#oak poe

[nia1sworld]

Dressuptober 2024: DAY 26!!!

Make Kaga a flower boy!

The Challenge belongs to UnkownSpy

[hattiestgal]

Happy New Years from the townsfolk of Little Pocket!

[canned-heelys]

Kink/Fluff/Angstober '24 Master List

A new fic every day of October!

Kinktober

Oct 1: Oral Fixation | Fiddleford x Stanley (Gravity Falls)

Oct 2: Phone Sex | Dean X Cas (Supernatural)

Oct 3: Pegging | Apple White x Clawdeen Wolf (Ever After High - Monster High)

Oct 4: First time | Lightning McQueen x Doc Hudson (Cars)

Oct 5: Lingerie | Normal Oak x Hermie The Unworthy (Dungeons and Daddies)

Oct 6: Cockwarming | A. J. Raffles x Bunny Manders (Raffles)

Oct 7: Strip Poker | Spiderman x Deadpool (Marvel)

Oct 8: Overstimulation | Eddie x Venom (Marvel)

Oct 9: Only One Bed | Dick Grayson x Wally West (DC)

Oct 10: Jealousy | Poe x Finn (Star Wars)

Flufftober

Oct 11: Drunk Confession | Fiddleford x Stanley (Gravity Falls)

Oct 12: Lucky Charm | Dean X Cas (Supernatural)

Oct 13: Coffee Shop AU | Apple White x Clawdeen Wolf (Ever After High - Monster High)

Oct 14: Hoodie Sharing | Lightning McQueen x Doc Hudson (Cars)

Oct 15: Mistaken Identity | Normal Oak x Hermie The Unworthy (Dungeons and Daddies)

Oct 16: "You love me?" "I always have" | A. J. Raffles x Bunny Manders (Raffles)

Oct 17: Bewitched | Spiderman x Deadpool (Marvel)

Oct 18: Pet Names | Eddie x Venom (Marvel)

Oct 19: Yearn | Dick Grayson x Wally West (DC)

Oct 20: "I hate it" "You love it" | Poe x Finn (Star Wars)

Angstober

Oct 21: You're Losing me | Fiddleford x Stanley (Gravity Falls)

Oct 22: Betrayal | Dean X Cas (Supernatural)

Oct 23: Tired of Fighting | Apple White x Clawdeen Wolf (Ever After High - Monster High)

Oct 24: Abandoned | Lightning McQueen x Doc Hudson (Cars)

Oct 25: "You're No Better" | Normal Oak x Hermie The Unworthy (Dungeons and Daddies)

Oct 26: "You're Too Good for Me" | A. J. Raffles x Bunny Manders (Raffles)

Oct 27: Miscommunication | Spiderman x Deadpool (Marvel)

Oct 28: Growing Pains | Eddie x Venom (Marvel)

Oct 29: Tear-Stained Cheek | Dick Grayson x Wally West (DC)

Oct 30: Nightmares | Poe x Finn (Star Wars)

[oakstar519]

my spotify top songs playlist this year can best be described as "whiplash"

[contentabnormal]

This week on Content Abnormal we present the lovely Maureen O'Hara presenting Family Theater's production of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Gold-Bug"!

[theonottsbxtch]

SACRED ASHES | CL16

an: this was a request from @waytooobsessedwithlife and i think edgar allen poe possesed my body and wrote this, enjoy

warnings: religous themes

wc: 5.2k

THE CHURCH WAS COLDER than she’d expected. A frigid December draft seeped through the old wooden doors, curling its way up her spine like an unwanted hand. She hadn’t been in a place like this for years, not since she was a child and her Sundays were dictated by her parents’ piety. The smell of wax and ancient wood was the same, though, as was the hollow echo of voices ricocheting off the high, vaulted ceiling.

She sat stiffly in the pew, her arms crossed over her chest, her mouth set in a defiant line. The hymns washed over her, half-forgotten verses bubbling up from the recesses of her memory. Her grandmother sang with fervour, her voice wavering yet unyielding.

And then, she saw him.

He was standing near the altar, his head bowed as though in prayer, the soft light from the stained-glass windows painting his pale skin in hues of crimson and gold. He was slender, boyish in a way that made her stomach twist unexpectedly. His dark hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck, and his lips moved in quiet harmony with the hymn, though his voice didn’t rise above the others.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, curious despite herself. He seemed untouchable, like something out of a painting—an angel that had stumbled into the wrong century. And yet, there was a fragility to him, a softness that made her bold gaze feel like an intrusion.

When he finally glanced up, his eyes met hers. They were a soft green, wide with surprise, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fall away. She tilted her head slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. He blinked, his face colouring as he quickly looked away.

“Mm,” she hummed softly under her breath, leaning back against the pew. Interesting.

The service dragged on, but she hardly noticed. Her attention flickered to him again and again, drawn to the quiet way he moved, the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his choir robe when he thought no one was watching.

After the final hymn, she slipped out with the first rush of people, desperate for fresh air. Outside, she lit a cigarette, cupping her hands against the wind. The first drag filled her lungs, sharp and bitter, grounding her.

And then he was there.

He emerged from the heavy oak doors, his coat too thin for the biting cold. She recognised him immediately, even with the way he kept his head down, as though willing himself to be invisible. But when he noticed her, his steps faltered.

She exhaled a curl of smoke, the grey tendrils spiralling between them like a challenge. “You look like you’re freezing,” she said, her voice low, tinged with amusement.

He hesitated, his cheeks flushed from either the cold or something else entirely. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice soft, almost musical.

“Sure you are.” She tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made him shift awkwardly. “You always this shy, or is it just me?”

He looked away, his lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. “I… don’t usually talk to people out here.”

“Lucky me, then.” Her smile was slow, teasing, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—curiosity, maybe even a touch of admiration. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them filled only by the distant hum of Christmas carols spilling from the church.

“You shouldn’t smoke here,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s… disrespectful.”

She raised an eyebrow, letting the cigarette dangle from her fingers. “Disrespectful?” Her tone was incredulous, but her gaze was steady, probing. “And what would you call staring at me during the service, then?”

His mouth opened, then closed again, his face turning a deeper shade of red. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, you were,” she interrupted, the corners of her mouth lifting into a wicked grin.

He faltered, his breath visible in the cold air, before finally meeting her gaze. “I’m Charles,” he said, the words almost lost to the wind.

She let the name linger in the air between them, savouring the sound of it. “Charles,” she repeated, as though testing it. “Well then, Charles, maybe you should’ve kept staring. It’s the only thing about church that’s caught my interest in years.”

His lips parted, but no reply came. She took another drag, her eyes never leaving his, and for a moment, the world seemed to still once more.

Charles shifted on his feet, his breath fogging in the frigid air. “I… I wasn’t staring,” he said again, but the colour rising to his cheeks betrayed him.

She tilted her head, a slow smirk playing on her lips. “Sure you weren’t. You just happened to look my way… what, five times?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing nervously towards the church as though hoping for a divine intervention to save him. “It wasn’t five,” he murmured, his voice almost lost in the cold wind.

“Four, then.” She exhaled smoke in a languid stream, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

Before he could stammer out a response, a voice cut through the evening air. “Darling! There you are!”

She winced. Her grandmother’s voice, clear and commanding, carried with the ease of someone used to making themselves heard. She turned her head to see the older woman striding towards her, a knitted shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Charles’ eyes widened. “You’re Lady Carden’s daughter?”

She raised an eyebrow, flicking ash from her cigarette. “Granddaughter,” she corrected, her tone sharp enough to slice through the frost. “Why does that matter?”

He blinked, looking flustered as he glanced between her and the approaching figure of her grandmother. “I just—” He hesitated, fumbling for the right words. “I mean, Lady Carden is so… devout. I don’t understand how…” He trailed off, gesturing faintly towards her cigarette and the defiance etched into her every move.

Her lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More like a flicker of something darker, something veiled. She leaned in slightly, just enough to make him take a half-step back, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “That’s the thing about belief, Charles,” she said, her words laced with a quiet, almost mocking amusement. “It’s not hereditary.”

He stared at her, speechless, as she straightened and tossed the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out beneath the heel of her boot.

“Come along, dear,” her grandmother called again, her tone softening as she drew nearer. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Coming,” she replied, turning away from Charles without another word.

She had taken only a few steps when she glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “See you around, Charles,” she said lightly, before slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat and disappearing into the night with her grandmother.

Charles stood there for a moment, rooted to the spot. The smell of smoke still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the crisp scent of winter. He couldn’t help but feel as though she had left behind more than just a cigarette stub—something intangible, something that stirred in the pit of his chest.

He whispered her words to himself, testing them on his tongue. It’s not hereditary.

And then, with a faint shake of his head, he turned and walked back into the church, his thoughts a tangle of confusion and intrigue.

The next evening, Charles found himself standing awkwardly at the doorstep of Lady Carden’s house, a modest but stately home tucked neatly behind an iron gate. He adjusted the strap of his bag, which was slung over one shoulder, and glanced up at the window where a wreath hung perfectly centred.

Lady Carden had asked for his help transporting the church’s nativity set. The pieces were too delicate and numerous for her to manage alone, and he, ever eager to assist, had offered without hesitation. Still, now that he was here, he felt an inexplicable twinge of nervousness—not because of Lady Carden, but because of her.

She hadn’t left his thoughts since the night before. The way she had spoken to him, so self-assured and enigmatic, had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain.

The door opened suddenly, and Lady Carden’s warm smile greeted him. “Oh, Charles, thank you for coming,” she said, ushering him inside. “It’s so good of you to help.”

“It’s no trouble, Lady Carden,” he replied politely, stepping into the warmth of the house. The scent of cinnamon and pine enveloped him, mingling with the faint strains of a Christmas hymn playing somewhere upstairs.

“The nativity pieces are in the sitting room,” she said, gesturing down the hall. “I’ll start wrapping them while you have a look. Oh, and my granddaughter’s here—she’s just upstairs. She might come down and give us a hand.”

Charles nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face her again, not when her words from the night before still echoed in his mind.

He made his way to the sitting room, carefully examining the carved wooden figures of Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds spread out on the table. They were beautiful, each one intricately detailed and painted with care. He was just reaching for the angel when he heard the faint creak of footsteps descending the stairs.

And then she was there.

He turned, and the breath caught in his throat.

She wasn’t dressed for the weather at all—just a loose tank top that hung low on her shoulders and a pair of shorts that revealed long, bare legs. Her hair was mussed, as though she’d only just rolled out of bed, and a faint sheen of sleep still clung to her eyes. But even in her dishevelled state, she was radiant.

Her eyes lit up with recognition when she saw him, and a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. She leaned casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, the movement drawing his attention to her collarbones.

“Well, if it isn’t the choir boy,” she said, her voice low and teasing.

Charles felt his face heat immediately. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His mind had gone blank, the words tangled somewhere between his thoughts and his tongue.

Her smirk deepened, and she took a step closer, tilting her head as she studied him. “You’re blushing,” she said, a hint of delight in her tone. “What’s the matter, Charles? Cat got your tongue?”

He shook his head quickly, forcing himself to look away, back at the nativity figures. “I—I’m just here to help with the nativity,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm,” she murmured, leaning slightly over the table to inspect the figures as well. The movement brought her closer, and he caught the faint scent of her—a mix of something floral and the remnants of cigarette smoke.

“You’re good at this, aren’t you?” she said, picking up the angel and turning it over in her hands. “All these neat little pieces, everything in its place.”

“It’s just… careful work,” he managed, still unable to meet her gaze.

She set the angel back down and straightened, her expression softening just slightly. “Careful work,” she repeated, as though tasting the words. “You’re such a contradiction, Charles.”

He frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she smiled—a small, almost wistful smile—and shook her head. “Never mind. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Before he could ask her to explain, Lady Carden appeared in the doorway, holding a box filled with straw for padding. “Thank you both for getting started,” she said brightly. “Charles, would you mind carrying this out to the car once we’re done?”

“Of course,” he replied quickly, grateful for the distraction.

But as he busied himself with the nativity figures, he couldn’t shake the feeling of her eyes on him, or the lingering curve of her smirk as she leaned casually against the wall, watching him work.

Lady Carden bustled into the room, her cheeks slightly flushed. “You know,” she said, placing the last wrapped figure into the box, “I really ought to start dinner. Why don’t you drive the car to the church, darling?”

The suggestion was aimed at her granddaughter, who was still leaning lazily against the wall, one eyebrow arching at the proposal.

“Drive the car?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “What about choir boy here?” She tilted her head toward Charles with a sly smile.

“Charles has been kind enough to carry everything,” Lady Carden replied, smoothing her skirt and giving her a look that brooked no argument. “It’s the least you can do.”

Her granddaughter groaned, pushing off the wall. “Fine,” she muttered, dragging out the word. “But don’t blame me if I crash into a lamp post or something.”

“I’m sure you’ll be perfectly capable,” Lady Carden said with a serene smile.

With a huff, she turned to Charles, her eyes glinting with a mix of defiance and amusement. “Guess you’re stuck with me, choir boy.”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but before he could string together a coherent sentence, she disappeared up the stairs, her footsteps echoing faintly through the house.

He tried to focus on the nativity figures, carefully arranging the last few in the box, but his mind was elsewhere. The thought of being alone with her in a car, of the charged silences and her sharp, teasing remarks, made his pulse quicken.

Minutes later, her voice drifted down from the top of the stairs. “Ready when you are.”

Charles turned toward the staircase—and froze.

She was wearing a skirt, short enough to show just a hint of her thighs, paired with a tight-fitting top that accentuated every curve. Her hair was tousled, her eyes bright with mischief, and she moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect she had.

“Something wrong, Charles?” she asked, her lips curving into that now-familiar smirk as she descended the stairs.

“No,” he said quickly, averting his eyes to the nativity box in front of him. But his face betrayed him, flushing crimson as he busied himself with adjusting the straw.

She stopped in front of him, reaching out to pluck a stray piece of hay from the box. “You’re blushing again,” she noted, her voice low and teasing.

“I’m not—” he started, but his voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat. “I’m not blushing,” he finished, though it sounded more like a plea than a statement.

She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Let’s get this over with, then.”

Lady Carden reappeared, oblivious to the tension thickening the air. “Thank you both so much,” she said warmly, clapping her hands together. “Drive safely, and don’t dawdle, dear. Dinner won’t cook itself.”

Her granddaughter rolled her eyes but said nothing, grabbing the car keys from the side table and tossing them into her bag.

Charles followed her to the door, his heart thudding in his chest. As they stepped out into the crisp winter air, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on the way the hem of her skirt swayed with each step.

He swallowed hard. This was going to be a long drive.

The car rattled softly as they drove through the winding country roads. The heater struggled to keep up with the winter chill, and the faint scent of pine from an old air freshener lingered in the air. She drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping absently against the doorframe.

Charles sat stiffly in the passenger seat, the nativity box wedged securely between his feet. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, and he kept glancing her way, unsure whether he was more intrigued or unnerved by the nonchalant way she handled the car.

Without warning, she reached into her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one with a practised flick of her lighter. The sharp scent of smoke filled the car, and she cracked the window to let the cold air swirl in.

Charles frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Do you have to do that?”

She glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. “Do what?”

“Smoke. In the car.”

She took a drag, her lips curving around the cigarette before exhaling slowly. “Why? Does it bother you?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice firmer than he’d intended. “It’s not good for you. Or me.”

For a moment, she looked like she might argue, but then she sighed and rolled the window down farther, flicking the cigarette out into the night. “Fine,” she said, her tone laced with mock exasperation. “Anything else you want to complain about, choir boy?”

He shook his head, looking out the window. “Thank you,” he muttered.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, the tension between them crackling like static. When they reached the church, she parked haphazardly near the entrance and leaned back in her seat, watching as Charles climbed out with the nativity box in his arms.

She stayed in the car, fiddling with the radio as he carried the pieces inside, arranging them carefully on the altar. When he returned, he hesitated at the open car door. “I can walk home from here,” he offered.

She snorted, leaning across the seat to look up at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Get in.”

He hesitated, then sighed and climbed back into the car. The door shut with a heavy thud, and she started the engine, pulling out onto the road without another word.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The low hum of the engine and the faint buzz of static from the radio filled the space between them.

“What does Christianity mean to you?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Charles blinked, startled by the question. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, glancing at him briefly before turning her attention back to the road. “What does it mean to you? All of it—God, Jesus, the prayers, the hymns. What’s it for?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. What did it mean to him? It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought about—not like this, not in the way her question demanded.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smirked, her eyes flicking to him again. “You don’t know? You spend all this time praying and singing hymns, and you don’t even know what you’re praying to?”

Her tone wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was challenging, like she was daring him to dig deeper, to confront something he’d never questioned before.

“I—” He faltered, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I feel it. When I’m in the church, when I’m singing… I feel something.”

“Something,” she repeated, her voice sceptical yet not entirely dismissive.

“Yes,” he said, a little more firmly this time. “Something bigger than me. Something… good.”

She didn’t respond right away, and he didn’t notice that the car had stopped moving until the faint roar of the engine quieted.

When he looked up, they were parked by a lake, the water still and dark beneath the moonlight.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

She turned off the car and leaned back in her seat, her eyes fixed on the shimmering surface of the water. “You tell me, choir boy,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with mystery.

She stepped out of the car without a word, her boots crunching against the frosty gravel as she made her way toward the lake. A large rock jutted out near the shore, its surface smooth and pale under the moonlight. She climbed onto it with the kind of ease that spoke of familiarity, sitting cross-legged as the night wrapped around her.

Charles lingered by the car for a moment, watching her. The stillness of the lake seemed to mirror the confusion in his chest, the weight of her earlier question pressing heavily on his mind. Finally, he stepped forward, his shoes scuffing against the cold ground as he followed her.

She didn’t look up as he approached, but when he climbed onto the rock and sat beside her, she shifted slightly, making just enough space for him.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The lake stretched out before them, vast and quiet, its surface catching the faint glow of the stars. The crisp air smelled of damp earth and winter frost, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the shore.

“I don’t really know what religion means to me,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low, hesitant, as if the words themselves were fragile.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes catching the silver light of the moon. “Then why do you cling to it?”

He exhaled slowly, the cloud of his breath dissolving into the night. “Because it’s the only thing that’s ever stayed the same. My parents…” His voice wavered, and he glanced down at his hands, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. “They’re not… happy. They haven’t been for a long time. The fighting, the silence—it’s like living in a storm that never ends.”

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t interrupt, waiting for him to continue.

“When I’m at church,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “it’s different. It’s quiet, but not the kind of quiet that feels heavy. It’s… safe. Like maybe there’s something out there that sees me. That cares.”

She was silent for a moment, studying him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. Then she asked, her tone gentle but probing, “Do you really believe that? Or do you just need to believe it?”

Her question landed like a stone dropped into the still water. He blinked, startled, and turned to face her. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

She tilted her head, her hair catching the faint light. “Have you ever wondered what you’re actually praying to? Not the words, not the rituals. Just the feeling. That something you talked about.”

Charles hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I’ve always thought it was God.”

“Maybe it is,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a breath. “Or maybe it’s hope. Or love. Or the part of you that doesn’t want to give up.”

Her words settled over him like a blanket of mist, filling the empty spaces inside him that he hadn’t even known were there. He stared out at the lake, the reflection of the stars rippling across its surface, and tried to find an answer.

“I don’t know,” he said again, the frustration creeping into his voice. “I’ve never… I’ve never questioned it before.”

She leaned back slightly, propping herself up on her hands. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know everything right now.”

He turned to look at her, the moonlight catching the faint curve of her smile, and for a moment, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.

She glanced away, her eyes tracing the outline of the lake. “Sometimes, I think it’s less about finding answers and more about figuring out what questions you’re really asking.”

Charles let her words sink in, the stillness of the night pressing softly against him.

The stillness of the night wrapped around them like a cocoon, the faint rustling of the wind through the trees the only sound beyond their quiet breaths. Charles shifted slightly, glancing sideways at her. She was gazing out at the lake, her expression distant but calm, as if the vast expanse of water mirrored something inside her.

“Why don’t you believe?” he asked softly, his voice carrying a quiet weight.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she let the question hang in the air, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the surface of the rock. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost bitter. “Feels pathetic to pray and not get listened to.”

Charles blinked, caught off guard by the rawness of her words. She pulled a cigarette from her jacket pocket and lit it with a practised flick of her lighter, the flame briefly illuminating her face. She took a long drag, the tip glowing like a tiny ember in the dark.

He hesitated, watching the smoke curl lazily into the air. “So… you seek your refuge in smoking?”

She smirked, exhaling a plume of smoke that caught the moonlight. “At least it doesn’t pretend to care.”

The words stung, but before he could respond, she turned toward him, the cigarette held delicately between her fingers. “Want one?”

He shook his head quickly. “No. That’s not… I don’t smoke.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug, but there was a faint glint of amusement in her eyes as she brought the cigarette back to her lips.

He tried to focus on the lake, on the cold night air biting at his skin, but he couldn’t ignore the warmth radiating from her, the faint, heady scent of the smoke mingling with her perfume.

And then he realised just how close she was.

Her shoulder was barely an inch from his, her breath warm as she exhaled again, the smoke curling between them. The world around them seemed to blur, the lake, the stars, the cold—all fading into the background as his awareness narrowed to her presence.

She tilted her head, her eyes catching his. In the dim light, they were dark and unreadable, like deep pools that threatened to pull him under.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Cat got your tongue?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as she leaned in. Slowly, deliberately, her gaze dropped to his lips and then back to his eyes, as if waiting for him to stop her.

He didn’t.

Her lips met his, soft and warm, and the sensation sent a jolt through him, like the first spark of a fire catching on dry kindling. The kiss deepened, her hand brushing lightly against his jaw as if to steady him, and he felt himself sinking into her, the world falling away entirely.

But then, as suddenly as it had begun, he pulled back, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“I’ve sinned,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling.

She stared at him for a moment, then let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. “Sinned? Oh, come on, choir boy. It’s just a kiss.”

“To you, maybe,” he said, his cheeks flushed, his breath uneven. “But to me…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair as if trying to make sense of the chaos swirling inside him.

She tilted her head, studying him with an amused but not unkind expression. “Relax,” she said softly, leaning back slightly. “Your God’ll forgive you. Isn’t that his whole deal?”

Her words didn’t soothe him, but they didn’t anger him either. Instead, they left him even more confused, his mind spinning with questions he didn’t know how to answer.

The smoke lingered between them, faint and warm, as he stared at the lake, struggling to catch his breath.

Charles stared at the lake, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The weight of everything pressed down on him—the kiss, her words, the sudden chasm between what he thought he believed and what he felt now. His hands trembled slightly as he buried his face in them, his elbows braced on his knees.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” he said, his voice muffled, almost to himself. “Church, the hymns, the prayers… the rules. It was meant to make sense of everything. But now…”

She didn’t respond, didn’t press. She simply watched him, her gaze steady, the cigarette burning down between her fingers.

“What if none of it means anything?” he continued, his voice cracking. “What if it’s all just… rituals we do to distract ourselves from the silence? What if God’s just… nothing?”

The lake seemed to mirror his turmoil, its surface rippling faintly in the night breeze. He let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humour in it.

“I’ve built my whole life around this,” he said, lifting his head, his eyes bright with anguish. “Every prayer, every song, every confession—what was it for? To feel like this? Lost? Alone?”

Her lips curved into the faintest of smirks, though it lacked her usual sharpness. “Existential crises look good on you, choir boy.”

He shot her a look, but there was no real venom in it. If anything, her calmness grounded him, kept him from spiralling too far into the void opening up inside him.

After a moment, she exhaled softly, the smoke curling around her in the cold air. “Want me to take you home?”

He shook his head almost immediately, his voice hoarse. “No.”

Her brow arched slightly, but she didn’t press. Instead, she took another drag of her cigarette, the ember glowing faintly. When she spoke again, her tone was softer, almost tender. “I can take you back to my apartment if you want. No expectations. Just… somewhere to land.”

He hesitated, the war in his chest visible in the tense set of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed restlessly against his thighs. But then he nodded, barely perceptibly, and she smiled, just a little.

“Come on,” she said, stubbing out the cigarette on the rock before flicking it into the dirt. She stood and offered him a hand, and after a moment, he took it.

The drive back was silent, but it wasn’t the awkward silence of strangers or the heavy silence of unspoken words. It was the kind of silence that allowed space to breathe, to think, to unravel.

When they pulled up outside her place, she climbed out first, waiting for him by the door. He followed, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were walking through a dream.

Inside, the air was warm and faintly scented with the lavender sachets she kept tucked into drawers. She flicked on a lamp, its soft glow casting long shadows across the walls, and motioned for him to sit.

He sank into the worn sofa, his head falling back against the cushions. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I don’t know who I am without it,” he said finally, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

She sat on the armrest beside him, her fingers idly brushing against the fabric of the sofa. “Maybe that’s the point,” she said softly. “You’re not supposed to know yet.”

He looked up at her, his expression raw, open. “What if there’s nothing? What if I let go and it’s just… empty?”

Her gaze softened, and she leaned down, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Then you build something. Brick by brick, piece by piece. You don’t need a God to tell you who you are, Charles. You figure that out on your own.”

Her words echoed in his mind, sinking deep, unsettling and grounding all at once. He closed his eyes, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

And as the silence settled over them once more, it carried with it a weight he couldn’t quite define—a strange, aching liberation.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t pray.

And that terrified him.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[queer-n-here]

Making Poe/Sigma ride a dildo PLS.

Also you're a great writer

Hey, thanks! Hope you like this one, too.

Also, I fucking love Sigma. I fucking love him. Him and Tanizaki are the two characters that I simp so hard for I would do anything to have them.

Contents: Making Sigma ride a dildo cuz you had a wet dream about it

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, masturbation, sex toys, nipple play.

It had been on your mind for a while now. More accurately, ever since you'd had that dream about Sigma riding a dildo like a bitch in heat, eyes glued to yours and hands bracing against the floor.

You wondered now, stepping into your shared room at the Sky Casino with a bag in your hand, if Sigma would agree to your little request.

You found him sitting at his desk the way you always did. Him, hunched over numerous sheets of paper spread out so he could see all of them at once. You walked over to him, wrapping an arm around Sigma's shoulder and placing a kiss on his temple.

He barely even looked up, murmuring a, "Welcome back," half-heartedly. You didn't mind, ruffling his hair gently and putting down the bag in your hands on the bedside table to go freshen up. When you emerged from the shower, hair dripping water onto the fabric of your T-shirt, neither Sigma nor the bag had moved. You plopped down on the bed, grabbing your phone to pass time.

"Say, baby," You said casually, and Sigma hummed to show that he was listening. "I went down today for an emergency supply run."

'Down' meant back to the surface of earth.

"Mm-hmm," Sigma's eyes were still glued to his paperwork. "See anything interesting?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his words. "Why, I did actually."

"Hmm," Was his only reply, attention stolen completely by his work.

You didn't mind; being in a relationship with someone with the personality of Sigma had that requirement of patience. His work could wrap him around him like deadly vines sometimes. Only when it started suffocating him could you step in, beating back its branches and freeing your boyfriend from them.

And Sigma himself had agreed to your suggestion that after 10 o'clock, he should forget work and just be your boyfriend. So you waited.

The very second the clock in your room struck ten, you threw your phone down and left the bed, going to stand over Sigma instead. You bent down, and picked Sigma up from his chair, making him yelp in surprise and latch onto your neck for balance.

"[Name], what-" He began, but you cut him off.

"It's ten," You jutted your head towards the clock.

Sigma glanced at it, sighed, and then wrapped his arms more firmly around your neck, his expression resigned. "Fine."

You grinned unapologetically, and carried him to the bed, setting him down on the soft mattress and laying down beside him on your side, an elbow propped up against the bed to support your head up with your hand.

"So," You said, looking down at Sigma with a mischievous combination of a smile and smirk plastered on your face. "Did you hear what I said earlier about going down for an emergency run?"

He racked his brains. "Oh, yeah, you said you saw something interesting. What was it?"

Your smile-smirk-combination turned into a full smirk, and you reached over to the bedside table to grab the bag you'd brought with you, depositing it on Sigma's chest carefully.

"Is it a present?" His face lit up, eyes shining as he scrambled to sit up to open the bag.

"Mn," You nodded, eyes glued to that expression of his. "Two, actually. One of them is for you, and the other one might be for me."

Sigma frowned. "But if you brought it for yourself then-"

"Just open it," You raised your head to kiss his lips gently. "Either way you're gonna use it."

He shrugged, "Okay," and reached into the bag. The first thing he pulled out was a small jewellery box made of oak wood, its surface shiny and well-polished. His face lit up again, throwing you an excited glance before opening it, making you smile at him fondly.

It was a silver bracelet, somehow sturdy and delicate at the same time, which was why it had reminded you of Sigma when you'd seen it in the glass case of a jewellery shop you'd been passing.

"It's beautiful," Sigma said, looking up at you with that ecstatic expression on his pretty face.

"You like it?" You asked, and he nodded earnestly. "That's good, then."

You sat up to place a soft kiss on his forehead, and he turned to hug you tightly.

"Thank you," He whispered against your chest as you stroked the back of his head. "I'll cherish it."

You smiled. It felt so good to be able to make him smile, it was surreal.

Sigma got up from the bed to carefully put the bracelet in a drawer, face all split from that wide smile on it. He returned for the second gift, the one you had deliberately placed lower in the bag so he would see it later.

Sitting down next to you again, he took up the bag and reached into it for a second time. When he pulled his hand out, sitting on his hand, all innocent looking and perfectly stationary, was a bright purple dildo.

His eyes widened, and a heavy blush rose up to his cheeks. He dropped it back into the bag, turning to you accusingly as his face burned with shame.

You met his gaze with a calm one of yours, smirking. "How d'you like it?"

Ten minutes later, you received the answer to your question.

You had somehow managed to convince a very flustered Sigma into cooperating with your plans. Now, he was on the floor next to you, hole tight and pathetic around the dildo that you'd stuck to the floor.

You sat close to him, letting him clutch your shirt in his hands as he huffed and panted, eyes wet and shoulders shaking.

"I think you're ready to move now, right, baby?" You asked, supporting most of his weight as he leaned against you.

Sigma nodded, and slowly began moving. He raised his hips till only the tip of the dildo was in him, before engulfing the entire thing again. His thighs shook, and moans spilled from his pretty mouth as he began riding it. You let him bury his head into your chest, knowing full well the shame that made him red now would be gone soon.

Sigma began gaining a rhythm slowly, his hips speeding up as your hand reached for your own waistband. Supporting him with one hand, you used the other to pull your cock free from its retraints. You began stroking just as Sigma's moans grew louder, each thrust of the dildo against his gummy walls making him more breathless than before.

"Look at me, baby," You said, hands fast on your cock.

He did, fingers of both his hands clenching you so tight you wondered if he'd be able to tear your skin through the shirt. His eyes were leaking tears down either side of his red face, and his sweat-soaked and messy hair was sticking to his forehead. His eyes were wide, pupils all blown out and blurred up. You leaned down and kissed him, swallowing each of his moans as he bounced on the dildo.

You continued jerking off to the sight of your boyfriend riding that dildo, knowing full well it could have been your cock if you'd asked for that instead.

"Move faster, baby," You told him, and with tears streaming down his face, he did as he was told.

As Sigma bounced wildly, your eyes glued themselves to the point where the dildo plunged in and out of his already swollen hole. He bit his lips, throwing his head back and letting you lower your head to bite at his pale flesh and kiss his nipples. His shame, as you had predicted, had already vaporized into thin air, and he made eye contact with you as he rode the dildo, mouth open and spilling lewd sounds. You licked and bit and kissed and teased to your heart's content as Sigma's body moved beneath your lips.

Soon, his moans turned into cries, and his movements grew sloppily and wilder, arms wrapping around your neck desperately and pulling you closer. Your hand sped up around your cock, knowing from his mannerisms that Sigma was close to his orgasm.

"Let's finish together, hmm?" You said, and Sigma nodded, leaning up to catch your lips in a kiss.

You reached over with your free hand to stroke his length, making him gasp and try to pull away, but you held on firm. You stroked both cocks in rhythm till he was crying, burying his face into your chest and just sobbing, his orgasm strong and unavoidable as it washed over him.

Ropes of cum shot out of your cock as Sigma collapsed onto you, breathless and tired. You reached forwards to pull him up and away from the dildo and onto you, wrapping both your arms around his shaking frame.

You let him calm down and come down from his high, stroking his back and pressing kisses into his temple. Soon, he pulled away to look at you, tears dried on his cheeks.

"Was that good?" He asked.

You nodded, smiling. "So good, baby. Now that you've had practice, d'you wanna try the real thing?"

Sigma's eyes widened, and he flushed impossibly darker.

[winniethewife]

Blorbo Scent head cannons:

This is a list of what I think some of my blorbo's smell like, as requested by @silvernight-m forever ago...

Oscar Isaac:

Marc Spector: Whiskey, Egyptian amber, Cedar

Steven Grant: Earthy, Old books, Jasmine flowers

Jake Lockley: Tobacco, Leather, Ember

Leto Artiedies: Italian Bergamot, Sandalwood, petrichor

Shiv: Cloves, Leather, Amber

William Tell: Bourbon, Coffee, Oak

Star wars:

Poe Dameron: Leather, ozone, gunpowder

Din Dijarin: Gunpowder, Juniper, lemon grass

Hunter: Amber, Sandalwood, Vanilla

Crosshair: Palo Santo, Cypress. Amaretto

Wolffe: Dark Patchouli, Ginger, smoke

Fox: Coffee, Pepper, Gin

Misc:

Johnny Silverhand: Gun powder, Tequila, Cigarettes

Control (Southern reach): Citrus, nutty, Barley

Vessel: Amber, Blue Sage, Wood oil

II: Mulled wine, Pine, slate

III: Spice, Cannabis, Blackthorn

IV: Elderflower, Spruce, Leather

~

Masterlist

Taglist: @boredzillenial @queerponcho @ominoose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[writers-potion]

Beauty is Terror: A List

There are devilish thoughts even in the most angelic minds.

Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway. - Edgar Allen Poe

You write so beautifully that inside of your mind must be a terrible place.

Bright red blood slowly seeping into the white, virgin snow

Tragic love between a man dead and a woman living

A single rose wilting beside a dried, empty skull of a prince

Fleeting memories of murder, chewed over in a room full of lavendar mist

The solitary crow on a twisted, barren oak tree

The ethereal glow of creatures in the depths of the ocean

A field of wilting bones and flowers under a stormy sky

The fragile intricacy of poisonous spiderwebs glistening with dew

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts XVII

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

After spending sometime with her brothers, Valaena makes a discovery.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Revelations, Brother/ SIster Teasing, Aegon Being A Menace, Mild Violence, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, P in V.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 6000

A.N - Bit of a fluffy/cheeky one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Jace and Luke strode purposefully through the corridors, their voices low but heated as they bickered.

“I went last time,” Jace argued, his dark brows furrowing. “It’s your turn to ask.”

Luke scoffed. “No, it was me, and I got the door slammed right  in my face.”

“No. That was me,” Jace countered sharply. “And, I also got called a bastard.”

“Well, so did I,” Luke snapped back.

Jace’s pace quickened as he turned to face his younger brother.

“What if we both go this time? Aemond can’t stop us both. Valaena is our sister. We’ll demand to see her. He can’t just keep her locked away forever.”

Luke tilted his head, considering. “That’s not a bad idea. Safety in numbers and all that-”

The two brothers quickly nodded in agreement as they neared the door that would lead them to Valaena and Aemond’s chambers.

However, their path was blocked by Lirri and Arro, who were sat nearby, guarding the entrance, as they played some sort of card game with each other.

Arro glanced up, his stoic face giving nothing away. “I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you.”

Jace frowned. “Why not?”

Lirri, smiled as she, leaned forward. “My lady and my lord are very busy.”

Luke blinked, tilting his head in slight confusion. “Busy doing what?”

Before Lirri could answer, a muffled yet unmistakable sound of pleasure came from behind the heavy oak doors.

Both boys froze in place as the noise repeated, louder this time.

Jace groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re at it again?”

Luke cringed. “How is that even normal?”

Lirri, clearly amused, grinned as she answered. “My lord has a ravenous appetite for my lady. He is very virile man-”

Jace grimaced. “I did not want to know that.”

Luke shook his head quickly. “Neither did I.”

Before either could continue, Aegon strolled into the hallway, a mischievous smirk plastered across his face.

He spotted Lirri, and his grin widened when she blushed and smiled back.

“What are you all standing around here for?” Aegon drawled, hands on his hips.

Jace cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “We were just—”

Another sound of pleasure, unmistakable and unabashed, spilled into the hallway.

Aegon burst into laughter. “So, my brother’s back to getting his end away, and you’re all standing here listening. You dirty little buggers.”

“Hey!” Luke protested. “That’s not true. We were coming to see if Valaena wanted to go dragon riding.”

Aegon arched an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “From the sounds of it, she’s already riding the dragon.”

Jace groaned in disgust. “You are so disgusting-”

“Me?” Aegon laughed. “You’re the ones standing here listening to your sister being fucked into the mattress.”

Luke turned the tables quickly. “And what are you doing here, then?”

Aegon’s smirk faltered for a moment as his gaze darted to Lirri and then to Arro.

“No reason. I-I was just-out for a walk.”

Luke let out a heavy sigh, clearly done with the entire situation. “Maybe we should come back later.”

Arro nodded slightly. “Might be best to give it an hour or two. Just to be certain.”

Jace blinked at him, incredulous. “Are you actually being serious?”

Lirri nodded cheerfully. “In Qarth, sometimes my lord would take my lady many times, until he very tired and needed many hours sleep-”

Luke stared at her in disbelief. “So they’ve always been like this?”

Lirri’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. My lord is not shy about the love he gives my lady.”

Jace tugged on Luke’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ll wait until later.”

“You coming, Aegon?” Luke asked.

Aegon muttered under his breath, “I would have been if you weren’t here.” Then, louder, he said, “No. I’ll finish my walk.”

As Jace and Luke trudged off, grumbling to themselves, Aegon exhaled in relief, glancing at Lirri.

“Thank the fucking gods. I thought they’d never leave.”

Lirri chuckled. “They’re nice boys.”

Aegon’s brow furrowed in mock offense. “And what about me?”

Lirri’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re a very naughty boy.”

Aegon seized her waist, pulling her close. “Maybe you should punish me then.”

Lirri glanced at Arro, who gave a small nod of approval.

Aegon’s grin grew wicked. “Arro may join us, if he wishes. As you know, I enjoy it when he does.”

Arro inclined his head. “As you wish my Prince-”

Without another word, the three slipped away toward Lirri’s chambers, leaving the hall outside Aemond and Valaena’s chambers blissfully quiet—save for the occasional muffled sound of passion behind closed doors.

Valaena watched Aemond for a moment, her fingers tracing the line of his cheekbone as his silver hair spilled across the pillow.

His serene expression as he slept, so free of the tension he recently carried, made her heart swell.

Leaning down, she pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, brushing away a stray strand of hair.

He didn’t stir, merely exhaling a soft sigh of contentment.

With a small smile, Valaena turned to the bedside table where the moontea sat.

The smell made her nose wrinkle, but she lifted the cup, holding her breath as she downed the liquid in one gulp.

She grimaced, sticking out her tongue slightly as she muttered under her breath, “So gross.”

Setting the cup aside, she walked to the door, opening it just enough to poke her head out.

“Lirri?” she called softly.

No answer.

Valaena frowned. "Odd," she murmured before closing the door quietly.

Moving quickly but silently, she took a warm, damp rag from the washbasin and cleaned herself, ridding her skin of the evidence of her many vigorous encounters with Aemond.

Her insatiable husband was determined to make up for the weeks he had deprived them both due to his fears, and he had been unrestrained when they had returned to the Red Keep.

He took her many times with passion and ferocity in equal measure, his cock stirring as soon as he’d spilled his seed after every encounter, until he’d passed out from exhaustion.

Once refreshed, Valaena dressed herself in a comfortable gown and headed toward the nursery.

Rhaegar, Elaena, and Daenys were spending the day with Alicent, leaving only Aemon too check on.

She entered the room to find her youngest child still fast asleep, his tiny hand resting on the dragon egg nestled in his cradle.

This egg, gleaming with faint golden scales and red streaks, had been gifted from Syrax, her mother’s dragon.

It was a hopeful token, though it weighed heavily on her heart.

Neither her nor Aemond’s eggs had hatched in their youth, and they both knew the sting of disappointment as they were left on the ground as the others took to the skies.

Valaena prayed silently that Aemon would not have to endure the same fate, but upon closer inspection it would seem as though he would not, as she noticed a faint crack in the shell.

She let her hand hover over the shell, and she smiled as could feel the warmth and the unmistakable presence of life.

Leaning down, Valaena placed a soft kiss on his silver hair. “Dream sweetly, my little dragon, for you will also soar amongst the clouds alongside your brother and sisters-” she whispered.

Gently closing the door behind her, she turned to leave when a muffled scream caught her attention.

Her brows furrowed as the sound came from Lirri’s chambers.

Panic surged through her as she pushed the door open without hesitation.

The sight that greeted her made her freeze in the doorway.

Lirri sat in the centre of her bed, naked and flushed, her long hair dark falling in disarray around her shoulders.

“Oh, my gods-Lirri I’m so sorry I-AEGON?” shrieked Valaena.

“Good sister-” Aegon drawled, his grin widening as he folded both arms behind his head.

“W-What are you doing?” exclaimed Valaena.

“Errr-I think it’s fairly obvious what we were doing” said Aegon, moving his hips slightly, making Lirri gasp at the movement.

Arro quickly removed his hand from Aegon’s chest and scrambled out of the bed; his face red as he fumbled for his breeches.

“M-My l-lady-I-I apologise-” stuttered Arro.

Valaena’s violet eyes darted between the three, her voice faltering. “The three of you?”

Lirri covered her face with her hands, mortified, while Arro stood awkwardly, half-dressed, still stammering. “My—my lady, I-I-”

“How long has this been going on?” asked Valaena.

Aegon shrugged nonchalantly. “Couple of months, maybe?”

Valaena placed a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow. “And you join in with them?” she asked Arro pointedly.

The guard blushed extended to the tips of his ears. “Yes, my lady. Sometimes I join in and other times, I just watch-”

“Right, and I take it Lirri is the woman you was telling me about?”

Aegon nods “Yes, she is-important to me”

For a moment, there was silence, and then Valaena let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Well, I guess I’ll leave the three of you to it then.”

Lirri slid off Aegon’s lap, clutching the sheet around her as she rushed after Valaena.

“Wait, my lady, please let me explain!”

Valaena turned, smiling gently. “You don’t have to, I will admit that I’m a little shocked, but it’s fine”

Lirri hesitated. “You’re-you’re all right with this?”

“As long as you’re happy and safe, that’s all that matters,” Valaena replied sincerely.

Relief washed over Lirri’s face as she nodded. “I am very happy, my lady and safe-”

“I’m glad,” Valaena said warmly, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

From the bed, Aegon piped up, “You’re not going to tell my mother, are you?”

Valaena snorted, rolling her eyes. “Gods, no.”

Aegon let out a sigh of relief, lounging back with his arms behind his head again.

As Valaena reached the door, she paused, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Out of curiosity-” she began, turning to Lirri. “-Is Aegon, you know-good?”

Lirri’s face turned scarlet as she glanced at Aegon, then back to Valaena. “Very good, my lady.”

Valaena burst into laughter, waving a dismissive hand. “You and Arro are excused from your duties for the day. Enjoy yourselves, all three of you-”

She left the room giggling, her laughter echoing down the hall as the door clicked shut behind her.

The gentle sound of Aemon’s cries carried down the hall, immediately drawing Valaena’s attention.

She quickened her pace finding her son fussing in his cradle, his tiny hand still resting on the dragon egg.

Scooping him up, she held him close, murmuring soft reassurances as his cries settled into quiet whimpers.

Cradling Aemon against her chest, she made her way back to her chambers.

Pushing open the door, she found Aemond now awake, sitting in bed with his legs draped over the side, rubbing his face while wincing slightly as his fingers brushed too close to his left eye socket.

The sapphire embedded there glinted in the morning light, a stark contrast to his pale complexion.

“Are you ok?” Valaena asked, concern evident in her voice as she shifted Aemon to rest against her shoulder.

Aemond sighed, nodding faintly. “The sapphire, it’s irritating my eye socket a little today. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Valaena frowned and quickly moved toward the vanity, pulling out a soft cloth and a small jar of salve.

She also grabbed a bowl of clean water before turning back to Aemond.

“Here,” Aemond said, extending his arms toward her. “Let me take him.”

Valaena hesitated but then handed Aemon to his father.

Aemond took his son gently, pressing him against his bare chest.

Aemon immediately calmed, nestling into the warmth of his father’s skin, his tiny fist resting against Aemond’s collarbone.

“Lie back,” Valaena instructed softly.

Aemond reclined against the pillows as she approached with the damp cloth.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she dipped the cloth into the cool water and began to carefully dab around the edges of his scar and the sapphire.

Aemond hissed softly at first, but her touch was so gentle that the discomfort soon eased.

“How does it look?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

“A little red,” Valaena admitted. “I don't think it’s nothing to worry about, though.”

Aemond nodded, his hand absently stroking Aemon’s fine silver hair as the baby rested quietly on his chest.

“He seems content,” Valaena observed with a soft smile. “I think he enjoys the sound of your heartbeat.”

Aemond’s expression softened as he gazed down at his son. “I’m glad my children can find comfort with me,” he said quietly.

“You’re a wonderful father, Aemond,” Valaena said firmly as she set the cloth aside and began applying the salve to the reddened edges of his eye socket and along the scar. “I know you worry about it sometimes, but you truly are.”

“It’s not like I had a great example of what a father should be,” he admitted, his tone tinged with the bitterness of memory.

Valaena paused, her gaze meeting his as she gently worked the salve into his skin.

“As much as I loved my grandsire, I also hated him for how he treated you, your brothers, and your sister. No child asks to be brought into the world—it was his duty to guide you, to love you. And he failed you all.”

“I got used to it,” Aemond said quietly, though there was a flicker of pain in his voice.

“I once asked him why he loved my mother the most,” Valaena said, her voice soft but contemplative. “Even as a child, it was obvious how he favoured her. He told me it was because of Aemma—the guilt he carried for her death. My mother was the last piece of Aemma he had left.”

Aemond reached out, taking her free hand in his. “In part, I understand his grief-especially after I almost lost you.”

Valaena paused, her thumb gently brushing over his knuckles. “But he still should have been there for all of you, not just one of you.”

Aemond nodded silently, his grip tightening on her hand. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked after a moment, his voice low but full of emotion.

Valaena smiled, leaning closer. “A lot, I hope.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and unguarded. “With every fibre of my being. I love you.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his in a tender kiss. The moment was quiet, intimate, and full of unspoken promises.

And then Aemon let out a loud fart, his tiny face scrunching up as it turned a vivid shade of red.

Followed by a loud squelching sound.

Valaena pulled back with a startled laugh. “Well, I think someone’s cloth is soiled,” she said, as she lifted Aemon from his father’s chest.

Aemond leaned back against the pillows with a groan, folding his arms.

“Way to ruin the moment son,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose at the unmistakable smell.

Valaena laughed, bouncing Aemon gently in her arms as she laid him at the end of the bed.

“Don’t worry, my love. There will be plenty more moments,” she teased, flashing him a playful grin.

Aemond huffed but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips.

Valaena finished securing the fresh cloth around Aemon, who was now kicking his legs eagerly.

She leaned down, nuzzling his tiny tummy until he squealed with delight, his little hands reaching for her face.

Valaena grinned, her heart full as she placed soft kisses on Aemon’s face.

“You should know,” she said, glancing at Aemond, who had just finished getting dressed “Aemon’s dragon egg has cracked.”

Aemond’s single eye lit up with a rare, genuine smile. “It shouldn’t be too long before another hatchling joins us.”

“No,” Valaena agreed warmly. “-but speaking of hatchlings, we need to talk to Rhaegar about Sapphyre. He’s getting far too large to be staying in his chambers.”

Aemond sighed, folding his arms. “I know Rhaegar won’t like it, but perhaps it’s time for Sapphyre to be with Vhagar and Silverwing. He needs space to grow properly.”

Valaena carefully dressed Aemon in fresh clothes, smoothing the soft fabric over his tiny body. “I think Rhaegar fears that Sapphyre will be chained in the pit.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “I will not allow such a thing to happen. That place-it is not fit for dragons. Or any living creature, for that matter.”

Valaena nodded, meeting his determined gaze. “As you know, I hate that place too.”

Aemond stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “I swear to you, the hatchlings will never see chains. Not while I have breath in my body.”

Valaena’s expression softened, and she reached out to touch his arm. “I believe you, my love.”

Aemon let out a loud gurgle, his legs kicking energetically again. Valaena laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Someone’s eager to be on the move”

Aemond chuckled as he reached out and took Aemon into his arms, cradling him close. “How about I take this little one out flying with Vhagar?”

Valaena nodded, smoothing the baby’s hair. “Sure, I think he’d enjoy that. Oh—but before you go, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Aemond furrowed his brow. “What is it?”

She hesitated, then said with a wry smile, “I walked in on Lirri and Arro earlier-but they weren’t alone.”

Aemond’s expression shifted to confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Aegon was with them,” she said bluntly. “Seems the three of them are-a thing.”

Aemond blinked, then pursed his lips. “A thing, as in—”

Valaena nodded, cutting him off. “-Laying with each other. Yes”

Aemond exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “So that’s who he was talking about the other day-”

Valaena raised a brow. “You knew?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted, adjusting Aemon in his arms. “I knew he was involved in some kind of dalliance with a woman and a man. But I didn’t know it was Lirri and Arro.”

“Should we be worried?” Valaena asked, leaning against the edge of the bed.

“When it comes to Aegon, I’m always worried,” Aemond muttered. “I suppose the only thing we can do is keep an eye on it. And for the Seven’s sake, make sure Lirri drinks moon tea. I’ve accepted that my brother and sister have an understanding, but I won’t have Lirri birthing his child. He has enough bastards running around the streets of silk; he doesn’t need more.”

Valaena nodded. “I agree. But it’s not exactly ideal, especially if she wants a child with Arro.”

“That’s for them to sort out,” Aemond said firmly. “But I mean it, Valaena. I won’t have it.”

“I know,” she assured him, touching his arm again. “And I understand.” She smiled down at Aemon, who was squirming in his father’s hold. “Right—let’s get this little one ready. He’s clearly getting impatient and I said I’d help Aegon and Viserys with their high Valyrian-”

Aemond grinned, shifting Aemon to a more comfortable position. “Our little dragon. Is eager to get into the sky.”

Valaena laughed as Aemon gurgled in delight, his tiny fingers grasping at Aemond’s tunic. “He’s certainly determined-”

“Of course-”Aemond said with mock seriousness. “He’s my son, after all.”

The library was quiet except for the soft murmur of Valaena’s voice as she spoke in High Valyrian, guiding her younger brothers, Aegon and Viserys, through a lesson.

Aegon leaned forward, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he attempted to mimic her pronunciation.

Viserys, meanwhile, sat cross-legged on the floor, doodling dragons in the corner of his parchment when he thought no one was looking.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Luke’s dark curly head popped through the gap. “Is it safe?” he asked cautiously, his eyes darting around the room.

Valaena laughed, leaning back in her chair. “Aemond has taken Aemon flying with Vhagar. You’re safe—for now.”

Luke’s face lit up. “Jace! She’s in here and finally free of Aemond!”

The door burst open as Luke came barrelling through, Jace trailing behind him with a less enthusiastic stride.

“Sister,” Jace greeted her with a grin, “It’s good to finally see you without your one-eyed—never mind,” he quickly corrected, catching the venomous glare Valaena shot his way.

Luke flopped into an armchair, his legs hanging over the armrest. “What are you doing?”

“Helping Aeg and Vis learn High Valyrian,” Valaena replied, gesturing to her brothers.

“Why didn’t Mother just ask Gerardys?” Jace asked, frowning. “He was the one who taught me.”

“Because he’s the Grand Maester,” Valaena said, rolling her eyes. “He has more important things to do. And if I recall, you didn’t actually finish learning the language of our forebears.”

Jace scoffed. “Just because Daemon taught you—”

“And Luke,” Valaena interrupted with a smirk. “You’re just lazy.”

Jace stuck his tongue out at her. “Am not!”

“Yes, you are,” Valaena shot back without missing a beat.

Jace sat up straighter, puffing out his chest. “Keligon lēda nūmāzma!” (Stop with mean).

Valaena exchanged a knowing look with Luke before sighing. “It’s actually Keligon issare nūmāzma, ao rōva mittys.” (Stop being mean, you big idiot).

Jace blinked. “Did you just call me a fool?”

“No,” Valaena said with a grin. “I called you a big idiot.”

Luke burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Sīr skorkydoso glaesā mandia?” (So, how are you sister).

Valaena smiled warmly. “Iksan sȳrī kirimvose.” (I am well, thank you)

“That’s not fair!” Jace grumbled, glaring at them.

“Well,” Valaena teased, “-If you had kept learning, you’d know what we were saying.”

Little Aegon, who had been following the exchange with wide violet eyes, giggled before chiming in. “Aōha sīr doru-borto rōva lēkia.” (Your so dumb, big brother)

Both Valaena and Luke burst into laughter as Jace glowered at his younger brother. “What did he just say?”

Viserys, still doodling, added helpfully, “Se ziry’s jiōraton quba ōghar.” (And he’s got bad hair).

That sent Valaena and Luke into another fit of laughter.

Jace scowled. “Ao aspo!” (You bitch),

“Oh, so you know what that means?” Valaena teased.

Jace crossed his arms. “I called you a bitch.”

“Yeah, I know,” Valaena replied with a smirk. “Duh-”

Aegon yawned, looking up at her. “Mandia, issi īlon tetan?” (Sister, are we finished?)

“Syt tubī kessa,” Valaena said gently. (For today, yes).

Viserys perked up. “Can we go play with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera now?”

“Of course, I’ll come with you-” Valaena said, standing and stretching. “I want to see Helaena anyway.”

Before the little ones scampered off, Jace slouched deeper into his chair, sulking. Valaena walked over and wrapped her arms around him from behind, ruffling his hair.

“Turn that frown upside down, little brother.”

“Pffft” muttered Jace still scowling.

Luke stood and stretched. “I think I’ll come with you with you as well”

Valaena nodded. “Are you coming, Jace, or are you going to keep throwing a tantrum like a little girl?”

Jace grumbled as he stood. “I don’t like it when you pick on me.”

“Now you know how Aemond felt when you used to do it to him,” Valaena said pointedly as they left the library.

“That wasn’t just me, you know!” Jace protested.

“Yes. I’m well aware of that,” Valaena said with a knowing smile.

Later that night, Valaena had just finished tucking her children into bed and was on her way out of Rhaegar’s chambers when a figure rushed past her, sobbing.

She barely caught sight of Lirri’s tear-streaked face before the young woman disappeared into her chambers.

Alarmed, Valaena turned and followed, pushing the door open to find Lirri crumpled on her bed, her body shaking with quiet, wrenching sobs.

Valaena approached and sat down beside her, resting a comforting hand on her back.

“Lirri, what’s wrong?” she asked gently.

Lirri sat up, her breath hitching as she wiped her face with trembling hands.

“Aegon has ended our involvement,” she managed between sobs.

Valaena frowned. “How come?”

“He said he worries his mother will find out,” Lirri said, her voice breaking.

Valaena let out an incredulous scoff. “A pathetic excuse. Since when has Aegon cared about his mother’s approval? He certainly didn’t when he busied himself with the whores on the Street of Silk.”

Lirri sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “I love Arro very much. He’s kind and gentle, but I—I—”

Valaena’s expression softened. “You love Aegon too,” she finished for her.

Lirri nodded, her face crumpling again. “Yes. Very much.”

Valaena sighed, squeezing Lirri’s hand. “It’s a rather unique situation, that’s for certain.”

Lirri hesitated, looking down. “Are you ashamed of me, my lady?”

“Never,” Valaena said firmly, taking Lirri’s hand in both of hers. “How could you even think such a thing?”

Lirri lowered her gaze. “Because I do not act as a woman should.”

“And who decides how a woman should act?” Valaena asked, her voice sharp with disdain. “A man? Please. Most days they don’t know their arse from their elbow.” She softened her tone. “All I ask is that you’re being careful.”

“Careful, my lady?” Lirri asked, frowning.

“The customs in Westeros are vastly different from those in Essos,” Valaena explained. “I know Aegon has some kind of understanding with Helaena but—”

“Yes,” Lirri said. “He loves her like a sister, not a wife.”

“That may be so, but she is still his wife in the eyes of gods and men,” Valaena said. “Having his child would dishonour her.”

Lirri stiffened. “He’s sired children on other women before.”

“Yes,” Valaena admitted. “But given how close you and I are, it wouldn’t be fair to Helaena to have her husband’s illegitimate child living in the Red Keep.”

Lirri’s face burned with shame. “Have no fear, my lady. Aegon does not spill his seed inside—”

“That’s something, at least,” Valaena muttered. “But what else did Aegon say to upset you so?”

Lirri hesitated, her voice trembling. “He told me he had fun but that it’s over. And then he became cruel and called me he called me a byka līve.”

Valaena’s expression darkened, her eyes narrowing with fury. “Oh, Did he, now? We’ll see about that.”

Before Lirri could stop her, Valaena shot to her feet and stormed out of the room.

Ignoring Lirri’s frantic calls, she marched through the Red Keep, her anger bubbling hotter with every step.

When she reached Aegon’s chambers, she didn’t knock. She shoved the door open, finding him mid-conversation with Aemond.

“You!” she shouted, pointing at Aegon.

Aegon turned, startled, but had no time to respond before Valaena barrelled toward him.

She knocked him to the ground and climbed on top of him, her fists flying as she struck any part of him, she could reach.

“You dare call her a little whore?” Valaena snarled, her words punctuated by punches. “The only whore around here is you—rude, selfish, arrogant, pig!”

Aegon giggled through the chaos, half-laughing, half-wheezing.

Aemond finally stepped in, wrapping his arms around Valaena and pulling her off. She struggled against him, still thrashing.

“No! You don’t understand—he needs to suffer!”

“What has he done?” Aemond asked, his voice calm but firm.

“He ended his involvement with Lirri and called her a little whore,” Valaena spat. “I won’t have it—I won’t!”

Aegon groaned as he climbed to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “I’m sorry, all right?”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to, you vicious little CUNT!” Valaena shouted, lunging again.

This time, she wrapped her hands around his throat, shaking him.

“Valaena” exclaimed Aemond, his arms folded across his chest, watching with mild amusement.

“You will go to her, you will apologize, and you will do whatever it takes to make her happy again. Do you hear me?”

Aegon gasped, clawing at her hands. “Aemond—help—get her off me!”

But Valaena released him on her own, shoving him away.

Aegon staggered back, coughing and rubbing his neck. “Gods,” he wheezed. “You really are strong.”

Valaena stepped forward again, ready to pounce, but Aemond quickly grabbed her. “Whoa there, my feisty dragon, that’s enough-”

Valaena struggled briefly against Aemond’s vice like grip, but then relented.

Aegon straightened, still catching his breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I-I just got scared.”

“Scared of what?” Valaena snapped. “We’re not going to say anything.”

“Y-You’re not?” Aegon asked, eyes wide.

“No,” Valaena said firmly. “I would never allow harm to come to Lirri—or Arro, for that matter.”

Aegon sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I love her. Gods, I love them both.”

“Then go make it right,” Valaena said, her voice low and dangerous. “Or so help me, I’ll cut you from cock to throat.”

Aemond smirked faintly. “Better do as she says, brother, she’s serious-”

Aegon nodded quickly and fled the room.

As the door slammed shut, Aemond turned to Valaena, his expression dark and intense.

He grabbed her and slammed her back against the wall, pressing his body against hers.

His hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.

“Watching you kick the crap out of Aegon was-incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Valaena smiled, sliding her hands up his arms to his shoulders. “Oh, really?”

“Made my blood hot,” Aemond admitted, leaning closer, before capturing her lips in a ferocious, searing kiss.

Without breaking contact, Aemond gripped her thighs and lifted her effortlessly, pressing her against the cool stone wall.

Her hands flew to his shoulders, anchoring herself as her breath hitched, her body heating under his touch.

Aemond’s hand slid down her side, rough and eager, while his other braced her firmly against him.

His lips left hers to trail down her jaw, nipping and kissing the sensitive skin of her neck as she arched into him.

“Aemond,” Valaena breathed, her voice shaky yet teasing.

His eye, dark with desire, met hers as he rasped, “Hmm?”

“Are we really doing this in here?” she asked, her lips curling into a faint smile despite her breathlessness.

“Why not?” Aemond murmured, his voice gravelly and thick with longing.

His hand reached between them, fumbling with the ties of his breeches.

Valaena laughed softly, her cheeks flushed, as her fingers tangled in his long silver hair, tugging lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he retorted, capturing her lips again with fervent intensity, his body pressed hard against hers, the tension between them crackling like wildfire.

Aemond’s hand then moved beneath her dress and with a sharp tug, he tore her smallclothes away, the fabric ripping with a sound that echoed in the room.

Valaena gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Oh gods, Aemond,” she breathed.

Aemond growled low in his throat, his hand moving to guide himself.

Without hesitation, he thrust into her in one fluid motion, burying himself to the hilt. Both of them cried out, their voices mingling in the air between them.

Aemond wasn’t gentle. His movements were raw, driven by an all-consuming need.

Each thrust was powerful, stealing her breath and leaving her clinging to him.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her hips moving in time with his as they chased the same desperate rhythm.

“Valaena-fuck-” he murmured against her neck, his voice rough and low.

The sound of her name, spoken with such intensity, sent a shiver through her.

Her hands moved to his back, her fingers pressing hard.

“Aemond, don’t stop-oh gods” Moaned Valaena, her head falling back against the wall.

The tension coiling between them threatened to snap, the sheer intensity of their passion overwhelming.

He kissed her again, his lips bruising and fierce, as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.

“You’re mine,” growled Aemond against her mouth, his hips driving into hers with a possessive fervour that left no doubt of his claim.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body tightened around him. “Always.”

“Tell me how it feels” demands Aemond.

“It’s good, so good-yes-yes, don’t stop-oh god. Please-please-”

Valaena praises sets something off inside Aemond as he continues to pound into her.

“Aemond, please, I’m close, so close” whimpers Valaena.

Aemond moves a hand down to where the two of them are joined, and rubs her pearl in slow circles, dragging her closer the edge of the precipice.

“I never want to leave this sweet cunt–fuck,” groans Aemond as he marks each of his words in tandem with a rough snap of his hips.

Valaena peaks with a loud, scream, her body shuddering.

Aemond then shifts his hold on Valaena, pulling her away from the wall without breaking their connection.

He carried her to Aegon’s bed, laying her down against the dishevelled sheets.

His hips snapping against hers with unrelenting force.

Valaena’s hands roamed over his back, her fingers clutching at his tunic as she arched into him.

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, her voice teasing as she gasped, “Fucking your wife in your brother’s bed, Aemond? Really?”

Aemond chuckled, his laughter low and rough. “Oh well,” he said, smirking as he hooked her legs over his shoulders, driving deeper. “I’ll send him new sheets as a gift.”

The humour in the moment only heightened the passion between them, but then Aemond’s eye caught on something sitting on the bedside table—a smooth, carved wooden object.

Aemond’s rhythm faltered for the briefest moment as he frowned. “What the hell is that?”

Valaena followed his gaze, her cheeks flushing faintly as she realized what he’d seen.

She quickly tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his face back down to hers. “Best not think about it,” she whispered, her voice sultry as she claimed his lips in a searing kiss.

Aemond resumed his relentless pace, his hips slamming into hers.

“Are you close my sweet?” asked Valaena, her teeth nibbling Aemond’s neck.

“Gods yes. I’m close. Fuck-Valaena” groaned Aemond.

“That’s it. Let go”

“J-Just a little longer-fuck I’m going to-” groans Aemond as he slams into Valaena before reaching his own peak, spilling rope after rope of seed inside her.

After a few moments, Aemond gently moved Valaena’s legs from his shoulders, his chest heaving with every breath he takes, his cock still twitching.

“I-I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” asked Aemond.

“No. Gods, I-It was so wonderful” exclaimed Valaena, her body shaking slightly.

Aemond smirks as he slowly removes his softened cock from her slick cunt, his singular eye fixated on the drops of seed that spill out.

He takes a finger to Valaena’s opening and pushes his seed back inside, delighting in her moan of surprise.

Aemond then leans over to press a gentle kiss to her lips, before bringing his finger to his own mouth and sucking it clean.

He then lays down on the bed, pulling Valaena close to him.

After a few minutes, Aemond’s curiosity got the better of him as his eye returned to the offending wooden object. His brow furrowed in obvious confusion.

“Valaena, what is that thing?” he asked, his voice tinged with equal parts irritation and intrigue.

Valaena groaned, dropping her head back onto the pillow in exasperation. “Aemond, you really don’t want to know-”

Aemond then had an inclination of what it was and wrinkled his nose, glancing back at it with a grimace.

“Gods, my brother is such a deviant,” he muttered, his expression twisting between disgust and begrudging amusement.

Valaena burst into laughter, grabbing Aemond’s face and pulling him in for a kiss. “Forget about it, my love,” she murmured against his lips, her tone soothing but with a playful edge.

With a small sigh of resignation and a shake of his head, Aemond kissed her deeply. “Fine. But I’m having that thing burned later.”

Valaena bit her lip to stifle her laughter. “Good luck explaining that to your brother and Lirri-”

TBC.

[hattiestgal]

Been slowly building up sketches of the gang that'll be being put in art fight this year for ref sheets!

..I don't wanna see any of their ugly mugs for a bit after this though cause ough this was a lotta work... I'll be putting my focus towards my comms till I can clear out my queue!

[ariesmusingz]

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ╱ one syllable name masterlist ( below the cut is #181 one syllable first names. they are a mixture of feminine, masculine and neutral names, but please use as you see fit. please like / reblog if you found useful. )

air

anne

art

ash

ayn

banks

bay

bear

beck

bee

bell

ben

bess

birch

bird

blair

blaise

bliss

blue

blythe

bo

bram

branch

bree

britt

brock

brooke

brooks

cal

cale

carl

cash

cat

ceil

chance

charles

chris

clare

clay

cole

cort

cove

crew

cy

dale

dan

dane

dash

dax

day

dean

dove

drew

dune

elle

eve

faith

fay

fern

finn

firth

fox

frank

frost

gael

gage

grant

gray

greer

gus

gwen

hal

hank

hayes

hope

huck

hugh

jack

jade

james

jane

jay

jett

joan

joe

john

joy

jude

june

kai

kate

kay

kent

kerr

king

kit

knox

lake

land

lane

lark

lee

leith

lou

love

lux

luz

mac

mae

max

maeve

mark

maude

max

miles

nash

nate

neil

nell

north

nyx

oak

paige

paul

pax

pearl

penn

pierce

pike

poe

price

psalm

puck

quinn

ralph

ray

reed

reese

rex

rose

roy

ruth

sage

saint

sam

sean

seth

shane

shay

sim

sloane

snow

storm

tai

tate

tay

tess

thad

tom

true

truth

ty

vale

van

vaughn

vern

wade

walt

wes

west

whit

will

win

wolf

wren

wynn

yahn

zack

zane

zeke

zen

[pupsmailbox]

AUTUMN ID PACK

NAMES︰ acer. acorn. acre. amber. apple. archer. arden. ash. asher. aspen. aster. auburn. august. augusta. augustus. autumn. autumna. autumnal. autumnelle. autumnessa. autumnette. autumni. autumnine. autumnus. bean. birch. blaire. bonfire. bramble. branch. briar. carmel. casper. cassia. cassiah. cedar. cerridwen. chai. chestnut. cider. cinna. clara. cocoa. cora. corn. cornucopia. cozy. crimson. crisp. crow. ellis. ember. equinox. eve. fall. fallelle. fallen. fallette. falline. fallon. faye. finn. flannel. foggy. forest. forrest. ginger. glenna. goldie. halloween. harper. harvest. harveste. harvester. hawk. hay. hazel. hollis. hunter. jora. juniper. kaziah. keziah. latte. leaf. libra. lief. lilith. linden. luna. maize. maple. marigold. marley. marlow. maze. melanie. mocha. moss. november. nutmeg. oak. oakley. october. opal. orchard. orla. pansy. pie. pine. piper. poe. pumpkin. raine. raven. redd. rory. roslyn. rowan. russet. ruston. sabrina. saffron. scarecrow. september. sienna. sorrel. sullivan. sylvia. tamsin. teresa. tessa. wesley. willow.

PRONOUNS︰ amber/amber. apple/apple. au/autumn. aug/august. august/august. autumn/autumn. branch/branch. brew/brew. cider/cider. cloud/cloud. co/cozy. cocoa/cocoa. cof/coffee. corn/corn. cot/cottage. cozy/cozy. crow/crow. drift/drift. drizzle/drizzle. fa/fall. fall/fall. flannel/flannel. glisten/glisten. glow/glow. gold/gold. hallo/ween. hallow/halloween. halloween/halloween. haze/haze. hazel/hazel. hug/hug. jacko/lantern. lea/leaf. leaf/leaf. maple/maple. maze/maze. mellow/mellow. moss/moss. oct/october. october/october. orange/orange. pie/pie. plush/plush. pump/kin. pump/pumpkin. pumpkin/pie. pumpkin/pumpkin. rain/rain. raven/raven. red/red. sca/scarf. sept/september. september/september. sip/sip. snug/snug. snuggle/snuggle. soft/soft. soothe/soothe. spice/spice. sweater/sweater. swirl/swirl. syrup/syrup. thanks/giving. tick/treat. treat/treat. trick/trick. tuck/tuck. wa/warm. warm/warm. whiff/whiff. whisk/whisk. wrap/wrap. yellow/yellow. 🌽. 🍁. 🍂. 🍄. 🍎. 🎃. 🕯️. 🥧. 🧣. 🧶.

[flowerandblood]

Sweetly desire, bitterly deprive

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ Victorian Horror • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, partial rape, choking, violence, murder and suicide, obsession ]

[ description: Lost in his own emptiness and cold, Aemond lives with his family in their large estates, wandering their halls like a ghost, lost in his own madness. One day, his mother's friend arrived at their manor with her husband and daughter. He becomes obsessed with her, which leads to a series of unfortunate events. Obsessive, delving into madness, poetic, very dark! Aemond. ]

This oneshot is my idea and a reference to the wonderful work of Edgar Allan Poe, his Eleanor and Morella and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

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

My others works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that something in him had disappeared, collapsed when he lost his left eye − he had partly ceased to be human and had become some kind of caricatured creature, menacing, tall as a tower, pale and cold as marble.

He had never lacked anything − his family was wealthy, owning many mansions all over the country, all identically decorated, sumptuously adorned with portraits of their ancestors looking at him melancholy and proudly out of the canvas, continually judging him.

He had the impression that at night their faces changed − his great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers seemed suddenly to be some kind of phantoms, their faces contorted, displeased at the sight of him, his existence.

He still felt watched, he felt overwhelmed, he felt that something hovered over him, but he could not name this premonition, this certainty.

He had tried to explain it to his mother once, but she had looked at him with such concerned, frightened eyes that he decided he would never mention it again.

He knew that his family considered him insane − a man out of his mind, irrational, aggressive in his words, with a gaze that cut like a sharp blade, making interlocutors turn their faces away from him, unable to bear it.

He saw her for the first time when she arrived at their residence with her parents, Mr and Mrs Orwell, at the invitation of his mother, who had been friends with Mrs Orwell as a child. He watched closely her small, graceful figure standing in the corridor behind her parents, her gaze lowered downwards, thoughtful.

She shuddered as if she subconsciously sensed that she was being watched and glanced in his direction − her pupils dilated suddenly, as if from a dream world she had returned to earth with the cruel pull of some unknown force, as if his figure, his silhouette had crushed her.

They stared at each other for too long to be considered in accordance with good manners − only when her parents walked into the living room where he sat did he rise from his chair, reminding himself of such a basic thing as breathing, and straightened up, folding his arms behind him, allowing himself to introduce the people who would be guests in their home from now on.

He knew that Miss Orwell could feel his burning gaze on her, fleeing from him to the far end of the room, looking at the books stacked on the shelves of the old oak bookcase.

He watched from behind her beautiful neck, her hair pinned up in a bun and braids framing her head on either side − her gown was sewn from a delicate, light-coloured fabric, its cut was simple, perfectly emphasising her figure, her almost bare shoulders.

Her neck and her shoulders drove him mad.

The perfect curve of the transition of one part of her body into the other, her shiny, soft skin, the softness of the shape that was forming.

Then he lifted his gaze higher and discovered her slightly rounded, short, proportionate nose, forming a perfect angle with her straight, smooth forehead, the totality of this view framed by her eyes like precious stones, bright, shining, surrounded by long lashes like veils, emphasising its depths, giving her an aura of mystery.

Finally, he struggled to dare to shift his attention to the most intimate exposed part of her body, her fleshy, full, pink lips, both pressed against each other, still remaining virtually imperceptibly parted, the point of their contact seeming incredibly soft and moist.

He saw her throw him an uncertain, frightened look and clench her hands in front of her, not knowing how to act, how to dissuade him − she only relaxed when his sister, Helaena, walked into their living room.

They greeted each other as if they were old friends − even though they were seeing each other for the first time, they grasped each other's hands and from then on they were inseparable.

He often watched them through the window, seeing their silhouettes move unhurriedly ahead of them through their vast park, discussing with each other something in a cheerful voice and laughing, their pearly sounds reaching his ears muffled by the glass.

In his presence, her smile disappeared from her face, her laughter died in her throat and a faint dread coated her, her pupils dilated suddenly, her lips pressed together in fear.

His tall figure standing over her frightened her, his hands folded stiffly behind his back seemed frozen like a stone − unable to make a sound near him, she lowered her gaze quickly, terrified.

One day, however, she dared to take a step towards him − a step towards the unknown, as, realising that he spent every evening by candlelight sitting in their library reading books, she joined him.

He watched her every move vigilantly, not taking his eye off her − her delicate figure strolled around the room in a light, slow motions, her hands folded in front of her in a humble gesture.

He could not express how melancholic and heavenly she looked walking like that in the faint light of the candles, her person seemed as if enveloped in a mist, a glow.

He felt himself to be merely an observer of events, a point to which all her presence referred, being a counterbalance to her subtlety, spread out around her like the blackness of the night that surrounded them.

She looked at him at last, for the first time as if she really wanted to see him, what was inside him, what was inside his heart, inside his mind − he looked at her with empty eye, knowing that there was only nothingness there, an abyss, a coldness without end or measure.

He was surprised at her courage, at how confidently she walked towards him, standing by his side, looking over his shoulder, wanting to see what he was reading.

He did not turn his head behind her − he only watched the shadow of her silhouette out of the corner of his eye − he could feel beside himself the warmth emanating from her body, her scent, the rustling of her gown made him feel a tickle in his fingers.

"Machiavelli. What a brutal choice." She whispered, but there was no disapproval or judgement in her word, more a soft surprise − there was something in the way she said the last sentence, in the way the tip of her tongue clicked as she uttered the syllables, that made him lick his lower lip involuntarily, turning the page.

"Brutal?" He asked lowly, hearing the timbre of his own voice, glassy, cutting like a blade, clear, assured, cool.

He heard her swallow quietly and draw in the air, her body standing beside him somehow enveloping him in her existence, pleasantly teasing all his senses.

"Cesare Borgia was his ideal of a ruler. That says enough about him." She said lowly − he heard her avert her gaze thoughtfully, looking at some point in the distance.

Involuntarily, the tip of his tongue ran over his lower lip, moistening it − he grinned at her words, shifting in his seat.

"They are both no longer among us and have no way to defend themselves from your cruel judgement." He murmured softly, lifting his eyes to her at last.

Their gazes crossed, her eyes at once full of uncertainty and curiosity − he had the feeling that her figure was quivering and trembling, too filled with life, the desire to breathe, to move, to feel.

They looked at each other and he knew that they had both experienced this when he first saw her, when they were unable to stop, when they both realised that something was happening between them that they could not tell anyone about.

He didn't know how it happened, what moved his loins to stand up, towering over her to grab her with ease and seat her on the table. He decided that it was just purest curiosity, as his fingertips ran over her shoulder, over that gorgeous arm, and traveled up the hill of the length of her neck, his hand tightened around it, again, merely in curiosity, and he found to his surprise that it fit there perfectly.

He looked at her face, into her eyes glittering like the most expensive precious stones darkened by the veil of her lashes, looking at him hazy, hesitant, at once fearful and devoted, wanting and demanding. When he took a step towards her her thighs spread in front of him like a book, as if it were the most natural of reflexes that didn't even surprise him.

Without letting go of her gorgeous neck he began to travel and explore the mysterious nooks and crannies of her body occupying his mind, the finger of his free hand lifting tentatively the material of her gown and her petticoat, running over her ankle covered from him by the soft material.

He ran his hand upwards, higher and higher, as if running his finger over to the surface of the water, until he reached the soft, surprisingly hot skin of her naked thigh and they both parted their lips, looking at each other wordlessly, breathing deeply.

His fingers ran over her flesh as if it were the keys of a piano, pressing her skin, and made their way to what was between her thighs, to what he could feel the pulsing heat from, the source of her trembling, of her sleepless nights.

She let out a shuddering, sweet sigh as he touched her there and found her sticky moisture, with circular motions collecting it on his fingers, both of them looking at each other as if surprised by this discovery, this disturbing, intimate act.

With each movement of his fingers, with each circle across her warmth, her thighs spread wider and wider in front of him, her body finding support on her palms placed on the table top, her breasts hidden under her gown rising and falling, her hips beginning to meet his movements.

He had the feeling that they were both in a trance, that they didn't understand what they were doing and didn't want to understand it − they weren't thinking about it or judging it, they were simply discovering a new experience, testing the taste of the sweet, unspoken secret that hid deep between her thighs, the loud, shameless click of her wetness accompanying every flick of his hand.

He licked his lips when at last the tip of his finger met the tight slit between her folds which throbbed with heat, wet and pulsing. Encouraged by this intriguing discovery, he slid his finger there, wanting to see what she felt like inside − he found with interest that her core was rough and fleshy, throbbing and slick, clenching steadily on his skin, her head arched back with a cry of exertion.

He slid his finger deeper, feeling it stretch her entire structure, pushing deep into her flesh, and a quiet, ungodly mewl erupted from her lips, her eyes clenched, her mouth parted in something akin to elation, delight.

He felt his body react, a pleasant heat and pulsation in his erection, the same as he felt inside her − he thought they were like two parts of the same thing, like two sides of the same story, beginning and end, day and night, sun and moon.

Just as everything had its companion, just as the world had for centuries misunderstood the nature of loneliness, telling people to discover the joys of living with someone, man and woman were destined to explore themselves with amazement.

He slipped his finger out of her and, with a light, unhurried movement, untied the fabric of his breeches, lowering them slightly so that she could not see what was beneath them, hiding that sickeningly physical, animalistic sight beneath her gown.

She knew what was about to happen, and though she didn't understand it, she felt subconsciously that from the moment they looked at each other they were destined to connect, to take something and give something to each other.

She trembled all over as he directed the tip of his length with his palm against her burning, hot entrance, her body instantly refusing this sudden, unholy act of divine violation.

"− don't −" He hissed coolly, and she froze, looking at him tearfully, letting him force the pink head of his erection, dripping with his moisture, inside her.

With surprising patience and devotion she endured the discomfort of fitting him inside her, a weary, helpless sob came from her lips − he opened her slowly on his manhood, bit by bit, stretching her tight muscles, sinking into the warmth of her flesh.

He realised suddenly that he was inside her, that he was her and she was him.

That they were a whole, that he would never be complete again without her.

His hand tightened around her neck and did not let her escape, slamming into her with a quiet grunt of sickening pleasure, sliding into her so deeply that she throbbed, seeking fulfillment in it, any kind of relief.

He gave in to his animal instinct, the feeling that he craved to rub against her, craved for her to squeeze him, craved to move inside her − the thrusts of his hips were violent, intense, deep, sure, as if taking her, filling her with himself again and again, physical stretching of her body with his flesh was written into his nature.

Their bodies pounded against each other with wet, loud clicks of her moisture as if they were fighting, as if he was about to pierce her with himself − her head was tilted back, her expression showing simultaneous delight and horror at this unexpectedly pleasurable act.

She was panting along with him, giving herself over completely to his brutal thrusts, needed to be filled, to be satisfied.

"− you won't escape from me − you know that, don't you? − I'm going to fill you −" He growled between one quick, hard slap of his hips and the next, and she only mewled a desperate plea, refusing and at the same time asking him to do it, writhing beneath him, her face all flushed with pleasure.

"− no − please − God, forgive me −" She cried out with difficulty, tears of effort, pain and delight running down her cheeks, her body leaning back, surrendering at last.

He felt her insides suddenly clench violently against him and begin to convulse, a moan of sweet suffering came from her lips, her body shook with a wave of something he was yet to understand.

This sight made him speed up instead of slowing down, feeling that something was about to happen, that he was already so close.

"− yes − don't resist me − fuck! −" He cursed for the first time in his life, feeling that his whole body was in a hot frenzy, his hips moving deep inside her throughout her fulfilment, her hands trying fruitlessly to push him away with her loud, broken moans, unable to take any more, overstimulated and sensitive.

He made a low, throaty, animalistic sound as a wave of pleasure shook him − he felt his own fluid spilling over her insides, filling her like wine fills a chalice, and he thought it made him feel the most natural reflex in his life, the filling and that she felt exactly the same way about the sensation of being filled, as if it was her primal, most important need.

Not to be empty.

They stared at each other, breathing loudly, feeling the fog around them begin to blur and disappear, their vision began to sharpen, their cool judgement returned to their minds, and with horror they realised at last what they had done.

They pulled away from each other in pain, both feeling that the fact that they were no longer one was unnatural, ungodly, against some fundamental law.

They were incomplete again.

They were imperfect again.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she corrected her gown in despair − she stepped down from the table and ran out of the room with a loud, broken sob, terrified of their act, of what consequences it might bring.

He tied his breeches back, sitting down in his chair with difficulty and listened to the intense pounding of his heart, staring blankly ahead, trying to calm his breathing, feeling more empty than ever.

Over the next few days she avoided him again, her face even paler than when he first saw her − he had the feeling that she was in a progressive agony, that she was dying before his eyes.

Wanting to put an end to their torment, one morning he moved after her, seeing that she had gone for a walk through their park, and asked for her hand.

Only then did she confess to him, crying with unspeakable pain, that her fiancé had been waiting for her for weeks.

He felt like he had fallen into a state of complete emptiness and wasn't sure he understood her words.

He even thought they were amusing as he sat in the living room, taking a sip of wine from his glass, chuckling under his breath, much to the consternation of those gathered.

It wasn't until several hours later that people began to be concerned about her disappearance.

He took no part in the search.

As he walked down the corridor of his mansion in the evening heading towards his room, he looked at the appraising faces of his grandparents, their eyes seemingly bulging, terrified, their lips clenched as if in rage.

He began to rip portrait after portrait off the wall, destroying frames and canvases, causing a commotion all around him − his mother tried to calm him down, but he broke free from her embrace.

It was only when he walked into his bedroom that he noticed her silhouette, pale and corpse-like, her eyes wide open, looking towards the door as if she was waiting for him, his bedclothes all covered in her blood.

He saw out of the corner of his eye an open window facing straight into their park and realised that she had broken in here, taken his letter knife and slit her wrists.

He approached her slowly, feeling the pounding of his heart, the sweat on the back of his neck as he noticed the bruises on her neck, a clear marks matching his hands that he was sure he hadn't seen when he had spoken to her that morning.

How could that be?

He glanced at the floor out of the corner of his eye and saw his shirt, all dirty from the sand and grass.

He began to breathe deeply, feeling the whole room swirl around him.

He pushed from his mind the sight of her terrified face, the sight of her tears when she fell with him to the ground, when he told her that he was empty without her, that he had filled her with himself and she could not be anyone else's, just as he could never be anyone else's again.

It seemed to him that she had come to terms with his words, for she stopped struggling, looking at him with affection, and he praised and comforted her, telling her that the end would come soon, that she would fall asleep, that she would not be in pain.

When she stopped moving and fainted he took her body in his arms, numb and spilling in his fingers, and walked as if in a trance through his open window into his bedroom.

He laid her on his bed, where she belonged, right beside him, and left, longing to return to her in the night, believing that she had fallen into an eternal sleep.

She woke up.

She finished his work.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess