next trial.”

You steel your gaze, “Why?”

The Green Witch looks to Agatha for help.

“Sweetheart, it’s not safe here. You just had to clip your own wings. Rio has work to do, and she can’t do it in here. Go with her and I will see you when this is over.”

“Agatha, I-"

She kisses you, softly, “I will come back to you. I won’t be going anywhere. It will be us three, I promise.”

“One more trial don’t say goodbye yet,” you say against her lips.

“I’m never going to say goodbye again, ok? It’s just a promise to meet later.”

You look at Rio, “And we’re staying together, right.”

Rio’s hand reach to cup your face. Her eyes are serious when they look into yours, “I’m never leaving you again.”

You press your lips hers, need seeping through your kiss. When you break the kiss, you find yourself between the two women again.

“Let’s get back to the camp, and rest. I’m sure you’re exhausted, sweetheart.”

“Carry me?” You ask.

Agatha rolls her eyes but scoops you up anyway . You hang on to her like a koala causing Rio to laugh.

“You have wings,” Agatha grumbles.

You nuzzle deeper into her, “They’re not as comfortable as your arms.”

“She got you there, my love,” Rio moves in closer to walk shoulder to shoulder with Agatha.

“You’re carrying her next time.”

The three of you share a laugh. A nice moment to end a chaotic couple of hours. The stress of the road ahead not lost on you, just pushed aside for a moment. There had been enough pain for the day. You didn’t want to dwell on the near future, opting instead to think of the moment it was over. When you’d finally get to have Rio and Agatha to yourself.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Heyy hiii I love your blog🤍 If you're still taking requests... Could you write an Aemond Targaryen who is obsessed with his half-sister or aunt?

(Fuck yes I can!

For this story the ages are a little off which frustrates me but I did that to make sure that Y/n wouldn’t be considered ‘too old’ to marry. If however, the person who made this request wants something with an older OFC, like a cougar-y kind of story with him obsessed and willing to do anything to have her then let me know and I will try my hand at that for you)

Y/n had been born first just before her mother Aemma had died giving birth her twin brother, who sadly died just a few hours later, leaving Y/n alone.

Rhaenyra took very good care of her, as much as she could as her younger sister was just a babe and now had no mother and no father as Viserys had all but checked out…especially after marrying Alicent and having more children.

Y/n was only just under 1 year older than Aegon as Alicent had gotten pregnant almost immediately after the wedding however as Rhaenyra was having her own children she took care of her sister less and less, leaving the girl on her own a lot of the time. Alicent had taken a liking to the young girl and they were quite close, which is what led to Y/n and Aemond’s relationship in the first place. Aemond loved Y/n from the moment he was born. When he was with her he was always content and happy, but if she left him alone he would cry and scream for her until Alicent could no longer take it and sent for her once again. That lasted until the boy was about 3 and she was 6 and from then on he was basically attached to her skirts.

Neither of the children had a dragon to their name and spent their time dreaming of flying across the 7 kingdoms together. Aemond had always promised to take his half sister with him when he mounted a dragon one day, and though Y/n thought it a nice dream, Aemond was determined to make it come true. He swore to her that one day he would be strong and that he would protect her, no one would ever bully them again. Y/n did not know just how seriously her younger brother took that vow.

He was 9 years old when Rhaenyra moved to Dragonstone and snatched his happiness away as she took their 12 year old sister with her and it was at that moment that Aemond realized how in love with his sister he really was. She would be his, no matter what he had to do to ensure it.

When they met again on Driftmark it was like no time had passed, they stayed by each others side while everyone mourned, but Aemond wasn’t sad, he was determined. With the death of Laena there was now an unclaimed dragon, the largest one alive and he was going to claim her or die trying. To say Y/n was upset that he risked his life to mount Vhagar would be an understatement however he had done it and the pride and happiness on his face wiped away her anger…for about 10 minutes before watching her nephew slice her brothers eye from his head. She held close to his side for as long as she was allowed, holding his hand as the maester stitched him up painfully.

‘I do not wish to frighten you with my scarred face sister, you shouldn’t have to see this.’ He told her later that night as she sat beside his bed to watch over him, the milk of the poppy he had taking quick effect as his good eye began to close against his wishes.

‘You could never scare me brother, you are as handsome as ever and anyone who says otherwise is blind. I will never fear you, no matter what. I love you too dearly.’ She swore, curling up into her chair and drifting off by his side in case he needed anything during the night.

Aemond’s hand held tight to hers all night long, never letting go as if terrified, even in his sleep, that she would disappear.

Aemond was comforted by her words and it is the only thing that got him through the next years. That and the fact that he had “convinced” his sickly father to betroth Y/n to him.

Aemond was told by the men he paid to keep watch over his Princess on Dragonstone that Rhaenyra had been trying to betroth her to Cregan Stark of Winterfell. The Wolf in the North was apparently quite taken with his Princess and Aemond couldn’t blame him, but he would kill him if the man went anywhere near his sister and he made that perfectly clear to his mother and Grandsire. Aemond had vowed that if they didn’t betroth him to Y/n immediately that he would take Vhagar and have her burn Winterfell and every Stark in existence to the ground. He would melt all of the snow in the North if he had to to make his point. Both Alicent and Otto knew that her son was serious and would do exactly as he promised, they also knew that no one could stop Vhagar if Aemond decided to put his threat into action and so they had the King order the marriage.

However other than Rhaenyra acknowledging the order from the King, he heard no word from his betrothed until he was 18 and it was ordered that she return to Kings Landing to be with her soon to be husband. Aemond had kept eyes on her since the day she had been forced to leave him, men that worked for Rhaenyra were secretly under his command, 2 of which became Y/n’s personal guards and wrote the Prince everything about her so that Aemond didn’t miss a thing. He knows all of her interests, what she loves to do everyday, her daily schedule, the foods she likes and more importantly doesn’t like, and he also had them ensure that no man got close to his future wife in anyway. He knew that Jace had an interest in his aunt, the guard reporting to him that the boy had been grounded to his chambers on more than one occasion for watching her bathe or trying to sneak into her rooms in the night and it both enraged and delighted Aemond that Jace wanted his sister but also that he would have to see her happy with the person that Jace hates most. Aemond would ensure that he could rub it in his nephews face that the babes that Y/n would bare would never be anyone’s but his.

Over the years since she had been gone her brother had changed, not just at her having been missing from his side but especially after Aegons actions in taking him to the silk streets on his 13th nameday. Aemond felt disgusting but he was determined to be a better husband than his elder brother was, after all, Y/n was his. His sister, his wife, his everything and he would ensure her happiness. He would make her his and fill her with as many Targaryen babies as possible, Aemond couldn’t wait to see her swollen with his child at his side and in his bed, his elder sister was just too perfect not to be full of his children for the rest of her days.

2 days after the letter was sent to Rhaenyra he was greeted by the sound of huge wings and angry dragon roars as the large black dragon descended on the Red Keep, a dragon that everyone recognized instantly which prompted them scattering like mice. Aemond had heard that his sister had mounted the cannibalistic dragon but to actually see the creature was incredible. He found it funny that his sister, who was a loner with a tendency to be aggressive ended up with the aggressive loner dragon who would have burned anyone else to dust…he must feel how similar they are, honestly it was a fairly perfect fit if you asked him. Though he could have done without the teeth bore in his face from this scarred beast.

He got as close as he dared, watching as a beautiful women slid down the dragons neck to her feet, the dragon nuzzling her and nearly knocking her from her feet (though the gesture was gentle for such a giant dragon who had to be just slightly bigger than Caraxes) before he took to the skies again and left her to look around the courtyard.

She was a vision, more than Aemond could have imagined after all these years without her and as she turned to see him for the first time, the smile that lit up her face gave him butterflies. ‘Aemond? Wow! Look how you’ve grown, you are certainly not that little boy I remember anymore, you are a man grown! Look at this handsome face!’ Aemond took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles in greeting, unable to look away from her perfect purple eyes.

‘You are a vision, more beautiful than I could have imagined…and I have imagined for years.’ Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as she blushed and he held his arm out for her to take. ‘Come, I will show you to your chambers and you can freshen up, I know you must want out of your riding clothes-‘

‘Actually…I had hoped we could go riding together like we always promised we would. My sister would not let me come to Kings Landing before now but you did swear to take me on Vhagar when I returned.’ She reminded him as he guided her through the halls of the castle.

‘I could never forget my promise to you, however we will not be permitted to disappear together the night before our wedding, it would be improper after all.’ He teased making her roll her eyes with a smile.

‘Right because riding a 10 ton scaly lizard into the night is definitely a romantic evening.’ She paused after saying that before speaking again. ‘Actually, never mind, for a Targaryen that has to be the most romantic night possible. We’ll save it for tomorrow night.’

‘As you wish sister. Here is your chamber for the night, tomorrow night your things will be moved into one of our own. You change and get comfortable, I will return in a half an hour and we can take a walk in the gardens, how does that sound?’

‘That sounds lovely brother. I look forward to it.�� Aemond leaned down and pressed his lips to her hand like the gentleman he was, watching once again as her face grew pink and he loved her sweet blush, vowing to make it happen as often as possible.

The wedding that next evening was a huge affair. Everyone was present, members of every house in attendance for the event, and even all of the peasants celebrated as they left the Sept, throwing flowers and cheering their congratulations as they had all loved Y/n since the moment she was presented to the world as a baby (often ordering the gold cloaks to feed the poor, especially the children in need). Rhaenyra and Daemon had shown up with the children late, clearly hating being there for a marriage they didn’t want and Aemond couldn’t help but silently gloat to Jace who glared at him all through dinner. As they locked eyes Aemond could not resist giving in to his petty attitude, leaning down and touching his lips to his wife’s and enjoying the feel of her lips pressing against his in return as she clearly enjoyed the show of affection. His nephew glared harder at him before eventually taking Helaena’s hand and bringing her to dance as if trying to anger the One-Eyed Prince but nothing could do that right now, not now that Aemond has everything he’s ever wanted.

‘Would you like to retire now my beautiful wife? I want to make this marriage official before one of the dozens of men here that are jealously staring, attempts to steal you away from me.’

‘As if anyone else could take my attention away from you.’ At that moment there was suddenly the sound of several women screaming and they both turned to see that right in front of the Kings table Jace was locked in a physical fight with a man on the dance floor. Aemond turned his wife’s body away and pulled her to his chest to shield her, not wanting her innocent eyes to see such violence. Even if he enjoyed watching Jace get hurt he knew that his wife would never be the same if she was forced to potentially witness him die and he loved her innocence too much to let that be ruined. The guards pulled the man out of the hall and most likely to the Black Cells after Daemon had saved Jace from being butchered, following along with a rage filled Rhaenyra to question the man. Y/n pulled away from her husband and moved to the floor, inspecting her nephews face and Aemond nearly growled as Jace leaned into the affection. ‘Are you alright nephew?!’

‘Yes, of course, I am fine. I had it under con-‘

‘Thank goodness Daemon was here! You could have been killed! What were you thinking?!’ She demanded and Aemond watched on as Jace’s face fell once again. ‘You are my sweet nephew, not a soldier or a brawler in the streets!’

‘I don-I’m-Uh…‘

‘She is right nephew, we could never forgive ourselves if you had been hurt attending our wedding…perhaps it is time for you to retire for the evening. Too much wine makes the mind do stupid things.’ Y/n nodded along with Aemond but Jace just glared at him.

‘This has nothing to do with you Uncle! Keep your thoughts to yourself! I don’t need-‘

‘Jacaerys! How Dare You?! Have care how you speak to your own family, Aemond is simply showing his concern for your well being! If this is your current state then he is correct, you should retire. I’m sure Luke will help you to your bed, won’t you sweet boy?’ Luke nodded his head, moving to take his elder brothers arm.

‘No! I don’t need to-‘

‘We should be retiring as well anyway. I must ensure my new wife is taken care of…’ Y/n blushed at her brothers words, leaning into his body as his hands found her waist comfortingly.

‘You are right brother, I think I have had enough partying for one day. We have a family dinner tomorrow evening anyway, we can celebrate more then.’ Suddenly Aegon, who had been drunkenly enjoying this whole situation, was grinning in excitement and stepping up to the newly weds, hand on his younger brothers shoulder.

‘Yes brother, time to retire. The bedding ceremony must be seen to before the end of the evening! I shall get our Grandsire and elder sister to-‘

‘No!’ Aemond snapped, everyone that was listening jumping in fright at the rage in his voice. He had felt his wife’s body tense as she pulled him closer by his jacket that she was now clinging to for dear life. ‘There will be no bedding ceremony, I will have neither my sister nor my wife gawked at in her most vulnerable state as if she is some cheap whore on the street of silk! Y/n is my wife now, and no one else will ever see her in such a way ever again. I assure you brother, I can handle consummating my marriage just fine without your wandering eyes and words of encouragement.’ Aemond looked back down at his bride and took her face into his hands, wiping away the tears that escaped in her moment of panic, no one having mentioned a bedding ceremony and Aemond himself having assured her that it would not be happening.

‘My young Prince, it is tradition to have a maester and at least 3 members of the family present to ensure the wedding is consummated. Your brother, myself, Rhaenyra and Daemon are going to-‘

‘No Grandsire, you are not-because if you try to enter our marital chambers tonight, or really any night from this moment forward for any reason under the sun, I will break your spine and be feeding you to either Vhagar or the Cannibal in the morning. I will let my wife decide which she would prefer to make a meal out of your body as it is her you are offending. I am uncomfortable with how determined you are to watch me make love to my wife, and I am telling you that it will not happen.’

‘Aemond! You cannot speak to your Grandsire this way, you must-‘ Aemond cut his mother off quickly, startling her as he had never spoken to her like this before.

‘Do not make the mistake of believing my words to be exaggeration mother, they are not. Anyone who steps foot into our marital chambers this night or any moment from this one onward will find themselves being fed to a dragon of my wife’s choosing. She is my wife! And it is my job to care for her as such! I will not have her humiliated or upset as she gives herself to me for the first time…or any time. That is the end of the discussion, however you may wait in the hall and once we are done I will deliver you the sheets from our bed as your proof. That will have to suffice because it is all that you are getting.’ He looked back down at Y/n who had tears in her eyes once again but this time they were not fearful or embarrassed, but grateful and full of love. ‘Come my wife, it is time that I make this marriage official and fill you with my son. I must give my wife all of the lovely Targaryen babies that her heart desires.’

Aemond bent down slightly before lifting Y/n into his arms like a babe, whisking her away and out of the party. ‘Thank you Aemond…I know I should just accept it but I-‘

‘My wife will never be seen by anyone but me in any state of undress from this moment on, and should anyone sneak a peak at you I will deliver you their heart and feed the remains to Vhagar. Don’t you ever apologize for being uncomfortable, it is my job as your husband to see to your safety and I take my job very seriously.’ He assured her, kissing her head as they reached their new marital chambers where all of their things had been moved to. As Aemond carried his sister through the door he kicked it shut behind himself and locked it with both locks before using the thick wood plank and barring the door so no one could get in without more work than it was worth.

‘Will you assist me with the dress, husband?’ She teased making Aemond smirk, eyes darkening at the thought of finally undressing the prize he has worked and waited for, for so long.

‘You need not even ask, my love. Come here.’ He quickly unlaced the back of her dress, allowing it to fall to the ground and leave her in her small clothes which she removed before crawling into the bed and looking back up at him nervously. ‘Relax my love, you will love every second of this, I promise you.’ He swore and she took a breath, nodding, though her eyes grew wide again as he removed his trousers and revealed himself to her for the first time, now naked as he crawled onto the bed, leaning down to kiss her, sucking his way down her neck and chest.

‘A-Aemond? What are you-‘

‘Shh…just relax. I’m going to take care of you Princess, just trust me.’ He lifted her leg up by the back of the knee and leaned in, pressing his mouth over her slit before trailing his tongue up between her pussy lips and brushing against her clit, causing her hips to jump against her will.

‘I’m s-sorry-‘

‘Don’t apologize again, just enjoy it.’ Aemond wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking on the little bundle of nerves, brushing his tongue against it repeatedly which seemed to shut her up quickly, the only sound remaining was her never ending moans. He pressed a finger into her tight hole followed by a second one which earned him a soft mewling noise that he couldn’t help thinking was adorable as he began pumping his fingers in and out of her, stretching her as gently as he could to prepare her for him.

‘Oh Fuck! Aemond!’ She seemed to be hanging right on the edge in that moment until he curled his fingers up and just as he did she cried out at a whole new octave and her pussy squeezed his fingers in a vice grip, her body shaking while she panted as if she had run a long distance and he couldn’t help but find her flushed face absolutely beautiful.

‘You are so gorgeous…’ he crawled up over her and touched his lips to hers while spreading her legs. They wrapped around his waist before he pressed his cock against her hole and instantly felt as if he had died and gone to Heaven. 9 years he had waited after realizing how in love with Y/n he truly was, 9 years dreaming of this moment and wanting to make it just as special for her as it was for him just knowing how good his sister would make him feel, and he was right. Her cunt was like the sweetest vice grip he had ever experienced, he had never felt anything more wonderful in his entire life as he stilled his hips and just waited, not wanting to hurt her or cum so fast that she would inevitably laugh at him. ‘Are you alright?’ He questioned, wanting to make sure he wasn’t hurting her too badly but she nodded.

‘I want to see all of you brother…I never want you to hide any part of you from me again.’ She spoke as she reached up and pulled the eye patch from his face. He reflexively turned his head away but she caught him, turning his head back and pulling him down to kiss the scar both over and under his eye. ‘My husband nor my brother will ever have to hide from me, you are so strong…and I think my husband is the most handsome man in the 7 kingdoms. I will fight anyone who chooses to disagree with me…and I have a Dragon so they will most assuredly lose.’ She teased making him smile before he choked on his breath, her pussy squeezing his member suddenly before she wiggled her hips. ‘Take me brother, I am all yours now!’

‘Yes you are…Mine! I will kill anyone who even thinks to disagree with me! All mine…’ Aemond spoke, shifting his hips back before pushing back in gently, doing it again only to thrust up into her this time. ‘Your husband is going to fill your belly so full tonight that no one will be able to question whether or not you are carrying my son. You want that, don’t you Princess? You want me to give you a baby?’

Y/n’s head nodded frantically as Aemond was now jack hammering his hips into her mercilessly, her whines prompting him to go faster. ‘Yes Brother! Yes! I want to give you everything! Fill my womb so that I may give you all the sons you want!’

‘Never going to stop breeding your cunt, Gods you feel magnificent! We’re going to end up having an entire army because I am never going to stop fucking you! Cum for me Princess and your husband will fill your womb, give me your pleasure!’ He demanded just before she cried out, her head thrown back as her cunt clamped down on him so hard he briefly thought it would hurt before the pleasure shot straight up his spine and he buried his cock into her as deeply as he could.

Aemond couldn’t tell how long they laid there breathing heavily and just holding each other, it felt as if they lost time before there was a knock on the door and Y/n flinched, instinctively trying to cover her body with a blanket despite no one entering. ‘My Prince? If you have finished we need-‘

‘Shut Up! Say Another Word and I Will Remove Your Tongue!’ He growled to the maester at the door. ‘Stay still my love, I will take care of it.’ He kissed her head and she smiled, humming contently before wincing as he pulled out of her, using his thumb to press his cum back into her abused hole as it leaked out. Aemond jumped up and pulled the sheet carefully from under her and off of the bed, rolling his eyes as he saw the small amount of blood on the white linen that he had made sure to fuck her on top of as he wasn’t willing to argue about them needing evidence that consummation took place. ‘I will be right back, then you are mine for the next week, because I do not plan on us leaving this bed for at least that long.’ He teased, kissing her nose and making her giggle as he pulled his trousers on and moved to the door, unbarring it and stepping outside while shutting the door behind him, unwilling to let anyone see his wife in her current state. At the door stood Maester Mellos along with his Grandsire, his mother and brother, and also Rhaenyra and Daemon. ‘I do not understand why this needed to be such a spectacle for so many of you but here.’ He shoved the sheet at the old man angrily. ‘Now, all of you will leave because if I find out anyone continued listening at the door I will slit you from balls to brains!’ The maester inspected the sheet before nodding to the Queen who genuinely looked sorry for her son.

‘I didn’t know you had it in you brother!’ Aegon laughed, Otto shoving him away quickly and dragging him down the hall before Aemond could move to cut him open as he wanted to, Daemon following along, clearly not caring about being there and only having done so as he loved his niece- to ensure Aemond was a gentleman.

‘Take care of your wife Aemond, I know you will be a good husband, better than your brother.’

‘Thank you mother-oh! We will be taking all of our meals in our chambers tomorrow-and for the foreseeable future. Please be sure a maid is sent to do that, my wife will need breaks to eat.’ Alicent didn’t look shocked at all, just nodding her head before she walked off.

‘Brother.’ Rhaenyra spoke, Aemond sighing before giving her his attention. ‘Take care of her. She is a gentle soul, if you hurt my sister I will make sure you do not live to see whatever children you give her.’ He rolled his eyes, not giving a fuck about his elder sisters threat.

‘If you think for a moment that I would harm her then you know nothing about our relationship at all-oh! Wait! You don’t…it took 9 years but I always knew that I would make her mine no matter what I had to do. I’m just thankful that father gave into my threat before you could give her away to that idiot Wolf in the North.’

‘W-what are you-‘

‘Of course, you don’t know! I made my mother aware of the fact that if you were successful in marrying off our sister that I would have mounted Vhagar and burned every inch of the Starks home, and every other home and stronghold that had snow covering it. She was never going to marry anyone else, that was decided quite a long time ago…its just that no one but I knew it.’ He explained, enjoying her shocked expression before opening the door to go back to his wife. ‘Oh! One more thing! You should make sure that you keep your eldest on a short leash, because if I find out-or Gods forbid catch him-peeping at my wife like he did under your watch, he will be locked in the Black cells until I decide to feed him to Vhagar. Your heir or not, father will not be able to argue with him dishonoring my wife and his favorite grandchild, and you know it…it was lovely to see you again sister.’ With that Aemond slammed the door in her face and turned back to his wife.

‘Is everything okay?’ Y/n asked, clearly nervous that the sheet wouldn’t be enough evidence and they would demand to watch this time.

‘Of course my Love, I will always ensure that it will be. Now, let us continue enjoying our marital bliss for as long as we can, hmm?’ Y/n smiled, dropping the blankets and revealing her naked chest to his eyes and he couldn’t help but imagine the breasts that he was in love with, swollen with milk to feed the boy that was growing in her womb. He was desperate to taste it himself, his cock growing hard in record time at the thought before he leapt into the bed beside her.

‘I want to stay here with you like this forever.’ She admitted, now sitting in his lap, his cock buried in her pussy as he enjoys worshipping her breasts with his mouth.

‘As you wish Sister…Always.’

Aemond T. Masterlist

[picusviridis]

are you telling me i both MISSED THE FLORENCE POLL AND SHE LOST ?????????????????????????

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

pairing: dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader au

summary: your son maegon visits his sick old uncle, viserys, and end up learning the story of how you met your husband.

author's note: look who's back... this story was based off two asks, this one, and another one asking how daemon and mom!reader met. and now mom!reader is officially dornish!!!! i will not be making descriptions of her features in the future, but just know that mom!reader is poc. i hope you guys enjoy this story. it feels good to write again.

warnings: none ig

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators 💓 please leave a comment if you like my work, and enjoy your reading.

dad!daemon x mom!reader au masterlist

gif by @gameofthronesdaily

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ༓ ༓ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

It is sad when a family member gets sick and you know there's nothing you can do about it. So when your brother-in-law fell ill, it came the time you had to explain to your children that King Viserys wouldn't be the same he once was. The hard part was trying not to scare them with the thought of losing their uncle.

The news brought sadness to Alyssa's and Rhaegon's hearts, but Maegon was the most affected one. He felt the necessity of doing something for his beloved uncle so that even though the King now lay indisposed, he could still feel loved. Your son was old enough to realize that besides Helaena, Viserys' kids did not care for him. That made him sad. Rhaenyra lived in Dragonstone, and for so she couldn't give the attention her father deserved.

The boy had the idea of asking Queen Alicent to let him pay some company for King, during the evenings where he would like someone to talk to. As she needed a break from the sick man herself, she would let Maegon take over her place wherever she felt like it. Which was, almost every evening.

During one of those evenings, Prince Daemon thought it would be nice to see what his brother and son talked about. Mostly, he just wanted to see his brother interacting with anyone, to have the certainty that Viserys would still be alive for a while. The King had little to no hair on his scalp. His body couldn't stand up without the supported of a cane. Daemon didn't know how much time his older brother had left.

When Daemon made entrance to the monarch's solar, he found his son and his brother giggling softly. It felt good to hear the laughing. It meant Viserys was in fact, still alive.

"May I know what is so funny?" The Rogue Prince asked, making his presence known.

Maegon was startled by his father's voice. He has been visiting his uncle for weeks now, but not once his father wanted to come with him.

"Oh, hello Daemon" Viserys grinned at the sight of his sibling, "what a coincidence to see you right now. I was just telling Maegon about that time when we were kids... Do you remember when we tried to find The Cannibal?"

Daemon chuckled, "I do. We searched around all Dragonstone until Father found us before we got inside a Volcano's cave."

"And we never found him!" Viserys laughed.

"Well, thank Gods! You two would probably be eaten or burned alive and I wouldn't be here today to hear the story if you did find him." Maegon reasoned, watching his father pacing around the King's solar.

Daemon's fingers danced around the huge model of Valyria that his brother had exposed in the middle of his room.

"I miss the good old days when I was brave. Once I was sword fighting, I was riding Balerion, I took my little brother to look for a cannibal wild dragon..." Viserys sighed softly.

"You are brave still, uncle" Maegon assures, "It takes bravery to rule. And it takes bravery to be kind. You are a good King."

Viserys nodded to his nephew's words, taking his hands across the table. Daemon felt warmth in his heart. He couldn't quite understand that sensation, but he sees that part of him feels glad that his son expressed words and emotions he could never say or show, because he didn't know how to.

"Did you know that I was the one who introduced your mother to Daemon?" Viserys asked, with fun in his tone, "Have I ever told you the story?"

"Oh, you haven't!" Maegon engaged, grinning excitedly, "Do tell me, uncle, please."

We were all at Driftmark to prestige Corlys and Rhaenys' wedding. Nobles from all across the Seven Kingdoms were there, and your mother was one of them. I remember she was wearing her house colors in her dress. She was a bit older than your sister is now, I think.

My late wife, Aemma, introduced me to her, I didn't know they were friends. I discovered that the lady whom I had just met, was not only a Princess but also played part as a knight at her father's guard. She wore that dress with such grace, that I thought my ears deceived me when I imagined her wearing armor and ringmail.

My thoughts were disturbed by Caraxes' whistling noises, when Daemon, who was very late for the ceremony, came flying upon our heads, rounding Corlys' castle. Everyone was watching the little show your father was giving, mouth-opened, shocked, scared. Y/N wasn't any of those things. She wasn't impressed at all. I remember asking her;

"Have you ever seen a dragon?"

and smirking, she replied, "Where I come from, we have scarier animals."

"Scarier?" Aemma questioned.

"More dangerous." Y/N reasoned.

"I suppose you're right, Princess Y/N," I said, "There are beings more lethal than a dragon, like the very man who rides it can be far more dangerous for his ideals, than the dragon under his command."

It felt like I summoned my brother once I said those words.

"Prince Daemon" Y/N made a short reverence to greet his presence.

"Brother, let me introduce you to Princess Y/N of Sunspear, she is a good friend of Aemma's."

Daemon kept his smugly signature grin on his lips, and took Y/N's hand in his, kissing the soft skin of her knuckles.

"I am deeply sorry for being late for the ceremony. I hope dear cousin Rhaenys can forgive my missing presence." Daemon changed the subject without paying any interest to the lady who made us company.

His rudeness made me uncomfortable, but it was so like my brother to behave like that.

"Y/N, you should come visit us. Viserys and I would love to welcome your family to Dragonstone." Aemma smiled and looked at me for reassurance.

I nodded, "Feel free to visit whenever you want. It is a very lonely place, and unfortunately, the only family we have there is my brother, as Aemma and I are still trying for a child."

Before Y/N could give us an answer, Daemon retorted, "My apologies if living with your younger brother is not what you expected of marriage."

"It certainly is not what I was expecting." Aemma playfully hit Daemon with her elbow.

Y/N giggled softly and the noise took Daemon's attention. He was quite curious why she was still there, in his presence. Most people who didn't know him are likely to feel uncomfortable with his intimidating presence, but not that girl.

"Are you here with your family?" He questioned. That was the first time he spoke directly to her.

Y/N shook her head, "My father sent me here in his name to prestige Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, and give them our wedding gift."

"Oh. I see Dorne's economy must be great if its ruler has enough gold to spend on such superficial events." Like always, Daemon felt the need to say something directly rude.

Y/N frowned, "I thank the Gods our economy is doing well. It certainly is not because of your King." she replied. Her head remained raised, and her eyes stared at Daemon's on the same height.

Daemon felt strange. That woman wasn't offended by what he said, and even tried to get under his skin. One had to have such courage to talk to him like that.

"Uhm... Viserys, why don't you take Daemon to get that wine Corlys was talking to you about?" Aemma spoke trying to break the tension.

"When I took him away, he couldn't shut his mouth about Y/N. He was amazed a woman had the guts to talk to him like that, and even so about the King." Viserys finished the story, as Maegon quietly listened to every word he said.

"She never really had much filter, your mother." Daemon said, "Still doesn't."

Maegon frowned, "But... that's it? That's how you met mother? But, when did you start courting her, father?"

"She came to Viserys' coronation ceremony. Aemma was pregnant and couldn't make her company, so I offered myself for my sister-in-law to be the one hosting her friend in King's Landing." Daemon shrugged, "The rest... well, maybe you should ask your mother how it happened. I don't remember very well, but I know she quickly fell in love with me."

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“Seven Above.” // Highly Religious Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

DD:DNE ;; Reader discretion is heavily advised.

WARNINGS: noncon & dubcon, forced breeding, forced beliefs, breeding kink, religious themes and psychopathic aemond, dark!aemond, misogynistic views, pressure to fit into the gender norms, forced pregnancy, multiple orgasms, brainwashing(?), mindfucking, + not proofread. PLEASE BE EXTREMELY MINDFUL OF THE CONTENT WARNINGS

Block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to refrain from seeing my dark works.

WC: 2.1k

A/N: fic contains dark content, do not proceed to read if you are easily triggered or find the topics mentioned above triggering. // dividers by @cafekitsune

Aemond was a man of the faith of the seven

He was extremely religious, his mother’s belief in the faith has also made him follow it, though he studied about dragons and old gods of Valyria, he didn't particularly follow them. His need for impressing his own mother, followed by his grandfather made him follow this faith more.

The only problem? He was way too religious and strict, but also hypocritical, he had shamed Aegon for being married to Helaena, but also desired her for himself, he would taunt his nephews for being bastards, yet also had one for himself with a common whore he could not remember the name of. He doesn't acknowledge them as sins however, saying that they are forgiven by the gods as he visits the sept daily.

Alicent did not know what to say, for when she would speak to him about what he's doing and points out his wrongdoings, he simply ignores her and tells her that her job as a woman isn't to judge, but rather understand and nurture, to which she couldn't argue against. So she remained silent.

Everything was going the same as usual, until Aemond was summoned by his grandfather, who had selected a proposal for him.

“The woman is Y/N of the L/N house, a woman loved by many, it will benefit us if we formed an alliance with her family, what do you think of it Aemond?” His grandfather questioned, to which Aemond nodded, saying it isn't too much of a bad match considering they had more to gain than lose, and so the proposal was quickly made.

Aemond only saw you on the day of the wedding, when your house arrived in the throne room, where Aegon sat in the middle, handling the matters. You had not shied away from looking in his eye, to which he was caught off guard by, his mind quickly realising how you are the feisty type.

The ceremony went well, Aemond refused the bedding ceremony and took you to your martial chambers before bedding you. He was gentle of course, he didn't do anything that was too painful.

One thing about Aemond is that, you should never get on his bad side, he is cruel just as he is lenient, you heard of what he had done to his own nephew, to riverrun, to the strong house, leaving absolutely no one alive from that bloodline, no woman or bastard was spared.

The first month flew by quickly, Aemond had gotten to know you better, and he quickly realised that you both don't share the same ideologies on most of the stuff, you even dared to speak back to him, to which he excused you of. Arguments with him on small things have started to happen, his opinion contradicting yours, and his refusal to understand your point of view made you extremely unaccepted, yet you still tried to convey your feelings to him, hoping somewhere deep down in your heart that he'd understand. After all, you had grown to love him a little. He was far better than any husband, most of them didn't even let their wife speak to them.

That was until the topic of children had come when you were dining together.

“Wife, Have you gotten your moon's blood yet?” He asked and you nodded, “Yes, husband, it passed a few days ago and it is regular.” you tell him confused as to why he is asking this, “Are you perhaps barren?” He asks, which makes you feel shocked, and quite offended, “No! Why would you ask such a thing like that?” You ask, eyes slightly wide with shock. “Then why aren't you with child yet?” He questions as if you had any control over anything that happens after intercouse.

“It is only the second month, and besides….” You bite your lip and he raises an eyebrow, “What is it?” You sigh heavily, “I do not know how to ask of you this.” You tell him honestly, “What is it that you need wife? Dresses? Jewellery, do not be shy to ask, I am your husband after all. It is my duty to provide.” He rests his hand on yours, squeezing it in a reassuring way.

“I–” you take a deep breath, “I do not want children, at least, not yet.” you spit out.

It's almost as if everything had frozen in place, the air becomes silent with only the crackling sounds of the fireplace being heard. The tension becomes more imminent in the air as the Aemond continues to remain silent and not do anything, except directly stare at you.

His grip on your hand suddenly tightens, making you wince and you look at him pleadingly, “Have you gone mad?” He stands up, forcing you to stand up as well and you grip his arm tightly, not wanting to fall before balancing yourself, “Please- I am not yet ready, let me prepare myself mentally first.” You beg him and his other hand grabs you by your throat and pulls you closer to him, his grip on your throat begins to tighten, causing you to lose bloodflow to your head.

“I have done nothing except do my duty, be the ideal husband, provide for you, all while allowing you to express yourself yet it seems I was too lenient on you.” He growls, “Because here you are, asking me, to allow you to not have children. It is your sole duty as a wife and a woman, and you could not even provide such a thing?” He let goes of your throat, making you engulf a huge amount of air as you tried to calm down.

“Every woman is the image of the mother, she should have a natural nurturing personality towards anyone, especially to their own children, yet here you are refusing to be a mother to your own child or rather having one of yours, it is disgusting.” He says meanly and you glare at him, “I never said that I never wanted to be a mother, I asked you to give me time to which you are– hmmgh!” You are dragged by Aemond to the bed and thrown on it, you quickly lean on your elbows, fear gnawing in your stomach as you look at Aemond who seemed so furious at you, your heartbeat accelerated as he just stared down at you, like a predator staring at its prey.

“Your sin is forgiven, wife, I remembered how some women think they do not want children until they do, and then they become the best mothers and perfect wives known to man, maybe you are of that same category.” He keeps on talking, and you stare at him, confused and in fear, what in the seven hell was he talking about?

“It is no surprise if that is the case, luckily, there is a cure for that, and that is to get you pregnant, and I shall do just that, simultaneously fulfilling the duties as your husband.” He leans down and caresses your cheek. Your eyes widen when you catch his expression in the illuminating moonlight. He was smiling, yet the smile did not reach his eyes, Your stomach began to churn as goosebumps arose on your skin, he doesn't seem like the man you married anymore.

Before you could make an escape, Aemond pounces you and pushes you down onto the bed, you thrash in his hold trying to push him off but he holds your hands together and pins them up before grabbing your cheeks harshly and spitting on your face, “Behave, I'm treating you.” You began to tremble knowing he had gone completely mad.

“Let go of me! Aemond!” You scream and he pushes his hand over your mouth, “Shut the fuck up.” He tells you before grabbing your dress and tearing it off your body, the bodice coming along with it, causing your tits to spill out. He gropes and squeezes them, “I wonder how nice they'd look when they swell with milk hm?” He coos, before descending his lips onto your nipple, you use your now free hands to push him away but he doesn't budge, you try to pull him by his hair but he bites harshly onto your nipple causing you to let go of his hair in pain, he pulls away and looks at you angrily.

“Behave.” He says sternly and you flinch, never having heard Aemond use that specific tone before, it was extremely scary. “Aemond, please.” You plead him but he doesn't care, simply ripping off the remains and pushing you up the bed and prying your legs open. “You'd look so beautiful, all round with my child in your belly, I pray to the mother to bless us with a child.” He undos his breeches and your eyes widen in horror, knowing what is about to come.

You watched in silence as he lined himself against your entrance, prodding the tip at the very beginning of your hole and began to push inside, you shut your eyes tightly and clenched the sheets below you, a pained cry leaving your mouth at the stretch of your cunt by his cock, unprepared.

He soon fully sheathed himself inside you, and wastes no time before beginning to thrust, whines and gasps leave your mouth at his actions, you grip onto his shoulders as he jerks you up and down, you felt ashamed when it started to begin to feel good, your body in dilemma where you push him or pull him closer.

However that sense of choice is taken away from you when he grabs your hands and pins them above you, all while pistoning his hips into yours, “Seven above, I pray that the mother blesses my dear wife with a child in her womb so she may be cured of her sinfulness, I pray that the maiden guides her into realising how she should truly perform her duty as a woman, and may the crone remove useless thoughts and guide her to the correct path.” He prays closing his eyes and your eyes widen in pure shock, shocked by the fact on how he can pray in a situation like this?

His thrusts feel so sinful, and you're convinced you've lost your mind because of the fact that you are getting pleasure from this, his lips find yours in a passionate kiss as he ends the prayer, kissing your forehead afterwards and pulls back, “You'll make a good mother, I'm sure of it.” He coos in your ear before pressing a kiss to it as well.

You soon began to recognize the familiar feeling of a rope tightening in your abdomen, the telltale sign that your peak was nearing, Aemond's hand groped your tits, pinching your nipples and rubbing his thumb over them, providing you with additional pleasure, and before you know it, you are toppling over the edge as your peak hits you, arching your back and moaning out his name loudly.

He too finishes inside you, filling your hole with his seed, before pulling out, his face hovers over your stomach and you watch as he presses a kiss on the location of where your womb would be located, “May the mother bless us.” He mutters.

You thought that would be the end, yet you were wrong, you gasp when you feel his finger scooping up his seed which leaked out and push it back into you, essentially beginning to finger you, he takes you by surprise again when you feel his warm tongue on your clit, causing your hands to fly out and grip his hair as you breathed heavily.

His tongue and finger worked simultaneously, introducing you to a sensation of a new type of overstimulation, making you peak once again.

Time blurred together and yet Aemond did not stop, you've lost count of how many times he made you peak and how many times he finished inside you, but at the end of it, you surely felt full and fucked out, your mind filled with nothing but the thought of having his children, which he kept muttering over and over again, causing you to pick up on it.

“You'll be a great mother.” He pulls you into his arms as scoot closer, burying your face in his chest, “Yes, Husband, I'll give you as many children you want.” You mutter before finally drifting off to sleep.

Aemond smirks, knowing that he has now achieved his goal, now he can slowly start shifting you into the type of wife he wanted in the first place.

It was no surprise when you found out that you were pregnant with a child, only for you to give birth to triplets.

“A blessing from the mother.” Alicent beamed, yet that sentence only made you flinch.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ PAIR OF WINGS, GENTLY USED !

part one | part two

summary: following the aftermath of rook's rest, aemond struggles to convince you of his innocence while aegon struggles to stay alive. the three of you come to the striking realization that love is not always soft – sometimes it feels like dragonfire. (12k)

pairing: aemond targaryen / f!reader / aegon targaryen

contents: established realtionship(s), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of gore and violence, swearing, cheating, smut 18+, threesome (sorta? but not really?), cuckholding, exhibitionism & voyeurism (aegon likes to watch)

The battle waging across the sea startles you from sleep. You rouse before sunset to your heart unfurling behind your ribcage, pierced and bleeding out, as though you were one of the many soldiers reaching their end on the battlefield. 

You wake from the nightmare only to enter the next — a raven, sent at dawn, from an allied house along the bay. Written in splattered ink along the worn parchment is a report of injuries sustained by the king. Alicent reads them aloud to you and Helaena, with shaking hands and a trembling voice. Your heart’s beating too loudly in your ears to understand her.

“His Grace fell violently from many leagues above the ground,” she managed to recite through choked-back cries. “Riddled with dragonflame, His Grace’s armor has melted heartily to his flesh—” 

You find yourself planted firmly on the steps of the Dragonpit without a clue of how you got there, dressed only in your thin nightgown and thinner slippers. You suppose it was muscle memory that carried you there. You think it must be muscle memory, still, that has kept you standing in the same place — unmoving as the lilac sunrise turns sickly grey with rainclouds, without any food or drink offered by the handmaidens you have since sent away.

It is a profound and heavy thing, you realize, to be alive in the fresh early morning, when the world is so broken and ending for so many. The thought of Aegon dying in the sweetness of late summer makes you weep. You choke back burning tears in wait for his brother’s return — Aemond Targaryen, your husband, your wound — from which there has been no word.

A black, ponderous cloud of worry fogs your mind. You can see it all so vividly; feel it all as if you lived it — a death so horrid and beyond your comprehension. You wait and ache while your brain hums with madness.

You hear Vhagar before you see her. 

The great beast shifts storm clouds with its leviathan wings, shaking the ground with each slow and heavy flutter as she nears the ground. Even from here, you can see the holes piercing her thin, satiny skin. 

Your racing heart drops to your swirling stomach at the thought of Aegon falling from such a height — still saddled to a dying Sunfyre, looking directly at a certain death, unable to stop its coming. The thought of Aemond being with him during what the survivors of Rook’s Rest are calling The Night of A Thousand Suns fills you with agony. 

Your worry for each of them pricks your skin, from the tips of your fingers to the bottoms of your feet. The entirety of your grief consumes you.

The ground trembles when Vhagar lands in the depths of Dragonpit, just barely fitting within the stone confines of her stable. The beast stills long enough for Aemond to unclip himself from her saddle and slide off her back. Then she’s off again, to the northernmost forest of King’s Landing, to heal by herself in the nest she made a century or so ago.

The gust of wind from her wings takes your breath away. Or perhaps it’s just the sight of Aemond, in the flesh, seemingly unharmed despite the worries that had been plaguing you all morning. Your mind swirls with deeper concerns instead, with horrid thoughts you’ve been choking back like bile since the Raven arrived.

You stand in place on the top step while Aemond stalks towards you. He peels off his leather gloves and dismisses the dragonkeepers with a wave of his pale hand. You feel like your heart’s in your throat when he stands before you, two steps downward, and of nearly equal height to you. 

You grip his sharp jaw between your fingers, wild eyes darting over his face in search of any sign of harm. Aemond lets you observe him. He knows you need it. 

“I’m alright,” he promises in a soft monotone.

You take hold of both his arms then, despite his assurances, like you have to see them for yourself. Your gaze falls up and down his form as you hunt for remains of an injury — a scrape on his skin, a tear in his leather garb, a smear of ash from a dragon’s flame. 

You find nothing. 

It is hard to be relieved by such a notion when his brother verges on death at this very moment.

“I am alright, my love,” Aemond repeats, firmer now, as if it’ll lessen the leaden weight in your chest. 

He lifts his lanky fingers and wraps them around your wrist, guiding your hand away from his jaw when your nails start to dig unknowingly into his skin. 

He peers at you with his lone eye and waits for you to kiss him — or to hug him, perhaps — something overtly affectionate that comes so naturally to you that has hitherto been very foreign to him. He expects you to be gladdened by his presence after such a tumultuous battle, of which he presumed would bring you closer.

With his brother now mutilated by dragon flame, Aemond flew back to the Red Keep with the understanding that there would be a bed and a throne for him — both empty and cold, waiting to be warmed with you by his side.

They said love was intensified by absence, but your face crumples under the weight of your emotion instead. Glassy tears fill your eyes, which squint with something short of fear as you turn away from him. Your hand slips from his without a single word uttered from you. 

A very distant ache twists somewhere deep in his chest. A wildfire burns in the ether behind his ribcage, far away but scorching all the same. Watching you leave is a fate far worse than the hell his dead or dying brother must be facing at this very moment — hidden in a box somewhere in a throwaway carriage.  

Aemond chokes down his jealousy like bile. He’s spent his whole life wishing he and Aegon could trade places, and now isn’t any different. 

Even as his brother languishes in a mangled, bloodied, and ashened pile of flesh, it is he you still long for. Aemond still cannot compete with him — not even as your husband, not even as a living-breathing thing standing before you.

Because you would always be searching for Aegon. Even in his death. Even in yours.

“Behold! The traitor dragon Meleys!” a knight bellows beneath the sounds of a tolling bell and trumpeting horns. 

The Kingsguard marches into the city with a beheaded dragon carted behind them. The smallfolk fall silent at the sight of the majestic beast, slaughtered from its scarlet body. You can’t remember a time when King’s Landing was ever so quiet. Something about it feels ghostlike.

“Slain at Rook’s Rest, by your king!” the man shouts, raising his fist in triumph. “To Aegon!”

You can barely hear any of it from here, where you stand at the highest balcony of the Red Keep, which overlooks the entire city — but the hushed silence is deafening, and the fear is achingly palpable. 

Aemond stands just beside you, between you and his mother, with several inches of cautious space between you. He curls his pale hands around the railing and leans over the parapet. A late summer breeze ripples through his silver hair and leather jacket as he tilts his chin to peer at the crowd from the bridge of his nose — looking like he could swallow the whole of the King’s Landing if he wanted.

“Do they not realize we won the battle?” he wonders quietly.

“I don’t believe there are any winners here,” Alicent murmurs after a few long moments, oddly steady despite the worry that threatens to strangle her completely. “This is no victory, Aemond.”

You shake your head in agreement as burning tears gather at your waterline. “No. This is a dark, dark omen.”

You sniffle once, then exhale a shuddering breath from your mouth. Your hand reaches for your tightening chest to curl your fingers around the dainty necklace between your collarbones. A gift Aemond had made upon your betrothal — a golden rose to match the sigil of your old house, with an emerald sitting in the center to represent the one you married into.

Alicent looks past Aemond and over to you. Her wide brown eyes flit back and forth from your teary features to your tremoring fingers. She squints and tucks a rogue auburn curl behind her ear when it billows in her face. “How do you mean?” 

“Growing up, I was taught that dragons were gods,” you confess, voice wet with unshed tears. “And this… This is not a victory march, Your Grace. This is an abomination.”

Your words hang heavy over the three of you for several long moments. The weight of them is palpable, like a pillow to the face. They force the breath from your lungs and demand to be acknowledged. And as the rest of the city recoils in fright, bowing their heads as though this was a funeral procession, the truth behind your words becomes indisputable.

Behind the beheaded Meleys is a cart carrying an unmarked box. There is no fanfare surrounding it, no horses or knights or signs of life. It is hardly more than a grim crate blanketed by a few tattered rags. A casket, perhaps.

“Is that him?” you try to ask, though the words get stuck in your throat. You clear it and try again. “Is— Is that Aegon?”

Alicent blinks back tears and nods until she chokes them down again. “’Tis likely,” she answers plainly.

“Do they know if he’s still alive in there?” 

The mother thinks for a moment. Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, feeling the ridges where she’s nipped at them from anxiety, before shaking her head in a wordless response. 

You spare one last look at the maimed Meleys and the casket trailing behind her as the soldiers march closer to the Red Keep. The sight grows blurry with burning tears, like pastel watercolors all bleeding together. You step back from the balcony with a shuddering breath and scurry off without another word. 

Aemond watches you disappear in the corner of his eye but makes no move to stop you. He’d sooner cut off his hand than profess his need for you. It’d be easier, anyway.

You rush down the twisting stone steps of the Red Keep with the skirt of your dress in your hands. As your pretty pink gown flows behind you, you can hear your racing heart in your ears — a vigorous woosh, woosh, wooshing as your adrenaline spikes and pricks at your skin like flames. 

You can hear Ser Branton Selmy’s armor clinking behind you, too, as your personal protector rushes to keep up with your rapid strides in such heavy garb.

You run into Criston Cole when you reach the west wing. Beside him is a nameless face you only vaguely recognize. He’s a Hightower, no doubt, so you figure he must be Gwayne. The pretty man looks strikingly similar to his sister, the Queen Dowager. And he has all the hardened features of his father. 

You vaguely notice the horrors of war etched onto their otherwise handsome faces just before your eyes look past them — to the white cloaks heaving a wooden box down the corridor.

“Where are they taking him?” you ask with bated breath, fists tremoring where they clench the tulle of your skirt.

Ser Gwanye runs a pale hand through his auburn locks, pushing the long strands over his forehead. Both his hair and his hands are stained with bits of blood and dirt. “The far west end, princess,” he answers politely. “That is as much as I’ve heard, anyway.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Our bedroom?” you wonder aloud before you mean to, eyes wide and full of apprehension.

Gwayne, too, looks on in shock. He blinks at you for a moment, before turning to Ser Criston for a surer answer. 

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard (and, most recently, the Lord Hand) peers at you with a sympathetic gaze. He ducks his scruffy chin to his chest as his dark eyes swim with apology.

“It is the closest bedroom to the Maester’s quarters, princess,” Criston tells you. “And right now, His Grace needs all the help he can get.”

You hurry to the furthest end of the Red Keep, knowing its only importance before now was being the outermost point from the bedroom you shared with Aemond. It was a very intentional decision you made when Aegon insisted the two of you share a room like any true couple would. (You figured if you were going to fuck his brother, it’d be polite if you didn’t make him bear witness to it.)

You stand in the doorway while the knights lift Aegon’s body from the crate, all wrapped in a burlap sack, as though he was presumed to die on the way home from battle. They lie him tenderly in the center of your shared bed. His blood stains the silk where you have laughed and cried and pleasured each other. 

He’s still in his armor, though half of it is singed and nearly melted, and the maesters make quick work of tending to his fragile body. You can hardly see him now, with all the people rushing about, but you think perhaps it’s best that way. You know if you saw him in such a state, you’d never be able to forget it — and if Aegon was going to die today, he didn’t deserve to be remembered that way.

“Is he alive?” you gasp quietly into the chaos.

“His Grace remains with us,” Maester Orwyle answers carefully, dark eyes meeting yours from across the room. “For the moment.”

He’s still breathing, is what he’s really saying. But who knows for how long?

When the maesters start to peel the armor from the boy’s burned body, you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. 

Ser Branton appears suddenly behind you and comforts you with a weathered touch, which is not typically permitted for knights. Touching the nobility was strictly off-limits unless completely necessary, and Ser Branton knows it. He’s been a member of the Kingsguard since before you were born. Long enough to earn the name Branton the Brave. But he figures this moment is as necessary as any other.

“Best look away, princess,” he advises in a gruff and gentle voice. “Let me escort you back to your chambers until the work is done.”

You will yourself to answer him, to let him whisk you away completely, to let him take you on a horse ride outside the city walls — anything to get you away from the unsightly horrors before you. But you remain still and silent despite yourself, watching the skin of your first love come off in melted strings as the maesters peel his armor away.

The smell of burnt flesh fills the room, along with the coppery tang of blood. 

A pair of hurried footsteps sound behind you as Alicent rushes into the room. “Is he breathing?” she frets as she migrates to her eldest boy’s bedside, trying to peer past the bustling bodies for a glimpse of him. Her breath hitches at the sight of his charred chest, rising and falling with shallow and uneven breaths.

“Is my son going to die?” the mother rephrases with her hand to her mouth.

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” Maester Orwyle answers. He works with steady enough hands, but the waver in his voice is not reassuring. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, these next hours are most critical.”

Alicent nods and takes a stumbling step back. “Of course,” she murmurs inaudibly.

You gravitate closer to the foot of the bed with wide and glazed-over eyes, perceiving nothing and everything all at once. You feel a bit like you’re dreaming, or like you’re underwater — like none of this is real. 

But you still flinch at the sharp click of his broken bone being snapped back into place. And your chest still aches at the sound of his raspy breaths as he fights hard for each one of them.

You don’t notice Aemond entering the room until he caresses you with an icy hand. You fight back a shiver under his touch. His fingers are oddly gentle as they curl around the back of your neck, like he’s comforting you and reminding you to whom you belong simultaneously. 

“He’s alive,” he observes indifferently.

“For now,” Alicent nods from the other side of the bed.

“By the grace of the Gods, no doubt,” Aemond monotones. He smooths his thumb over your skin in a reassuring pet as he looks past you to his mother. “But still… Someone will have to rule in his stead.”

For the first time in several minutes, your eyes part from Aegon’s body to glare at the boy beside you. Your gaze turns glassy as it swims with newfound tears. They burn at your waterline — not with grief now, but with anger. 

You say nothing as you swat his hand away, turning on your heel and storming out of the room with Ser Branton close behind. Your hands ball into trembling fists at your sides. Your nails bite into the soft skin of your palm as you struggle to breathe through your rage.

The people have called you the Rose of King’s Landing since you first arrived to the city, some years ago now. You were as pretty and as delicate as they come — at least, that’s what they told you. But as your fury builds like bile in your throat, you no longer feel as fragile as a flower. You feel like Wildfire, green and flammable and volatile, moments away from being set ablaze.

Rain beats in fat droplets against the stained glass windows of the Sept. The wild cadence of the brewing storm mixes with the crackling of lit candles — the only two sounds filling the silent church. Lightning flashes and basks the expansive room in vivid purple hues for a moment before darkness returns again. 

Aemond watches the flickering amber flames paint you in shades of gold as you kneel before them. 

Your hands are entwined, but he knows you’re not praying. You haven’t prayed since you arrived to the city, as far as he understands it. You confessed to him, once, that you lost the need for all that when you lost your home. 

He surmises that you came all this way to escape him — or, perhaps, the Red Keep in its entirety. The smell of death has overtaken the castle. The chaos within it has similarly refused to cease. Though he does not blame you for running, he cannot abide by your attempts to elude him. 

His boots scuff the stone as he walks further into the Sept. The soft sound echoes through the quiet church. Your head whips over your shoulder in its direction. 

Aemond swipes his rain-soaked hood from his silver head. The candlelight dances over his narrow features, softening the sharpened edges of them. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he confesses as he stalks closer to you, hands clasped behind his back, hidden beneath his heavy cloak. “I’ve been searching all over for you, to be sure.”

“Have you?” you hum unenthusiastically, rising to full height and smoothing the skirt of your dress. You tilt your chin to follow Aemond’s eyes when he towers over your smaller form.

“Normally, when you’re absent, I find you with the king. But considering my brother’s… current predicament…” he lilts cautiously, though the words spill from his mouth with a very intentional venom. “I struggled to place your whereabouts. I was moments away from sending the gold cloaks after you.”

You would be touched by his worry if you believed it to be true. 

Your husband has always been intrinsically difficult to read, but you feel like you no longer know him now. As he looms before you — a pretty boy who always thought himself too ugly to be loved — he becomes an unrecognizable thing. Your stomach swirls at the uncanny feeling.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, husband,” you say with a pretty smile that verges on cynical. “I know you have much on your plate at the moment. What with trying to find a regent to take Aegon’s place and all.”

The banter is familiar, though it’s not typically so weighty — so backhanded and so filled with unspoken rage. The two of you fake smiles at each other while simultaneously biting your tongues so hard that blood pools in your mouths.

You take slow and unsure steps towards him, until your wringing hands brush his clothed torso. You peer up at him from beneath your lashes in a suddenly solemn look, which sparkles with hope and fear and dread. 

“Can you tell me what happened to him? Please,” you murmur sheepishly, all but begging him now. “So I can stop imagining it.”

Aemond hums to himself, tilting his head curiously to the side. “And what are you imagining in that pretty little head of yours, hm?”

You avert your gaze to your fidgeting hands, where your fingers wring themselves into knots. Your tongue grazes your anxiety-bitten lip as you inhale a shaking breath, fighting for the courage to answer. 

“Before your mother told me of the raven we’d received… About Aegon’s health, I was having… the most awful dream,” you confess for the first time aloud. “A nightmare— about you and Aegon flying together on dragonback. Aegon was… struggling to take on Meleys while you…”

Aemond waits with bated breath as you trail off. “While I what?” he presses.

“Watched,” you agonize, face twisted as you recall the vivid dream that feels like a memory now. “You set Vhagar on him, and you watched.”

“Hm,” Aemond hums apathetically. “A nightmare indeed.”

You meet his flat face with teary eyes. “So tell me what happened to him,”you repeat, firmer now. “Please.”

“I’m afraid it is quite boring— talk of war,” the boy lilts as he walks past you and toward the burning candles. “But, if you must know, we took the castle at the cost of… some nine hundred men.”

“And what of Aegon?”

Aemond lays his palm flat over a flickering flame and looks at you over his shoulder, like he doesn’t feel any of it — or, at the very least, like he wants you to think he doesn’t. 

“His Grace fought valiantly. But he was drunk when he mounted Sunfyre, and Rhaenys... She was no stranger to battle. Aegon was long in the dying, I’m afraid— the outcome was surely inevitable.”

“And where were you?” you blurt with the courage strikes you suddenly. “What was your part in all this?”

Something in Aemond’s eyes flickers, as though in surprise of your subtle accusation. Though, perhaps it’s only the candlelight. 

“I set Vhaghar on The Queen Who Never Was,” he shrugs plainly. “I distracted her from my brother, and slaughtered her dragon.”

You muster a wavering grin. “What a heroic tale.”

“I wouldn’t wish such a sight on my worst enemy,” Aemond tells you solemnly as he swipes ash from his calloused palms. He thinks for a moment, then corrects himself. “Well… Perhaps I would…”

The edges of his lips lift in a barely-there smirk. The one you give him in return is weighed down with an obvious emotion, which is etched now across your delicate features. 

“I want to believe you had no part in this, Aemond… But my mind refuses to relent on the matter.”

Aemond’s face hardens. Lightning flashes in violet hues and casts daunting shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His words are accompanied by rolling thunder that trembles the earth under your feet. “I loved my brother—”

“I think someone like you can care a lot about a person and still be able to kill them,” you confess, so gently it feels like a proclamation of love.

“Maybe so,” he hums indifferently.

His apathy is unsurprising, but it doesn’t hurt you any less. The familiarity of it pierces you like a dagger and presses its lips to your forehead like a kiss all at once. There is intimacy, hidden somewhere in his detachment — and if it’s all because he loves you, does it matter if it hurts?

“I used to love you, Aemond,” you tell him because it feels necessary now, considering you can’t get anything tangible out of him. “Even when you didn’t believe I did. Especially when you didn’t believe I did.”

The blatant use of the past tense feels like a cold hand wrapped around his throat. “What changed?” 

“You did.”

“No,” Aemond insists with a stubborn shake of his head as he closes the distance between you. His footsteps are as light and as measured as the late-summer rain raging outside. “I’m the same as I ever was… You only see me completely now. That’s all.”

He curls his cold hands around your waist to pull you closer. His touch is familiar in a way that makes your stomach ache — like an old house that used to be yours, but isn’t anymore; like a place that you should remember, but barely can. 

Your breath catches in your throat because his words feel like a confession.

The corner of his mouth quirks in a proud smile because he is confessing, and you’re still letting him hold you.

“We have seen the worst parts of each other, have we not? And yet…” Aemond trails off, ducking softly down like he intends to kiss you. Your lips part in wait for his despite yourself. He trails the tip of his chiseled nose over the bridge of yours instead. “We understand each other in our bones. We cannot help but to live inside of one another, like… A snake… doomed to swallow its own tail.”

His chapped lips duck to graze your pulse point. You exhale a trembling breath as your hands ball into fists at your sides. You make no attempt to stop him, however, as though paralyzed by your deep-rooted affection for him.

“Or a fish hook… into an open eye,” Aemond continues cynically, breath fanning warm over your collarbones. Chill bumps pebble over your delicate skin in his wake. The sight makes him swell with pride. “Or a decaying corpse and its maggots… Mutual destruction—”

He rises again to kiss you, mouth parted like he plans to swallow you whole. 

Your senses return, and you pull back from him — just enough for your lips to graze but not fully meet. You realize, then, that you’re holding your breath. You exhale a wavering sigh as you stand obediently ahead of him. Nose to nose, chest to chest, heartbeart to heartbeat.

“You’re a nightmare,” you pant against his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you raise a hand to his face. The pad of your thumb smooths over the marred skin beneath his patched eye. “There is deeply wrong with you, Aemond. And I think whatever is… is wrong with me also.”

Lightning strikes with a resounding crack some leagues away — or, perhaps, in his own chest, which warms at the thought of being understood by you. 

He kisses you with the fire behind his ribcage, breathes the smoke from his lungs into yours. The Kinslayer licks into your mouth, and you let him.

You’re doomed to it, you realize — doomed to acknowledging the very worst parts of him and never being able to abandon him. To spending a lifetime unwrapping his misdeeds and kissing them away like a baby with a scraped knee. 

You will spend the rest of your life holding his darkened soul up to the light and trying hard to understand him. And as Aemond kisses the breath from your lungs in the middle of the candlelit Sept, in the epicenter of a raging summer storm, you think it must be better than not having him at all.

The days anticipating Aegon’s waking are ruthless and bloodstained. 

You don’t need sleep for many of them, and you only part from his bedside long enough to tend to your wifely duties. The castle sees little of you otherwise. You become a ghostly thing instead — a phantom of your own regret, a shadow of all your sins. 

And even when it’s full of so much love, all a ghost can do is haunt. You idle at Aegon’s bedside accordingly. Solemnly, silently, softly. While melancholy stains your hands like blood.

You feel as though you’re cleansing your impure touch every time you dip your hands into the steaming bowl of water at your side. You soak Aegon’s bandages in its medicinal contents until it burns your skin raw. Until you find repentance in the ache. And then you smooth them carefully over his raging wounds the way Maester Orwyle taught you.

Your unworthy hands run gently over his lithe, burnt, and death-touched body, finding holiness in his pale skin. You kneel at his side and hold his unhurt hand in both of yours — not to pray, but to atone.

“If you’re going to die here, in our bed, I hope very much that you intend to haunt me,” you whisper through tears, bringing his hand to your mouth and running your lips over the grooves of his knuckles. “I would much rather you drive me mad from the spiritual plane than go where I cannot follow you.”

Your handmaiden knocks softly on the door, then. She peeks just enough inside to tell you the high council meeting has finished — the council of which your husband now sits at the head. 

Aemond, crowned newly regent, wears the weight of kinghood like he was always meant to do it. You hate how well it fits him. You hate what lengths he’s gone to steal a crown that no person should ever aspire to possess. 

Still, though, you part from Aegon with a kiss to his unburnt cheek and walk to the other side of the castle to tend to your husband — like a sheep led to slaughter.

“Dove?” Aegon calls in a raspy voice, the name like gravel in his throat, when he feels you disappear from his side.

You do not hear him.

Aegon slips back into the lonely abyss.

You retire the following morning to the Godswood — the only place in King’s Landing where you’re free from pitied glances and words of sympathy. You sit against the white bark of the old weirwood tree with a heavy book propped on your knees. The rising sun filters in golden rays through the orange leaves, which rustle in time with a calm summer wind.

Aemond finds you there when you don’t arrive to break your fast. Something about the sight of you forces him back into childhood — all bathed in the late morning sun, in a pretty pink dress that sits in a perfect circle around you, like a painting that breathes with life. 

In that moment, he’s a kid who still has both his eyes — who doesn’t startle people when he looks at them — who hasn’t hurt anyone yet because no one’s yet hurt him. For a flicker of a moment, the two of you are strangers. Strangers who haven’t ruined each other by being together.

Aemond chokes down the nostalgia and strangles it in a clenched fist. “The table is set,” he calls to you, in place of any real greeting.

You don’t look up from your book as you flip the page. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten in days,” the boy tells you, trying hard to bite back his misplaced anger.  “You’ll soon be withering away with my brother if you aren’t careful.”

“I’d rather,” you murmur cynically as your chin tilts to meet his eyes. 

You don’t mean to glare at him the way you do, but it’s hard to look at the mirror of yourself any other way. A part of him slipped into you that night at the Sept, like lightning through the stained glass windows, and now it’s hard to stomach the sight of him. 

“What are you reading?” Aemond asks, changing the subject entirely, as he nods to the heavy book covering the expanse of your lap. 

You avert your gaze then, like you’re ashamed of the answer. He walks closer to peek at the thick parchment pages and finds a hand-drawn diagram of a maimed body with increasing levels of burnt skin. His chest pinches as he seethes.

“Even in death, my brother is still the one you want,” Aemond scoffs a bitter laugh. “He is always where your loyalties will lie— ”

“Well, Aegon is not dead,” you correct with an eerily steady voice as your eyes hardened into an unwavering squint. “Though I know how much it must pain you.”

“You’re meaning eludes me, I’m afraid. You’ll have to speak more plainly.”

“You are easily the smartest man I have ever met,” you confess with a gentle smile. “So please do not patronize me by playing the fool.”

Aemond opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He is, instead, interrupted by hurried footsteps that crunch crunch crunch atop the falling leaves. “We’re busy,” he snaps as he whips his head over his shoulder.

Maester Orwyle cowers. His chain rattles as he bows his bald head in apology. “Excuse me, Prince Regent— Princess— But I am happy to report that His Grace, The King has regained consciousness this morning.”

Your heart lurches into your throat, making it very suddenly hard to breathe. Your feet scramble for purchase on the ground as you stand to full height again. Dirt stains your hands as you clutch the heavy book between them.

“Only for a few moments,” the man amends before he overexcites you.

“But he is awake?” you press with bated breath.

The Maester nods. “He is.”

“I knew it,” you say, laughing giddily to yourself. “I knew his breath was coming easier to him.”

Maester Orwyle struggles to keep his emotions at bay with your infectious excitement. “Aye. The King is much stronger than I gave him credit for,” the man nods, hands clasped as though in prayer. “He may yet live— thank the Gods.”

“What happy news,” Aemond hums when he realizes he hasn’t yet said anything. 

His thin lips purse in a quiet smile as his glacial gaze flits over to you. He stares mostly from the side of his patched eye, so ardently it feels like he’s looking at you through the covered sapphire hidden behind it. 

“Perhaps you should accompany Maester Orwyle to my brother’s chambers. I will inform the family as we break our fast,” the boy tells you with purely selfish intent. 

He figures it’ll be easier to watch you rush back into Aegon’s arms if he’s commanding it of you. His chest threatens to swirl with warmth, however, at the relieved look you give him. 

Your eyes soften for the first time since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You don’t care whether he’s holding an olive branch in his hand or a dagger. You’re thankful for it, either way. 

“Of course, Your Grace,” you say with an obedient bow of your head. 

You go to kiss his cheek before you part from him, if only to maintain appearances in front of the Maester.“Thank you,” Aemond hears you whisper before your mouth meets his skin. The plush of your lips grazes the pink scar beneath his eye in a softer touch than he expects, in a softer touch than he deserves.

You burst through the ornate double doors of the west-end bedroom like a million glittering sun rays. 

Aegon can only see you through the bleary haze of his one good eye, but he knows you put The Night of a Thousand Suns to shame. He’s seen dragonfire closer than most people have, and not even that can rival the vividity of his glittering Dove.

The bustling maesters part wordlessly for you like breaking rain clouds. You rush like sunshine past them and straight to his bedside. “Aegon!” you call, teary-eyed and giggling at the sight of his woken state. 

He expects you to flinch when you’re closer to him, to recoil at the sight of his melted flesh. He wouldn’t blame you for it — it’d hurt, of course, but he wouldn’t blame you. It shocks him most when you bend at the waist to kiss him instead. 

Your lips graze the unburnt skin of his right cheek. Aegon can smell rose petals in your hair and lavender on your skin when you lean over him. It smells like home when everything around him reeks of death.

“I’m surprised you still recognize me—” Aegon jokes dryly, then drags in a ragged breath when his lungs start screaming. The inhale rattles through his bare chest, covered partially in the bandages you helped dress before break of day. “—After all this.”

You sit at his side and smile so hard your eyes squint at the edges. “Don’t be absurd. I was born knowing you, Aegon,” you argue with his jaw cradled in a gentle hand. You look over your shoulder to the nearest maester and request, “Can you fetch me some marigolds? And dandelion, please? Oh! And a pot of hot water to make tea in?”

The older man bows his head obediently and asks no question as he stalks out of the room.

You turn back to Aegon. “I hear it may help treat your burns. It’ll at least ease the pain of them, I’m sure.”

The boy shifts in a feeble attempt to get comfortable, which is an impossible feat considering his current state — with half of his body riddled with oozing burns and an elevated leg, shattered and likely never the same again. The only comfort he finds is your warm hand on his cheek. He leans into it like a sunflower to sunshine.

“How do you know all that?” he rasps.

“I read it in a book.”

His remaining eye flits to the edge of the bed, where you’ve laid a thick volume at his feet. He scoffs at the sight of it, then coughs when his lungs burn (which, of course, only adds to the sting.) 

“A boring book,” the boy insists as you ease a cup of water to his dry mouth, cupping his chin to catch the dribble.

“Only slightly,” you joke with a quiet smile. “But I fear I was quite motivated in learning how to treat you.”

Aegon smacks his chapped lips when you pull away, watching attentively as you sit the chalice back at his bedside. His chest blooms with something warm: his affection for you, perhaps, or maybe the lingering ash in his lungs.

“You’re slaving over the Grand Maester’s books—” He inhales a wheezing breath that leaves in a rattling exhale. “—To learn how to take care of me?”

“Yes.”

“What wretched work.”

“Not to me,” you insist with a blossoming grin. “Not if it’s you.”

Aegon’s ocean eye goes glassy with burning tears he tries hard to blink away. A furrow forms in the marred skin of his forehead as his brows pinch together — one singed off and the other half gone. His features crumple as he forces himself to choke down his emotion like bile. 

He hasn’t cried about it yet. About any of it. His manhood has already been stripped from him — he’s scared that if he cries about it now, it’ll be like admitting some kind of defeat.

You seem to know this without words. Like you can read it all in his very expressive face, which he knows is so much different now than the one you fell in love with. You don’t look at him like he’s any different, though, and something about it makes his head spin.

“Will you lay with me?”

“I can’t, Aegon— I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he wheezes. “You can’t.”

Despite your better judgment, you round the mattress to lay at his unburnt side. The muscle memory that carries you there feels strange. You’ve been rounding this very bed to lay to the right of him for many moons now — a side you claimed wordlessly as your own, as Aegon did with the left. Nothing has changed. Only, at the same time, everything has changed.

You recline gingerly along the feathered mattress, careful not to jostle the boy too much. When you turn to rest on your side, Aegon shifts on the mattress to be level with you. He doesn’t get too far, what with his elevated leg and the rest of him much too stiff. He turns his chin to his shoulder to face you instead. His eyes flutter shut when you lift your hand to his face, tracing the edges of his bandages with a featherlight touch.

“How can you still look at me like that?” Aegon croaks as your pointer finger trails down the slope of his nose.

“Like what?” you murmur distantly.

“I don’t know,” he answers before a wheeze racks through his chest. “Like you still love me.”

His words hit you like a fist to the stomach. Something about them makes your throat tighten with a welling emotion.

“Because I do love you, Aegon,” you answer through a teary giggle, resting a very delicate hand over his bandaged jaw. “I can’t help it. I knew I was doomed to it since I was ten-and-three— when you told me you were betrothed to Helaena, and yet I was still searching for you in all the eyes of my potential suitors.”

“Do you search for me now?” he mumbles with a hopeful gleam in his remaining eye.

Your smile widens. “I search for you always.”

“Even now?”

“Always,” you repeat.

“What if I…” he trails off, smacking his dry mouth and averting his gaze. 

He looks, instead, at the green silk draping the ceiling — where he insisted a mirror be hung some days ago. He said he wanted to see you from every angle when you were riding him, said that was of utmost importance. All that feels pretty moot now, though, and the notion makes his chest ache.

“What if I’m different after this?” he wonders through the ash trapped in his lungs. You know it must hurt for him to talk, so you grimace when he continues. “What if I’m immobile? What if I— I can’t pleasure you anymore?”

A giggle sputters past your lips. Aegon flinches. He doesn’t know what he expected you to say to that, but he hadn’t expected you to laugh.

“If you think I am only at your side because of my… carnal urges,” you lilt teasingly, rising on your elbow to peer down at him with sparkling eyes. “Then you are sadly mistaken, my king. Surely, you’re forgetting the many, many years it took you to learn my body… wherein your rendered services were, perhaps, less than pleasurable.”

Aegon tries to laugh until his chest stings. The air rushes suddenly from his lungs and leaves a burning sensation in its wake — drier than the sands of Dorne, hotter than dragonfire. 

He grimaces and struggles to catch his breath. He’s only able to relax when you lay your hand over the right side of his chest, where his skin is pale and supple and still normal.

“Meaning no offense, of course,” you continue with a lazy smile. “You’ve undoubtedly become an expert of me over the years.”

Aegon tries not to cower under the sincerity twinkling in your eyes. He can’t tell if you’re just ignoring his freakish nature, or if you’ve already adjusted to it entirely. He prays for the latter. He’s grateful, however, for either.

“Will you kiss me?” he rasps in a breathy whisper.

You don’t answer with words. You only lean forward and press your lips to the flushed apple of his cheek, lingering there for several long moments. The foreign act of tenderness makes him sigh hard through his nose.

You part from him to find his lips quirked in a very distant smile. It isn’t nearly as bright as you’re used to — not as pink or as mischievous — but you can see it still, beneath the layers of bandages and marred skin. 

“Not there,” he jokes with a rattling breath.

Your hand lifts to caress his cheek. Your thumb grazes the grooves of the plaster sticking to his skin there. Your eyes flit from his sparkling gaze to his parted lips. You lean down and kiss him gently — enough for him to feel you, but not enough to feel the ache on his burnt side.

And even as you’re kissing him, and Aegon’s kissing you back, you can’t help but wish that you were kissing him still. 

Aemond sits alone at the head of an ornate dining table and glares at the ghost of you across the room. Past the flickering candles, and the goblets of wine, and the trays of your most favorite desserts — to where an empty chair waits for a body that’s never coming to fill it. 

It’s his fault, he knows. He’s the one who refused to summon you for supper, yet he still finds himself blaming you for your absence. As the blade of self-made solitude pierces his sternum, he imagines it’s your pretty hand twisting the dagger. The plates before him remain untouched and go slowly cold as the wound bleeds out. 

The thought of supping without you makes him too sick to eat. His empty stomach swirls with the waves of his grief.

Aemond knew that, were his brother to ever wake, he would be left with only the barest scraps of you. He thought he was used to picking at the flesh and bones of your affection like a vulture to decaying flesh, but he feels the lack of you most ardently now. To the point where he’s made a weapon of your leaving.

He sends you away most nights, when you part finally from Aegon’s bedside to attend to your wifely duties. It was easier to wave a dismissive hand while you undressed for him — to tell you that he had war plans to discuss with Ser Criston or whores at the brothel awaiting his arrival. The former was sometimes true, the latter almost never. Never ever, to be exact.

You’d re-tie the lace of your slip, covering the petaled skin you were baring for him, and muster a wavering smile to cover up your aching. And though Aemond wasn’t entirely fond of hurting you, there was a certain gratification in making you feel an ounce of the heartache he was drowning in.

But the cycle of woe continues on, and he finds himself floundering for you all over again. 

He spares one last glare at the empty seat reserved for his wife — who, like her love, would never truly be there — and rises abruptly from the table. The legs of his wooden chair scrape the cobbled floors. The harsh sound echoes through the empty throne room. 

“What shall we do with the food, my pri— Your Grace?”  a servant boy stammers when Aemond walks by.

“Feed it to the hounds,” the boy monotones.

Aemond just barely manages to keep his head above water long enough to find you. He storms to the west wing of the Red Keep and bursts through the double doors of the bedroom you and Aegon share. He feels like he’s been set aflame every time he passes the threshold. He figures he belongs here about as much as a demon at a Holy Sept.

He finds you, unsurprisingly, tending to the sleeping king at his bedside. You dip a thin cloth into a steaming bowl, soaking it in the aromatic medicinal bath, before smoothing it over his burns with a practiced touch. 

Aegon’s left side is not nearly as raw and raging as it was some weeks ago, perhaps because of your gentle hands. His skin is still marred, though — features gnarled and blurred and disfigured. Half of his hair has been singed off, along with his ear and most of his eye. He’s a monster on all accounts, but you tend to him with loving hands anyway.

Your head whips over your shoulder at the sudden intrusion. You find Aemond lingering at the doorway; fists balled at his sides, chest heaving with panted breaths. Your brows raise expectantly, and Aemond searches for something to say. 

“The table is set for supper,” he blurts.

“Alright,” you hum in a quiet voice. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

You turn away, and the thin fabric of your nightgown flows behind you. It’s made of a pale pink cotton, with long sheer sleeves, and a tie at the chest that reveals a sliver of your skin. 

You’re typically only so casually dressed with him. It’s almost like you’ve trained him to salivate at the sight, knowing you’d be taking it off for him under any other circumstance. His hunger for you builds despite himself.

“Will you?” he presses, feigning indifference, as he saunters into the room with his hands behind his back. “You’ve hardly left this room, I’ve heard.”

“Well, I heard that you’ve spent the entire day in council meetings,” you argue while wringing damp plaster between your fists. Hot water trickles back into the bowl, stirring now with golden petals and dandelion fluff. You glance back at him, this time with something mischievous twinkling in your eyes. “What would have me to do, hm? Wait for you well into the twilight hour until you decide you have enough time for me? With my legs spread for you like a common whore?”

“You used to,” Aemond quips as he stills at the foot of the bed.

You scoff and turn away again, laying the moist cloth over Aegon’s bare chest and smoothing it flat until it seals to his skin.  

“You’ve never been this gentle with me,” the boy observes, mostly light-hearted, though the words come out too deadpan to be as playful as he means them.

A smile hints at the corner of your mouth. “You never wanted me to be this gentle with you, Your Grace.”

The title falls from your mouth like sweetened venom. Aemond feels it sparkling in his veins as he rounds the bed to be nearer to you. 

“Hm. Maybe so,” he murmurs with a wide hand pressed to your lower back. You feel his fingers fist the delicate fabric of your nightgown as he whispers, “But His Grace has needs.”

“Well, His Grace has whores,” you spit back, chin tilted defiantly.

“Careful,” Aemond lilts with his lips pursed in a nearly undetectable smirk. “I’d start to think you were jealous.”

You only shrug in response, hoping your envy isn’t as obvious as it feels. “I have naught to be jealous of… Not when your cock tastes of my cunt—”

“Mm. Such vulgar words from such a pristine girl.”

Aemond ducks down like he intends to kiss you, but stops short with his nose pressed to the side of yours — willing you to make the first move. 

You smirk against his mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction, as you grip his leather jacket in your fists. “If you think I’m pristine… Then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.”

The boy’s mouth parts to swallow you whole. You almost let him — until the bed behind you creaks with movement, and you jerk suddenly back from him. 

Aegon smacks his lips as he stirs from sleep. He shifts on the mattress, then grimaces at the harsh reminder of his current state. “Don’t stop on my account,” he mumbles, less raspy than before, but still gravelly in speech.

“We were just leaving,” Aemond insists as his long fingers curl around your wrist.

You try to snatch yourself out of his grip and fail. “The Prince Regent was just leaving,” you correct.

Aegon tries to smile. It feels like he is, anyway, though it looks more like a wince beneath his burns and bandages. “Perhaps you should both stay… I was growing quite fond of the show, actually.”

“I’m sure you were,” Aemond scoffs, peering down at the boy from the bridge of his nose. “But I’m afraid you’ll get nothing here.”

When he tugs you away from Aegon’s bedside, you have little choice but to follow him. He’s much too strong for you to fight — though you try, still, to pry his taut grip with your free hand.

“He’s lying, you know?” the king croaks from behind you. “About the whores.”

Aemond stops in his tracks at the doorframe. You stumble over your feet behind him. When neither of you says anything, Aegon continues. 

“I tried to take him to a brothel once. Some days after he was betrothed to you, I believe…” he trails off to take a ragged breath. “He nearly keeled over when he passed the threshold. He’s much more dutiful to you than he’d have you believe… Unfortunately.”

Your wide eyes flit from the bedridden boy to the one towering over you. “Is that true, husband?” you murmur.

Aemond falters for a moment. “The king is obviously half-cut. The Milk of the Poppy’s warped his mind, no doubt—”

“I am perfectly temperate, brother.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace.”

“Well, when the Dove gives orders, I am not inclined to disobey,” Aegon quips and tries to smile, though the expression is only audible in his voice.

Aemond’s stoic eyes flit back to you. “Giving orders to the king now, are you?”

“Aye. I am,” you answer, trying to fight back a smirk and failing. “And his regent, perhaps. Though he is much less acquiescent than his brother.”

“Is that so?” Aemond hums with his chin tilted upward, amusement glittering in his otherwise hardened gaze.

Your smile sits lazy and lopsided on your mouth. You look once to Aegon, whose one-eyed stare is expectant and unwavering, and then back to your husband. “Haply,” you shrug with your chin to your shoulder, peering through your lashes with the whole universe in your eyes. 

“Kiss me,” you command.

The words fall over Aemond like stars. 

He cradles the back of your neck and licks into your mouth without warning. Your head tips back as he pries through your lips with his tongue. His chiseled nose smushes into the side of yours while he steals the breath from your lungs.

Aegon watches from afar and writhes pathetically on the mattress across the room. His chapped mouth parts in time with yours, tongue lolling in his mouth as he tries to remember what it felt like to kiss you. His hands curl into fists under the weight of his yearning — the ache in his healing left-hand goes unnoticed over his much louder desire for you.

“Closer,” he calls in a gravelly voice, then clears his throat when the word gets stuck there. “Come closer.”

Your lips part with an audible click. A string of saliva threatens to keep the two of you connected, glimmering faintly in the candlelight. A whine sounds in Aegon’s throat at the sight of it.

Aemond wipes his chin with the back of his hand, mouth rosy and shining with your spit. “Surely you aren’t so desperate, brother… You’ll be parading ‘round the brothels in no time, I’m sure.”

Aegon does not admit aloud that his intermittent pleasure house visits were hardly for his own urges. He enjoyed the smells more than anything, of primal pleasure and cheap wine — and the feeling of pride as he introduced new squires to the most skillful madames. He’s watched many boys become men through an opened curtain with a belly full of ale.

He corrects, instead, “Did the maesters not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“My cock was burnt like a sausage on a spit,” Aegon admits with a clenched jaw. “I can hardly piss without it trickling down my leg—”

“An unfortunate circumstance, indeed,” Aemond hums.

“A circumstance you ought to atone for,” Aegon sneers.

The calloused palm cradling your neck slips away as the youngest brother turns to face the eldest. Candlelight flickers over the sharpened edges of his face like hellfire. “I thought you recalled none of it,” he murmurs with a knowing squint in his lone eye.

“Perhaps my memory serves me now,” Aegon retorts, wincing as he sits further up on the pillows. It’s much easier now, without his leg tied and elevated, but the ache there makes every movement impossible. He talks through heaving pants when the breath leaves him suddenly. “Perhaps— Perhaps I am in need of something to ease my mind.”

Silence slips into the room like moonlight through the opened window. Your eyes flit back and forth between the two men, narrowed softly in confusion. The two of them seem to speak in riddles, in remnants of a conversation you weren’t there to witness.

“Mm. Perhaps,” Aemond concludes emotionlessly. “But I don’t believe it is up to me.”

His head turns slowly to you, and your heart lurches into your throat. Your hands shake with the sudden power placed within them. 

Fingers trembling, you reach wordlessly for the lace at your chest. You tug at the ends of it until the knot loosens entirely. The top of your gown slacks to reveal the peaks of your pillowy breasts. Aemond’s mouth parts with the want to kiss them as he migrates behind you to work at the tie along your back.

“Take it off,” Aegon tells you through heavy breaths. “All of it.”

You feel Aemond’s hands smooth under your untied nightgown, cold and calloused along your warm and supple skin. He urges the fabric off your body as you slip the sheer sleeves down your arms. 

The delicate cotton pools around your feet. The evening breeze brushes your bare body like satin. The unabashed leers from the silver-haired boys create pebbling goosebumps on your skin.

Aegon swallows through a dry throat. His trembling hands flex to pierce through the weight of his longing. “Come closer,” he commands. Though, when his voice breaks halfway through, it sounds more like a plea.

Your bare feet pad along the cobbles in slow and hesitant steps. You stop at the foot of the bed and try not to fidget too much as Aegon’s remaining eye rakes over your body. 

The sight of you before him —  your naked breasts begging to be kissed, your soft stomach waiting to be caressed, your plush thighs begging to be clutched — makes a sigh rattle in his chest.

“Closer.”

“How much closer can I get, Your Grace?” you ask him, giggling when Aemond presses his clothed body flush against your back. The tip of his nose traces the shell of your ear as he cradles your hips between calloused palms. His breath fans warm over your neck, and you fight back a shiver.

“Crawl,” Aegon answers as he shifts on the mattress, raising his chin like he means to beckon you forward. “Crawl to me.”

You feel Aemond’s thin lips curl into a smile as he mouths at your pulse. “And here I thought you were the one giving orders,” he quips against your skin.

“She is no stranger to my direction, brother. I assure you,” Aegon rasps. His gaze pauses its trek down your naked form and hardens when it meets your eyes again. “Crawl,” he repeats.

Your body seems to move on its own accord. You blink, and your palms are pressed suddenly to the silk blanket — knees digging into the downy mattress to push you closer to the bedridden king. 

Aegon’s unscarred hand cradles the back of your head when you’re finally in reach. You straddle his thighs, careful to avoid the healing bone in his left leg, as he urges you further into him. Your mouth parts for a kiss. A whimper sounds in your throat when his lips lock on your pulse point instead — feeling too unworthy to kiss something as pretty as you with such a sullied mouth. 

His lips are chapped, but his tongue is warm and smooth against your skin. The contrast between the two is dizzying. 

Aegon’s teeth graze your throat as his hand falls to your chest. He cups your breast in his palm, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple. He knows how sensitive you are there — he’d always remember your body, even in death.

Your moan echoes through the silent room, as silky as the moonlight streaming in rays through the window. You feel the effects of his touch in a shiver down your spine — in a warm feeling that pools in the pit of your stomach.

Aemond only watches for a moment, motionless and observant. He can’t see your face from here, but he can see each of your reactions to Aegon’s subtle touches. Your cunt drools with neglect, begging to be touched and fluttering every time the boy pinches your taut nipples. 

Aegon ducks down for your chest just as the command to do so sits on Aemond’s tongue. The older boy mouths sloppily at your tits, slurping audibly at your plush skin and licking over the fleeting bites he scatters there. 

You cradle the back of his head and whimper at the feeling of his tongue. Your pussy weeps for more just as you do, leaking a glimmering honey that shines on your thighs when it catches the candlelight. 

Aemond’s mouth waters for a taste of you. His pale hands begin working at the buckles of his leather jacket, steady but unusually hasteful as he rushes to fuck you. 

Aegon catches sight of him and smirks into your breasts. He pulls off of you with an audible smack, licking his lips like he can still taste you on them. His cheeky smile is somewhat hidden in the burns on his left cheek, but you can hear it in his voice.

“That is very presumptuous of you, brother,” the boy rasps.

Finally freed from his jacket, Aemond shrugs off his undershirt and works at the buttons of his pants. “Well, someone has to fuck her,” he murmurs mindlessly before flashing a mischievous glare with his lone eye. “And I hear your cock was burnt like a sausage on a spit—”

“You’re doing it again,” you lilt in annoyance, only partially playful, as you glance at him over your shoulder. Your stomach swirls when you find Aemond already leering at you. You smile and arch your back, making an utter show of it. “I can hear you, you know?”

Aemond smirks and drops his breeches. The thick fabric falls heavily to the floor to reveal the expanse of his milky white legs and the half-hard cock hanging between them, glowing red at the tip with need. He wraps the stiffening limb in his fist and works it harder for you. 

“I’m glad for it,” the boy insists as he kneels on the bed behind you. The mattress creaks and dips under his weight. “It only means you can hear everything I intend to do to you—”

“Use your fingers on her first,” Aegon blurts, made impatient with desire and the lack of your attention. “Get her ready for it— It drives her mad.”

Words of protest turn to dust on your tongue when Aemond’s fingers migrate immediately to your weeping cunt. He runs his middle and ring finger between your velvet lips, coating them in your honey before sticking the former inside you. An airy sigh spills from your open mouth at the feeling. Aemond snarls when your pussy tightens around him, all but swallowing his finger. 

You accept a second one with ease — hardly noticing another when Aegon slips his right hand between your thighs. He massages your clit with the pads of his fingers, much softer in comparison to his brother’s. He rubs you there rapidly and with very little rhythm while Aemond fucks his fingers into you with languid strokes.

The variation between the two makes you keen.

“Well, I do believe she’s ready enough,” Aemond quips in a monotone as your honey runs down his wrist. “Feel her— She’s practically weeping for it.”

Aegon’s hand dips instantly, shoving his brother’s out of the way. He shifts on the mattress and grimaces softly at the strain on his bandaged side. The pain, however, goes largely unnoticed as he slips his fingers into you. A groan rumbles in his throat when your eager cunt takes both of his fingers with little effort. 

The feeling of your silky walls wrapped around him — the notion that he will never again feel you on his cock — makes him grieve. His marred features twist with something hard and soft, with grief and anger maybe, before he pulls out of you again.

“Fuck her,” Aegon commands like a true king, before inhaling a rattling breath. “Fuck her now— Make her scream.”

Aemond chuckles at his brother’s enthusiasm, of which he often has too much. He wraps his hand around his stiff cock, now ardently wet with you, and uses his sticky fingers to lubricate himself.

“As you wish, your grace,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

Your chin tilts to your shoulder to look back at him. You whimper when the head of his cock presses itself at your entrance — smooth and warm and leaking with precum. Aegon’s fingers grip suddenly at your jaw. The tips of them dig aggressively into the skin there as he forces you to look at him. Despite his hardened features, his eyes gleam with something more pleading.

“Say my name while he fucks you,” he commands, begs, through gritted teeth. “Pretend it’s my cock inside you.”

You nod rapidly into his hand. Your eyes remain locked with his while Aemond slips into your waiting pussy. Your mouth falls softly agape as he fills you. A moan spills from your lips when he buries himself to the hilt. Aegon’s bandaged head tilts back against the pillow, jaw clenched, like your pleasure is his own.

“Does that feel good?” the king asks.

You nod again into his hand, whimpering when Aemond pulls all the way out only to thrust completely back into you again. Your body jerks on top of Aegon’s like you’re riding him — only his cock is hardly more than mangled skin now, which buzzes faintly with a desire he’ll never be able to give you. 

Aemond curls a calloused hand around your shoulder to steady you while your hands fist at the pillow on either side of Aegon’s head.

“Tell me.”

Your lips open to make out the words, though only moans fall from them. It takes much more effort to speak than usual, with Aemond punching the breath from your lungs with his expert thrusts. “I— It feels so good, Aegon—” you manage through labored breaths just before a whimper sounds in your throat.

His hand leaves your face to trek down the length of your body. He finds your clit more swollen now — and more sensitive, it seems, when his touch makes you instantly squeal. Your eyes squeeze shut as your head tosses back, mouth parted in a silent moan while both boys work at the most sensitive parts of you. 

Your pussy flutters around Aemond’s cock. Honey seeps from your cunt as you grow impossibly tighter around him. He braces his hands on your hip and shoulder, squeezing you there just as you squeeze him. His silver hair falls around his face when he drops his head forward to rumble a deep groan. It sounds like thunder in his throat.

A foreign sense of pride swells in Aegon’s chest at the sounds of your entwining pleasures — which he feels as though he’s orchestrating, despite his misbegotten impotence.

“My Dove is so needy for it, isn’t she?” Aegon coos when your thighs start to tremble.

“You should feel her, brother,” Aemond says, though the words are choppy as they leave his mouth. “She’s so tight— I can barely move—”

Grief sparks in his chest at the bitter reminder that he will never again have you the way his brother has you now. His throat tightens with an emotion he forces himself to choke down. “What does she feel like?” he murmurs pitifully when he struggles to remember.

“Like velvet,” the younger boy answers, punctuated by the dull clapping of his hips meeting your ass. “Like honey. Like sin—” Aemond angles his hips to pierce you deeper. You whine when his thrusts reach an impossible depth.

“How poetic,” Aegon sneers.

“How shall I say it in your language, then, hm?” Aemond manages to tease despite his looming pleasure, which threatens now to strangle him. He tries to keep his face steady despite that as he glares at his brother with his remaining eye, never wavering in his assault on your throbbing pussy. “Her cunt’s milking me dry,” he spits. “I may just breed her yet.”

You’d scold him for speaking over you as if you weren’t there, but you’re much too far gone for that now. His thrusts are steady and measured and merciless. The bulbous head of his cock hits relentlessly at a spongy depth inside you until you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Despite Aegon’s largely bedridden state, he pleasures you with an expert hand just as he always has. His ruthless fingers press hard at your delicate clit until a scream wells in your throat. You grit your teeth to fight it back, but it leaves in a feeble cry anyway.

“Aegon!” you gasp.

“Aw, I know, sweet thing,” Aegon coos. “It’s far too much for you, isn’t it?”

You nod rapidly, with a pout pinching your pretty face. You grip the pillow with one trembling hand and bring the other to his unscarred cheek, cradling him gently there despite the aggressive way Aemond’s fucking you on top of him. 

Despite his burns and his bandages and his disfigured features, you look at him the way you always have — like you’ve loved him forever, like you’ve spent entire lifetimes studying his face. The softness in your gaze makes his chest warm like he might cry. 

“Do you love me, Dove?” Aegon murmurs.

You nod again, without an ounce of hesitation.

“Then prove it to me,” he whispers, fingers caging your swollen clit. “Make a mess on his cock for me.” 

Your orgasm rushes over your body like the waves of a Dornish sea. Like a riptide that pulls you under and under and under. You bury your face in Aegon’s neck while you tremble on top of him, forced to ride through each merciless rush of pleasure. 

“Good girl,” you hear Aegon praise with a laugh in your ear, though he sounds much further away than that. “Always so good for me, aren’t you, Dove?”

Aemond can feel every ruthless aftershock as it racks through your body. Your pussy flutters with each of them and leaks more honey that makes his cock glitter in the candlelight. It forces an orgasm from his body despite the heartache ripping through his chest. 

He watches you and Aegon share a moment of bone-crushing intimacy while he impales you with his cock. Even while you fuck another, even with the silent understanding that Aegon with never again have you this way, you’re able to share something much deeper than sex.

Despite Aemond’s distant worry that he’ll never understand you in the same way, his orgasm tears through his body. 

His hips stutter against your thighs as his cock jerks within your throbbing confines. He thrusts into you once, hard, and then stills against your hips, groaning with each load of cum your velvety cunt milks from him.  

Aemond slumps when his cock begins to soften. You rise from Aegon’s neck to sit upright, cupping his cheek in a steady palm while the boy holds your hips in both of his — one smooth and the other scarred. 

Aemond’s heaving chest twists with the dagger of self-loathing until you reach blindly for him, too. 

Your free hand cradles his marred cheek and urges him closer. He noses at your neck while your mouth grazes his temple — a moment of connection that feels somehow more intimate than his flesh melting with yours. 

The three of you bask silently in the honey-lit room, breathing harmoniously together, with candle-like souls that will forever set each other aflame.

Mutual Destruction.

[junkdrawerfics]

hiya! could you write a jasper fic where the reader meets the major? i'm obsessed with how you write for jasper 🥺

A Major Moment

Summary: Takes place in Breaking Dawn, when all the covens show up to be witnesses for the Cullens. Jasper is worried about you being around so many vampires, especially when he starts to feel like he's losing control. When an incident does occur, the Major steps in to save the day. But you have no clue what's happening.

Words: 2456

Note: I'm alive! And writing again. This work gave me so much trouble before I took my break, but I'm pretty happy with it! I hope you like it, thank you for the request!

---

“I don’t like you bein’ here,” Jasper murmurs stiffly, leaning against the doorway to your shared room.

“I know, Jazz, but I’m worried about what’ll happen if I’m not here.” You pull on your coat, turning to meet his concerned gaze. It makes you soften and you give him a gentle smile, “You think I haven’t noticed how tense you’ve been lately, huh mister?”

Jasper’s lips press into a thin line, a wrinkle forming between his brows. Of course you noticed. 

It started the moment Alice had the vision of the Volturi coming for their family. He felt it, in the back of his mind. That slight pull. The need to feel in control. Him. 

Jasper was used to it. He had plenty of practice holding him back, only letting the edges fray enough to help. Like when they fought the newborn army, or when the two of you and Alice had fled with Bella from the hunter. He could control it. He had to.

You were never meant to meet that part of him, the one with stained hands and war-driven convictions. You were too soft for that side of him, too…breakable. So Jasper did everything in his power to keep him out of it, locked away deep in the recesses of his mind.

But then their allies started to appear and something shifted. The pull turned into a dull pressure in his chest, like a beast pressing at the bars of its cage. Snarling, vicious, protective. He could feel it as he watched you interact with them, oblivious to the danger, the hunger he could feel radiating from all of them. It set his teeth grinding.

“You shouldn’t trust ‘em, darlin,” the blond warns you, voice almost a growl.

“They’re our allies, Jazz,” you remind him softly, curling your arms around his waist. The vampire is tense, tenser than usual. You prop your chin against his chest, wide eyes squinting. “Plus I have you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re all pretty intimidated by you. They won’t try anything.”

That does give him a strange sense of satisfaction. While he considers most of these people friends, he knows that he won’t be able to control himself if one of them touches you. The family had made it clear. You’re off limits. Every human in Forks is off limits. Still-

“Hey.” You pinch his ribs, making Jasper jump. Those gold eyes flicker back down to you questioningly. You shake your head, giggling, “Stop worrying! I’m fine, they’re fine, everything will turn out okay. You can relax, Jazz, I’m safe.”

The stiffness lasts for only a few moments before Jasper gives in and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. He’s always had trouble resisting you, especially when you radiate such warmth. There’s no doubt, no hesitation in your emotions. Just complete and utter certainty in him.

The beast goes quiet, if only for a moment.

A moment that disappears as soon as you join the covens downstairs.

The room is tense, filled with quiet, murmured conversations. They’re all on edge. Though they were all asked to come only to be witnesses before the Volturi, the expectation of a battle still hangs over the house.

You flicker among them, sparking conversation, making jokes, trying to just lighten the mood. It’s the least you can do to help. And this way you don’t feel so useless. If it does come down to a fight, that is exactly what you’ll be. You’re only human after all.

Jasper lingers along the wall, never taking his eyes off of you. 

It’s in moments like this he wishes he could turn his ability off. Every anxiety, every twitch of impatience, the collection of unspoken concern, he feels it all. It’s like walking through a fog so thick you can barely see. It's suffocating.

And he can feel him again. Prowling along the edges of his mind. Looking for just the right moment to-

A sharp gasp makes Jasper flinch. The smell of blood, your blood, hits him, and for a split second, his focus falters.

Enough for his control to slip.

---

You can barely process it.

One moment, you’re clutching your bleeding hand to your chest, fear freezing you to the ground as you watch a man lunge for you, teeth bared in a snarl.

The next moment, that same man is crashing through the wall of windows, the sound of shattering glass ringing through the air. The whole room goes dead silent.

Jasper stands in his place, drawing back to his full height, face a mask of impassivity, eyes alight with a rage that makes everyone recoil. It pours off of him, fills the room like the static before the storm. 

Your breath freezes in your lungs when he turns to you. It feels like one wrong move could set him off. On what? You don’t know. But you stay stock still as his eyes trace over you slowly. They catch on the blood oozing out between your fingers, the ones you desperately press against your wound. Something dark flashes across his face, his jaw clenching.

“Upstairs.”

Your heart lurches to your throat, wariness and confusion flooding your chest. His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, accent thicker. An alarm goes off in your head.

When you don’t move, though, Jasper reaches for your arm, grip just shy of bruising.

“I said - upstairs.”

Before you can even get a word out, he’s dragging you in that direction, so fast you can barely keep up without stumbling. Glancing to the Cullens, you silently beg for some kind of help. You have no clue what’s going on. But the family just watches on as if they’ve seen this all before. Except Bella, who looks just as confused as you feel.

Your attention is forced back to staying upright when you reach the stairs. Jasper doesn’t slow down for even a second, not until you reach your room and he practically throws you inside. In an instant, you’re backed against a wall, his tall frame eclipsing yours.

“Show me,” he demands, voice low, barely restrained.

“What?” You squeak, eyes wide, heart racing. Something’s wrong.

“Show me your hand.”

You tighten your hold unconsciously. Panic grips you like a noose around your lungs. 

“I don’t- I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jazz,” you croak out. There’s too much blood.

Jasper’s eyes narrow, “And I don’t appreciate repeatin’ myself, sugar.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Flinching, you instantly offer him your hand. Even if it’s a bad idea, you don’t want to test this side of him. Something tells you that he could force you to if he wanted to and this is him being nice. 

You hold your breath when he takes your wrist, waiting for whatever’s going to happen next. Jasper’s never had an easy time controlling himself around your blood. You’ve worked on it, but this is too much, too sudden and you can’t help but brace for more pain.

But the seconds tick by and…nothing. You peek an eye open slowly. The blond moves with practiced ease, checking your pulse, carefully examining the edges of the gash, as if the blood isn’t even there.

Something’s different. Everything’s different. How he holds himself, the way he dragged you up here, his voice. And his eyes. It’s hard to not stare at them. Their usual gold depths are dark as amber, still burning with something completely violent, bloody and crimson and unnervingly calm. 

You’ve never once seen Jasper like this.

“What’s going on Jazz?” You ask, voice pitching up.

The vampire pauses, hard gaze flickering up to yours. You almost flinch, instincts screaming at you that being at the center of this man’s attention is dangerous. It feels like any moment that rage could turn on you, like a wolf, bloody maw ready to clamp around your neck.

“Are you scared, darlin’?” His voice is a low rumble, softer than before, but still rough, dark.

Swallowing thickly, you look down at your hands, head spinning. He quickly covers the cut on your palm, careful not to touch it, but keeping it from your eyes, as if he knows the sight of blood makes you dizzy. It’s at odds with everything else about him right now and it makes you think that your Jasper must still be there somewhere. The worst of your nerves fizzle out.

“I don’t know,” you whisper eventually, and his eyes narrow, “I don’t- I don’t understand what’s going on, or why you’re acting different, but I don’t think you’re trying to scare me. So..so, no, I don’t want to be.”

The man hums, lips pursing into a thin line as he goes back to examining your palm, “No tellin’ if that’s foolishness or courage.”

“Maybe both.” Your voice is still shaking. Taking a deep breath, you try again with a different question, “So who are you? Cause I don’t think you’re Jasper, at least not completely.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, you watch as he steps back, disappearing into the bathroom for only a moment before reappearing with your first aid kit, the one you keep here for emergencies. With that same, practiced ease, the blond pulls out the supplies he needs and starts cleaning your wound.

“Most call me Major Whitlock.”

You hiss as he swipes alcohol over the cut. It stings almost as much as the wound itself, scattering your thoughts. The Major mumbles an apology, but doesn’t pause in his movements. It’s methodical, how he cleans it, applies some ointment, and then bandages it. Like he’s done it be-

Oh.

His words finally process in your mind. Major Whitlock. Jasper told you about him once, back when you first asked him about his scars. The man he was before you, before the Cullens. The man he had to be to deal with all that death. The Major.

“I never thought I’d meet you,” you murmur, all but forgetting your apprehension in the wave of curiosity that washes over you. 

“He never wanted you to,” the Major replies stiffly, taping off the wrap, “He’s scared I’ll hurt you.”

Brow furrowing, you glance down at your bandaged hand. It’s perfectly done and you can barely feel any more pain. Thanks to him.

“I can’t see why he’d think that,” you hum, head tilting, “You don’t seem all that dangerous to me.”

Wrong thing to say.

A sharp, unexpected tug on your wrist makes you squeak. The Major draws you flush to his chest, close enough that you can see the flecks of molten gold in his eyes and feel his cool breath against your face. It makes you freeze, hands trapped between your bodies, unable to do anything as he leans down, lips tauntingly close to yours.

“You shouldn’t be so naive, sugar,” he drawls, voice a low rasp. “You wouldn’t think so kindly of me if you knew what’s goin’ through my mind.”

Like how he wishes he had ripped the arms off the man downstairs for even thinking about touching you. Or how the scent of your blood makes him want to pin you against the wall and sink his teeth into your neck. He wants to know if you taste as cloyingly sweet as you smell. 

“I’m still not scared of you,” you whisper, blinking up at him with wide, doe-ish eyes, cheeks painted a tempting shade of red. “I know you won’t hurt me, Major.”

You trust him. He can feel it radiating from you, soft and warm and simple. It makes something violently possessive curl in the Major’s chest. You were right, after all. He would do anything to protect you, like a feral dog at your heel - loyal even if it killed him. He and Jasper could agree on that, as much as he might not want to admit it.

“You really are somethin’, sugar,” he muses, grip softening. There was no point in trying to scare you any further. You were a stubbornly sweet thing.

You offer him a shy smile, “Thank you. And thanks for saving me.”

The Major nods. “It was my pleasure.” 

He pauses, lips pursing. You watch as his gaze flickers over your face, something you can't pinpoint crossing his features. Then-

“Can I kiss you, sugar?”

You almost laugh. It’s a ridiculous question at this point, but it’s just so Jasper that you can’t help but grin. Guess he’s always been like this.

“If you want,” you hum.

And he does.

It’s not like any of the kisses you’ve shared before, not soft or gentle. Jasper has always been too scared of hurting you, but the Major holds onto you like a starving man. He pulls you impossibly closer, fingers threading through your hair to tilt your head just the right way. It’s hard and insistent but still achingly tender and perfect.

You’re left breathless when he pulls away. Not too far though. He rests his forehead against yours, taking the moment to focus on the sound of your heart and the comforting warmth of your touch. It softens the snarling creature that he’s meant to be.

You can feel the shift. The way his touch turns gentle, hands shifting to hold your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheeks. You can practically feel the concern that fills his gaze.

“Hey Jazz,” you breathe out softly.

He doesn’t respond. You glance up at him, amusement flickering in your chest at the perplexed look on his face. There’s your Jasper.

“I’m fine, Jazz,” you insist. It’s easy to tell exactly what he’s thinking. The vampire frowns, glancing at the bandage covering your hand. Right. You correct yourself, “I’m fine now. The Major saved me and bandaged me up. Good as new.”

You wiggle your fingers, just to show him. It stings a little, but not nearly as much as before. 

“He did a good job, almost as good as Carlisle!”

“He-” Jasper stops, swallows. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“No. Nothing happened.” You wrap your arms around his waist. It’s just like before. He holds himself stiff for a moment, fighting between the urge to relax or push you away to a safe distance. But he still can’t resist you. Not now. Not ever.

The tension drips from his shoulders. Jasper curls an arm around you, voice muffled as he tucks his face into your hair, “Sorry if I scared you, darlin’. I should’ve known that would happen. I just want you safe.”

“I know,” you hum, “And I wasn’t scared. Not really. Though, the Major sure has his own way of doing things. Charming guy, really.”

You can feel Jasper smile into your hair, “You really are something, darlin.”

“That’s what he said!”

---

You cannot convince me that the Major is not still a gentleman at his core! He's a bit rough from his time with Maria, but he was such a kind man before that. I will die on this hill.

Anyways! Hope you guys liked it! I might be a bit rusty, but feel free to send in requests! I'm excited to write for y'all again.

[feyhunter78]

The Tower of the Wolf

Description: You, one of the last remaining ladies of Dowager Queen Alicent are brought before Cregan Stark, acting Hand of the King.

You attempt to cling to the former Dowager Queen like a child, your nails digging into her skirts. The fabric once beautiful, a vibrant green now dirtied and torn, her pale shaking hands holding your wrists trying to keep you with her. The both of you sobbing as Northmen pull you from her, ignoring your tears and your lady's pleas for your life. Your lady was good, she cared, she fought for you, even now in chains she fought for you, not only because you were her niece, but for you were a cherished member of her court

“She has done nothing wrong, have you no compassion, you beasts?” She spits out the word like it is poison, her nails digging into your skin, leaving raised marks as they drag you from her grip.

“Please, do not take me from her, she is my lady, my duty is to remain by her side!” You try to fight against them, clawing at the man's face, neck, hands, any skin you can reach, you will not leave your lady. Not when she is all you have left, not when you fear what they will do to her if she is alone. The Brothel Queens.

That horrid fool Mushroom had spread the tale, laughing at the way all color drained from your face. It had not been done, the usurper Rhaenyra had died before it could be, but who is to say it could not still be put in place? There are cruel men that remain within the Keep, cruel men who would see your lady punished for the Greens’ actions.

The Northmen clearly grow tired of your protests, and one backhands you. “Waste of time trying to reason with Hightower whores, Lord Stark should just get rid of them.” The force of the slap sending you stumbling into the wall as your lady cries out, tugging at the chains that keep you beyond her reach.

You hold your hand to your cheek, trying to scramble back to her, but you are caught before you can take a step.

“Quit struggling.” Another man snarls, before he flings you over his shoulder, your chin slamming against his armored back, the metallic taste of blood blooms on your tongue, and your vision blurs as more tears pour forth.

You can hear Lady Alicent’s cries as they carry you away. The agonized screams tear at your heart, echoing in your ears even when the door to the dungeons is slammed shut, and you find yourself back in the relative quiet of the Keep’s halls.

The Hour of the Wolf, that is what they are calling it, and you curse the whole of House Stark. How dare they, how dare they come here and act as saviors? You have not even seen Jaehaera since you were thrown in the dungeon with your lady, is she even alive?

You try to calm yourself, focusing on the floor, counting the marble tiles as your captor takes a brisk pace through the halls, muttering to himself in that barbaric northern way. He is taking you to the Tower of the Hand, and your stomach lurches. The screams of your cousin Helaena, sweet, kind Helaena return to your mind, the blood, Jaehaerys’ little body. It was beyond cruel that plot of cursed Daemon Targaryen, beyond cruel that Princess Rhaenyra would go along with it having lost her own son. How could she wish that pain upon sweet Helaena, a girl who had done her no wrong?

Finally, your captor lets you down, dropping you like a sack of potatoes, pain flaring through your body at your ungraceful landing upon the hard stone floor. Someone had removed the carpet, perhaps it had been dirtied. The remainder of the decorations were still present, the rounded window letting light spill in, the hearth empty and boarded up to prevent any assassins from sneaking in. Besides that, it was pristine, untouched by the havoc outside its walls. Though you and Lady Alicent had been allowed to bathe—to walk towards the Stranger in rags, but not filth—before Lord Stark had sent word that you both would be moved, you still felt dirty. Still felt as though the stench of death, the filth of grief, clung to your skin and hair.

“Lord Bolton, I asked you to escort Lady y/n, not drag her here as if she is a common criminal.”

“Apologies, My Lord, but she attacked my men.”

“Attacked?” You can hear the suspicion in his voice, picture the raised eyebrow.

“She attempted to claw their eyes out.”

He laughs, the damned Stark lord laughs, as if it is humorous that you feared so greatly for your life. “If your men are so easily caught off guard perhaps, they need to spend more time training, it does no good to have an army so easily defeated by a single woman.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, uncaring if more blood fills your mouth, you cannot stand to hear his voice, cannot even raise your head to look at him. Will he kill you? You were not a key player in the war, merely a lady-in-waiting, a loyal one, a third daughter of a second son who did not leave her aunt even when she ordered you to. Perhaps you can make a deal, offer yourself as a bedwarmer while the Stark lord is here? Attempt to convince him your lady should be sent back to Oldtown to remain under house arrest with what little family you and her had left. Though he is a Stark and their honor is known, he would not take a mistress…

Bowing your head, you take hold of the seven-pointed star around your neck, a gift from Lady Alicent. You swear that you will go with him, back to the frigid North, if it means your lady would not die in a cell haunted by the ghosts of this cursed keep.

You are too lost in your thoughts to notice that Lord Stark has dismissed Lord Bolton and is kneeling before you, his eyes fixated on the blood trickling from your lip, the ever-forming bruise on your cheek.

“Lady y/n?” He asks softly, much too softly for a man in his position.

You swallow hard and force yourself to raise your eyes, your mouth still tastes of iron, and you know you must force your spine to be made of it as well.

Lord Cregan Stark is handsome, strong jaw, dark hair, eyes like storm clouds, full lips and a scattering of stubble and roguish scars. But his handsome looks do nothing to dampen the raw strength, the aura of a warrior, a man who has killed and will again, that cannot be hidden beneath cloaks and clothing. Broad shoulders, large, calloused hands, and arms that tell of training and hard work, he towers over you even as he kneels, and you are terrified.

“My Lord?” You answer his question with a question, unwilling to give anything away to this beast.

“Are you hurt? You are bleeding.” Cregan says, reaching inside his cloak and pulling out a handkerchief, gently dabbing at your wounded lip.

You flinch back, and he pulls away slowly, his hand still outstretched, leaving the handkerchief between you. “I did not mean to hurt you, my apologies.”

“It was not your fault.” You say quietly, your eyes downcast, focusing on the handkerchief, the pristine white cloth marred by scarlet, blood scattered amongst snow.

“I will have those men disciplined, you are a lady, and should be treated as such.” He sounds earnest, you can detect no falsehoods, but still you are wary.

“Thank you, My Lord, but it is not necessary. I am a prisoner of war; I do not expect to be treated as an honored guest.” You say demurely, clasping your hands in front of you, wincing when you see the blood that covers them.

Cregan takes a waterskin from the desk behind him, the very desk Lord Hightower used to sit at, and wets his handkerchief before gently reaching for your hands. You watch as he cleans the blood from them, using soft circular motions, his calloused hands warm against your much smaller ones, and he does not release them until they are clean.

“This is your home, is it not? You should not be treated as such in your home.” His voice is warm, warmer than his hands, and if you close your eyes you can pretend. Pretend he is a brave knight who has rescued you, not a barbarian from the North who aided those who keep you prisoner.

“This is my lady’s home as well, and she is treated far worse than I.” You protest, praying that he will not grow angry and strike you.

“Your aunt—the Dowager Queen has been sorely mistreated; I arrested the men who cast her into those foul dungeons, and she should be returned to her chambers by the time we have finished here.” Cregan says, folding the handkerchief and setting it with the waterskin on the desk behind him once more.

“I am glad to hear that.” You say, finally able to meet his eyes.

“I am honored I could lighten your spirits.” He says, a wolfish grin gracing his lips, his gray eyes flashing with an unreadable light.

This is what you have prepared yourself for, you must do it, for the good of your lady, for Jaehaera if she still lives, for the realm. All women know a satiated man does not wage war, does not continue the fight when it has been won, he simply takes his prize and returns home. You gather your courage and place your hand upon Cregan’s, looking up at him through your lashes, hoping you do not look as horrid as you feel. “Perhaps you would allow me to show you how glad I am, My Lord?”

He sucks in a breath, almost imperceptibly, a blush blooming across his face, his eyes widening a fraction, and for a moment he does not seem so beastly.

“I cannot imagine you had many comforts on your journey, it is such a long way from Winterfell, is it not? And now after all that fighting you must hold a war-torn city together until others come to a decision, how awful.” You pout at him, for him, and allow one of the torn sleeves of your gown to slip off your shoulder.

“Aye, it was a long journey.” He manages to say, his fingers twitching beneath your hand, his breath catching in his throat when you move your hand to his wrist.

His shuttered breaths embolden you, and you shift forward, placing your other hand on his thigh, the muscle is firm to the touch, you note. “Such things must weigh so heavily upon you…if I am able to lighten that burden, I would be more than happy to.”

“You do not need to.” He says, his eyes flickering from yours to your hand on his thigh. “Truly, Lady y/n, I would never press myself upon you, I am not that kind of man.”

“But I want to, I want to help.” The lie rolls off your tongue easily, for it is half-truth. You cannot deny Cregan is attractive, but he still holds your life in his hands and could easily crush it at any time. There is something dangerously appealing about that, though, and you find that despite the dangers, you are desperate for the warmth he radiates.

Cregan’s eyes darken, and he groans low in his throat, closing the distance between you, stopping a hairsbreadth from your lips. “Tell me to stop, push me away, scream, slap me, I will not fight you, I will have you seen back to your lady, there will be no punishment.”

Liquid heat rolls through your veins at the sound of his desperate rasp, the restraint he possesses to not surge forward and claim you as his own. “Lord Sta—”

“Cregan.” He corrects softly, “I wish to hear you say my name.”

“Cregan, I do not wish you to stop.” You tell him, head spinning with the way his mere presence overwhelms your senses, the scent of pine and campfire smoke, his warm hands, his eyes, so dark, so deep you may drown.

Cregan’s lips meet yours, tasting of salt and honey, an oddly pleasant combination, his hands on your waist, beacons of warmth and civility, as his lips take you under, whispering heated words every time you part for air. “Say it again, I beg of you.”

“Cregan, please, do not stop.” You oblige him, grabbing at his tunic, pulling him impossibly closer, desperate for him to do something. Like sully that Stark honor and bind himself to you forever, giving you some kind of foothold in this new era that he has helped usher in.

He pulls back, breathing ragged, and he looks at you, truly looks at you. “If I do not stop now, My Lady, I will not be able to stop at all and I—”

“I wish to hear you say my name.” You echo his words from before, threading your fingers in his dark locks, and guiding his lips back to yours, but turning at the last moment and pressing your lips to his jaw.

“Y/N, please, if you do not stop me”—he lets out a strangled curse when your lips drift lower finding a seemingly sensitive spot, your teeth making a home there—“I am a man, an honorable one, and I have fought and won a war, and I am tempted, by the gods I am tempted, but I do not wish to view you as a prize.”

“Why not? I wish to be your war prize.” You press the words into the skin of his neck, reddened marks blooming in your wake, his grip on you tightens at your words, his head falling back exposing more of his skin.

“Others take me, will you truly have me live up to their stories, the barbarians of the North who steal innocent maidens away from their homes?” Cregan asks, even as he leans into your touch, moaning when you shift in his lap.

“My home is where my lord husband is, wherever he will have me.” Your words drip with implications, your lips pressed to his ear.

He shivers at the sensation, his eyes impossibly dark, his voice low, heady with lust. “I will have you in Winterfell.”

TL: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara, @simpinonyouz, @lorarri

[fancyfeathers]

Hope this gives your muscles a bit of a working.

Yandere! Capilano who clings to a songbird that has come and gone in his existence. A witch, an elf who met Capitano at a festival before Khaneri'ah fell. A storyteller who was there to see the event.

She who popped up every few decades in his travels, a familiarity untainted by the event. A light.

This just gives me Alice and Andersdotter vibes, Klee’s mom and one of the creators of Simulanka, so Hexenzirkel darling anyone?

She was probably friends with Rhinedottir when Khaneri’ah fell, the two of them perhaps being the oldest out of the entire the entire Hexenzirkel, being alive long before it was even formed. Which is how they met, when she was visiting her dearest alchemist friend when a celebration arose in Khaneri’ah. Then certainly at that time the Captain would have been a sight to behold, a knight in shining armor, a rather odd pairing since the knight normally falls for the princess and not the witch, but she felt far from a witch in how she acted. She was not from or lived in Khaneri’ah but still managed to get everyone to warm up to her in a matter of moments, dancing with the children, making flowers out of thin air for a young man to give to a young lady he was in love with, helping a baby fall asleep while chatting with the baby’s parents.

He just manages to catch her in conversation and the contrast between them is clear, the lover and the fighter, the witch and the knight. There is just a joy in her that he cannot understand where it comes from, just like a constantly burning fire. Sadly their meeting does not last long, cut off by catastrophe…

The years go by and he does not see her until nearly a century later, after he left Natlan for the first time, after the Fatui had formed, and after the rot had begun to set in. He was on a mission in the Nation of Freedom and it was there he was her again, sitting under a tree, having tea with a few of her friends. A few of them are familiar to him, well only her and Rhinedottir, but she looked as if she had not aged a day, well she certainly had a change in style with her clothing and perhaps her hair but that was it. Honestly he did not expect her to recognize him especially at the distance he was walking past, after all their first meeting was brief and his helmet hid his nearly unrecognizable face, but still somehow she knew it was him. She ran up and hugged him like he was an old friend and as if she never had a care in the world, his subordinates were certainly not pleased by this. He only gets to visit with her for a short time before having to leave once again to continue his mission but when he does there is just undeniable yearning building up in his chest.

Then years go by again and he finds out the group she was with was the coven known as the Hexenzirkel, a group of witches who had strength who could rival that of the gods. He finds this odd as he could never see her as strong in that sense, she seemed like she would never even hurt a fly. This fact bothers him out of his mind, he cannot comprehend it nor can he accept it as it feels it only pulls what he wants further and further out of his grasp so that he may never obtain it.

It is not until he encounters her in Natlan and she just watches as the bloodshed from the abyss happens once again and she does not even help and just watches. He feels betrayed, someone who was to kind and held so much power in their hands would just let this sort of thing happen.

He will bring her to her knees after it all, let her lay bleeding on the ground like those people she refused to help. Though unlike those people she will not allowed to die, her punishment will be having to live with the thought that she could have done something to save herself know as the Captain drags her along with him, trapped in his hold forever more.

[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

Found-Family headcanons for a³'s coven of chaos, part 1: (because they all deserved more time with each other)

(part 2, here.)

(part 3, here.)

Agatha learned spanish for Rio, obviously—and spices up her dialogue with Spanish phrases out of habit. I assume she also knows other languages, being alive for as long as she has.

But I'd also like to think that language-learning gradually becomes something they all surprise each other with. And this is definitely super self-indulgent, because I'm always ecstatic when my native English-speaker friends are interested in learning my language.

For example, I definitely think Billy would ask Alice to teach him korean—and she'd be really excited for that. Not to mention, I feel like Billy just has the vibe of someone who'd be interested in learning different languages. (and korean in particular I think he'd definitely find interesting.)

I also definitely think Jen would try learning Sicilian for Lilia, considering the effort she makes to understand her and keep her comfortable towards the end. Lilia would be so moved, because she probably hasn't spoken to anyone in her mother-tongue in centuries. Like, it's literally considered an endanged language. (“Currently considered a “vulnerable” language by UNESCO, Sicilian faces increasing pressure from standard Italian, though it remains stronger than nearly all other Italian language varieties.”)

Mrs. Davis loves making food for all of them, always trying to diversify her cooking to suit their appetites, their cultures, the things each of them can eat, etc. It's a lot, but she doesn't mind!! She's a grandma!! She loves feeding people—and she missed having someone to cook for.

She grows her greens all by herself, too. Rio occasionally helps her with weeding and stuff. Mrs. Davis is freaked out by her rancid vibes at first, but ends up saying she's a “very sweet girl,” to which everyone responds by staring at her horrified.

Mrs. Davis would also definitely make a chore chart for everyone, but it never works out for a NUMBER of reasons.

First or all, Agatha always skips her turn with cleaning, saying that “she forgot.” She knows that either Billy or Sharon will just take care of it anyways. (Jen refuses to do any of Agatha's chores. “She can either do it by herself or drown in her own garbage-”)

Lilia always gets distracted and leaves her chores unfinished. She can only ever remember laundry, for some reason—she does everyone's laundry. But other than that, jeez. My girl is messy and that's okay. She has her very own unique way of finding where she puts her stuff, but others would merely call it chaos. Jen always picks up after her—and Lilia always huffs and puffs about how, “well now I can't find anything!”

Alice is the sort of person who accidentally creates messes everywhere, then stuffs everything wherever she finds. In drawers, under beds, you name it. Very, “out of sight, out of mind.” Like, she probably has “a chair” where she throws all her clothes.

Billy is very responsible, always abiding to the chore chart and oftentimes doing Agatha's chores too.

Jen is a total neat freak. She wants everything to be organised and under control—and she needs everything to smell nice.

She always makes the others scented candles. Agatha claims they're ��useless garbage,” but uses them anyways.

Jen is also the one who usually keeps track of the bills and expenses, since she earns the most through her, “real job.”

Lilia is the sort of person to get lost in the mall, or even just the super-market. Alice has needed to look for her more than once.

Agatha loves crushing Jen's videos by appearing in the background and doing whatever bullshit she feels like.

Alice and Billy are everyone's mediators. Whenever someone gets in an argument, they're the ones who force them to work it out.

Alice is very protective of Sharon and Lilia, because she has mommy issues. Agatha has the opposite sort of mommy issues—but Sharon and Lilia treat them both like they're their kids.

The first time Billy brought Eddie to meet his coven, they literally put him through trials to decide whether he's worthy to date their son. Eddie is surprised he's been coven-approved.

“These women are insane, Billy—but then again, so am I for sticking around anyways.”

Eddie is very tired. His favourite coven members are Jen and Alice, who he considers the most normal. I REALLY think he'd fuck with Jen, because they're both so done with everyone else.

[louisupdates]

INTERVIEW: Lottie Tomlinson: we lost our mum and sister. Louis saved me

At the age of 20, the sister of One Direction singer Louis had already lost her mother, Johannah, and sister Félicité. Now 25, the social media star has written a book about how they coped

Alice Thomson | Tuesday July 23 2024, 5.00pm BST, The Times

Losing Mum was so hard. I was only a teenager but at least I knew that her death was a possibility, even though she didn’t accept it. She was 47 and had cancer. But when my sister died three years later, I was on this hotel balcony in Bali and I was screaming, ‘No, my baby sister, no.’ The pain was indescribable. I kept thinking, ‘Why me? This can’t be happening again. When is this going to end?’ ”

We are sitting on Lottie Tomlinson’s immaculate white sofa in her pristine white house in Chislehurst, southeast London, where she is curled up in tiny shorts with a perfect tan and impeccably applied make-up. But her French manicured nails are digging so hard into the sofa I think they might snap, the heart tattoo on her minuscule wrist is throbbing and her eyelashes are clogged with tears.

Her life sounds blessed. The influencer has 4.8 million Instagram followers waiting for her to dispense advice on how to apply mascara; the fake tan brand, Tanologist, that she launched at 19 has gone global; and she has a devoted fiancé, Lewis Burton, who runs a luxury concierge business and whose former girlfriend was the late Caroline Flack. They have an adorable son called Lucky, who is dripping ice cream on her marble counters. Her new book is also called Lucky Girl; her older brother is Louis Tomlinson of One Direction and she was touring the world with the band as a make-up artist at 16.

But after her mother died when she was 18, Tomlinson was left looking after her younger sister and two sets of twin siblings, aged eight and two, while creating her businesses, and trying to process her grief. Her father had left their home in Doncaster years before after a battle with alcohol. “Dad had a drinking problem. We’d see glimpses of his good side but he let us down,” she says. “I ended up trying to take care of him rather than the other way round.”

When her mother died, life felt bleak, “I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally, and then when my sister Fizz [Félicité] died of an accidental overdose, I thought I could never be happy again,” she says. “I found the lead-up to Mother’s Day devastating without my sister as well. It was a constant reminder that I was now different from my friends. In my dreams, my mum was still there; she was alive. I woke up feeling comforted, only to realise that she’d gone.”

Tomlinson, who is now 25 and a patron of the bereavement charity Sue Ryder, moves easily between telling you how to apply the best tan and how to talk about death. She cares passionately about both subjects and takes them equally seriously, worried that I’ve never tried a bronzer or used foundation before asking how I coped when my mother died during the pandemic. Her soft Yorkshire accent is both reassuring and no-nonsense.

Born near Doncaster, she was only two when Fizz was born and six when the first twins arrived. “I’ve always been the big sister — Fizz and I each got one and then more twins six years later.” While Louis had his own space, the girls all shared one room with bunk beds. “It was chaos, but my mum, Johannah, was a midwife and loved being pregnant and having so many babies,” she explains. “I used to be in awe of the way she could feed the twins at once, one on each hip. She would do the night shifts, while I held the fort at home.”

Within a few years, Tomlinson would be touring America, Asia and Europe, flying first class with Louis, part of the biggest boy band in the world, but until she was 15, the family had only ever gone to France once a year all packed into a seven-seater car, with her mother’s new partner, snacks laid out in the middle. They stayed in a caravan park. On a Sunday, a treat was to go to their mother’s hospital to see the babies.

While Louis just wanted to sing, play the guitar and listen to Oasis, the girls were obsessed with make-up. “From the age of 12, I struggled academically, but I loved cropped clothes and my mum’s highlighters and mascaras.” She learnt how to apply everything from YouTube tutorials, rather than doing algebra. “We didn’t have much money — we sometimes couldn’t afford to top up the electricity meter so used candles — but everything my mum earned she spent on us. We all looked immaculate — I remember her being horrified when I dyed my hair orange. So it was lovely later when we could treat her.”

Saturday nights were spent watching The X Factor. “My mother and brother kept applying; in 2010, he got in and the whole family went for the audition. We believed in him, but we never thought it would go that far.” One day the family were going to the live shows, the next the boy band was formed with Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and Liam Payne. “He was 18. For my mum it was a big shock. It was all so sudden. The press and fans were in our front garden every day.”

The older twins had already made their first TV appearances — they sound like Doncaster’s Von Trapps. “My mother was gently pushy,” Tomlinson says, smiling at the thought. “When I didn’t get good enough GCSEs to stay at school, she sent me off to join Louis on tour as work experience. I was so scared. I remember her ringing up Lou [Teasdale], their hair and make-up artist, and saying, ‘Lottie has not got through to sixth form; she’s going to come and assist you.’ I was in the car going, ‘No, please don’t.’ But it ended up being the best thing that happened to me. I went for a week and stayed two years. Lou and I are still so close.”

Suddenly, the two eldest Tomlinson children were circling the world, eating room service and ducking the paparazzi hanging out of helicopters taking snaps. “At first Louis didn’t really want his little sister gate crashing his new rock-star life, but now it feels like the best time of our lives — we experienced that craziness together,” she says.

The teenage Tomlinson found it harder to cope with being photographed wherever she went. “I had some puppy fat which made me very self-aware, and the filler culture was coming in and I felt I had to look perfect.” She had her lips done first at 17. “Then I became addicted: cheek filler, jaw filler, more make-up, blonder hair, slimmer and more tanned. My mum thought I looked perfect, but I was always searching.”

Five years later, when she became pregnant with Lucky and her lips started to swell and crack, she realised she didn’t need the enhancements any more. “I had everything removed, the false eyelashes too. It was liberating.” She kept her boob job, however. “That was just enhancement,” she says laughing. “The rest radically changed the way I looked. My breasts also got huge when I was pregnant and it was a bit painful. But I still breastfed. I loved carrying my child. I felt fantastic even when I was sick and exhausted.”

She leans forward, wraps her bronzed arms around her stomach and whispers, “I am pregnant again. We don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl. It’s only 13 weeks, so this is the first time I’ve said it publicly. I think I want a big family. I loved having Lucky but after a year I wanted to give him siblings.”

Tomlinson’s influencer career began once she established herself on tour. Soon everything she did, even dying her roots rainbow-coloured, went viral and fashion companies from Asos to Dior wanted in on it. “I was just going for it. I couldn’t believe the money I was making and spending — money I didn’t know existed as a child.”

Then suddenly her mum came home from holiday with flu. “She didn’t want to get out of bed. The doctors quite quickly told her she had leukaemia and she went straight to London for treatment. It all happened so fast. I remember being in London at work and getting a call from her partner — she couldn’t say the words herself, it was too hard for her.” The family were told it was treatable. “We kept so much hope.”

Her mother asked the family to keep her illness secret. “It was hard because you feel so isolated, but I understood. Louis was in the public eye and she didn’t want him questioned. She was determined to fight it and didn’t want everyone pitying her. My friends noticed I was acting differently for a few months. But I wanted to respect her wishes. It was her one request.”

She also dropped everything to go back to Doncaster to help her grandparents with the twins. “The younger ones were two and I wanted to keep everything as normal as possible. I can’t imagine what my mum was feeling leaving her kids to go to hospital.

“I would take them down and treasure seeing her — we tried to keep it light, no serious conversation. The only way Mum could cope was to keep it normal. Then, when the doctors said the transfusions hadn’t worked, she came home to die.”

Tomlinson tries to sound matter-of-fact. “We went to see her in hospital in Sheffield and the next morning we woke up and were told she had died. We felt numb. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Now I am involved with the Sue Ryder charity, I am surprised we were offered no support or counselling at all, from the GP, the teachers, the professionals. They all kept away.” Her nan and grandad picked up the pieces.

It’s not surprising she can’t remember the funeral. “I just remember getting really drunk to numb the pain. I couldn’t come to terms with it. I can’t even remember how we organised it. My instinct was to take over as the eldest girl and step into my mum’s shoes so that is what I did.” Meanwhile, her older brother, who was launching his solo career, ensured there was enough money. “He’s incredibly generous. We looked after each other.”

Tomlinson returned to London months later, after her grandmother said she needed to become a role model for her siblings. Her younger sister Fizz worried her most. “She was very academic — she got straight A’s without trying — but she always said she felt different. She was bottling her grief for so long; it was too much and made her turn to other things. I think Mum’s death destroyed her. Only my mum seemed to understand her. If she had been offered some help at the start, things might have been different.”

Meanwhile, Tomlinson’s self-tanning brand was soon being sold in Los Angeles, New York and Australia, while her own fanbase grew; she hardly ever needed to pay for drinks, meals or holidays. However, she finds the term influencer obnoxious. “I don’t want to act like I tell people what to do. I am more of a content creator,” she explains. “I get paid by brands to create content for their clothes or beauty products and promote that to my followers. I also wanted my own business. I was quite aware that, at the end of the day, I was just working with an app. That’s why I started Tanologist with my business partner. I was always using tanning treatments that would end up turning my sheets orange and my face would break out in spots — this is more natural.”

Louis was also forging his career as a solo artist, eventually creating the song Two of Us about his mother’s death. “We were always so proud of Louis and what he was doing. We were not going to match up to being a global superstar, but we didn’t want to — ‘successful’ looks different for everyone,” she says.

But her sister Fizz was slipping and struggling. “She was old enough to do what she wanted at 19; she was partying and taking stuff to numb everything. She did go into rehab but to me it didn’t feel like an addiction problem, but a way to blank out her grief.” When Tomlinson was invited to Bali, she asked Fizz whether she wanted her to stay behind. “She said she was OK, and then it happened while I was away,” she says. (Fizz accidentally overdosed on cocaine, an anxiety drug and painkillers, her inquest found.) “Louis called me…” She stops talking.

The shock of a second death must have been devastating. She doesn’t speak for a minute while she twists her huge diamond engagement ring. “We weren’t mentally prepared,” she eventually says. “I can’t even remember if the two funerals were in the same church. I think grief has affected my memory a lot and that’s quite common. Grief is such a powerful emotion; it takes up a lot of your brain.”

Five years later, she now knows how to remain positive. “I had an amazing mum for 18 years. I have the most amazing family, my little boy and my career, and that is because of her. The same with Fizz — I had an amazing sister. It’s heartbreaking they aren’t with us any more, but they are together and they are looking out for me,” she says, sounding as though she is repeating a mantra.

Having a baby made her feel closer to them both. “He was a boy — it’s funny, he actually looks a lot like Louis did — and I thought, this is what my mother must have felt. But then I had so many questions I couldn’t ask, even more because she was a midwife.”

Her biggest problem was her terror that something terrible would happen to her son. “I became fixated [on the idea that] something bad would happen to him, so I couldn’t sleep. You go to the worst-case scenario, because that’s happened to you twice, to two of the closest people in your life. I couldn’t turn the lights off at night; I needed to see him all the time. Luckily, it calmed down quite quickly.”

We are still flitting between her story and advice on make-up, exercise and clothes.

“I like sharing advice. If a child lost their mother, I would say there is no magic answer. But the point of this book is to show that you can have tragic things happen and still keep going.”

What would the 25-year-old now say to her younger self, struggling at her second funeral at the age of 20? “I would say, ‘You are going to be OK; you will live a nice life.’ I didn’t think I could. I thought this will be a really sad, lonely life without my mum and sister. I wouldn’t have believed then that I could be happy again. But it would have been nice to hear.”

Lucky Girl by Lottie Tomlinson (Bonnier, £22). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members

[clarasogatsby]

This fic is such an innovative and addictive story of Post-Breaking Dawn. I love that it follows the whole ‘the Volturi are not happy and will eventually come for Alice’ vibe that many of us long term fans have been discussing for years. Sorry SM, but no happy endings in this fandom.

I won’t say too much more about Roots because I don’t want to spoil it but it has had me on the edge of my seat for months, trying to hit the kudos button every chapter but opting to leave comments and annoy the author in their tumblr ask box instead. It also looks like I’m not alone as the author has had multiple anons in their asks too meaning there are many fans of Roots.

Don’t believe me? Read it for yourself! And leave some kudos/comments/asks for the author.

just in case you haven’t checked it out yet, I’m currently at the midway point of my newest fic—a gigantic jalice (prominently featuring other canon couples) horror-flavored epic that answers the question "what will the volturi do to ensure they can get alice?"

so if you like canon-compliant/post-canon longfic (and don’t mind any of the tagged archive warnings, most importantly) then feel free to jump in today! wooo! yeah!

(you can also find it on ff.net too)

[flippinpancakes64]

Hey, i love ur works. I was wondering if i could request the Cullens with a reader who’s really good with children and is also a kindergarten/elementary school teacher. Thank u💞 Hope you have a nice day

The Cullens with a Reader who’s good with Kids

I apologize ahead of time for any inaccuracies here. There are no children around me and I do not go seek them out either. Me and kids do not mix…

Anyways thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

We don’t really know how he feels about kids before the birth of Renesmee

I mean obviously he loves her, but we don’t know if that’s because he loves kids or just because she’s his daughter

Either way I feel like he would be good with them

He would love to come help you with your students anytime you want him to

He loves setting up little games for them to play and reading to them

And he loves how good you are with kids

It just makes him go crazy

And then he gets stuck in that spot of wanting a kid with you. It not wanting to put you through what Bella went through

But that’s a whole different topic

He does have a moment of self doubt

He thinks you should be with someone who is alive and who could give you kids (if you want them)

Not someone who’s dead and could only hurt you

But he does get over himself

Eventually

Until then he helps you in your classes

All of your students love him btw

Alice:

You know those videos on tiktok of elementary school teachers going all out decorating their classrooms?

Alice is making you do that whether you want to or not

She’s buying all of the streamers, decorations, and posters she can find

She has so much fun with it

And she LOVES to dress you up in colorful outfits

If you’re a man or a woman or anything in between it doesn’t matter

Cause you are gonna wear this rainbow sweater no matter what

And I have a feeling she’s really good with kids too

She’s never had a really strong desire to have any, but she loves to hang out with them when they’re around

She helps out in your classroom as much as she can

And if that help is just making sure your streamers are up to fire code… who’s keeping track anyway

Jasper:

This man is scared of kids

There was one time where he was just walking through a park with Alice and a kid tripped and scraped his knee

He almost went ballistic

Kids are so unpredictable and such a danger to themselves and other kids

Way too prone to bleeding for him to be comfortable

So he’s always on edge around them

Not to mention he’s always awkward

He doesn’t know what to talk about

He was in your room once and a kid was trying to play with him and he just… sat there

Bro is lost

Tried talking about the weather to one of your kids once too

It’s best to keep him away

He’s more than willing to help decorate your room though

And grade tests if you’re getting a bit swamped

It’s just in everyone’s best interest if he’s only in your classroom after hours

Rosalie:

Do I even need to elaborate

She is THE woman for the job

We all know she loves kids, and if what we saw of her with Renesmee proves anything, she’s great with them too

So this is literally the perfect arrangement

She loves kids

She’s not able to be around kids often

You show up

You are literally an elementary school teacher

Perfect match

She comes over literally every time that she can

And since there’s nothing technically holding her back, that’s pretty often

She poses as your student teacher in order to be there all the time

Really, she’s great with them

And she loves it

And the fact that you love kids and are great with them too instantly puts you at #1 on her list

Emmett:

I feel like he’s also great with kids

They love him

I mean, when you’re a kid, what’s better than the guy who can swing you around

Very few things tbh

The boys in your class especially love him

They love arm wrestling or racing him

He lets them win of course

He mostly shows up at your classroom around recess

But hey at least he gets all of their energy out before they need to sit down more

He’s also not someone who dreams about having kids

But if you want them, then he’s all for it

As long as you’re either willing to adopt or willing to go through what Bella went through

But as for him, he’s okay with the little guys you have running around your classroom

Esme:

Another mother at heart

She loves kids

I mean, she’s dedicated her entire vampire life to being an adoptive mother to about 7 immortal kids

So she is more than willing to help you with anything you want

Your kids absolutely love her too

They always get excited when Mrs Esme comes to visit

She is the best at storytelling

She has their entire attention for as long as she spends talking

And she loves helping you decorate your room too

Of course, she also loves that you’re so good with kids

As someone who once had a child and now has so many “children,” it’s important to her that her partner loves kids

Any time you need help, she is there

And she is so excited to decorate your classroom

She brings in candy and food for every single holiday party

Your kids don’t need to provide a single thing

That might be why they all love her actually

Jk jk

She’s just so sweet how could you not

Carlisle:

He is also a guy who’s great with kids

I mean, when you’re one of the only doctors in a small town you kinda have to be good with all kinds of people

Kids love him too

He doesn’t even really need to try

He’s just sort of unbothered by whatever kids want to do to him

So if a kid wants to climb onto his back and pull his hair and sit on his head then he won’t stop them

It’s not like it hurts or anything, he’ll live

Obviously though, he can’t be at your classroom all of the time

Actually, he can’t even be there every once in a while

The clinic is pretty demanding

So he mostly just helps at home

The amount of times when he has graded your kids’ papers or printed off new worksheets for them while you were asleep is countless

He just tries to support you where he can

And of course his money is your money

You want to throw a birthday party for one of your students? Here’s his debit card, go crazy

Vampire! Bella:

She’s a reluctant person with kids

I mean, obviously she loves Renesmee, but aside from her, she’s never been good at dealing with kids

She’s just awkward around them

Sort of the same vibe as Jasper

Doesn’t know what to say to them

She was in your classroom and one of the kids was talking to her

So she just started talking about politics?

Even the kid was confused

But the problem is that kids love her

You don’t really know why, neither does she

But something about her just draws kids to her

She prefers to just help you out at home

But she gets frustrated too quick with the little kid writing

“What the hell is this supposed to say? I’m just gonna mark it wrong”

“Bella you can’t just do that-“

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count 1703

Chapter 31:

Teen had just used his powers, for the first time truly manifesting their beautiful blue glow and slightly electric nature were getting out of control.

His anger, his grief... they were the main emotions controlling him, and he acted impulsively on his thoughts, sending all three witches into the mud; off the road.

He destroyed that damn sigil, no longer needing it, and he had chosen to wait...only that he didn't think through one thing.

You showing up.

He expected Rio to have joined you, and yet here you stood alone. Your eyes met, and before he could try and talk, explain what happened; your eyes glew white.

A strong force sent him flying back, air knocked out of his lungs rather forcefully. And then, the very same force pressed him against the trunk of a tree, white magic glowing all around him; keeping him up and trapped.

In a moment of panic, his magic glowed, but immediately it started to flicker as your white magic covered his hands.

"Wha...what...?" He exclaimed in surprise, not expecting it.

"My power neuters enemy magic," you explained briefly as you took a few steps closer, arms up and facing him.

White magic had come alive, wrapping around your fingers and wrist like veins; thin and delicate strands glowing with life and moving with a mind of their own.

"Please... Y/N..."

"Where is Agatha? Where are they?" You demanded to know. "What did you do?!"

Your magic pressed him more against the wooden truck, and he could feel the splinters digging into his back. "I... I didn't mean it..." he groaned, trying to ignore the newfound pain. "Please...I..."

Your bottom lip trembled slightly in frustration, and you found your anger subsiding as fast as the tides when the moon was low.

You brought your hands to the sides, white magic dying and letting him land not so smoothly on the ground.

Oh, you were pissed and annoyed, and your head was a mess with your feelings and Rio in the mix. You were on guard, and you would get your answers... but not this way.

This was not like you. You were not one to use your powers for harm and pain unless there was no other choice left, and even then, you held back.

Plus, you had started to warm up to the boy, and you could not really harm him or call him a liar so openly. For something deep inside of you was relating to him, to his journey, and so you chose to let him go.

He coughed and slowly stood up, feeling his back complaining from the meeting with the tree trunk but he looked at you with a thankfully look; not expecting you to truly spare him, let alone so quickly.

"Talk. Now, " You demanded, your tone commanding and sharp; like a mother scolding a child.

He took a deep breath. "I was just very angry with how they treated Alice's death and i lost control of my powers and sent them off the road and I am sorry and I dont know how I did it" he spoke fast, barely taking any breaths and hoping it would prevent you from hearing everything.

But you were a fast student, and you picked up everything. You swore you could feel a vein popping on your right temple, pressure budling up as white magic cracked between your fingers; making him take a step back in fear.

"What?!" You exclaimed, louder than before. "You tossed them off the road?!"

"It was an accident, I swear. I was just very angry. " he tried to excuse while backing away, only for you to match his steps by approaching him.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?!" You moved your hands wildly. "Do you?!"

Teen walked back, feeling afraid and planning to find some rock or thick tree to hide behind. He knew you were a kind person and he genuinely liked you but you resembled so much an angry mother at that moment... that he genuinely was concerned.

Before anything could happen, though, the sound of someone coughing and struggling made you turn your heads, only to see Agatha slowly crawling from the mud she was thrown into.

She had grabbed a nearby tree root and was slowly trying to escape the sticky sinking mud.

"Agatha!" You exclaimed and rushed her way, ignoring Teen while your anger disappeared the moment you saw your lover.

She accepted your help to get out of that stinky mud trap, more than once threatened to slip and lose her grip on you, but managed to prevent it.

In the end, she was out dirty but alive.

Leaves stuck to her muddy clothes, and even her hair had stuck together. Her hands, in an attempt to claw out, had mud beneath her fingernails, and she had managed to stand your white shirt when she grabbed you to be helped out of the trap.

You could care less, though. Your clothes were not as clean as when you first entered the road and you didn't care. It was clothes, simple and unimportant.

You could change them when this was all over.

"Thank the mother, you are okay," you said, inspecting her for any other injury she may have suffered.

So far, she seemed okay, unharmed, and simply sticky and dirty. She didn't push your hand away but kept her gaze locked on the one responsible for this trouble... Teen.

It was then Agatha took notice of his appearance and also the small parts of dirt and wood sticking on his clothes.

"I see you got to him first," she commented, trying to unglue a muddy strand from her cheek.

"More than once," you commented and also looked at him.

His gaze shifted between guilt and pride, trying not to react to your gazes and words.

"Well, careful there, sugar. If he is that much like his mother, he will learn and get you back next time you two clash, " Agatha said, making you frown.

"Like his mother?" You questioned.

Agatha smirked, and you swore her eyes grew misty, her tough facade slipping away. "Yes... the son of the Scarlet Witch. " she looked at him with odd care. "It's good to see you again, Billy,"

"Billy Maximoff," you mumbled, remembering finding that name across the star charts one day when you were trying to find Agatha's whereabouts and maybe try some... old spells to check up on her.

"Billy....William..." The boy said, still conflicted between the two people he is or was or tries to be.

He had a complicated double life he never asked for but had to learn to navigate on his own.

As Agatha started to poke around the Bush, testing the limits and patience of the boy; you managed to get a good idea. She was also kind enough to fill in the blanks.

Basically, Wanda had created two sons within the hex that you knew from rumours. After all, the appearance of the Scarlet Witch had shaken many in the magical community.

After the battle between Agatha and Wanda, the one you learned that your lover had her powers drained, Wanda dropped the hex.

And yet her powerful but still untrained son had managed to slip and escape, find a recently empty body, and inhabit it.

Your gaze softened when you saw the conflict within him and how he tried to hide the guilt he felt, for taking over the life of someone else; even if that someone had passed away.

"She is right, you know," you chose to comment after Agatha finished her speech about why he shouldn't feel bad for what he did. "The rules were never meant for our kind. They were never fair to us. To survive, we learnt to bend and even break them. "

Your words had a personal touch behind them, and Billy quickly understood that you had been in something similar. Maybe not the same, but your past had not been perfect and light and peaceful, evident by your romantic favour towards Agatha and the scars you bore.

And he was right.

For you were meant not to harm, let alone kill, unless something was truly the Darkest spot and a danger to everything.

That was your role, your mission...

And yet you broke it when you killed those witch hunters, even if it was in self-defense. You broke the rules to survive.

Maybe not break, perhaps bent since those men truly were danger for you and other witches... but the ending remained the same.

But of course, this sweet little moment couldn't remain; not with Agatha; who chose to test the waters once again.

Though this time, Billy seemed to have trouble working his powers; a proof he had yet to master control over them, especially when not enraged.

"Whatever." He exclaimed, trying not to let her get inside his head and under his skin. "You know it's there. I can finish The Road on my own."

Agatha smirked. "Oh, sure, with all that power you can't control without throwing a temper tantrum."

"I'll figure it out!"

Deciding that you had enough, you chose to enter this little conversation as you walked to stand by your lover's side.

"You won't have to because you will be coming with us," you said, earning surprised looks from the two. They parted their lips to argue, but you lifted your hand, palm facing them; a sign not to interrupt you. "We lost Alice when we turned on one another. We are not losing anyone else. We work together, get to the end of this hellish road, and then get out of here. "

They muttered in agreement, knowing you were right and that it was also wiser not to argue with you. Especially after the show you did with the ghost of Evanora, they knew better.

And so, the three of you started to walk down the yellow leaved covered path towards your next trial; expecting that Lilia and Jen would catch up with you one way or another.

Or at least that was what you personally hoped for, unsure if it would become a reality.

Chapter 32