#one which is willing to die for the crown

[methoughtsphantom]

dead on main arranged married au but it’s all because of some random guy who heard from the realms that the prince was single and wanted to marry for power, only that’s not how it works. the bonding spell instead has lady gotham, who has jurisdiction on her city, being given the choice to choose one of her own to marry off the prince. of course she chooses Jason. This is unbeknownst to him. at least, until a justice league dark magical emergency has Jason trying to summon the all blades only to get glowing flamey green guns instead.

[lizzyiii]

Hello, I would like to make an obscene yandere request to Aemond Targaryen for a cousin who is a Helen of Troy, she never met her cousins ​​and Gwayne locked her in the lighthouse because the children in Antigua have already declared duels and fights for her, please

“Alexa play Angel by Massive Attack.”

A Beauty Too Tempting

pairing | aemond x cousin!reader word count | 5.4k summary | when aemond targaryen learns of his cousin—a beauty so captivating that men are willing to die for you—he becomes dangerously obsessed, determined to claim you for himself. tags | 18+ MDNI! smut, p in v, slight dubcon, fingering, oral sex (f) receiving, possessive sex, rough sex, virginity kink, breeding kink, obsession, dirty talk, no description for reader, creampie, religious guilt, guys this was crazzzyyy, yandere aemond, delusional aemond, obsessive aemond. a/n | this was such an interesting and creative prompt, damnnnn. also I think this might be the best smut I've ever written. KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE PHONE (NOT PROOFREAD)

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond had finally ascended.

His reckless, wine-soaked brother was a shadow of the past, burnt and broken beyond repair. Though the Seven Kingdoms still called him “Prince Regent,” Aemond knew he held the true power of a king—and wielded the might of a dragon unmatched in all the realm.

He was Prince Regent, yes, but also the rider of Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons, the slayer of Daemon Targaryen, the butcher of his treacherous half-sister and her rabble of bastards.

At God’s Eye, he had cast Daemon down, wresting from him the title of warrior to which he clung so stubbornly. And when Alys Strong’s deceit led him astray, she too had met the edge of his blade, her charms and false promises extinguished in the cold stone of Harrenhal’s dungeons. Now, what was left of his family was but the bones of the house.

Only his mother and his niece remained, the ones bound by duty and blood. Helaena, broken by grief and driven mad with sorrow, had thrown herself from her chamber balcony, finding an end that her shattered mind had long sought. Aegon, the crown’s fool, lay in a stupor of smoke and agony, burned and nearly lifeless after his fall from Moondancer’s flames.

But Aemond ruled now—his alone was the realm’s rightful power. The Seven Kingdoms were his to bend, as was his every desire. He had broken his betrothal to the Baratheon girl without a second thought; a warlord and dragonrider of his stature deserved a bride worthy of his legend. He was the last dragon of House Targaryen, and his queen would be a beauty revered, one whose grace and purity might rival the Maiden herself.

And that was when Aemond first heard of you.

Fleeting whispers had reached him from Oldtown, speaking of his uncle Gwayne’s daughter—a maiden so beautiful that men spoke of you as if you were touched by the gods. Tales claimed you had been cloistered away in the Watchtower’s highest chamber, veiled to protect the eyes and sanity of any man who caught sight of you.

There, concealed behind shadows and stone, you were kept far from the reach of suitors who risked life and honor in duels, each vying for even a single glimpse of your face.

Your father, Ser Gwayne Hightower, had fallen in the fires of the Dance, and your mother had died bearing you, leaving you alone in that desolate tower—an unclaimed jewel, hidden and waiting.

The thought stirred something fierce within Aemond. He would go to you, he decided. He would see this beauty so lauded, this Hightower daughter untouched by the world’s corruptions, and he would decide if you were worthy to become his Queen, his Targaryen bride. For if your beauty proved true, you would belong to him alone, bound by devotion and a loyalty owed only to the dragon and its rider.

After landing Vhagar just outside Oldtown, Aemond took a horse into the city, riding with the air of a conqueror. But even he was taken aback by the scene awaiting him. High walls surrounded the Watchtower of House Hightower, fortified and stern, yet it was the gathering outside that seized his attention.

Hundreds of men crowded the courtyard and spilled into the streets, shouting, some nearly brawling as they jostled against one another. Their voices rose in a fervent cacophony, names and cries echoing like a battle chant.

Aemond’s gaze swept over them with disdain. Fools, all of them, clamoring over the mere hope of being in your presence. As he approached the Tower’s gates, the guards lowered their spears and bowed their heads, recognizing the rider of Vhagar, the One-Eyed Prince who now held the realm in his grip.

They opened the gates without question, allowing him through to the Tower’s base, where a young servant girl waited nervously.

She kept her eyes down as she led him up the spiraling stairway to the highest chamber. But Aemond’s curiosity simmered, and his tone was sharp when he finally spoke. “Who are these men gathered outside? What madness drives them to swarm like starving wolves?”

The servant’s face went pale, but she dared to glance up briefly, voice trembling. “They’re suitors, my prince…men from every corner of the realm. Many have traveled from the Reach and the Riverlands, even as far as Dorne and the North, all to seek my lady’s hand.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, a dark satisfaction curling at the edge of his lips. While the Dance Of Dragons had gone on, you had become something of a legend—a prize for fools and hopeful knights. But you were not for them.

“Let them scream themselves hoarse,” he murmured coldly, mostly to himself, as they reached the final stretch of the climb. His voice softened, though the weight of his words was fierce. “By nightfall, they will know she belongs to me alone.”

The servant kept her gaze down, fearful of the silent promises in his tone. They finally reached the door to the high chamber, and with a deep breath, she pushed it open, bowing as he strode past her.

As Aemond stepped inside, the air was thick with expectation, and he knew: he would let none of those suitors have you—not while he still breathed.

A figure stood near the narrow window, framed by the dim light filtering through the high stone walls. Draped in a gown as pale as starlight, a delicate veil fell over your hair and face, obscuring your features with an ethereal softness.

You looked less like a woman of flesh and blood, more like some forgotten goddess cast down from the heavens, your beauty hidden behind gauze and shadow. Almost nervously, the servant girl who had led Aemond withdrew, sparing one last, uncertain glance before closing the heavy door, leaving him alone with the lady in white.

The room was silent but for the faint rustle of fabric as the veiled woman turned, your movements graceful yet guarded. You saw him—a tall, imposing figure shrouded in the black and crimson of House Targaryen, his silver hair gleaming like the steel at his hip.

Though your vision was blurred by the veil, there was no mistaking him. Even in the isolated walls of your tower, you had heard tales of him, whispered rumors that crept into your dreams. Aemond Targaryen—the One-Eyed Kinslayer, the dragonrider who had torn through his own blood, leaving most of House Targaryen ashes in his wake.

A shiver coursed through you as you lowered your head, barely daring to meet his single, penetrating gaze. You bent your head respectfully and murmured, “Your grace.”

At the sound of your voice—soft and lilting, as if it had drifted down from the heavens—Aemond’s breath hitched, and he paused, his gaze never wavering. You sounded like the very embodiment of the myths that had reached him, a voice so pure it defied the violence that had carved his path to you.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one bringing him closer to the veiled creature he had come to claim. “I am not only your Prince Regent,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I am your kin as well.”

You nodded, your lashes fluttering beneath the veil. “Of course…cousin,” you replied shyly, your voice no more than a murmur, though it reached him clearly in the silence of the chamber.

Aemond’s lips curved, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face as he closed the distance between you. “You must know,” he continued, his tone possessive yet calm, “that I have not come all this way merely out of kinship. You are spoken of as if you were a queen in waiting…your beauty, your grace. Men would kill for a single look upon your face.”

Your cheeks warmed beneath the veil, though you dared not lift your head. The idea of such fierce, consuming attention unsettled you, yet you could not deny the pull he exerted on your senses—a dark, magnetic power that seemed to draw you closer, even as your instinct told you to step back.

“And now,” Aemond murmured, lifting a hand toward you, fingers ghosting over the edge of your veil, “it is I who have come to see if these tales hold truth. To decide if you are worthy…to stand beside me as my queen.” He let the words hang in the air, laden with meaning, with possession.

Beneath the veil, your lips parted, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The One-Eyed Prince had not come to court or woo you like the other men clamoring below; he had come to claim you, with a certainty that brooked no refusal.

“Tell me, cousin,” he whispered, his tone heavy with dark intent, a veiled promise lying beneath each word. “Would you defy me if I named you mine?”

He drew closer, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a shiver through you as your heart hammered against your ribs. The weight of his claim felt as tangible as the stone walls around you, and in that instant, you knew defiance was a luxury that held no place here.

Before you could gather the breath to respond, Aemond’s hand rose toward your veil, his fingertips hovering just above its delicate fabric. A sense of desperation seized you, and your voice broke through the silence, raw and pleading. “Don’t! Please… I only wish to spare you.”

Aemond’s lips curved in a faint, humorless chuckle, his eye gleaming with something far more dangerous than mere amusement. “Spare me?” he murmured, as though the very idea amused him.

“You misunderstand, cousin. I do not seek to be saved.” His voice softened, yet the iron in his tone was unmistakable. “I seek only to behold my future wife.”

Your heart raced, every instinct urging you to step back, but your body seemed to betray you, rooted to the spot as Aemond reached out, his fingers grazing the edge of your veil. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, casting the thin fabric away and laying bare the face that had haunted his imagination.

The moment the veil fell, silence claimed the room, broken only by Aemond’s sharp intake of breath. His gaze devoured each feature of your face, sweeping over you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, as if he were drinking in the sight of a rare and coveted treasure.

He exhaled slowly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his fingers traced a line along your cheek, his touch both possessive and tender. “Beautiful…” he breathed, his voice thick with awe and something deeper, something darker. “Far more than any tale could capture. You are… a vision.”

A flicker of fear mingled with the warmth on your cheeks, and you dared to lift your gaze to his, the intensity of his stare almost unbearable. He studied you, and you sensed it was not mere admiration that darkened his eye, but hunger—a need so consuming it seemed to radiate from him.

“From this day forward,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw, “you are mine. And I… I will allow no one, not even the gods, to take you from me.”

Your breath caught as Aemond’s fingers ghosted over your skin, sparking a fire that seemed to radiate through every inch of you. For a fleeting moment, your eyelids fluttered closed, helplessly savoring the sensation. But reality, sharp and undeniable, tore them open again, reminding you where you stood—and with whom.

“C-Cousin, please…” you murmured, your voice trembling as your hands pressed against the hard plane of his chest, a fragile attempt to create space. “This… this cannot be. You should not…”

The words stumbled from your lips, half-hearted at best, even as your body betrayed you, arching subtly toward him, drawn like steel to a magnet. A flush of warmth rose beneath your skin, pooling in your cheeks, and beneath the thin fabric of your gown, your nipples peaked, aching under his gaze. The rush of sensations nearly overwhelmed you, each one more intoxicating than the last.

Aemond’s lips curved in a knowing, wicked smile, his eye gleaming as he took in your struggle, your futile attempts at resistance. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, so close that his breath mingled with yours, warm and heady.

“Wrong?” he murmured, his voice a dark, velvet caress, each syllable dripping with unrestrained desire. “There is no wrong between us, cousin. Only what was always meant to be…only fate and desire.”

Your heart raced, pounding against his chest, each beat echoing the dangerous thrill of his words. His hand slipped to the nape of your neck, his touch firm and possessive, as though he could bind you to him with that single gesture. He tilted your head ever so slightly, his mouth hovering just above yours, his gaze burning with intent.

“We are bound by blood,” he whispered, his words low and fervent, “by something far stronger than any foolish notion of right or wrong.” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, a featherlight touch that set your skin alight. “Do you not feel it, the way I do?”

You barely managed a nod, your mind clouded by the closeness, by the undeniable pull of him. With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Aemond’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, so close you could feel every contour of his lean frame pressing into yours.

His chest was a wall of heat, solid beneath your touch, and your breath hitched as you became all too aware of the hardness pressing insistently against your belly.

“Let me guide you,” he whispered, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and laced with promise, “to pleasures beyond the realm of mortal imagination.” His voice was low, dark, each word dripping with seduction as he continued, “Yield to me, and I shall make you mine in ways the world could scarcely comprehend.”

Every syllable curled around you, dissolving your remaining resistance like morning mist. Against all sense, your body softened, your resolve unraveling beneath his spell. Aemond’s words, woven with desire and power, coaxed you toward surrender. You melted against him, instinctively seeking the warmth he offered, your heart racing as his grip on you tightened possessively.

“Cousin…” you whispered, barely a breath, a mingling of plea and prayer.

Aemond’s lips curved, and he let out a soft, almost condescending click of his tongue, a smirk flickering in his eye. “I ask for so little,” he said, his tone deceptively light before his voice softened, becoming tender, almost reverent.

“Simply allow me to reign over you, to be the master of your heart and soul. Give me your loyalty, your love, your fear… let me own you in spirit and in flesh. Do that,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jawline, “and I will serve you, worship you, slave to your every desire.”

A tremor ran through you as his hand drifted lower, fingers grazing the swell of your breast. Your nipple pebbled instantly, a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You gasped, your hips involuntarily rolling against his straining erection.

“Please... ” you whimpered, your resistance breaking in the face of such carnal temptation. ”I-I am a maiden, a child of the Seven.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Aemond's chest as he felt your delicate form yield to his touch, your body betraying its innate desire despite your protests. His fingers curled around the plump mound of your breast, kneading the soft flesh through the thin fabric of your gown.

“Child no longer,” he rasped, his thumb circling your aching nipple, coaxing it to an even harder peak. ”Maidenhood ends today, and a woman shall be born.”

With a swift tug, he ripped the laces of the front of your gown, exposing the swells of your breasts to his hungry gaze. He palmed them roughly, thumbs teasing the stiff peaks as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering the sweetness within with his tongue.

"Mine," he growled against your lips, his hands roaming your body possessively

Your cry of shock morphed into a moan of ecstasy as Aemond's mouth ravaged yours, his dominant presence swallowing your very essence. The rough handling of your breasts sent sparks of delight coursing through your veins, your nipples throbbing in time with the pounding of your heart.

"No...no," you breathed against his lips, the words tumbling out unbidden. "This is wrong... this is sinful."

Ignoring your feeble protests, Aemond continued to explore your body with unrestrained lust. His hands roamed freely over your curves, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence usually reserved for sacred texts.

“Sinful indeed,” his voice was a husky purr against your lips. “Yet how sweetly addictive it tastes.”

His hands trailed lower, bunching your skirts to your waist to find the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. He groaned at the wetness he found there, a testament to your body's readiness for him.

“Such a delectable little cunt...” he whispered, his fingers slipping between your folds to test your readiness.

Your head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat as Aemond's skilled fingers delved deeper, stroking your slickened flesh with a confident touch. A shudder rippled through you, your hips canting upwards in desperate pursuit of more.

“P-please...” you gasped, your voice trembling with devastation. “I...I've never...”

Aemond's knowing smirk only heightened your mortification, yet it couldn't quell the inferno building inside you. Your body was aflame, craving the release only he could provide.

“I'm afraid...” you murmured though your eyes were glazed with desire.

Aemond's eye gleamed with triumph as he watched you squirm under his touch, your innocence and inexperience only fueling his desire. He pressed a finger inside you, feeling your tight walls clench around the invading digit.

“Fear not, sweet cousin,” he cooed, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “I will be gentle... at first.”

He pumped his finger slowly, savoring the exquisite sensation of your virgin passage yielding to his touch. His thumb circled your pearl, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure racing through your nerves.

“You're doing wonderfully,” he praised, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip firmly. “Now, let's see if we can't coax out that pretty little scream, hmm?”

Your mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the onslaught of sensations assaulting your senses. Aemond's fingers moved within you with a practiced ease, each thrust and twist sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“N-no...stop!” you managed to choke out, even as your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. “It's too much!”

Aemond's grin widened, his eye flashing with dark amusement at your futile attempts to resist. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.

“Foolish girl,” he chided, his tone dripping with condescension. ”You crave this, every bit of it. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind doesn't.”

He seized your wrists, pinning them above your head against the window as he loomed over you, his face inches from yours. His hot breath fanned across your cheeks, carrying the scent of smoke and masculine musk.

“Now, be a good little maiden and spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding. “Let me taste you.”

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, your body thrumming with a mix of fear and exhilaration as Aemond's dominance asserted itself. Despite your reservations, a traitorous part of you yearned for the promised pleasure, your core clenching in anticipation.

"N-no...I won't...” you stammered, even as your thighs trembled, betraying your resolve. Aemond's grip on your wrists tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he forced you to submit.

“Please...” the word escaped your lips before you could stop it, a plea for mercy that sounded suspiciously like a plea for more, though confusion filled you, ”Why would you wish to taste me?”

Aemond's gaze raked over your trembling form, drinking in every quiver and gasp with sadistic delight. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his words dripping with dark promise.

"Because, my dear cousin," he purred, "I want to devour every inch of you until you forget your own name. Until all you know is my touch, my taste, my possession."

With a wicked grin, he released your wrists, only to grab your waist and throw you down upon your bed. You had no time to react before he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart as he lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as Aemond's words painted a vivid picture of degradation and desire. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy as he positioned himself between your spread thighs.

“And then, once I've had my fill,” he continued, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your slit, “I'll make you beg for more.”

“No...please...” your protests dissolved into a whimper as his tongue made contact with your aching sex, the wet heat of it sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Aemond chuckled darkly at your feeble attempts to resist, the vibrations of his laughter sending shivers through your core. He increased the pressure of his tongue, lapping at your slick folds with relish, savoring the taste of your arousal.

“It's too much...I c-can't take it...” even as you spoke, your hips bucked upward, seeking more of that intoxicating sensation. Your hands flew to his head, tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer, to grind yourself against his questing mouth.

“You lie, sweet cousin,” he murmured against your flesh, his voice muffled but unmistakable. “You crave this, crave me. Your body sings for me, begs for my touch.”

He sucked gently on your pearl, the suction pulling a sharp cry from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he feasted on your cunt, his skillful tongue driving you closer to the edge with each passing moment.

“Release for me,” he commanded, his eye locking onto yours, burning with an intense, possessive hunger. “Let go and give me everything.”

Your entire being was consumed by the inferno of pleasure that Aemond ignited within you. His words, his touch, his very presence overwhelmed your senses until nothing existed beyond the coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter in your core.

“Ahh...oh gods...Aemond!” your cries echoed off the stone walls as you said his name for the first time and he pushed you relentlessly towards your peak. Your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his scalp as you held him close, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“Yes...yes! Don't stop...please don't stop...” you babbled incoherently, lost to the maelstrom of sensation. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, you shattered, your release ripping through you with the force of a tidal wave.

As your climax crashed over you, Aemond drank in your essence, reveling in the taste of your release. He lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure until you finally went limp beneath him, panting and dazed.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he gazed up at your flushed face. He crawled up your body, claiming your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to plunder the sweetness of your mouth.

“Now, let us see how well you respond to other pleasures,” he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding down to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple into a stiff peak. “We have only just begun to explore the depths of your devotion.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the intensity of what had just transpired. Aemond's control over your body was absolute, leaving you weak and pliant in his grasp. Yet even as you trembled with aftershocks of pleasure, a thrill of anticipation coursed through you at his words.

“Other pleasure?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the fear that lingered, a spark of curiosity ignited within you, drawing you deeper into the unknown realm Aemond promised to show you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath as he fondled them. The sensation of his calloused palm against your tender flesh sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core, making you ache for more.

Aemond's smile was a wicked curve of his lips as he watched your reaction, delighting in the way your body responded to his touch.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I speak of the exquisite agonies of pleasure, cousin. The kind that make you scream and beg for mercy even as you crave more. The sort that leave you trembling and spent, yet yearning for the next touch, the next thrust...”

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the juncture of your thighs before dipping into your drenched folds. He circled your sensitive pearl, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“Shall I show you these delights, Beloved? Shall I push you to the very brink of madness and back again, all for my own entertainment?”

A shiver ran down your spine at Aemond's words, a delicious chill that mixed with the heat building inside you. His touch was both gentle and ruthless, coaxing out responses you didn't know you possessed. Your hips bucked involuntarily as he stroked your most intimate places, seeking more friction and relief.

“Y-yes please...” you breathed, the word torn from you on a moan. Your hands came up to tangle in his long silver hair, holding him close as if to anchor yourself against the storm of sensations he unleashed.

Aemond's fingers danced across your sensitive flesh, pushing you higher and higher until you teetered on the edge of another release. Your vision blurred, your lungs burned for air, and still he teased, denying you the release you craved.

“Please...I need more,” you whined.

Aemond chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending vibrations through your quivering form. He released your pearl, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh before gripping your hip possessively.

“More, hmm?”

He leaned back, his piercing gaze drinking in every flush of color on your skin, every hitch of your breath. “Very well, cousin. Let us see how you fare against my cock.”

With a swift motion, he shed his trousers, freeing his rigid length. It stood proud and unyielding, the tip already glistening with pearly wetness. Aemond grasped your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he positioned himself between them.

Your eyes widened as Aemond revealed his manhood, the sight of it making your mouth go dry. The size and shape were intimidating, but a part of you thrilled at the prospect of being stretched so completely. You nodded, unable to find your voice as he spread your legs wider, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze.

“Are you ready to be filled, to be claimed in the most primal way possible?” He asked, his voice a husky growl.

"Yes...” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

Aemond's grip on your ankles tightened as he aligned himself with your entrance. The head of his cock pressed against your slick folds, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for the intrusion.

“Please don't hurt me,” you whispered, your voice tinged with desperation.

Aemond's expression softened slightly at your plea, though the intent in his eye remained unchanged - a fierce, almost feral hunger. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I would never harm you, sweetling," he paused, "at least not unless you begged me to."

With that, he surged forward, his thick cock driving into your welcoming heat in one powerful stroke. Your cry echoed through the chamber as you were split open around him, your body stretching to accommodate his impressive girth.

“Fuck, you're tight,” he groaned, pausing for a moment to let her adjust. His hips flexed, pulling nearly all the way out before plunging back in, setting a relentless pace. So fucking perfect...

A sharp cry tore from your throat as Aemond's massive cock impaled you, the sudden invasion sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your core. You arched your back, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move within you, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last.

"Gods...it's too much..." you panted, struggling to breathe through the intensity of the sensation. “You're so big...”

Despite the discomfort, your body seemed to mold itself to his, craving the stretch and fullness he provided. Your inner walls clenched around him, trying to draw him in even further.

“More...give me more...” you whimpered, your hips rising to meet his punishing rhythm.

Aemond grunted in satisfaction at your wanton pleas, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. The obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by your keening cries.

“That's it, take it all,” he growled, his hand fisting in your hair as he angled your head back. “Scream for me, let everyone hear how thoroughly I'm claiming you.”

His free hand slid between your joined bodies, finding your swollen pearl and rubbing mercilessly. The dual stimulation had you writhing beneath him, your body wound tighter than a bowstring.

"Come for me, Beloved,” Aemond demanded, his voice rough with lust. “Come on my cock like the desperate little maiden you are.”

The words fell from Aemond's lips like honeyed poison, stoking the flames of your desire until they consumed you whole. Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision blurring at the edges as ecstasy coursed through your veins.

“Yes! Oh gods, yes!” you screamed, your voice echoing off the stone walls.

Your inner muscles spasmed wildly around Aemond's pistoning cock, milking him for all he was worth. The pressure building at the base of your spine reached a fever pitch before exploding outward in a burst of pure bliss.

“Aemond!” your name was a ragged gasp as you convulsed beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

Aemond threw his head back with a triumphant roar as your orgasm triggered his own. His cock pulsed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your clencing cunt. Each jet seemed to last an eternity, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

“Take it all,” he snarled, grinding his pelvis against yours to ensure every drop was absorbed by your eager flesh. “You're mine now, forever and always.”

As the final spurts subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily as he savored the aftermath of their coupling.

When Aemond's release flooded your womb, you felt a sense of profound completion wash over you. Your body went limp beneath him, utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.

“Yours...” you echoed softly, the word falling from your kiss-swollen lips in a daze. “Forever and always...”

As exhaustion tugged at you, your limbs grew heavy, and the events of the day settled over you like a warm, thick blanket. Nestled in Aemond’s arms, you felt a strange comfort, a warmth you’d scarcely known, drawing you closer into his embrace as sleep beckoned. The solid strength of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all that held you tethered as your eyes drifted shut.

“Rest now, my love,” he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rasp, laced with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions. “We have much to discuss when you’ve recovered.”

Even as you slipped into the gentle embrace of sleep, Aemond remained vigilant, his gaze never leaving you. His mind churned with plans and possibilities, already anticipating the obstacles that lay ahead. He knew that securing his claim upon you—upon both of you—would not come easily.

His arm tightened around you, a silent vow to protect, to possess, to keep you from any force that might try to tear you from him. Whatever it took, no matter the cost, you would remain his. He would allow no other fate.

A faint, triumphant smile touched his lips as he studied your sleeping face, taking in the softness of your features, the way your hair curled against your cheek. Tonight, he would let himself bask in the satisfaction of knowing you were his, that he had claimed your body and heart as surely as he had marked it.

“Sleep well, my queen,” he whispered, reaching out to brush a stray curl from your brow with uncharacteristic gentleness. His thumb lingered a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek, committing every detail to memory.

“Tomorrow, I take you to your new home.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[mmogurl]

Dragonseed Chapter 1 : First Night

18+ | 6.4k | Daemon Targaryen X Female Dragonseed Reader | dangerous, sex starved, raunchy Daemon | virgin reader, first time sex, first night / prima noctae, big breast reader, daemon is a boob man in this, non con, non consensual, P in V, much groping, lots of typical Daemon cussing, starts out rough but reader enjoys it in the end, I just woke up with this in my head and needed to get it out.

Daemon has not been satisfied with his wife Rhaenyra lately. Frustrated and sexually deprived, he goes searching in the village at the base of the Dragonmont for a woman that might catch his eye. That's when he comes upon you, a beautiful, young dragonseed, ripe for the taking, whether you like it or not. I came up with the idea for this after reading page 914 in Fire and Blood. In the show, they recruit Valyrian blooded bastards to ride the unclaimed dragons from King’s Landing, but in the book there is actually a fishing village at the base of the island where Dragonstone is located. The men of House Targaryen were known to seek pleasure among the commonfolk there quite often, claiming their ‘first night’ rights and sowing ‘dragonseeds.’

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 On AO3

Rhaenyra has been an insufferable cunt as of late. First she had wallowed in the death of her son, Lucerys, which he understood to an extent. They were at war though and Daemon could not excuse her absence at council. There simply was no time for mourning when the Iron Throne was at stake.

When Rhaenyra finally returned to the painted table, she was in shambles, a scared, frail shadow of the strong Targaryen woman he’d known and cared for. It had taken all he had to hold back the grimace that fought its way out at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. They were of royal blood, Valyrian blood, and she should be ashamed to show such weakness openly, especially as the future queen.

She spoke of retribution for her fallen boy, demanding the life of the Hightower bitch’s second mongrel son, Aemond. Daemon had offered to fly to King’s Landing right away to avenge his wife, but none would take any part in his plan. So he did as he often did, connived in the shadows, plotting murder so that a one-eyed Targaryen princeling might die to replace the son Rhaenyra had lost.

But, it seemed nothing was ever good enough for the so-called Realm’s Delight. No act of loyalty, nor obeisance, nor love, nor retribution would ever amount to anything in his wife’s eyes. She did not seem to trust a word he said lately, viewing him always with thinly veiled scrutiny and scorning him from her bed every night. Perhaps she had only been interested in using him to solidify her claim as queen after all. The irony was not lost on him considering how badly he’d wanted the throne in the past. It all left Daemon feeling restless, his blood running hot with the need to satisfy his carnal urges. Admittedly, there were not many women within the confines of the castle, save for the servants, who were not especially comely. So, he ventured forth to the village below the Dragonmont, where farmers and fishermen lived around the now thriving port. There he walked the streets, drank in the tavern among the commonfolk, hoping to chance upon a suitable woman. Any fair of face with a willing cunt would satisfy his needs, but he was hoping to find someone of note, a beauty worth his seed.

So far, he has found nothing but mediocrity and it does nothing to stiffen his cock.

As he exits the tavern already deep in his cups, given the position of the sun it’s sometime past mid-day, and there is a celebration underway. A flutist is playing a lively tune as men and women alike dance together in the square. His eyes dart around, taking the scene in slowly considering his relatively inebriated state, until he catches a flash of blue.

And that is when he sees you. You are ravishing in light blue silk, a crown of yellow wildflowers upon your silvery-gold head of hair. Daemon finds himself completely enamored as he takes in your fetching features; the big blue eyes, your proud nose, those luscious lips, and the full swell of your breast has him reeling.

Daemon finds you a sight for sore eyes, a vision of purity and class coupled most gladly with the bosom of a well coveted whore. From the look of it, you are the bride, clutching arms with some young pup who is likely to be your new husband.

It was well known to Daemon that the towns below the mount were seeded with Valyrian blood. Going back two hundred years when Aenar Targaryen first arrived with his dragons, when the house began to practice the tradition of ‘First Night.’ Whereas a lord or king has the privilege over the smallfolk, to bed any bride first on their wedding night. As a result, it was not uncommon to see pale hair mixed in among the common, many having been bred within the Targaryen line for generations.

Daemon has never claimed such a right before, but he is inclined to command it at the sight of you. A wicked smirk begins to work it’s way up his lips as he approaches. He can’t believe his good fortune, that such a shining flower of a maiden was waiting for him, so close by, and that he just happened to stumble upon you at just the right moment to claim you.

As the King-Consort to be closes the distance, many begin to notice his presence with a look of awe and excitement on their faces. For on Dragonstone, the Targaryens were considered closer to the gods than other folk, and were esteemed as such. Brides that were chosen were considered blessed and envied by all. Many of these women were taken care of well by their benefactors, being endowed with luxurious gifts of jewelry, fine silks, and even bequeathed titles for land.

The children born of dragonseed were celebrated on Dragonstone and it is clear to Daemon by the fine silk of your wedding gown that you have been attended well by your Valyrian patron, whoever it may be.

He walks purposefully towards your merry, dancing form and takes hold of your arm to still your movement. When you look up at him, he cannot help but feel disappointed when your face drops, a look of despair crossing your face as you intrinsically know what he desires of you. Daemon had hoped you’d be pleased to attract his attention, that you’d consider it a godsend as most would. It is merely a minor blow to his ego that won’t stop him from taking your maidenhead.

Silence hangs in the air and before words can even be exchanged, an older woman with dark gray hair advances forth to him. She claims to be your mother and apologizes for your insolence.

‘The blood runs too strong in her, m’lord,’ she grovels with deference, bowing her head with every word.

Good he thinks to himself I like them feisty. Daemon grins, glaring sideways at the young man next to you. He would be considered handsome by most standards, but he is green, just a silly boy without disposition to even protect his alluring little wife. He intends to ruin you for any other fellow tonight, so not even your juvenile husband will ever be able to satisfy you again.

He snickers with satisfaction as your mother offers to escort the pair of you to a suitable location where he might take up his rights. Daemon can’t help but soak up every curve of your face and body like a predator eying up his next meal as she speaks, but you look on the verge of tears, ready to break at the thought of being torn away from your silly little wedding festivities.

“Might I freshen up first, My Prince,” you say, your civility barely held in tact through grit teeth.

“King,” he reminds you, furling his brow. This girl will be nothing but trouble. It will be best to break her swiftly. He then shakes his head non-nonchalantly. “And there is no need. You are already quite pristine and lovely in your wedding gown. I will take my claim now.”

You fluster, your cheeks growing impossibly red with embarrassment at not just the mention of his intent, but your own indignity as well. “My King,” you acknowledge his correction. “Allow us to ready the chambers for a man of your caliber. My marital bed is far too simple…” you continue prattling on. He isn’t really listening anymore though, instead focusing on the plump of your lower lip and how it might feel wrapped around his cock.

He also can’t help but notice how you sound much more proper than your mother, than most commonfolk really, and wonders if your Valyrian contributor has paid for your tutelage as well. You strike him as someone who has been overindulged in your life, treated as a lady of distinction. It would certainly explain your bratty attitude.

“I am not against the amenities of the commonfolk,” he offers indifferently. “As long as there is a clean surface, it will do.” It’s not like he hadn’t fucked in some of the filthiest brothels on the Street of Silk back in King’s Landing. At least there weren’t many rats in Dragonstone.

‘Oi, aell take ye to me own dwelling, m’lord,’ your mother is spouting now. ‘It aes clean, Ae wash the linens m’self.’

“Nonsense.” A man with well-kept clothes is now stepping forward and Daemon believes he recognizes him as the innkeep. He offers his finest suite for the union of Daemon and his freshly wed dragonseed maiden.

Gods, it’s good to be king.

Daemon can’t help but chuckle smugly at the look of absolute dread on your face. You think you’re so special, too important to be fucked by a king apparently. He was going to enjoy showing you otherwise.

His grip has not left your upper arm and it now tightens as he nods to the innkeep, accepting the proposition for a room. The man leads the way and Daemon follows, dragging you along with him and reveling in the way you peer back with sad lamb eyes at your newly minted husband. There is something so deliciously satisfying in tearing you away from that whelp of a lad, in taking what belongs to another simply because he can. It spoke to the primal side of him, the dragon within that would snatch up whatever it pleased without concern for morality.

He desires you now and he would soon have you whether you liked it or not. Rhaenyra had cowed him for far too long and now he’s going to reclaim his manhood, his brutal nature, by taking your bloody virtue on the head of his cock. For the bedroom was just as fierce as any battlefield and Daemon was a seasoned veteran of both arts.

Daemon’s stride is long and resolved as he jerks you closer to his side. You’re reluctant to be close to him, but finally heed the warning and match his pace as you both enter the tavern which also serves as the inn. Upstairs, the balding innkeeper opens the door and ushers Daemon into his freely provided chambers, with his unwilling maiden shuffling in beside him.

The room is quite nice for what it is. Accommodations for peasant folk were typically a mix of ramshackle furniture and blankets with patched holes in them, if the mattress had linens at all. This chamber is simple, but the furniture looks as though it were hand-crafted in town. The bed is very obviously carved by a skilled carpenter and topped with a red blanket as though it were actually a fine establishment.

“This will do nicely,” he nods to the innkeep. Even though Daemon knows he is not expected to offer compensation as an esteemed guest, he let’s you go from his grasp momentarily to fish a coin from his purse, and places it in the man’s hand. “My thanks,” Daemon offers plainly with a dismissive nod, declaring his desire to be left alone with his prize.

“My pleasure, My King,” the innkeeper says with an overzealous bow as he closes the door behind him, finally leaving Daemon alone with you.

You stand there looking like a stunned baby bird who has just fallen from the nest. Your hands are clasped together in front of your stomach as though that might defend you from his designs.

He smirks at you with a pointed laugh as he draws close. Daemon apprises you thoroughly, circling you like a beast as he takes in every sign of weakness, every swallow, every carefully withheld whimper.

“You know what will happen, girl?” he finally breaks the silence as he comes to a stop right behind you.

“Y-yes,” you answer unenthusiastically. The tremulous tone of your voice both excites and amuses him.

Daemon’s hands reach out to your waist then, finding the laces that hold your bodice tightly in place and he begins to untie them. You turn rapidly on your heels to face him, trying in vain to halt his advances. He can’t help but growl at your defiance as he tugs you against him, his grip like a biting jaw on your pliant body.

Grinning wickedly, he glares into your eyes, leaning in so closely that his forehead is against yours and his hot breath is in your face.

“I’m going to take you, little one,” his voice is filled with violence, his tone rough and dangerous. “You will give yourself readily or we can take the difficult path. But, I promise you would not like how brutish I can be. Especially considering how sore you will be once I take your maidenhood.”

Your expression contorts with hatred and insubordination as resignation tries to take root, but ultimately you refuse to budge. He has not broken your spirit yet, but he knows he soon will. Daemon hopes to avoid being truly cruel to you, that is unless you remind him of his fucking wife by being so gods damned obstinate. Then he might just be forced to take his impotence out on you.

“Or maybe…” he continues with a sardonic twitch of his brow. “Maybe since you’re behaving like such an ungrateful bitch, I’ll just fuck you hard and deep until I spill seed in your unspoiled little cunt. I might even keep you here all day, perhaps all night. I have not wet my cock for at least a moon’s length and I am wont to gorge myself in you.”

Your breath hitches at his menacing coercion and tears begin to well in your eyes. It doesn’t bother him, in fact he thinks you might look even more attractive when you’re crying. Most importantly, you nod subtly as you finally understand the truth of your situation, that he has conquered your rebuffs and brought you low before him. You should be much more compliant now.

Daemon presses a kiss against your cheek, relishing the taste of your fear and the way your body tenses in his arms. “Good girl,” he states in a calmer voice.

He swiftly turns you around again, his fingers moving deftly to work the laces of your corset free. You are sobbing quietly and even though he relishes the idea of making you submit, of seeing your eyes red and swollen as you take him to the hilt, it’s becoming tiresome to hear as he undresses you.

“Would you cease with all that incessant blubbering?” he chides you with palpable irritation. He pulls at your laces, then the fabric of the bodice, going back and forth to loosen it enough so he remove it from your body.

“I’m scared,” you peep. “That you will hurt me.” You’re reminding him of a bird once more, perhaps a little chick with no wings to fly, sniffling and pathetic as you accept your fate.

Daemon lets out an exasperated sigh. He would almost rather you be angry and spiteful than sniveling like this. He should have known to use a different tact, but he’s been out of practice for quite some time. He now sees with clarity that you’d be far more susceptible to seduction rather than brute force, but his anger with Rhaenyra had him on edge.

He places his hands on each of your shoulders and cranes his neck forward until his lips meet the spot below your right ear. You jump as he presses a gentle kiss against your skin, his fingers reaching over and caressing along your collarbone. He can feel you relax considerably with his shift in behavior and takes the opportunity to slide the sleeves of your dress down your arms.

“You need not be scared, little bird,” he whispers into your flesh as he leaves another kiss wet against the base of your neck. “I have bedded many a maiden in my time, and I assure you that I am a far more experienced and skillful lover than that untried boy you call husband.”

You swallow with difficulty and then your whole chest heaves upward as you let out a shaky breath. He is not sure if you’re still apprehensive about the pain involved in the act itself or if you dislike hearing him speak ill of your new spouse. It matters not, for Daemon knows he is best suited to tend to your needs on this day, and he will deliver you swiftly from your pain if you serve him well. He could also make it much worse than it has to be if you don’t.

But for the moment, you’re obliging him, not even resisting as he slips the sleeves of your dress off of your hands and they fall to your side. He groans at the pale skin bared to him, feverish at the thought of groping those large tits of yours without the restraint of any bindings.

“I know how best to alleviate your discomfort, my dear,” he continues, his breath tickling your skin. “I know how to hasten you to pleasure.” Daemon sucks teasingly at the lobe of your ear and delights as you shiver and goosebumps break out across the exposed flesh peering out from your low neckline. He is getting so eager now, craving the way you’ll squirm beneath him as he touches you, as he claims you.

He rocks the slackened bodice down over your waist, wiggling it from side to side until it clears your hips and the entire gown finally falls to the floor in a heap. You still don a sleeveless cloth chemise underneath that goes down past your knees, but the fabric is so thin that he can see the outline of your figure right through it.

Daemon feels the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as his cock bulges painfully against his breeches. He’d been so caught up in taming you, so fervent at the thought of plundering your shores, that he hadn’t even realized how much he was aching for you.

With a surge of fist and cord, his trousers are on the ground and he practically tears his braies off so he can press his throbbing length against you sooner. Being liberated from his smallclothes leaves his member free to prod the valley of your arse, and he yanks you back tightly against his chest with a grunt that makes you chirp. You are his sweet, helpless baby bird, ready to be devoured by the fox.

As though pulled by an invisible force, his hands are already snaking around to your front catching your breasts, one in each hand as he kneads them forcefully. You let out a strangled cry of distress as he tweaks your nipples firmly and Daemon’s eyes roll up at the supple, yet dense give of your breasts.

“By the old gods,” he rasps out, looking over her shoulder at the beautiful sight below of cleavage and ample bosom turning in his grip. “These are surely sacred treasures befitting a king.”

He has to feel you without the interference of meddling fabric, needs to see your breasts in all their splendor, to touch-taste-suck them until you cry out. A growl erupts through his nasal cavity and he abruptly yanks your shift down your shoulders, ripping the straps in the process of revealing your remarkable tits.

Seeing your exposed bosom, Daemon grinds his cock into your arse with arousal, his restraint faltering with the promise of you. He spins you towards him, walking backwards to the bed and drawing you by the hands with him. He glances up to see the uneasy expression on your face, the blush in your cheeks as you allow him to lead you. His cheekbones rise and his brow furrows slightly, regarding you with discernment and maybe a sense of pride as you walk bravely forward.

Daemon decides after brief consideration, that he likes you this way: vulnerable, yet courageous. The thought is fleeting as he hits the edge of the bed and sits down without hesitation, tugging you close until you are standing in the space between his parted thighs. Your tits are right in his face now, just where he wants them.

With an aggressive pull, he wrenches the shift from your body, laying you completely bare to him. He doesn’t even know where to begin, so much pale and youthful skin to take in that it makes him absolutely ravenous. Daemon’s hand reaches behind your back, holding you in place as he practically inhales your breast into his mouth. You writhe in his embrace, trying to back away from the intensity of his hungry maw to no avail as his strong arms keep you effortlessly in place.

He nips at the stiff peak, relishing the way you jump in response. Daemon’s hand slides downwards, cupping your round, tight ass with a squeeze. He leans back, taking in the view for a moment as he licks with the point of his tongue around your pale pink areola. He switches to the other beautifully pliant tit, tracing a line with his tongue across the valley of your breasts.

Daemon sucks hungrily at your nipple, palming the other with fanatical tenacity. He can feel your body wanting to withdraw, the way it pushes for more and pulls back at the same time, yet your feet remain firmly planted. He’d praise you for being so mannerly if his mouth weren’t full with your delicious tit at the moment.

He can feel his pulse pounding throughout his cock, standing erect between his legs and starving for any attention it can get from you. He relinquishes his grip on your breast, daring an attempt at getting you to relieve his torment as he clutches your hand and brings it down. Your hand retreats backwards, not wishing to participate, but Daemon is firm with you, guiding you to wrap your little bird wings around his engorged member.

Tepid, featherlight fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his too-fat-with-blood cockhead, and he lets loose a growl against the slope of your chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, sucking air through his teeth as you reluctantly touch him. At this point, his sexual deprivation paired with the immense lust he feels for you makes even your untrained pawing feel flawless in execution.

He’s quickly reaching the point of no return, his carnal urges so great that he knows he must have you soon. Daemon’s fingers lower to your tight little cunt, checking to see how ready you are for his impending intrusion. A knowing grin spreads across his cheeks as he feels the silken wet state of your folds.

“Mmm,” he pulls off of your nipple, peering up at you with violet eyes full of mischief. “Are you holding back how much you desire me, little bird? You naughty thing. What will your husband think?”

You flush red and while he was hoping to see indignation, he’s not displeased with the look of yearning present instead. Had he actually managed to ensnare you with the capable way he handled your body? Had he charmed you into his grasp when it seemed impossible you might actually enjoy yourself? Your silence is complicity as far as he is concerned.

Daemon smirks up at you deviously before switching back to your left breast, his tongue dancing across the tender nub as his fingers test and prod at your entrance. He doesn’t feel a solid membrane, but one that has already been teased on multiple occasions, likely coaxed from the efforts of the wanton little dragonseed herself. He could take her virtue with very little pain and she might even find pleasure in the act.

Dragging creamy nectar up from your heat, he holds your hood back, pressing his middle finger to your swollen pearl with a light, circular motion. You jolt into him, leaning forward as though your knees might buckle with even the slightest of coaxing from his touch.

He does not relent, continuing his attentions to both of your breathtaking breasts as he caresses the peak of your sex with practiced grace. You begin to whine, flinching your shoulders with every nip and suck of your tender nipples, your body becoming overly sensitive with his continued ministrations.

Daemon can feel the tension in your body rising and knows that you are ready for him. And not a moment too soon, he muses to himself, lest he lose his fucking mind with desperate need of you.

He stands up suddenly, gently walking you back a couple steps. He then picks you up into his arms with one fluid motion before depositing you with careful precision onto the bed. You look up at him with big eyes, dilated black with arousal as he climbs on top of you.

“You are a sight to behold, dear girl,” he says hoarsely, his voice heavy with desire. “I will not regret this joining and nor should you.” You look bewildered, a flurry of emotions all rolled into one, acutely aware and fuzzy at the same time.

For the first time, Daemon kisses you, and the feeling is like molten lava blazing through his heart and pooling in his gut. His cock is hard and threatening against your thighs, seeking entry with every jerk and twitch. His tongue sinks through your parted lips, dipping into the heat of your mouth, wanting to consume you whole.

He parts from your lips with an intake of breath, declaring gruffly, “You know that you belong to me now?”

With your quiet acceptance, Daemon positions his head at your core, pressing in just enough to fit snugly against your entrance. Leaning down once more, he cradles your back in his arms and presses another kiss to your lips. He needs to keep you distracted, his tongue dancing with yours, keeping you from dwelling too long on unavoidable pain. Gods knew, the feel of your passionate kiss was enough to divert his attention away from all meaningful thought besides the easing of your hurt.

Without warning, Daemon thrusts into you, breaking through your virtue as he holds you tightly. You cry out in startled agony as his length enters you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes at the sudden flash of pain. He holds position within you, soothing you with hushed whispers and gentle kisses through the worst of it.

As he thought, you are not upset for long, within moments already wiggling your hips around his swollen cock and hungry for more. He can’t help but grin with smug satisfaction at the way your body begs for more without speaking any words. Daemon will give you exactly what you crave. In fact, he loves how quickly you’ve become his little bird, his sweet harlot, forsaking your new husband for him in no more than a hand’s width of daylight.

He winces as he begins to move again; the way your cunt clings to his intruding cock for dear life is almost too much to bear. Daemon pulls back slightly to take you in and is not disappointed by the way your pretty lips are spread and panting out quick breaths of ecstasy. He had not lied to you, he’d certainly been with his fair share of maidens. None have come close to matching the beauty of your deliverance from chastity. You take to his girth with aplomb, to the act of love-making with a passionate, melodious abandon.

Daemon would watch your blissfully lurid expression, listen to your dulcet of sinful delectation, all day if he could. But, it’s not long before he can tell that your little cunny is going to give him trouble. If it hadn’t been so long since the last time he knew a pleasure better than his fucking hand, he might be able to deal with you. But, you are so fucking tight and he’s so wound up, that he opts to go out with a clash of smacking flesh. If he cannot make you peak this time, then he most certainly will on the next try, and he will most certainly take you again.

Your lilting moans drive him closer to the edge, pushing him faster than he’d like. Rearing up onto his knees, he clutches your hips tightly and spreads you across his lap. Daemon desperately tries to push you along to your climax, knowing it will be a race that he is likely to lose. He’s not expecting the intense response you give him or the way your hips buck as he coaxes your pearl to completion.

His eyes widen in disbelief, wincing as your pelvis seizes and you clamp down on him with a force so powerful it undoes him. “Fuccccking Hells!” he growls out sounding like a gruff animal as your walls milk his seed forth. Daemon’s member pulses violently, your muscles finally letting up only to begin rolling in waves across his length. “Gods fucking damn, girl!” he steadies himself against the bed, almost falling on top of you in the process.

His release lurches through his body, demanding and powerful as he erupts into you. He is faintly aware of the way your chanting with delight, muttering something incoherent while your small hands remain fastened to his back, holding onto him. The overwhelming rush finally passes and he is left feeling weak, breathless, but oh so fucking good.

Daemon wilts onto you, pressing a contented kiss against your lips. He’s not entirely surprised, but is still pleased when your hands find the back of his neck, deepening the kiss with vehemence. He feels the musculature of your inner lining contract upon his cock again and shakes his head as he parts from your lips.

“No. No more of that,” he gripes, still too sensitive to take that kind of abuse.

He recoils as he withdraws from you, unable to believe how big his cock looks, not fully hard, but still excessively fat considering. Daemon lies down beside you, wrapping his arm behind you and pulling you close.

You come willingly, cuddling into the crook of his arm as your hungry fingers roam about his jerkin.

And then it dawns on him, that in his impatience, he never even bothered to fully disrobe. He dutifully unfastens the clasps on his leather vest, displacing you for a moment as he tosses it aside and tears off his doublet.

“There,” he says with confidence. “Now you can have the full show.”

You laugh, a mirthful sound that makes his heart ache in a good way. Gods, he had really needed to get in a good plowing. He can feel all of his anger and tension melting away as he takes you back into his arms.

“So? Was it all bad?” he asks, fishing for compliments because he loves to hear them. He’d especially welcome them from a stubborn creature such as yourself.

Quietly, you shake your head, seeming at a loss for words. He could understand. A lot had happened in such a short amount of time. He’d essentially stolen you from the path you’d been traveling, plucked you up for himself without your say so. Daemon wouldn’t prod you to talk about it now that his appetites were sated, wouldn’t tease you about your husband now that he had claimed you fully.

He raises a brow as you speak unexpectedly, listening intently for your first real words since he’d imposed himself upon you.

“It was enjoyable,” you answer respectfully, your lusting eyes betraying your true feelings as your hands rove over his now bare chest, eager for more.

“Only enjoyable, little bird?” he decides to tease you a little bit, just for fun.

That mellifluous laugh returns, making him smile genuinely as he gazes upon you. Daemon strokes your back, relishing in the warm plushness of your skin as he settles into bed.

“Why do you keep calling me little bird?” she asks instead of padding his ego. “I am a dragon just as you… Am I not?”

His whole face lights up with a self-satisfied smirk. “Oh, are you a dragon now? I thought you were just a little bird.”

“I am a seed,” you contend with him, far more seriously than he expects you should. “I am of your line too.” You run your fingers into your disheveled hair, twirling cornsilk strands as evidence.

“Well, yes, but you are not quite a dragon. It’s true you have wings and the means to fly, but that does not make a dragon, my delicate little bird,” he cannot help but say it with a mocking tone, enjoying your reactions too much to let it go.

You dare a fearless smack at his chest, indignant and pouting. He would normally kill someone for laying hands on him in any manner of disrespect, but Daemon does not mind it from you in this moment.

“Perhaps, you do have some fire in you yet,” he taunts you with amusement. You look at him wide eyed as though he’s about to admit that you are a dragon just as he is. You make this too easy. He chuckles as he continues to rib you, “I’ll call you my firebird then. I think that suits you nicely.”

Daemon’s brow winks with humor as you take another swing at him. He holds your arms down to your sides as he pulls you on top of him. He let’s you go as your annoyance settles, regarding you fondly as he tucks loose tresses of silvery hair behind your ears.

“I hope you know that I’m going to come back for you again and again, my little firebird,” he utters in a lower tone, his voice taking on a more serious quality now.

You give him a twisted look of both gladness and remorse, your mind unable to decide whether this is a good or a bad thing.

“Do you care for your husband?” he asks earnestly, not pleased with the idea of another man laying hands on you. “I can conscript him to the queen’s army if you wish to free yourself from him. You need only ask.”

You look torn, but he can tell you’re considering his words carefully. “He is not a bad man as far as I know. The marriage was selected by my mother, my husband earns a living well enough to pay my way.”

It bothers Daemon to hear you call the man your husband, even if it’s true. He considers killing the man masquerading as your groom for you should undoubtedly belong entirely to him and no other.

“Paying your way will no longer be an issue. I will ensure that you are financially supported from this day forth, but I will not give you up,” he hears the words spilling from his mouth and feels like an old fool. He’d celebrated too many namedays to be spewing this lovesick shit? He couldn’t help it though. You stoked a fire inside of him that made him feel alive and vibrant, he needed to keep burning with you.

“I appreciate that,” you offer with a small, but hesitant smile. “I’m sure my mother will be thrilled. She has always tried to make sure I’m well looked after. It’s unfortunate you could not find me a day sooner. I’m not sure how to face him now,” she says with a trembling lip. “He will expect to bed me. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to. It would make me nothing but a whore.”

“Hush,” Daemon says disagreeably. “Don’t say such things.” He finds himself cradling your sweet head against his chest, hating how true your words are and that he is the one responsible for your situation. He must make it his own responsibility to free you from it then.

“I’ll pull you to castle staff then,” he offers, grasping at possible solutions. It would not be wise to tempt Rhaenyra’s wrath under her own roof, but it would be a means to separate you from your husband at least temporarily, until something more lasting could be devised. There were many positions that would keep you far from his wife’s vicinity as well, if she would even notice that he had taken a lover to begin with.

He might also simply murder the bastard and be done with it, but it might be nice to have you close by in Dragonstone too for opportunistic dalliances.

You begin to protest the idea of going to work at the castle, but he won’t hear any of it and interrupts you. “I will give you a choice then, in recompense for what I’ve taken from you. Will you stay with me, little firebird, or with your husband?” He peers at you with thoughtful bluish-red irises, waiting to hear your answer. He has already decided that he will abide by whatever ruling you make, at least for a time. If you wish to bed your husband as well as him, then that will be your prerogative.

“I do not wish to stay with my husband,” you say quicker than he anticipated.

“Well,” he practically gloats with a mischievous grin. “You’ll be coming home with me then.” Daemon presses a happy kiss against your lips, the sight of your bosom sinfully crushed against his chest sends a pang of desire to his cock, signaling it for action. “But, we might as well make good use of the room first. It was graciously afforded to us after all.”

Daemon reaches down to grip your hips, letting forth a hiss of air as he positions you on his already rigid length. You, his little firebird, would be keeping his flame kindled all this day and perhaps all night as well, with many more to follow. You were his now, born from a threat and remade into a promise that he intended to keep. Dragonseed has officially been continued! Read Chapter 2

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession (Pt 5)

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Warning: Suggestive language

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon (Strong!Reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You do not understand,” Y/N protests. “I need to see my brother, he must be tended first. If he dies, my mother will kill me.”

“If you die, the King shall kill us.” The grand maester taps her chin. “Let’s see the damage.”

Y/N moves her hand from her shoulder. “How bad is it?”

The maester begins cutting away surrounding fabric to reveal the extent of her wound. An open, oozing gash, torn clean from one side through the another.

Alicent rushes in, “what have you done?” She demands.

“Aemond is dead.” Y/N whispers, “I killed him.”

“I meant to yourself, what have you done to yourself?” Alicent demands.

“He stabbed me, and he fell.”

“What of the dragons?”

“Baela and Moondancer are searching for Jaecerys and Vermax. Vhagar is dead, as best I can tell.”

Alicent holds a hand to her head.

“Mayhaps you might look in on my husband?” Y/N says, “tell him I am well and that I love him.”

“You expect me to lie to my injured son?”

“Only the first part would be untrue.” Y/N arches a brow.

“Drink this, your grace. For the pain.” The maester presents her a black vile, milk of the poppy. “We’re going to pack the wound.”

Y/N’s eyes widen, “why?”

“I fear the blade must’ve twisted, your grace. The area has been gouged clean. There is not enough flesh for a stitch to hold.”

“Seven hells,” Y/N grimaces, chugging it down.

Even milk of the poppy does little to dull the pain as they begin pressing against the wound. Her screams can be heard echoing the Red Keep for less than a minute, before she faints.

————————————————————————-

“And now I need you to wake, sister.” A voice says, reaching Y/N in her dreamless sleep.

“Jace, she needs time.”

“There is no time.”

Y/N groans, willing her eyes to open.

Jacaerys pats the side of her face, “there you are.”

“You’re alive?” Y/N croaks out, blinking at him in the dim light.

“As are you.” Her brother says, simply, “at present Daemon’s army is marching on us from Harrenhal and mother is on her way for the throne.”

“That is no matter,” Y/N says, “we were only ever holding it for her.”

Baela looks to her betrothed.

“Sister,” he takes her hand, “what is expected of our mother now…to truly seize power, you understand what it would cost?”

“Aegon is in no state to bend the knee, I’m sure if I could speak with her-”

“I fear there may be no chance, if you, yourself, do not provide a show of strength.”

“Helaena has Dreamfyre and I have Stormborn, my children’s dragons are small. Sunfyre is gone.” Y/N reminds them.

“You’ve Vermax and Moondancer.”

Y/N looks to her brother.

“We will stand with you.” Baela assures her.

“Against our mother, you will stand with me?”

“Surely you have not done this for a crown, which would’ve been yours in time. You have done it for Aegon.” Jace sighs, “he is an idiot, but from what I understand, he loves and cares for you.”

“He does,” Y/N nods.

“He has been in talks with our mother for some time, attempting to make terms. That is why he lies injured.” Jace tells her, “his raven did not arrive in time and Rhaenys thought it an attack levied against her. Still I do not wish for his head.”

“Do you think she would do it?” Y/N wonders, “kill him in front of me?”

“You have not seen her these past weeks, since Luce’s death, I cannot say what she’ll do.” Jace loves his mother, fiercely, but he loves his sister too.

“We can anticipate even less of my father’s movements,” Baela admits. “He’s not returned to Dragonstone in nearly as long.”

“I hope to resolve this peacefully.”

“I do not believe our mother thirsts for Aegon’s blood, this is merely a precaution.” Jacaerys tells her. “You must dress, prepare the dragons and the King’s Guard, we do not have much time.”

“We will also raise the smallfolk, they will stand with us.” Y/N says, crying out as she sits upright. “And Aemond’s body, make sure it’s found. I plan to make a gift of it to our mother.”

Jacaerys nods, taking Baela’s hand and setting off to their tasks.

Chérie comes to dress her, pulling out the red dress Rhaenyra gifted her daughter as a symbol of solidarity on the day of Lucerys’ petition. A show of force against the Hightowers, even as she stood beside them.

Y/N shakes her head. “Bring me the green dress.”

Chérie swallows hard, “at once, your grace.”

The green dress is arguably the most beautiful gown she owns. A gold hand embroidered tapestry over emerald green satin. A wedding gift from Aegon. She’s never worn it, save for his rooms upon request, or to have it fitted after the births of their children. This day she stands for her husband and his house. This day she wears Hightower green.

She passes her husband’s apartments on her way to the throne room, turning the knob with familiarity. “Where are the children?”

Aegon looks to her, “in with the maids, shrouded by guards, my darling. I’ve just had the wounds dressed, I did not want them to see.”

Y/N nods, “of course.”

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Aegon smiles.

Y/N shifts between feet. “Thank you, my love. I am headed to the throne room to meet with my mother and discuss terms of the succession.”

Aegon holds a hand out to her, “come.”

Y/N closes the distance between them, lacing their fingers together as she stands at the side of his bed.

“If her only want is my head, let her have it.”

“What?” Y/N reels back, “no.”

“Hush now and listen,” he insists. “My body is broken, the maesters say I will never be whole. You will be free to remarry-”

“Stop it.”

“A fitting father for our children.” Aegon continues, “so long as I live, I will only stand in your way.”

“No,” Y/N tears her hand away from him, “you’re wrong.”

“I say this out of love,” he insists.

“No harm will come to you. Those are my terms, I present my mother with the throne, and the body of the man who killed her child. I offer her the peace I have made and all the good with it. It is nonnegotiable.”

“It needn’t be this way,” Aegon tells her.

“You’re mine, Aegon.” Y/N insists, “my husband, my confidant, my dearest friend. You are still all of those things to me, however many times I need say it, however many years it takes for you to believe me, I have time. We have time.”

Aegon sighs, “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”

“A punishment for something, surely.” Y/N lets out a laugh.

Aegon shakes his head, “a gift from the gods.”

Y/N presses a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back.”

“I will be here.”

Y/N closes the doors to her husband’s chambers behind her. “Stay with my husband.” She orders Cole, waiting to collect her in the hallway.

“Your grace, I am needed at your side.” He says.

“No, you will stay here and defend my fucking husband as though your life depends on it, and best believe it does.”

————————————————————————

Rhaenyra meets Daemon along the gates of the Red Keep. The streets are lined with smallfolk and the occasional yellow cloak, clearing a path for them.

Aegon the fourth begins to fuss in his grandsire’s arms.

“I’ll take him,” Rhaenyra offers. The babe quiets almost instantly.

“He well and truly does not like me.”

Rhaenyra only laughs. “It happens that way sometimes, I’m afraid. Though it may help if you smile.”

Daemon scoffs.

The line of bystanders continues down to the throne room, where Jacaerys and Baela stand on either side of Y/N, at the iron throne.

“This is quite the battalion you’ve assembled, daughter.” Rhaenyra remarks, “do you plan to challenge my claim?”

“Not in the least,” Y/N assures her. “I should like nothing more than to see you sit this throne. But I do have terms of my own.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“First and foremost, the guaranteed safety of Aegon and our children.”

“And what of Aemond?” Rhaenyra wonders.

“Bring him,” Y/N says, to the guards.

Daemon watches as a large black sack is carted in and laid at Rhaenyra’s feet.

“I slain him myself, with the help of my brother and his betrothed.” Y/N tells them, “you may see for yourself. Though I must warn you, he fell from the sky. The sight is not a pretty one.”

Daemon is the one to tear back the fabric and confirm that it is, in fact Aemond. Nodding to his wife.

“What other terms do you have?” Rhaenyra asks.

“Alicent, Helaena and her children.” Y/N swallows, “I wish for their safety as well.”

Rhaenyra pauses, as if to consider.

“You should also know that these guards and the smallfolk which line our halls are here for me. In my name, for my claim, not Aegon’s. The White Hart appeared for me; they follow me.”

“And who do you serve?”

“You, mother. Same as I always have.”

“You will bend the knee?” Rhaenyra purses her lips.

“Now, if it pleases you.” Y/N assures her, “so long as my terms are met.”

Rhaenyra nods, “very well. I should like to be crowned in the dragon pit, where I will reaffirm your title as my heir.”

Y/N takes a deep breath as she rises, approaching her mother and taking Aegon IV in her arms. “Thank you, my Queen.”

“Mother.” Rhaenyra corrects her, gently.

————————————————————————

Over the next weeks, Aegon grows tired of lying about. His unlikely budding friendship with Lord Larys seems to be the culprit.

Y/N is halfway to Aegon’s bedchamber when she hears his pained cries. Rushing in to find him collapsed on the floor.

“I can’t, I can’t.” Aegon protests as the grand maester attempts to bring him upright.

“I am so sorry, your grace.” Orwyle apologizes.

“Leave him.” Y/N shoos him away, “leave him.”

“Your grace,” the maester sighs, allowing Aegon to rest against the floor, “I must get him back to bed.”

“I will do it.” Y/N shakes her head.

“My Princess, surely with your injuries you cannot.”

“If I should need your assistance I will call upon you, Grand Maester. At present, I require a quiet word with my husband.”

The maester nods, “yes, your grace.”

Y/N waits until the doors close behind him to address her husband. “Aegon, I know how dearly you desire to walk again. But it has been but a moon turn since you arrived here in such a state they could not say if you would live. You must remain abed.”

“You did not marry a crippled man.” Aegon bites out, bitterly. “I did not father children as a crippled man.”

“You did not marry me with one arm that may never rise above my head or a scar across my face.” Y/N reminds him.

“My cock is ruined, did I tell you that?” Aegon laments, “it is burnt and disgusting, they do not believe it will rise.”

Y/N sighs, lying down at his side, “allow me to worry about that.”

“It is not you.” Aegon explains, “my love, I cannot bear to look upon my own reflection. I do not know the man staring back at me.”

“I hear your words, husband. You are entitled to this grief. But you needn’t punish yourself for it, nor face it alone. We will fight this battle together, as man and wife.”

“It is difficult for me, allowing you to see me in this state of disrepair, I am…they tell me I will never be whole.”

“My heart aches for you,” Y/N tells him, “but I do not pity you. I believe in you.”

Aegon nods, “you’ve no idea how much it pleases me to hear you say this.”

“You are different, I will not deny this. But different needn’t always be a bad thing. However different our circumstances, I can appreciate the distaste for one’s own reflection. I have felt it most my life, I do not look the part of a Targaryen Princess.”

Aegon exhales, looking to his wife. “You are devastatingly beautiful, the fact that you cannot see it is a tragedy all its own.”

“I love this body because you are in it, not the other way round. When you are no longer in pain, we’re going to train your cock, like a dragon to heel.” Y/N points a finger toward it. “Dohaeris, Rȳbās,” serve, obey.

“Ow, fuck,” Aegon protests clutching his side as he laughs.

Y/N covers her mouth to stop her own outburst.

By the time the Grand Maester rushes in, they are curled up on the floor, cackling like animals and holding their wounds. “Your graces!”

Aegon mutters to his wife, some form of gibberish, only she seems to understand.

Nodding as she chokes out, “lykiri.” Be calm. Sending them into such a state the Grand Maester simply excuses himself, without another word.

“Is everything alright?” Alicent asks, standing with a hand to her heart just beyond the door.

He smiles, “the road ahead is long and painful, but his grace laughs. He has joy.”

“And Y/N?” Alicent wonders, “how is she?”

“The wound is clean but slow to heal.”

“Is the arm lost to her?” Will it move?

“There will be pain, but it moves even now.” He rests a hand on Alicent’s shoulder, “better days in due time, your grace.”

Series Taglist: @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark @lovelyteenagebeard @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @callsignwidow @hyde-jpg @novelswithariana @klutzylaena @ynbutbetter @ravenqueen27 @danart501 @woodlandwrites @saraiadg @tempo-rary-fix @lxdyred @supernaturalstilinski @httpvomitello @dd122004dd @shadowrose13-blog1 @dracaryxzs @magictrump @vee-mage @mrs-starkgaryen @labellapeaky @multifandom-loser @minttea07 @blackdiamond2317 @baybaybear1 @tea-effect @heavenly1927 @sabyreads @champomiel @8812-342

[marshmellin]

What’s the Elvish Word for “Fine”?

Rated I for (angry) Idiots in Love: 5.8K words, Thranduil x unnamed/undescribed mortal woman, 2nd person POV, no use of y/n Rated mature for language only, "arranged marriage" in a political sense with consent between willing adults, they’re big mad but is it anger or just being stupid?

No beta, we die like Thranduil's first wife who is not mentioned

You rounded the corner and stopped suddenly. Thranduil was sitting on Carasta’s desk. Sitting was the wrong term. Lounging.  “Hello, wife.”  He was in dark, silvery robes without his crown, his long legs propped up against a chair. With a far-too-broad smile on his face.  Something stupid was happening. 

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

//

“It is infuriating that you keep putting up this long –” – slam – “ – infuriating – ” – slam – “ – show – ” – slam —. “I can not want you in the way you want me.” Cold blue eyes stared at you, waiting for the outburst, the anger he so desperately wanted to bloom across your face. 

When Thranduil started to feel something – anything – stirring in his chest, he started a fight. You noticed the two of you fought often. More so now than at the beginning of your not-quite-a-marriage two years ago. You did not think it a coincidence, but what the hell did you know?

You’d thought you’d entered a partnership with someone civil. 

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you kept your face still. “And what, exactly, makes you think I want you, Thranduil?” You let just a little sarcasm creep in. 

He narrowed his cold eyes, evaluating you. 

The issue was, however: You did want him. 

In the last two years, you had come to want him very much, though you admit you are unsure how it started given his general demeanor. 

Well, that’s a lie. He’s an elf. And he is particularly attractive for an elf, at that. His face alone gives his behavior a pass for the first three, maybe four encounters. 

But this behavior was not one of his better looks and you’d have no issue turning this version of the Elvenking down for the rest of your very mortal life. 

White hot fury flashed across his face. “You know what I mean. Constantly, you show it. And I can not — will not — respond the way you want!”

You leaned back in your chair. “I do not know what you mean, Thranduil” you said firmly, shaking your head exaggeratedly. “What is it that I show you?”  --You weren’t showing him sex or physical affection, certainly so – “What is it that you claim to see from me that you can not respond to, Thranduil?”

The more you said his name, the angrier he would get, which is why you kept doing it. Thranduil all but snaked his way to gripping the desk across from you, leaning over your papers. Curtains of snow-white hair hanging between you as he glared down at you. Not exactly giving you "the high ground” so to speak, but the fact that he came this close to you meant he was already on his back foot. 

“You…are….constantly…HERE. You ask after me, you bring me food, you manage to interrupt me during every letter I’ve written in the last four weeks. You bring me books you think I might like, you leave me letters about your work. I do not know how to respond to you. I have been alone in these chambers for centuries and yet you are HERE. I do not want this and I do not want you. And I do not know why you continue to make this arrangement so difficult by pretending.”

You blinked at that, tilting your head. Slowly. You were giving him time to suss it out on his own. 

But his rage was icy, bathed in wine from dinner, and he didn’t seem to know how to do math in the cold. 

You set the quill down and steepled your fingers, elbows resting on the desk as you looked up at him looming above you. 

Fine. 

“Everything you have just ‘accused’ me of is what spouses do, Thranduil. Husbands and wives. Partners. Bluntly, you bought yourself a wife, ThranduilI, through an even exchange: you have a skilled negotiator and queen, my uncle’s people have food and protection.”

Muscles in his jaw worked and he opened his mouth, “That is not–”

You held up a hand, cutting him off. “Ah-aht, no, Thranduil. No. You said what you wanted to say both tonight and many other nights. And now you will let me do the same.” 

The look on his face didn’t change, but his mouth snapped shut. 

It might do him some good to shut up for a moment, even if it gave you heartburn to demand it.

“It weighs on my heart that someone asking after your wellbeing startles you so,” you said steadily, fingers tapping against the desk as if making an observation that it was raining outside – but the truth of it stung you. 

It did hurt that he was so…that he thought someone making sure he ate was…

It was heartbreaking. 

But, it was becoming increasingly clear, his heart was not yours to mend. 

You sighed again. At this point you were sighing more often than breathing. “Thank you for this final, clear message that you take no pleasure in our” — marriage? Partnership? It had never been one — “contract. I will make my thoughts equally as plain: I have one job in Greenwood. It is to be your wife and queen. And in truth, it’s a shitty job, but I’m going to do it as best as I can, Thranduil. I agree, our quarters are not ideal and I will leave for another part of the palace within the week.”

Thranduil held your gaze. You cocked an eyebrow. You thought you saw another muscle in his jaw twitch, but you weren’t sure. 

When he finally spoke, his tone was softer, which you had not expected. “I do not want to…put on a show….”

Your eyebrows shot up at that. You were done being lectured. “You purchased a fucking show, Thranduil. Now you are angry when it’s performed for you? Fine. That is your choice, and I am happy to stop acting like this is a working partnership.” You snorted and broke eye contact, reaching down to pick up your quill. 

Head down, squinting at the parchment, you did your best to dismiss him. It had taken you an extraordinary amount of effort to say all of this to him, for several reasons, and you could not look him in the eye any longer. 

Firstly, fuck him for coming in to your study, knocking books around and talking too loudly after you both just sat through an entrant for Arda’s Most Boring Banquet award and smiled as his queen was supposed to. King Amdír’s son Amroth wasn’t exactly the best conversationalist and yet, converse you had with the obnoxious Silvan. 

And you were feeling quite unappreciated at this moment, considering you’d also negotiated an agreement for open trade of leather goods from Amroth’s father during the dinner. While Thranduil drank — a reminder that he is, at least, two glasses in — and muttered every time you stood near him at a respectful distance. 

Secondly, this was the only time you had ever thought about your relationship with Thranduil as a contract that he did not seem to understand. 

You knew what was being exchanged. The elven-ness of it all had been jarring at first, yes, but you knew from a young age you would enter a political marriage and you had been raised for one. Binding your family and your people to the largest local realm ruled by a nearly-immortal being was a solid strategy to ensure your great, great, great-grandchildren would be protected and fed -- and it was the equivalent of a 10-year contract to someone like Thranduil. You had no qualms about this, and you entered the agreement with him with open eyes, as equals. 

Yet, you had not probed deeply into his understanding of it until today. Of what partnership meant to him. In any way. 

Leaving behind a book he may find interesting? About a topic, if you recalled correctly — and you know you did — he discussed during dinner once and noted he wished to understand better. 

That was too much after two years of knowing each other? Of knowing each other in any capacity? Even just as a member of his court, much less his wife? 

If so, he had a very weak understanding of any kind of partnership, marriage or otherwise, and you truly had expected more from him. 

Thirdly, you did not want to leave his chambers or stop asking how he was or stop bringing him books he may like or leaving notes about your day. As irritable and obnoxious and, honestly, unpleasant as Thranduil could be…. 

You found him endearing in those milliseconds he allowed himself to feel anything but anger. All together, he was many negative things, yes. But he was also protective of his family and his people, wise in how he negotiated relationships with neighboring kingdoms and the High Elves. He was well-read and, when he allowed himself to show it, he had this wonderful wit and charm that was…well, he was charming. 

You had been charmed. 

And over the last two years of this arrangement, you learned you wanted to be his wife in more than just contractual terms. You think you’ve fallen in love with him. And you know you want him to want you in return. 

But. 

He just said plainly that he did not want that. That he did not want you. 

And if this is where you were, then this is where you were. Your options were limited, your contract signed, and your choices made. 

You had not expected to find love here. Confirming it was absent didn’t change a damn thing, and at this point it did not sting. Your job was to negotiate contracts on behalf of Thranduil Oropherion, the Elvenking and to attend events as his Queen. 

That was it.

Leaving him books or being pleasant was not part of the contract you signed. 

Your thoughts drifted aimlessly, landing on the question of how you would like your new chambers laid out — since a large takeaway from this conversation was that spending time in the same room — palace — realm — continent — with you angered him. 

The conjoined study layout here was not ideal. Thranduil had a tendency to shout profanities at his correspondence before replying in a more civil manner. You had grown accustomed to it — even smiling on occasion when he invented new ways to swear at Thorin or Celeborn — but perhaps it was best to avoid that distraction now that you were.... 

Well, if Thranduil is not near me, it doesn’t matter if the rooms are conjoined or not. 

With a small sigh, you noted that request with an asterisk to return to later. 

You were halfway through the next line when you realized he had. not. moved. At all. Not even an inch. He was still staring at the top of your head as you wrote, long hair falling into the space between you. 

Why? This conversation, much like your illusions of ever having a civil working relationship, was over. 

You set the quill aside gently as you looked up to meet his eyes. "Yes, Thranduil?"

“So, that is what it was, then?”

Furrowing your brow, you shook your head in confusion. “I don’t ... wait, what?” Your gaze met his. All the ice in his eyes had melted, but the rest of him moved stiffly as he leaned back, letting go of the desk. 

“Fine.”

He spun on his heel, hair flaring around him, and walked out. 

“Fine!” you shouted after him, half rising from the desk to make sure it carried to the next room. 

You weren’t sure why you were shouting at him, but you’d make sure you’d be the one to shout last. 

//

The next morning, you asked a courier to take your note to Thranduil requesting new chambers on the far side of the Halls. 'Note' was a generous term: it was a list of items for him to approve, signed with the first initial of your name. 

Warm, it was not. 

But the courier said he had been instructed “not to deliver messages to King Thranduil at this time, my lady. His majesty requests your presence in the throne room.”

You arched an eyebrow at that. 

“Very well, thank you for letting me know.” You waved your hand to dismiss the courier. 

“Ah,” he said softly, shifting uncomfortably. 

Thranduil. Are you familiar with an old saying from the lowlands? Bite my ass? If not, then it is unlikely you’re familiar with that phrase’s cousin, Go fuck yourself. I am happy to teach you both.

“Your majesty, I would be honored to, um, guard you as you travel to the throne room,” he ended weakly, because guarding a queen while she walked in her own halls was a ridiculous thing to suggest. 

Thranduil was doing something very stupid. You weren’t sure what, exactly, but you could sense it. 

“I appreciate the offer, Lieutenant, but I am not going to the throne room today.” Thranduil had, at least, taught you a few tricks for leadership. Or, more accurately, intimidation. 

The young ellon looked very torn, as if repeating hierarchy structures in his head and continually arriving at the conclusion that Thranduil was at the top. “Your maj—“ 

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.” Yes, the Elvenking was at the top of all of those hierarchies, but you rested just beneath him. 

…Well…

The guard left. 

So you used this opportunity to take the scroll he would not deliver to Thranduil, and went to look for Carasta, Thranduil’s private secretary. Walking from your section of your chambers through Thranduil’s, your goal was getting to Carsasta’s work table on the far side of the suite. You would provide him with the list of your requests. If Thranduil didn’t want to accept your request from Carasta, that was fine. You would find the nearest builder and take the walls down yourself, but you were not spending one more minute sharing your chambers with Thranduil than either of you wished to. 

You rounded the corner and stopped suddenly. Thranduil was sitting on Carasta’s desk. Sitting was the wrong term. Lounging. 

“Hello, wife.” 

He was in dark, silvery robes without his crown, his long legs propped up against a chair. With a far-too-broad smile on his face. 

Something stupid was happening. 

“King Thranduil,” you said, inclining your head. 

“Melethnín,” he said softly, his eyes going wide. “What brings you here? I hoped you would join me in the main hall.” 

My love? You cocked an eyebrow. “I am simply leaving a note for Carasta regarding my chambers,” you said evenly, reaching around Thranduil’s long form to place the scroll on Carasta’s desk. You didn’t even want to guess how he made it from the throne room to Carasta’s desk that fast. 

Was he even in the throne room or did he know you’d ignore him?

“Ah, I am eager to read this,” Thranduil said happily, picking up the scroll and opening it. 

It took everything in you not to snatch it from him. Even though he had been the original recipient. 

Icy eyes skimming your notes, he tsked loudly. “Ah, melethnín, this is not sufficient. Not at all! I would not have you move so far from our shared quarters. Mmm, no, we shall draft a new plan together. It is only right for a queen to have a full suite for her study and work, verinya.”

My love. My wife. 

So, something very stupid. 

You sighed. “Thranduil. I am moving my chambers to the other side of the Halls.”

He shook his head, his face the picture of innocence as he rolled up the scroll and hid it away in his robes — where, you didn’t know, because his robes were almost skintight. “I do not want you to leave our chambers.”

“I’ll write another request, king.”

“I’ll intercept it, queen.”

“Thranduil.”

“Melethnín.”

 A long pause. 

“You asked me to leave you alone.”

He shook his head firmly. “No, I said you were always here.”

“You shouted that you wanted space.”

He cocked his head, arrogance on his face, as silver hair cascaded over his shoulder. “I did not. I acknowledge I raised my voice in a very unrefined way, for which I do truly apologize. But I did not demand space apart from you. And on either account, I find I have changed my mind, verinya.”

My wife. 

“You will find I have not, veronya.” You spun on your heel and walked out. 

You heard him raise his voice mockingly, calling, “I haven’t interrupted your day, have I, my love?” at your back as you left. 

“No. You’re fine,” you gritted out loudly as you stomped out. 

“Fine,” came the muted reply from three rooms away. 

// 

Two months later, and Thranduil had not stopped yet, though his tone had grown less mocking, at least. 

He came to you for every meal — and he managed to carry on many thoughtful conversations despite the one-word replies you often gave. He brought you books — frustratingly, the titles were interesting, and he had clearly listened to you at some point to pick them out. He came to ask you questions while you wrote letters and arranged new trade agreements — his comments were obnoxiously helpful and pertinent. 

Thranduil seemed to think that acting pleasant toward you was a punishment of some kind. 

And it was, because it felt like a perverse game. He was showing you what you could have if you…if he….

Well, you weren’t sure what. Something you could not have? He had been very clear. And, you knew, he could be very petty. 

Thranduil also seemed to be playing more than one game, particularly by calling you every pet name devised by Elves or Men — and you think you caught a Dwarven term of endearment or two in there as well, so clearly he was not aware of the origins of the term or he never would have uttered it in his halls.  

And yet you did not know why he continued this game for so long. But you suspected the other shoe would drop at some point. 

It was the second time that evening he had scooted his chair closer to yours, the two of you practically sharing a desk. 

“May I suggest you add another clause here — we can’t be held responsible for orc raids. Transfer of ownership occurs when the wine leaves our barges, even if within our borders. I have spoken with Celeborn on this point already, and told him it was not up for discussion.” He tapped a long finger on the side of your paper and looked down, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Don’t let him go around us, melethnín.”

He kept breaking your heart with this game, and you were done. 

“Thranduil, stop.”

The smile slipped from his face. “Ah. Of course. I’ll leave you to it,” he murmured gently, turning back to his side of the desk. 

When did we pick sides of the same desk?

You sighed and stood, creating some distance between the two of you. 

You were done. It was done now. 

“You have made your point. I understand. You think it’s suffocating. That I am suffocating. I understand. I understood this two months ago when you told me that you would remain married to me —  unwillingly — if I left you alone. And I have moved to limit our interactions since then. I understand what you want.“

You held back a scream, but did not manage to stop a snarl from escaping somewhere deep in your chest. “I will never send you a book ever again, on my oath to Varda and Manwë, I will never speak to you outside a royal function ever again. Please, just stop.”

Thranduil stood as well, rising fluidly and pausing to gently place his chair under his half of the — under the desk. He was, well, patient as he turned to face you, a surprising softness in his eyes. 

“I changed my—“

“— yes, Thranduil, you changed your damn mind about the damn rooms. I heard you. I have not changed mine. I am not asking you to alter our marriage contract here, okay, this is a small thing. I want to move to my own study — per your request — and I cannot understand why you have fixated on this so strongly.”

He did not want you to leave this space. Yet he did not want you to stay in this space. 

No option was good enough for him.  

You crossed your arms. You had seen him be petulant before but two months? You finally met his gaze and it was exactly what you were expecting. Anger blossoming across his face, that one small muscle in his cheek that always twitched. 

“Contract.”

“Fine. Contract.” You threw your hands up in frustration and started rummaging through the desk. “If you want to read the damn thing to ensure I’m following it, I’ll tell you right now there are exactly zero requirements around—”

“Carasta’s files are much more organized,” Thranduil said icily. 

You looked up, letting the papers in your hands scatter to the desktop. “Marry Carasta then, goddamnit. I don’t care.” You were so tired it came out as a flat statement. 

Taking a deep breath, Thranduil seemed to try again, looking for patience in himself you had never seen him find. 

“I don’t want to be married to Carasta,” he said simply, managing to keep his voice steady. “I want to understand.”

You furrowed your brow even more. He wasn’t making sense.

“You aren’t making sense.” 

A small growl escaped him. “What is it that you want? You…I didn’t understand what you meant by…” he huffed and managed to do so haughtily. “Was it a show or not?”

“Was what a show?” You looked around the room, as if expecting to spot the audience, and let your hands drop to your legs in a clapping sound. “The only person complicating this is you. I have stopped reaching out, as you have asked. Why are you fighting—“

“So it was.” He spun on his heel again. 

Oh, I think the fuck not. You were absolutely not doing this for another two months. You were a patient woman but you had limits. Honestly, one limit. And you had reached it. 

You snatched at his arm, grabbing a layer of his cape, which allowed him to walk several more feet before feeling any resistance. 

“Stop. Oh, for fuck’s sake, just stop.”

“I am stopping,” he replied through gritted teeth, hair swinging as he jerked his head to look at you. “I am done.”

You imagined you heard the sound of the other shoe dropping on a marble floor somewhere far away.

You both stood still for a long moment, your hand holding the edge of his cape like an awkward flag between the two of you. His eyes were still white flame, staring into the distance, not meeting yours. The set of his shoulders and the jut of his chin said he wanted to argue again. 

That he was feeling something. 

Why? Done with what? 

“What are you done with?”

Thranduil shrugged your hand off his cape and swept it dramatically behind him. “This. Because you...I thought you did not and then I thought you did, and now it is clear my first impression was correct and you do not. I have approached this incorrectly twice now. I will not attempt it a third. You have been clear.”

You cocked your head at him. The two of you hadn’t used a meaningful noun in quite some time during this argument. You knew that was the type of risk that had to be corrected immediately. 

No one was ever on the same page the first time. 

But you had a suspicion. 

“Define ‘this,’” you all but whispered. 

“Absolutely not. I am done speaking of it. I will not allow you to mock me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I’m not mocking you, I’m asking you a question. We have strayed so far from the start of this conversation that I fear we are saying the same thing and don’t know it.”

He glared at you. “That can’t—“

“Why has your behavior been so different the last two months?”

Thranduil shifted almost uncomfortably, but managed to keep venom in his tone. “You indicated this is the behavior of those who are partners.” A small pause, his voice turning sullen. “Of husbands and wives.”

It took all your focus not to move a single muscle in your face. “You indicated several times that you did not care for me to be your partner or your wife.”

“Yes,” he hissed, “But I changed my mind because I thought I had misunderstood before, and I do not know how to show that to you properly now.”

Thranduil started pacing, his long legs turning the study into two, maybe three steps at most before he spun again. His robes barely fit the space.  

No. This— No. You felt a laugh somewhere deep in your chest, but you forced it down in case he misunderstood. 

Which you both seemed to be doing often lately. 

“Tell me, specifically, what you are trying to show me,” you asked cautiously. 

This was not a time for miscommunication. You would stay here the rest of your mortal life if needed, but you would walk out of this room knowing what the fuck he meant. 

Because you thought you already knew. 

He shook his head, silver hair glinting in the firelight. 

“Thranduil.”

He was still shaking his head, glaring at the hearth, nearly shaking in anger. But he hadn’t left or slammed any doors, which was a good sign. 

One of the first things you had learned about negotiating, years ago when you first followed your uncle to his council meetings as a child, was that the party who named an honest, earnest number first was on their back foot. Yes, it was possible to put out an offer first and still make more from it than expected or hoped for — and sometimes, offering first was both a wise and generous way to proceed — but generally speaking, it took extraordinary skill or luck to argue for more after naming the first number. 

So generally speaking, the party who moved first was not in the strong position. 

Generally speaking. 

But, you had an extraordinary amount of skill — that’s why you were in this room. At the same time, you hadn’t felt particularly lucky lately, but…you would still name a number first. 

Fine. 

“Melethnín.”

That got him to turn with inhuman speed, his face a mask of rage. “I said do not mock me.” His icy eyes locked with yours. 

“I am not mocking you.”

His brow furrowed. “Then why,” he said quickly, crossing the study in two large steps to loom over you, “did you call me that?”

“Why,” you challenged back, “have you called me that for the past two months?”

Thranduil's pale eyes had not yet left your face, inches away now, searching you for any hint that you were lying or mocking him. His gaze did not waver and he finally leaned back, satisfied. “You do not know what it means. You are mocking me.”

A harsh chuckle at that. “I know exactly what it means and I am not mocking you.” You put a hand on your hip at the implied insult that you, the goddamn Queen of the Silvan Elves of the Greenwood, wife of the Elvenking, did not know the most basic endearment your people use to address their spouses and children. “Well, correction, now I am mocking you….you’re questioning my understanding of vocabulary? Well, how good is your Khuzdul, again, Thranduil? Zigil’ûl is a Dwarven term of endearment; I’m surprised you deigned to use it.” 

He hadn’t noticed “silver stream” was not in Quenya? Even with the accents? 

His eyes softened, but still anger flashed across his face as he stared down at you. “You have not answered why you are using an elven term of endearment to refer to me right now.”

You thought about pushing back. But something very fragile in his eyes made you pause. It felt like a risk but…you were willing to name a second number. 

Fine. 

A sigh. “I used this Sindarin term because it’s how I refer to you in my head.”

Thranduil cocked his head, looking at you curiously now, some of his rage fading. “How good is —“

“— I am fluent in Sindarin. We speak it fifty percent of the time we are together instead of Westron. Stop it, Thranduil.”

He did stop at that, at least for a moment, as thoughts started churning in his head. His pale eyes flicked around the room, looking at everything but you. 

A surprising sign of vulnerability from a king who would lock eyes with Manwë himself and never blink, if given the chance. If able to take that chance by force. 

“No.” Thranduil shook his head again, still refusing to meet your gaze, speaking to your bookshelf. “No, I will not stop until I understand. You said I had purchased a performance and that you would stop performing it. You just looked for the contract to show me what you were required to do as my wife.”

A pause as he turned his head toward you, but stayed facing the other direction — ready to run. 

“But, if your past behavior was a performance, then…I do not understand why you would call me melethnín in the privacy of your own mind, especially now,” he ended with a noise between a sigh and an irritated groan, still not meeting your eyes. 

You saw the issue now. He thought you showed care for him in the last two years because it was what was expected of you. 

A performance. 

Not because you actually gave a damn about him as a partner or as a husband. 

And then, you pulled back from him. Because he asked you to. Because he did not understand that caring about him was something you genuinely wanted to do. Enjoyed doing. Thranduil had not wanted to be part of a show because he…. 

He thought you were being cruel to him. As you thought he had been to you for the last two months. 

He was that wrong for two years? 

You looked up to meet his gaze. Thranduil hesitated, seeming to have the same revelation, but finding himself much less confident in the outcome. “So, please explain it. Why would you call me your love today?” he asked again, his voice so soft you barely heard him. 

Naming the third number in a row was too large of a request to concede, even for him. Even now that you understood. You needed an assurance of some kind first. 

“A counter-question, first. Have the last two months been a performance on your part, Thranduil?” Some vulnerability entered your tone, too, though you wished it had not. “I will not allow you to mock me, either.”

A pause. “The first two days were, yes.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, but he met your gaze unflinchingly. “And then I found I…I preferred it. I enjoyed being closer to you and hearing your thoughts. And I noticed the quality of your contracts improved.”

You crossed your arms. “Mmhmm,” you grunted at that.  

Thranduil cocked his head, his eyes soft now, his tone surprisingly sweet and earnest. “So if you’ll forgive those first few days, melethnín, then no, I have not been false to you once in these past months.” A brief hesitation. “Was it…Before. How you showed that you cared for me. Was that an act for you?”

You paused, considering carefully. “For the last two months, any modicum of patience I’ve shown in your presence has been an act. But no, nothing before the night…we last fought,” you ended simply. 

“Oh.” A faint blush rose to his cheeks.

You both stood there, staring dumbly at each other. 

Thranduil dipped his head in embarrassment. “It is rare, but I find even I need time to learn.”

You nodded slowly. He was telling you that he had misunderstood. Maybe he was telling you he loved you. But he remained frustratingly vague. 

You were struggling between the urge to kiss him or punch him. You tried to calculate your odds at both and concluded you’d need to do it in a specific order for it to work. Kiss first, then punch. 

A knee to the groin was the only way he won’t see it coming until it’s too late. But you also had a growing interest in that area…

No matter what you chose, you weren’t going to be fast enough. Maybe while he slept. 

“So, to summarize,” you started slowly. And then your mouth shut gently. You opened it a few more times to speak but nothing came out, so you stood there with your hand on your hip, moving your mouth like a fish. 

The politician and jackass in Thranduil got there first. “To summarize, you have been in love with me since the day we met, and over the last two months I’ve learned that there are certain merits to being the recipient of that love.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, and your mouth did open at that. 

The arrogance. 

“The arrogance. Absolutely not. Revise it.” 

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth but he remained silent. This was him teasing you. You’d enjoy it thoroughly in any other context. “No, you do not get to be this way with me after all of that, Thranduil…”

The smirk grew as he leaned closer to you. “I will no longer answer to that name when you use it. You’ll have to try another, melethnín.”

Fine. 

“Heconna.” Bastard. 

He raised an eyebrow at that one. “Fluent, indeed. But I have time and I can wait for you to find the correct term.”

“Pellopë.” Jackass. 

The smirk never left his face. “Yes, we’ve established that you know and use words in both Sindarin and Quenya that most Eldar would blush to hear. I’m sure this vocabulary is useful when you swear at local merchants and drink in their bars — a very queenly activity.” 

He was still teasing you. He finally had come close enough to snake his hands low around your hips, craning down at you, nothing but a blend of absolute mischief and arrogance in his pale eyes. “Mmm, I’m happy to give you a hint, wife.”

This was the most surprising day you had experienced since coming to Greenwood. And you were going to use it to your advantage as much as you could. 

Too many things were still unspoken. 

You shook your head and pulled back — gently, you still wanted him badly and your resolve was weakening the more he leaned into you. Gods, he smelled good. “Absolutely not. Not until you revise it.”

He sighed, his long fingers splayed across your lower back as he nudged you closer to his chest in return. “To summarize: Your caring behavior toward me was never an act or obligation on your part, and neither was mine. We seem to," he hesitated a beat, "Love each other, though we are quite ineffectual at speaking plainly with each other.” 

Thranduil reached out to tuck back a strand of your hair, his finger gently tracing the rounded shell of your ear as you fought to repress a shiver. “With this new understanding in mind, our marriage no longer needs to remain contractual alone, if you wish to become closer. As I do.” His fingers brushed against your face, trailing down your neck softly to trace your collarbone. His other hand kept you close against him. “Is this revision more to your liking, melethnín?”

You frowned, hands coming to rest on his chest. “Yes. But you owe me an apology for more than the last two months.”

“Yes,” he agreed softly, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “Would you like me to begin reciting my long list of sins now? Or would you prefer we kissed instead? I have a rather clear preference, but,” he shrugged over-casually. “I will make time for both.” 

You hesitated. “Both.” 

“Fine, verinya,” he murmured, gently tilting your head up towards his.

“Fine, veronya,” you whispered back against his lips. 

// AN: I'd have to leave you on a cliffhanger, so:

Túra in Quenya means "big, or great," which would capture "fine!" well enough.

Dail in Sindarin means "lovely," which I imagine can be sarcastic af coming from Thranduil, the petty bastard.

The difference in these two languages, for purpose of these idiots in love, is snobbery. Quenya is high-brow, Sindarin is what all normal people speak. He says he loves her in common tongue but calls her wife as high-brow as possible to be a jackass. Mission accomplished, Thran-daddy.

// If you enjoyed this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

[lordprettyflackotara]

Creepypasta Masterlist:

Jeff the killer:

sfw & nsfw general headcannon’s

criminal

—> the one where Jeff robs a bank and you’re the cute bank teller

dollhouse || part two || part three || part four || part five || bonus ||

—> the one where you’re paired with your enemy to complete a mission for slender

did it first || part two

—> the one where jeff is obsessed with you but he doesn’t anticipate you to return the favor

red sex || blurb

—> the one where jeff can’t get enough of seeing you in his favorite color

die for me

—> the one where jeff is an impatient man and wants you now, in the public gas station restroom

Eyeless Jack:

sfw & nsfw general head cannon’s

till dawn || part two || part three || the finale || bonus ||

—> the one where ej needs shelter from the rain and keeps your bed warm in exchange

huntin’ wabbitz

—> the one where you accidentally stumble upon ej’s dinner time, resulting in you being his dessert

whogoesthere? || part two || part three ||

—> the one where jack saves you from a coyote & you offer him a joint as payment

after hours

—> the one in which you usually only see jack during his heats, but he decides he wants you all year round

4 am || blurb

—> the one in which jack can’t get enough of the taste of your period blood

who’s afraid of little old me?

—> the one in which you’re hunting in the slender forest, only to be caught red handed by jack, who is very territorial

make a move

—> the one where you’re a detective tasked with investigating a local cannibalistic serial killer demon

american dream || blurb

—> the one where you realize jack is better then the american dream

BEN Drowned:

video games || blurb

—>the one where you give ben a little payback

professional

—> the one where you’re ben’s favorite cam girl

mr.take your bitch || blurb

—> the one where ben wants you all to himself

Proxies:

holding the gun || hoodie

—> the one where you’re a proxy on a mission with hoodie and things get a bit heated on the way back home

betrayed || masky

—> the one where you betrayed masky and he’s not going to let you forget it

decode || ticci toby / two

—> the one where toby saves you from a bear and you can’t get him out of your head

the perfect pair || masky || blurb

—> the one where you’re the perfect partner for masky

freaky friday || the proxies || blurb

—> the one where you’re having a late night smoking session with your boys

dance with the devil || ticci toby & kate the chaser

—> the one where you’ve been kidnapped and kate offers you something you can’t refuse

blue || masky

—> the one where you’re tim wrights girlfriend and he comes to say goodbye after becoming a proxy

6 inch heels || the proxies

—> the one where it’s toby’s birthday and is taken out to a strip club to celebrate

deja vu || hoodie

—> the one where you know hoodie somehow, but you just can’t explain it

what a heavenly way to die || the proxies

—> the one where the four of you are stranded in a snow storm and there’s only one way to stay warm

crown || ticci toby

—> the one where toby comforts you after a shitty breakup (fluff)

The Bloody Painter:

habits

—> the one where your abusive relationship with your boyfriend intrigues helen, causing him to become obsessed with you

art deco || blurb

—> the one where helen needs one more orgasm from you and his paintbrush is going to help him get it

hostage

—> the one where helen kidnaps you and you become his more then willing hostage

Bonus features:

forgot about jack || eyeless jack & jeff the killer

—> the one where you’re a newspaper editor who makes a story about the boys kills belonging to an eyeless jill and jane the killer, resulting in an angry eyeless jack & jeff the killer showing up at your door.

𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓵𝔂pasta / 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓵𝔂mansion au:

noise w / masky / hoodie / toby / eyeless jack / ben drowned / jeff the killer & ben drowned / the bloody painter / jane the killer & homicidal liu /

—> the one where you’re the lonely maid forced to work at the slender mansion

danger || masky & eyeless jack

—> the one where you sneak into slender’s forest to see your boyfriend masky, only to find out his secret life was much more than you could imagine. now your life is on the line and masky is willing to give ej anything if it guarantees you can escape alive

world class sinner || jeff the killer & jane the killer

—> the one where jeff and jane are determined to prove they’re better then one another and you’re the perfect person to make that decision

Series:

hitchhiker

masterlist with chapters & links to different platforms is : here

—> the one in which you help the proxies back to civilization by giving them a ride. but little did you know seeing their faces made you a target. one that needed to be eliminated.

[quarter]

I think what aaron bushnell did was very noble and sacrificing yourself in that way when you're in that position is one of the most proactive ways to protest however I find it really uncomfortable how people are calling him a hero and focusing so much on the act itself rather than what it's about. I think even the guy himself would find it distasteful I mean he literally killed himself to drive attention to the palestinian cause and people are prioritizing crowning this white man as a hero (cough cough white saviorism) rather than the real heroes of the palestinian cause which are the palestinian freedom fighters, reporters and activists who are willing to live and don't have the luxury to choose to die

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and The Raven Ch 2

Hello, Lovely people! I plan to expand the timeline for The Dance of the Dragons by adding more. This will provide insight into Benjicot's thoughts from the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

Keep up with the story: masterlist

He was gone; Davos, his brave twin, was gone. The stupid Brackens disrespected his brother and their land, and, in turn, his brother and father were lost. Davos was always the more outspoken and confident twin. Benjicot knew people thought he wasn’t fit to be Lord of House Blackwood. He seemed inclined to agree, but not for the reason others believed in. He was more reserved and quiet compared to Davos, the loud one. 

Benjicot was meant to be his brother's sworn protector. He thrived being out of the limelight and quietly doing his duty as a soldier willing to die for his brother, which he couldn’t even seem to do correctly. His job was to protect his lord, which he failed. Both his father and brother were dead, and it was all his fault. 

“My Lord…” echoed slowly louder and louder until Benjicot broke out of his guilt to his council member. 

The weary old council member looked tired from all the stress of the day, “My lord, we have finished moving the bodies to the great hall. We will begin the preparations for burials soon.” 

Benjicot nodded while following the older gentleman to the hall and seeing the masses of lost Blackwood members being mourned. In the very front lay both his father and twin. Davos was bloodied but wearing a final smirk on his face, which Benji thought was meant to be. If people needed to see Davos one last time, let it be his famous smirk he wore proudly as heir.  

Benji was worn out from the day’s events; he knew if it weren’t for how much he wept earlier in the field, he would still be crying like a babe. He had never wept this much before, not even when their mother passed. It felt like a knife was gouged in his chest, and he knew the reason was that his twin, his other half, was brutally taken from him, leaving him and his aunt to piece their house together. Speaking of his aunt, she also looked tired as she walked towards him with a letter that was brought from a raven. Where the raven came from, he cared not… not when he was too busy mourning and trying but failing to step up as the new lord of Raventree Hall. 

“Benji, news of the Battle of Burning Mill reached Dragonstone and Queen Rheanyra…” croaked his aunt, her voice raspy from yelling all day trying to keep the peace.

 As she continued, Benji was only half listening, which he knew should feel bad, but he couldn’t seem to care. His guilt was sneaking back onto him, but he was abruptly shaken once he heard his aunt say Princess and Dragon. 

“Wait, Dragon? What dragon?” he questioned his aunt and then lowered his gaze once his aunt glared at him for proving that he wasn’t listening to her earlier. 

Alysanne knew better than to hold it against her nephew, but dragons were coming, and they needed to do everything they could to best prepare for the Crown Princess's arrival the next day. 

“Queen Rhaenyra wants to express her condolences and gratitude by sending food and medical supplies with her daughter Princess Aemma on top of the princess’ dragon Sliverwing.  We must ensure our home accommodates a princess and her dragon.” Alysanne, weary, explained to her nephew that she had the same face as him. 

The last thing they needed was a Targaryen princess coming and demanding their attention rather than focusing on their dead. Still, they swore to the Black Faction and the royal family, so they must welcome the princess as an honored guest no matter how much they would come to dread it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Benjicot was a nervous wreck; the princess should be arriving soon, and he was trying to ease his mind but taking on task after task, funeral preparations, the princess's guest chambers, a clearing to house a dragon, storage to store all the supplies being brought. All of these seemed to pile on, and he didn’t have enough time to, as he heard a dragon's apparent dragon shrill and wings flap. He would not greet the princess. Instead, his lady aunt would take on the task while he stayed in the great hall, pretending to be busy. Rather than using all his energy to pretend to engage with a princess, he had no clue how to speak to the princess. 

Soon, the great hall doors were opened, and walked in a woman who knocked the wind out of his lungs. This woman had pale white curly hair that was pinned up in a simple braid reminiscent of those of the North. Her sunkissed skin glistened under her hair; she wore red and black riding leathers that seemed to have dragon scales on her shoulders, which hugged her body in all the right curves. But what took away his breath was her eyes and how she carried herself in the room. Her beautiful violet eyes held sorrow as she took in the great hall, not pity, but understanding. 

Benji studied her as she walked around the hall on her own, whispering condolences to the grieving families before she stopped and stared at one body, his twin Davos’s body. He stiffened before quickly but quietly walked towards her. The princess, he realized, before he paused once he saw her expression. The Princess looked on the verge of weeping while staring at his brother’s face. If he didn’t know any better, it would look like the princess was mourning her lover, but that was impossible as Davos and the princess never had the chance to meet. It confused Benji, but he heard her whisper Luke when it clicked on him. Prince Lucerys was the reason the realm started the war between greens and blacks. His uncle, Prince Aemond, killed Prince Lucerys. Looking upon Davos made the princess remember her sibling lost to a feud between two families. The princess understood him and his grief. At that point, he decided to be brave and let the princess know of his presence. 

“ Davos Blackwood, my princess.” Whispered Benji as he watched the princess jump, shaken, and then flush in embarrassment before she set her eyes on him. 

He then noticed how she subconsciously flinched when she looked at him, which he understood. He and his twin were identical to each other, so it can seem daunting to see one alive and the other dead. 

“That is Davos Blackwood… he... he was my twin brother.”  He explained and saw how the princess nodded with understanding, for she, too, had recently lost her brother. Before he could think of another sentence, the princess graced him with a small but dazzling smile as she spoke. 

“Lord Benjicot, my mother and I thank you for receiving me into your home, especially in this trying time; I wish to express sorrow for the loss of your father and twin brother.” 

Her voice was sweet, like a soft wind chime melodies that could melt even the strongest ice in the north. Benjicot himself returned a shy smile to the princess. 

“Thank you, my princess-”

“Aemma.” Stated the princess before continuing, “ You may call me Aemma, but I fear I will grow tired of hearing ‘my princess’ so much.” 

Benjicot stared at Princess Aemma for a second before noticing her certain witty charm, which made him feel more confident. He changed his smile to a smirk. 

“Very, Aemma. Thank you for your condolences. I ask you to call me Benji or Ben. It seems only fair,” he said, relishing in seeing her break into a bigger smile than before. 

There was a soothing pause as Benji, and the princess once again looked at the masses before he decided he needed to remove himself from the hall. Seeing his brother was still too much to bear. So he asked her if she would like to have a tour of the hall and castle grounds. She happily took his arm and wrapped it around as they walked away from prying eyes. Once out of the hall, Benji was greeted with a dragon’s shrill as the She-dragon seemed to glare at the young lord. He gulped as the princess laughed and ran to her dragon. 

As much as he knew better than to get close to a dragon, he was like a moth, following the light that Aemma seemed to release as she spoke High Valyrian in her soft-spoken voice to her dragon. She took his breath away for the second time. He had always heard Valyrians were considered higher to men and closer to gods. He never really believed it until now. This warrior goddess welcomed him to her and her dragon, a privilege only a few dared to indulge in. As he continued admiring her, Aemma turned to him, which made him flush, knowing she caught him staring at her. 

“Have you ever come into close contact with a dragon before?” quietly asked Aemma. 

Benjicot shook his head no, “ Never, my princes- um, Aemma.” He quickly caught himself as Aemma graced him with another laugh. He enjoyed hearing her laugh. 

“Would you like to? Come meet my Silverwing.” Aemma took hold of his hand and pulled him closer to her until her body flushed to his as she raised their intertwined hands to Sliverwing’s snout. 

 Benji’s cheeks could only grow more in heat, feeling the princess's body press onto his own. His body started to betray him, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. Thankfully, the princess was too busy soothing her dragon because of his presence instead of seeing the effect she was having on him.  

“Shh, Sliverwing, Lykiri , sweet one, we mustn’t scare away our host.” Whispered the princess as she guided Benjicot’s hand to rub her snout. At the same time, she was using her other hand to soothe the dragon to be calm. 

In awe of touching a dragon, Benji asked, “What does that mean… lykiri? 

Again, Aemma giggled and turned more to him, their face mere inches away. 

“ It means to be calm or calm down. I must say how impressed I am with your bravery in being so close to a dragon, my lord.”  

Benjicot, in turn, winked at the princess before teasingly replied, “Only because I have the Realm’s Pearl guiding me, and I thought we agreed to skip our titles, my princess.” 

Benji then lowered his gaze to her lips, seemingly inviting. He could lean forward and take a kiss from her if he wanted. Oh, how much his mind told him to go for it. As he was about to indulge in his thoughts, a stern and short cough snapped him out of his thoughts and made him jump away from Princess Aemma and Silverwing. Benjicot could only grow cold; there was Princess Aemma, sworn knight Ser Lorent, glaring at the young lord; Benji felt like a dead man. His saving grace, His Aunt, called to him. This gave him the perfect excuse to leave the princess, promising her to see her later at the feast.

As he walked away towards his aunt, Benji could only internally groan, seeing the smirk his lady aunt was giving him. 

“It would seem the Princess is quite fond of you, my nephew,” teased Alysanne, delighting at seeing her nephew blush brighten even more. 

Benjicot glared at his aunt as they walked to the feast hall, ensuring everything was set. 

“The Princess is just being gracious. Why would she like some lowly lord, not even a lord paramount, when she is a crown princess?” stated Benji, reminding himself that as much as he was falling for her, he had no chance with her. 

Alysanne sighed, growing tired of her nephew's self-deprecation. “ A Dragon rider does not bring a random person close to their dragon just to be nice. She likes you, nephew. You should pursue her.” 

Benji cruelly laughed, “What do I bring to her in a marriage? Is our house that rich, or high in-” 

“Benjicot Blackwood!” angrily exclaimed Alysanne. “Our house is proud and ancient; we have one of the largest armies with great warriors like you that will support her mother in the war between Black and Greens. We are just as good as any Paramount House and better than those of House Hightower and House Bracken. You, my young lord, need to see the value of your position and our house.” explained Alysanne as she angrily walked away from her nephew. 

Benji sighed, knowing what his aunt said was true. He just couldn’t fathom how someone as beautiful as Aemma could consider him a potential husband. He decided his aunt was correct. He needed to bring out his confidence, which he could easily show in the training yard; he had to be like Davos so that people would start seeing him as a strong lord of Raventree Hall.

He walked to the chambers the princess was staying in and explained to the knight that he would escort her to the feast. Ser Lorent tried to intimidate the young lord again with a glare, only to receive a smirk that one can only describe as rabid. Chuckling at the new confidence, the Queensguard nodded before walking towards the feast hall, Leaving Benji to knock on the door and patiently wait for the princess to come out. 

As Aemma came out of her chamber, leaving Benji again to admire her beauty, switching her previous braid to many intricate braids in the style of Old Valyria dragon riders. He gave her a dazzling smirk that made him know it affected her from her flushed cheeks. As they walked in the hall, Benjicot noticed the stares, especially those from his men, which made an ugly monster of jealousy creep in. Of course, these were his men; he would not hold it against them and try to enjoy the feast, stealing glances at the princess. As he was about to strick a conversation, he was tapped on the shoulder. Turning, he saw his aunt with an annoyed face and a nervous council member asking him to speak with him. 

With a sigh, the young lord walked outside and waited for the conversation to start. None spoke for a while, making the Blackwood lord grow tiresome for wasting his time when his aunt said. 

“It is your concern, council member, not mine, and I will not be the one to express them to my nephew.” 

“What concerns?” asked Benjicot as he stared at the older man. 

“My Lord, many of us are concerned about your position as lord of Raventree Hall; many are stating that since you don't have an heir, House Blackwood is vulnerable to enemies.” The elder dropped his gaze to the floor, afraid to make eye contact. 

Benji was angrily taken aback. He had just taken his position, and already, his council saw weakness in his lordship.

“I understand my position, but it is hardly weak; I am the lord of House Blackwood, and if need be, my Aunt Alysanne is my heir. I do not need to marry so soon, especially if we are to join the queen to war!” Snared the new lord at the older gentleman.  

The older man sighed in annoyance, “ Yes, since we still follow the Old gods, there is nothing wrong with having Alysanne as your heir, but your position is not secured, my lord. Should you and your lady aunt perish, we risk losing our house to those craven Brackens. Being married will ensure your future wife carries your heir to secure the future of our house.” 

This only grew Benjicot more agitated, and replied angrily, “ I will not be a bargaining chip just to secure my house’s future, and I will not marry just to have my future wife feel like a broodmare.”  

Alysanne sighed, looking at both hotheaded men, and tried to intervene, “You and the princess seem to grow close. Why don’t you discuss with her any potential ladies she may have as her or her mother’s ladies-in-waiting? Therefore, you open up the discussion of marriage without feeling too drastic or rushed. While I remain as your heir?” 

Alysanne knew better than to ask her nephew to consider marriage to the princess again; remembering their earlier conversation would only annoy her nephew more. Eventually, both men agreed and decided that the conversation was done as they walked back to the feast room. After cooling down, Benjicot’s attention was returned to the Princess as her guard called for attention. 

Princess Aemma stood, holding a paper that Benji could only assume was the Queen’s letter to his people. As she looked around the room, her violet eyes stared and made eye contact with him. Under her composed face, he could see she was nervous, so he gave a slight smirk and a nod of encouragement. Her charm will win over his people just like she did with him. 

Exhaling, she opened her mother’s letter and began to read, “My good people of Raventree Hall, I thank you for welcoming my daughter, Crown Princess Aemma, into your home. As my heart grieves for the loss of Burning Mill, I want to express my gratitude for your honor and loyalty to me as your queen. My mind is at ease knowing I have such loyal subjects, and with your help, I know we can take back my birthright from the green false king. To show my gratitude, I have sent my daughter on her dragon to bring supplies and food to help replenish House Blackwood. With her dragon, she will lead and guard the able soldiers to Harrenhall, where Prince Daemon, the Knights of the Vale, and the men of the North will eagerly await you. You all have my utmost respect and gratitude, your Queen, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the realm.” 

Once Aemma finished, the entire feast hall stood and applauded the princess, including Benji and his aunt. He felt immensely proud of how regal and compassionate the Queen and princess sounded.  After a while, Aemma raised her hand and asked for the hall to quiet down, seeming not to be done addressing them. Intrigued, Benji sat down again to listen closely to what she needed to say. 

“I thank those here today for coming out and supporting my queen. My heart is filled with the warm welcome I have received here at Raventree Hall. To know such fierce and loyal people are willing to fight for my mother, your queen, fills my heart with gratitude-” 

Someone in the back stood up and cheered, “To Queen Rhaenyra and Her Crown Princess, The Realm’s Pearl Aemma Velayron!”  

Benji wanted to laugh; it seemed his people, even after centuries, still had northern tendencies and attitudes that seemed to come out when they held feasts. The Princess patiently let the crowd cheer again before asking for silence and continued. 

“I thank you all for your cheers. To show my gratitude for everything, I propose, should your Lord Blackwood accept, my hand for marriage to create a strong and secure alliance between Houses Targaryen, Velaryon, and House Blackwood.” 

Everything seemed to freeze, did he- did he hear correctly? Crown Princess Aemma Velayron has asked his hand in marriage… As Benji scanned the room, he saw everyone openly in shock. As he returned his gaze to his princess, he saw her getting nervous, waiting for his reaction. After a beat or two, he finally was able to process that, indeed, he was asked to be married. He decided to grace her with a heartwarming smile as he rose to meet her. Grabbing her hands into his, he stared into her violet eyes. He could get lost in them every day. He leaned down to kiss her hands as he gave her his answer for only her to hear. 

“It would be my honor to be your husband, my dear princess,” he whispered, feeling giddy seeing her gracing a smile that he knew was meant for him alone. He promised himself to be the one person to bring that smile out of her in their future marriage.

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

What kind of relationship does Minerva have with Sophie? They seem close if she was willing to presumably risk her life by going against the king.

What a good question. Why would a maid, let alone a maid as high ranking as to serve the princess directly, risk everything including her life, to break the princess free? How close are these two?

Let me explain some things.

Well first I want to say that ‘Sophie’ Redwine is the character played by my friend @ouroborosorder. Before anyone made any characters she said she wanted to play a maid, I quickly decided I wanted to play a princess, and we both agreed to make our characters together. This was probably the most fun I ever had making characters and I cannot recommend highly enough doing collaborative character creation to make your characters have a connected backstory.

Sophistry ‘Sophie’ Redwine was a high ranking maid in the royal castle in the capital city of the Adret empire. She worked her way up from a lowly maid position all the way to becoming the personal maid of the princess, because she was really good at her job. Where she became a maid, her sister Aquila ‘Quill’ Redwine, became a knight. Quill quickly worked her way up to becoming a member of the most elite, secretive, and powerful knights of the kingdom; the Brocken Specters. As one of these elite knights, she was made to do many horrible, violent, and cruel deeds in service of the crown. After doing that for a few years, Quill realized she did not like it, and she wanted out. But this was a secretive order of knights, they wouldn’t just let her leave.

Her leader threatened that if she left or fled, they would kill her sister. They then began assigning her on more and more dangerous suicide missions. Each time she came back alive, with more rage burning inside her, and with her body more and more pushed to its limits and injured. Eventually she was assigned what was to be her final mission, a suicide mission no one would come back from alive, no matter how skilled. Quill went to see her sister one last time, and when she did she broke down and told her about the whole thing. Sophie proceeded to trick her (iirc she put something in her drink to knock her out), disguised herself as her sister, and went to die in Quill’s place. It was too late for Quill to stop her, and the only option she had left was to take her sister’s place and become a maid. She even had to attend a funeral for herself, in which everyone told her how great Quill was, and how her sacrifice for the empire would be remembered.

‘Sophie’ then lived her conflicted life, torn between wanting to live her life for her sister’s making her sacrifice worth something (and also hoping her sister might somehow live vicariously through her being the best ‘Sophie’ she could be) and between thinking her life was not worth living so that she must live for the sake of others. Regardless, she lived as ‘Sophie’ for a few years, then she witnessed as Minerva and her disagreement with her father escalated until Minerva became effectively imprisoned as punishment for defying her father. After serving Lady Minerva in her unofficial prison, for a year, whether out of pity, empathy, hope that Minerva might help her get revenge on the empire, a combination of the three, and/or some other reason entirely, she began to discuss with Minerva a plan to free her.

It took nearly 2 years to research everything, gather materials, smuggle materials into Minerva’s living quarters, contact the black market underground magic Dollmaker, and prepare the ritual. But eventually ‘Sophie’, with her dark magic that she learned as a Brocken Specter, was able to perform the extremely risky ritual on Minerva that risked obliterating her soul, and successfully implanted it in full-sized porcelain doll (ordered to look exactly how Minerva wanted bc she’s a picky princess), which she then smuggled out of the kingdom.

Doing something like that together made them accomplices, and as my fellow Otherside Picnic fans know, being accomplices is the closest kind of relationship in the world.

Since then the two began traveling together, living freely but having a vague goal of a revenge quest. Eventually they met up with the other party members, and with shared short-term goals, they began traveling together to make up our ttrpg party!

But what kind of relationship do they have? I’ve been calling it a “yuri situationship.” They have a lot of yuri moments together, but they are not at all dating. Minerva gets jealous and possessive whenever Sophie looks at another woman though.

⚠️🔞Very NSFW text below🔞⚠️:

(And here’s the secret lore: Stemming from one incident during Minerva’s recovery progress, in which the binding of her soul to the doll body progressed to the point of making the sensation of her doll pussy made her kind of insatiable, a time in which Sophie caught her in the act. Instead of reprimanding her, Sophie offered to help her out. And that just sorta kept happening, now the two of them casually cuddle together sometimes, and on occasion Sophie fucks her brains out.)

[Extra secret lore: Minerva realized soon after becoming a doll that the idea of herself being a literal object, and being treated like nothing more than that, especially in contrast to her normal spoiled pampered life, was suddenly extremely hot to her. Also as a doll she doesn’t need to breathe, she cannot bleed or bruise, and she is even immune to dark magic bc of her being undead. Meanwhile Sophie has an ever burning hatred of the empire and now has one of its royals as her personal princess fucktoy that she can take her frustrations out on. It’s kind of a perfect match, i mean it’s probably not super healthy, but they both enjoy it . And then when they’re done the next day they go back to pretending there is nothing between them. They are not really very emotionally healthy people and refuse to talk to each other about what their relationship actually is.]

[the-monkeies-girl]

Taken. ( Noa x Human!Reader ) Part Twelve.

*sobbing into my breaksticks*

Title: Taken. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Sexual implications, injury, mentions of blood. ) Pairing: Noa x Human!Reader. Words: 8.1K ( ha ha I'm in danger ) Summary: You had accepted that you were going to die. The future was such a stingy thing, even now as it flashed in front of you like a thousand lives were being lived at once. Noa was never going to know. Never going to see what you saw. And for that, you were so sorry.

READ THE SERIES HERE.

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Death was not something that you admittedly confessed to your conscious mind about often, one of those innate fears that seemed to be festering in every being on the green Earth, but only a few who were daring really thought about it on a day to day basis. It happened to all living things, you thought to yourself and pressed your forehead against the heated ground below you skull to kiss whatever was left for you goodbye. There was no point anymore, the mind was willing to give itself up in an effort to save some semblance of who you were, who you were going to become at the end of the day.

Nothing, your eyes squeezed shut. You were to become nothing. Another score on the card of the sky, another tender moment that flashed before someone else’s entire vision, encasing to the outer edges of their peripheral, there one minute and gone the next even though you wanted to stay longer, just to make sure they knew what happened to you. Puffing out air hurt as you did just that, the dirt dancing from the ground below and chapping itself against your lips. With what moisture, you were unsure. The flames were taking that, too along with the sweep of the entire Eagle Clan. At--- At least they appeared to get out, there was an utterance in the back of your mind you had been tugging to ignore since you fell to your knees and then to your stomach. Cautious fear tore through you, not quite willing to let yourself be burned alive as was evident by the skid marks on the ashen laid ground below as you had managed to grasp yourself but less than a meter were the inevitable was coming for you. Maybe… Your lips parted and it appeared like you were physically kissing the ground where the young Master of the Birds had previously been, sensing the drip of iron against your tongue which you were unable to deduce as being your own, or his, this was meant to happen. When… He had accepted you into the Eagle Clan, pre-destined to be the star to help consume it all but then take it all away in an instant of self-gratification as you sacrificed your entire life force for the count of many others.

Not that it mattered, there was bitterness rising along the crown of your forehead as the blood began to seep from there, down the curve of your forehead, captivating in a dance with your eyebrows before it leaked into your eyes and you were forced to hold them shut as to not cry your own agony to the Earth.

She… She had seen enough today, fighting that tore at her flesh like yours had been, crying as the ash sunk into the dirt below and became one with something it was not meant to be, like you had wished, blood pouring into the torrents of browned and gunked soot that smeared along your face as you cried to vast cradle of empathy for the ground where you laid; riding along your senses as your fingers pressed themselves into the dirt once more, your fingernails unable to carry anymore underneath them and the numb tingling of your hands driving you insane as you were unable to tell what you were holding onto, if anything at all. You just wanted him safe; your eyes managing themselves to look towards the forest of where Soona had carried your cherished heart, having torn it right out of the warmth and security of the ribcage it pounded so heavily against when you were in his presence, even in the instant that you had pulled his heavy, dead-weight over and then atop you like a shield of protection. With him, ran your will to live any longer. With Noa, leaving the notch in your chest vacant and empty. Soona would care for him as she always did. Care for Noa and Anaya… Your irises blacked and you dropped your eyelids, not even enjoying the shutter of your eyelashes against the toppened height of your cheekbones.

You--- Releasing another shot of air onto the ground, you felt a shutter trail its way down your spine as you released a gut-wrenching cry that mimicked the sound of Eagle Sun crying above you. Not able to turn your head towards the Heavens, you made the safe bet that you were imagining things, that your racing brain was trying to remember the smaller details about your life before you were gone. One more flash, it told you on your eyelids as you stared into the pitch black, now swirling with stars. One more good look at everything you have done in your life, everything… 

Sobbing, you knew your shoulders were moving but you were unable to detect the motion as you willed your arm to lift to the right side of your body and into the bowels of your tactical pants, so warm and flooded with your own being, gushing at the sight of your mangled calves as blood smeared and poured out of you without care, your fingers couldn’t tell if you were brushing against the blue feather that you carried with you, the last piece of him you were ever going to have or if it was flushing against the cotton base of your pants themselves.

Like you ever did leave the feather to its own devices, you wanted to retort to yourself in sarcasm but even that was lost to yourself in the muddled mess of the possibility that it was even obtainable to you. The day Noa gave it to you became the day you said goodbye for the first time. 

There was nothing else for you to feel here, eyes opening into slimmed slits as you cried a weakened ‘help’, coarse, your throat was too dry to even make anymore please and your whimpers began falling to the crackling of the destruction of the village behind you, a wave of embers running along the side of your body and singing off the small hairs that were exposed to the air as the Eagle Enclosure finally brought itself down under the heavy weight of expectations. The cracking of the foundation was felt against your chest, deep in the ground. 

You wanted to give it… one more fleeting attempt… Something… Anything to get yourself to move forward, to… To… Live to see everything you were meant to be instead of a marauder for a Clan of which became a piece of you. Anaya, his smile and jokes, never taking himself too seriously as he showed you the collection of Echo items that he had scavenged, your fingers tickling against the delicate nature of what appeared to be a very, very old stuffed animal. Soona, her fingers brushing through your hair on the evenings after dinner as she talked to you softly about the Eagle Clan itself, even taking in some gossip she had heard and managed to pry out of---

The hand you had tugged into your pocket, seemingly stuck in the tight space, stiffened as you brushed the lightest edge of the feather he had given you months and months ago. Noa… He--- There was the feeling inside of you that he was alive, somewhere out in the woods that surrounded the village that was nothing more than simmering huts that were crumbling down just like the last relics of civilizations were within the Echo Ruins.

They… Were to become ruins themselves, you philosophized and chortled, feeling ash tug itself way to the back of your throat as you let a strangled cough out in an attempt to stop your lungs from liquidating the particles into a fine mix of concrete and suffocating you from the inside out. Noa, the very heart of these ruins, was still alive. You knew, you knew. 

Otherwise all you had done was for nothing. You needed that, the last bit of reassurance you were able to promote yourself to. That… was okay… A dry smile parted on your lips as you subsided and rested your forehead against the ground once more, letting the night imagine that you were pressing it against Noa’s, you were sinking into him, giving him whatever life you had left in a bid to get him to survive. 

Yes… You were always meant to save him, it was true, and that meant… He had to live. For his Clan, for his future that you were not going to be apart of and take in the delectations of him getting other in front of your eyes, the once warmth nature of his fur peppering countless white hairs in a tanglement of wisdom, your stomach turning in on itself out of an incredible sheer will of oddly placed jealousy as if you were now seeing Noa’s life flash before your eyes, two circling Eagles in the long abyss of the blue sky that rounded the Earth, always destined to meet wings, but never destined to truly glide side-by-side. He was going to be great, you felt tears crawling into the cracks around your mouth, into the open wounds where you had been beaten within an inch of your life.

Noa--- Noa would grow. His gait would strengthen, he would teach his fellow Apes of the world beyond the Eagles and assure them there was nothing to be afraid of, your lips whispering to his ear what to say to them for the past year. It was a deepened feeling that you had, assured that the Ape would do what he needed to, almost feeling a sense of pride and you could see the dance of his shoulder as he boasted to you when you were destined to meet again, allowing the soaring to take place again above the Earth, that he had done good by you. That Noa had learned, that Noa… Had lived a full life. Finally, your fingers managed to tug the feather of your pocket out and you drew it upwards towards your face, wanting it to be the last color against the blaze that your eyes were able to comprehend. 

Noa would find another more suitable for him, your heart turned in on itself, beating harder than it needed to to keep you alive for the last sustained minutes you were able to spare to think about him, there had to be another if destiny allotted you the privilege to die for him, to die for the Clan to survive. Maybe even Soona, you laughed at that inside of your mind, she would be good for him.

Smart, funny, caring… An Ape herself, able to give Noa what he’d never admit to wanting but was always there in the animalistic pull you had towards each other. With the thought of your laughter came the inconsequential visual of your head tilting back with knowledge that Noa was piercing right to your jugular with the motion vivid and clear like you were living that moment from the many times it happened in the past. Another Mate, he’d be happy, the white vivid coldness that consumed you began spitting back memories of the future that were not going to live. 

There were moments you wanted to hold onto, knowing they were never yours to being with. 

Noa grasping the back of your head and holding your forehead against his own, explaining in his own terms that… There was more here, your hands digging themselves flushed into the fur of his forearms to keep you steady against the hold he had for you, the hold that was tethering you to the Earth, no longer worried about gravity. 

Spliced, taking from your grasp.

Your lips ghosting over his own as Noa brought his thumb up to your bottom lip, your legs… Bare and naked around his tapering waist as he was positioned under you for assurance that you were not hurt as he asked, so soft and so tangled with adoration mixed with carnal desire that was also speaking in his pupil's blown eyes as the Ape looked right at your naked chest, the hackles of his fur-lined body raising in anticipation of the moment. “Are you… sure… I am what you want?” That wasn’t a question, you wanted to whisper but as your hips drew themselves down in assurance you were spat to another remembrance of the future that was not meant to be.

Never to be and you were chasing the pieces of faded obscurity. 

The lazy sun pierced your eyes as you squinted at the crystal clear blue of the sky above you, head resting in the surprisingly familiar lap that you had grown accustomed to. The ripping of the thigh muscles ensuring that you were always going to be safe, mouth curling itself into a content smile as you looked at your mated beloved. Echo behavior, Noa’s voice rang in your ear as you felt a pull towards that nature as your lips parted as you whispered the smallest utterance of an ‘I love you’.

Time will forget all things Echo, they were all dying.

‘Child? My…?’ Noa’s voice was barely more than a whisper in your eardrum as you nodded in acute fear and confirmation. His own, your own. Two species sharing in something kind and gentle that would be raised as both. The idea that he could… That he--- Was able to do this with you running rampant as you were pulled so tightly to his chest, your hands drawing themselves into the fur at the base of his muscular neck, ripened now with age as you figured time had passed now as things were going linarily forward, rubbing it in your death-ladened brain that you were never going to experience these moments yourself. The running film in your mind came to a stuttering stop, no more your subconscious told you. Those were going to be reserved for the day you met again and he told you what he had accomplished, letting you, a measly little Echo that blipped his heart for a year, live vicariously through because deep down, Noa would be able to admit that it should have been you.

He’d… Your lips closed themselves as you no longer wanted to taste your tears. Noa would become a father, some day. Hopefully soon, you wished. The Eagle Clan deserved preservation of their greatness, their goodness and kindness that they had shown you despite your differences.

Their acceptance… Would be graced onto a baby Chimpanzee, Noa proud beyond belief, but scared… You swallowed hard. You knew he was going to be so afraid, the feelings drastic in your mind. Failure is always on the horizon in his acute self-deprecation and you could feel your hands holding his baby, so vivid like the softened fur was encasing your senses as you looked down at them with tendered eyes. Their features were not clear, but the green of their eyes was always going to be alight with curiosity and obsession just like Noa’s.  

You… are going to become the future that Noa wants, you whispered to the baby you held carefully, maternal in all aspects as you loved the blessed wispfulness of fur that laid upon their hair. Bringing your forehead down to touch them so gently was the easy part, like you were giving them your blessing, your mergerance with Noa so clear that you knew death was coming for you. The future that he deserves, Echo and Ape alike, no animosity… Be… kind to him, he’s doing his best…  You told the baby in your arms. Please, do this for me since I cannot do it myself.

You shared them with him as intended, Noa coming into vision out of the corner of your eye, but they were torn from your grasp at the moment of fruition once you had reached for him and handed the baby Chimp back to the Ape with solemn sadness and he said nothing in your hallucination but gratefully accept the invitation you gave him, his arms strong and caressing the child, so small against his chest as their hands grasped at his chest, the bare nature of his scar, downwards to nestle deep into their fathers chest to sleep… To bond…. He would be afraid of failing them like he feared failing his own Father, but you hoped that he…Would… Remember this, that he knew you had seen this and that things would be okay, and that you were going to be with him without actually being there. 

I hope he does know that. You looked at the feather between your bloodied pointer and middle finger and gave it a twirl which seemed to deplete you of all other energy as your eyes blurred and the feather and its fine detailing became nothing but a blur in your vision. Don’t become the rage that rests beneath the surface of guilt. Shutting your eyes, you brought the feather in and lightly placed it to your face. Nothing was felt, nothing was brushing or tickling at your skin and you knew it was time then.

Duty was served, your eyelids were heavy even though they had been shut. No, you wanted to cry, it wasn’t a duty! It was a privilege to sacrifice but you were still clinging to that notion of fear mentioned before. How afraid you were to let Noa go, afraid to let Noa live another life without you, afraid to let Noa endure love from his child when you were not there to help him understand. You calmed yourself though; he’d remember you. Until he didn't.

Until that life that you had spliced together in your own crying and jealous mind became a reality with another and you were left to be forgotten, just another Echo in the long history of your staggering clinginess as you were holding onto an Ape you never had confirmation of feelings with regardless. Fantasies were tearing themselves apart, reality was falling from under you. Yeah, your breathing was shallow and slow now, shoulders barely rising and falling, Noa would forget… And… You wanted him to. It would be unfair to say otherwise. 

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Eagle Sun squealed as he came to rest on top of Noa’s shoulder that was dulled to the misery that was still tearing through the muscles there. A plump of small ash rose into Noa’s nostrils as he himself were teetering between sleep and lucidity, taking in no conversations with those around him as he had dragged himself in parallel to seclusion behind a toppled over boulder. Soona had tried to get him to stay, she tried to convince him to conserve whatever strength he had, Dar tried to get him to stay, telling him that the Clan needed his guidance but there was nothing there for him at the moment. 

The Clan was fine, he said sharply, eyes coming in and out of focus as he looked at Soona first and then his own Mother with aggravated animosity. He would be fine, he needed--- Nothing else was said and he was gone, leaving them to deal with what he was unable to process.

Mourn, his body told him, mourn for the Clan, mourn for the Eagles of the past, mourn again for your Father, but more factually, mourn for you. Green eyes were falling ahead at nothing in particular anymore, even the dim light of the flames of the village were nothing more than a scape of black and white to the Ape, his fur crying to be brushed of the ashen wood particles of his people’s history that rained down from the gray heavens, no stars to be seen, no clarification for Noa to look upon and ask advice as if there were any. There was not, he was stupid and childish to think that there would be any advice out of the drill of ‘you need to be strong’ or ‘you need to lead your people.’ 

He did not! Noa bared his teeth and felt them grit together, his canines drilling so hard into the gummed enclosure that he caused himself pain to take away from the ripping of his chest that he felt. Anything--- His hackles were rising and falling with each thought that ran through his mind, the sweeping wrinkles under his eyes incredibly prominent as they were now highlighted red and were dripping moisture down his entire face, catching on the fur of his beard. Noa did not bother wiping them away, the clear vision of your fingers pressing under the delicate skin under your eyes and doing just that, not leaving the forefront of his mind. Such an Echo thing. Such a foreign thing. 

He--- would not think about that. About Echo’s. About how… Right his Father was, his heart blistering itself into grief ridden paranoia and hatred that was not justified if he were in his right mind. Echo’s brought nothing more than destruction with every step they took, even you. 

Every glance you gave him set him on fire from the inside out until he was charred with nothing but thoughts of what it was going to be like once Noa actually had you, every touch you gave him caused him to feel bile of want to rise in his throat especially when it was fleeting, when your shoulder did nothing but swiggle against his own furry shoulder, something that should have never happened, every smile you flashed him were ingrained into his retinas and Noa was sure to keep his eyes stagnant as to not see it. To not let himself remember that at the end of the day, this destruction of his Clan and his very own self-being were caused by you.

The Eagle Clan’s leader  wanted it so badly too, for you to step on him and take what was yours. What he had given you. Noa would still beg for it if it meant you would come back to him this very night and even with a heavily injured body, he’d somehow make you his, awkward and rigid, his blood smearing into your own as Noa desperately brought his weight down on you, crushing to the point where you had no room for air any longer, face contorting the way that was remembered in his own mind, and the Chimpanzee would ride you until the sun came up out of self-gratification and indulgence. Mine. This beautiful onslaught of hatred, muddled with adoration and perfection, leaking around the very edges of the glass with brimmed primal intent… Was all his.

“Leave… me alone…” His voice was tearing itself apart with self-loathing riding along the very edges with regret seeping into the more puddled middle. He did not want the sympathy of an Eagle who had lost their Master. Any rational thought was eradicated, his gaze sliding to intensely stare towards the bird who was perched on his right shoulder, talons now seeping into the wound that would not care to stop bleeding. Noa seethed at that, baring his teeth towards Eagle Sun, and in one sharp and twisted motion, Noa was on his feet and flew his free and uninjured hand into the air like he was going to take off himself and shouted at Sun. “LEAVE ME.” The sun would come up soon, he thought ha-hazardly, now drawing back down to the ground to resume the crumpled up position that he had been in before… Noa growled and rolled his shoulders despite the screams that he was getting from the tendons to stop movements so they could begin healing. That stupid bird bothered him! Stupid, dumb… Pointless… Bird… Noa felt a chuckled sob swipe the back of his throat. You… Loved that bird even if Eagle Sun was cautious of you. The attempts you had made to get close to him, your fingers being pecked into oblivion. That… Noa tilted his head and sniffed, the air condensed with thick burnt undertones. That was the first time that he had seen you bleed, your very first attempt to get Eagle Sun to come to you and his beak caused your fragile skin to break.

The blood was vivid in front of Noa’s eyes as he thought about that time, months upon months ago. You… bled just like an Ape, gasping loudly and letting out a strangled cry, just like an Ape as you pulled yourself away from the Eagle, muttering under your breath as you brought your finger in for inspection as Noa heard you say ‘what a jerk’. 

Your blood… The scent was still heavy to Noa like you were there with him and he was the one responsible for your breaking down form. That he had done what he carnally wanted, canines sinking themselves into the most tender piece of flesh that he was about to find upon inspection of your jugular. The pressure point pulsating for him headily, Noa’s eyes falling shut as your sweat encased his taste buds first and then the gush of crimson that he imagined would come from digging straight into the light veins that traced your skin.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ Noa signed towards nothing in particular, there was no one around to see the words that fell deftly into the world, now tracing themselves with the words that you had spoken so freely and so affectionately towards him. They felt like they meant everything but nothing anymore…

Noa drew a hard breath in and felt the flooding of his lungs and the pushing of the shattering of his ribs against the flesh that rested not outside his bruised body, but inside of it. Maybe his Father, Noa thought vaguely. That’s who he was talking to. In life, he never sought advice from Koro. He--- Never understood Noa. Never took the time to understand the way that Noa thought and for good reason! The young Ape stiffened when his body racked itself with an intense wash of keen agony at the viciousness of his thought. 

For good reason… It was Noa’s mind and his openness, his want to understand Raka, to understand the way of Caesar, that got him to this point. It made no sense, he began down that trail that was laid down with the skulls of fallen Echo and fallen Ape, arm in arm in death, but never eye to eye in life. Why… keep the teachings of the first Ape to deny the embrace of being locked in cages?

Why were… Raka’s ideas are so important to Noa, why… did he get so obsessed with them when his Father’s words were so clear? Even in his death, Noa felt he disrespected his people and refused to listen and heed any good advice from Koro. He was… Naive… You had made him naive and made him believe in the ways that Raka spoke about, perhaps taken a bit too literally as there was never emotions that equated into the agreement that was sealed in a handshake, something so Echo that Noa, thinking about it now, could only feel the imprints of your palm against him. Urging him upwards, urging him to look at the sky and he felt the glazing of your forehead against his, green, lush and remarkably alight eyes imagined how it must have felt for his half-conscious state to feel that. The kiss of your bloodied forehead against the Apes, a symbol and a mark that was never to be broken but it was when you chose to let him live in place of your own self. Noa peered at the sky, longing for something to make sense, longing for you to be there with him, to tell him that it was alright and that the emotions he were feeling were all justified.

Noa wanted to feel the tender caress of your fingers so far into his fur that there was nothing else that mattered… Because… Bringing his eyes back down, they shut for a few moments as they stung with the ash that clung desperately to the air that wanted nothing more than to cause aggravated assault. Nothing here mattered without you. Noa squeezed himself tighter and felt a snap in his shoulder, something that would have caused him to double over but it felt good compared to the rundown nature of the rest of his nerves that were flaring and desperate to start their journey to heal him. He did not care then, it felt so good to have some form or relief. Green eyes that were always so lively with color that flitted the most beautiful gold were now dull and driven to despair. Where did he draw the line in the sand?

Where did you fall into this, death coming for you twice? Once when he found you, once again when he was forced to say goodbye in Soona’s arm as he had heard your last declaration to have her save him instead of you? You were death itself, walking around him and tempting him over again with your lips against the shell of his ear, your mouth licking at the fur below and skyrocketing fear and electricity through his senses. Temptation drew him in, the idea that Echo were the same as Apes and over time it became more and more clear that it was the case, that both sides refused to see that. Temptation placed itself in your actions as you cleaned him of all doubt that he had made a mistake to offer you refuge. Greed… Seeped into every pore of his body, every fluttering aspect of his fur down to the very small hairs that lined and coated closer to his skin.

Noa was greedy and now he was willing to admit that. He had done what he wanted out of greed and desperation to break the norm and to prove to himself and others that Echo were good because you showed him that they were! You--- Noa shut his eyes and felt himself tear into an open sob. You were good… So good for him, so good to him and now he needed to grapple that there was no longer a future to envision. You were gone, you were dead, assured by his Mother for only a moment as he tore himself open to be exposed to the elements of bereavement. You were gone, the breeze was no longer bringing your scent to him and he was holding his hand out for you to take but you were so far under the water that he wasn’t even able to feel your fingertips grazing against his.

Noa rocked his body- front and then backwards viciously to get himself to stand- To motivate himself to turn his face forward and look at his Clan and admit that he had made such a drastic mistake and to promise that… He would serve them in the future and never serve himself. Noa would force himself to find a mate, maybe one of the Elders' daughters who had interest and knew the ways, Noa would force himself to bear children with them and never take in the delectations that were associated with what he imagined Echo mating to be like. The sweet caress of your body against his leathered and callus skin, the rolling of your head backwards as you arched against him and desperately pleaded for him. No more, to be forgotten. Noa would love his children surely, he would support them and give them what they needed unlike what he felt happened with his own Father but he would never let himself forget the idea that even if it wasn’t possible with an Echo - he could at least try. Noa could have at least tried to drive himself into you as many times as it took to assure the future of his Clan that seemed so bleak and droughted now to him. Noa needed to stand, to face his people instead of turning his back on them… They… He thought and looked over his good shoulder and finally turned himself into the bustle of the Apes behind him, a few meters to the west as they were being tended to by Soona and Dar. They needed him… They needed their leader to take them to the promised land and to raise them from the very ashes of history. “Noa---”

That… Narrowing his eyes, there was a wash of panic that rested in his fellow Apes that he had been so ignorant of, voices overlapping each other as twigs broke underfoot as they shuffled in the dark, soon to be twinkling with the dawn that was at the cusp of the horizon, he could hear the drawing of chittering from deep in their chest, a form of communication that was verbal but used no words followed by harder barks of aggression.

Something--- Noa’s eyes amply lit themselves up at the sight of a torch that was lingering too close to the Clan now. That voice was Soona calling his name, his eyes forcing themselves onto her movements as she was hunched on all fours, skidding to a stop on the floor of the woods and tore into the dirt and sediment below.

 “Another! There is another!”

He opened his mouth to say something, to ask anything but his voice was gone as he felt terror resting in the back of his throat at the realization. Echo. There… had been more. They… Came to seek revenge for their fallen comrades and were going to kill the rest of the Clan! Noa stiffened, “Must hurry. Get---” He grunted as he stood, his knees buckling under the sheer weight that he carried, only muscle and no fat. ‘Any ape…’ He signed to Soona and followed her closely back towards where the Clan were gawking at the appearance of another devil. ‘That can fight.’ 

The female Ape beside Noa only nodded and broke apart from him once up the small embankment of the boulder he had secluded himself behind earlier. Noa felt his movements to be slow and shining with aggravation that he was priming his taut muscles again to fight, this time, he accepted, to the death. The Earth moved below his weight, not helping the fact that he was already unbalanced beyond what he was capable of correcting in his right mind. Another assault and it would end in either their own demise, or his. The latter seemed to realistically attainable, he wanted to see you, wanted to greet you and finally tell you all the things that had been plaguing his mind since he handed you that blue feather, setting in motion a very tangly dance of courting that neither of you were actually aware of happening. 

The brushing of his shoulder against yours that would displace his scent against your sweetened notes, the stares you gave one another as you spoke of things outside of your own cultures, hands inching closer, one by one, feet stepping one motion at a time before the entire world shifted and you were gone from in front of him and Noa’s reaction time was too slow to grab at any idea that you were even there in the first place. The Master of the Eagle Clan only had one thing to fight for left. It was a male Echo that Soona drew worry to, that was the first deduction. Male, not armed…? Nothing cased his smaller body, thinned from malnutrition as most Echo were. That’s what made them so easy to hunt and kill as a sport. Noa’s brow hardened as he stared down the small hill at them as he heard a few hisses from the Apes that the Echo was passing as they were brought to Noa’s utmost attention, his brain feeling nothing more than a scrambled Eagle Egg on a hot simmering rock.

“You---” Their voice caught in their throat, nothing more than a jumbled mess of high pitched noises as they looked up at him, Noa feeling a drench of intimidating factor radiating off him, even from the very tips of his fur were they shivering and shoving down this Echo’s throat. “You’re-you… You’re the leader?” “What do you want?” Noa barked at them, letting his canines slip into display as his eyes were turned from the softness of thinking of you to the bitterness that this Echo had the audacity to come find them to finish the job as if taking you along the waist side with them wasn’t bad enough. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”

The tenacity in his vocals surprised everyone, the Echo falling nearly flat on his back but that was nothing compared to the stares that he was garnering from the Apes themselves. Chimpanzee eyes were widened with fear that he could kill them if he chose, if they did not pull their weight in the Clan, Bonobo green glances were shared amongst each other as no one knew Noa to be aggressive, to use force. He was an intelligent fighter, hackles began to arise on all the Apes' fur in thinned anticipation of what this meant, all minds like a hive sharing the same notion and idea of radicating revenge.

The fact that Noa was displaying such an air of arrogant hatred and encroachment evident in his powered stance, his thighs pained but willing to put forth one more effort, his shoulders, one rendered completely useless in the idea of another tussle, but the other rolling as to show the Echo that even one handed, he was more than capable of tearing their face off. “S-She’s alive!” The male held his hands up as Apes began to enforce themselves into their personal space, the clear indication of fear rising and hitting all their noses. Sweat and adrenaline as if that were going to save them if they decided to attack him. Noa’s mouth opened for only a moment as he stared at him, their eyes afraid to look into the soul of an Ape as a Bonobo next to him hissed nearly directly into his ear before his lips drew themselves back together to keep rational though his train of conductive thought began tearing itself apart. You… were alive? Where?! He wanted to rattle this Echo by the neck. TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!!!! Noa’s eyes widened minutely before resuming their narrowed glance. The Echo whimpered and shifted away but only caught the attention of another bonobo on his other side. 

“What.--- did you say?” The control in his voice was gone and Noa knew that he was running the risk of being played again but the greed he had discussed in introspection earlier was rising in the back of his skull, tickling at the notion that… The male Echo here spoke the truth. You were alive. Breathing, succulent as ever in wafted graces of smell, but hurt beyond compensation to the point where Noa wanted to rip this Echo’s face off and lick the blood off the insides for even speaking of you. No one was allowed to anymore, it was law. You were reserved in memory encased glass now, to be locked in Noa’s mind for the rest of his lie.

“The one th-that got us here! She’s AH!” A Chimpanzee grasped his forearm, looking up at Noa as they did and Noa did not give them the time of day, waiting for more baited words from this man. “I--- Was never a part of them, they threatened to kill my family… My…” He looked around frantically at the Apes around him, “My family… I cou-couldn’t do it, so I hid in the for-forest… I---” It was clear that he was bargaining with Noa, with all of them. Probably to save his pathetic little life as Soona came rounding to Noa’s right side and stared alongside with him.

“Could have saved her before---”

“They would have killed me!” “They should have.” Noa snapped back without empathy or remorse leaking out. They should have killed this worthless excuse of an Echo. No, not that affectionate in nature. This absolutely disgraced Human who probably came here to save his life rather than to be hunted by another group of ruthless Apes that would gut him alive. Noa gestured with his muzzle to take the Echo away, to let him die out in the wilderness.

A death by the hand of an Ape would come too swift to this creature, Noa decided, his eyes widening as the Echo dragged his hand into his pocket, shifting aggressively against the Apes that had a hold on him. Everyone assumed a weapon, the flashing of several pairs of teeth indicative of that along with raised fur, hardened breath and heavy beady weight drawing flat and wide feet into the ground. Echo weapon like what injured Noa so badly.

“She gave me this!” Blue. Noa’s eyes were broad with reminiscent melancholy. Eagle… Sun’s… Feather… 

“Where did you---” Soona shot Noa’s side profile a glance as his voice wavered unconfidently, not believing what she was hearing.

“She gave it to me, I’m telling you she is alive! She said you would recognize this!”

‘He lies.’ Soona signed towards her sunset brother but Noa raised his good hand and cut her off. 

‘Why risk coming here when he’s alone? Where did he get the feather?’ 

Soona responded but Noa did not pay it any attention as the feather was captivating his reddened eyes. Noa bargained now, washing into a dream-like state at the appearance of something that very clearly carried your scent within the tiny bristles. So warm, the smell was even though it was just a trace of blood, but it was there and it was catapulting the Ape into the great unknown of what lay beyond the offering this Echo just gave. Wanting nothing more than truth so he could see your face, hold your face and tell you that he was sorry for everything knowing fully well that you would say the same thing if you saw him, Noa swallowed hard. 

He felt his heart yearn for that… Even if you were actually dead, he wanted the morbid satisfaction of being the last hands to touch you. You were his and only his, even in death and Noa would never let the mounting guilt that flooded his senses ever forget that. There was always the intent to go back for you, even once the fires dissipated. Alone and torn to shreds the few things that he never cared about. He’d place you next to his Father. He’d--- He looked at Soona with a softened gaze of assurance, he’d hoped that you were with Koro and you were telling him the ways of the Echo just like you had done to his Son. 

Noa…knew that Soona was going to disagree with this much like she disagreed with the agreement you and Noa made nearly a year ago.There was no way to tell her, to describe to her that even though he knew it come be a threat, that he could die, he was more than willing to try. Willing to see you just once more after his harsh abandonment left him feeling more gaped than the wound that inflicted his chest, the blood around itr now drying in heaps and heaps upon the clotted fur that was tangled with dirt. 

She growled at him, a deflection to get him to stop considering what he was about to do. He was playing around with the emotions of one of his closest friends, teetering on the very thin line of distrust. If Soona was right, she’d never believe in Noa’s judgment again, none of the Apes would. But… If this Echo were right then… Noa was wrong, and you were still alive out there, saved by this Echo who came here… He sniffled a bit, the fur that was raised on his shoulder falling down slowly as he tried to keep his breathing rational but the feather’s appearance was dragging him into the ground below, his emotions frayed from no sleep, his brain not comprehending anything outside of getting you back to his side. 

‘I will let him take me to her.’

‘She is dead! Noa.’ Her hands quickened as the human watched them communicate in utter silence, a cruel contradiction to the loudness that Echo seemed to carry with them to all corners of the land. ‘What if he brought more!? We cannot defend ourselves with what we have!’

“You need…” Noa looked at the ground and spoke in nothing but a wistful whisper and felt a stifled cry rise in him as he lifted his tendered shoulder and placed it against Soona’s smaller body, right against her outer shoulder and he pulled her to him languidly, “To trust me… If I do not…” Soona opened her mouth to protest but could see the contemplation written on Noa’s face as he had thought this through as he so often did. And like the conversation of the past to get them all convinced to let you stay, Soona did not agree with his reason or justifications… She did not understand but she chose to do as Noa wanted. Trust.

“If I do not come back, you must take the Clan to the place we scouted out. Let them take me… to save… Eagle Clan.”

“Noa…” Her voice was soft as he tore himself from her, every step he took towards the Echo antagonistic and threatening just to drive home the fact that Noa was indeed a predator and he was willing to do what he needed to do to defend himself. Cross me, his gait said to the male who cowered as he got closer and crouched down, ignoring the sensation of intense crunching of his ribcage from the motion of his body once again closing on on itself and he peered into a set of eyes that should have been so familiar, they were Echo like yours were, but were drawn to fear much like yours had been the first time you laid eyes on Noa and he felt a prickle of familiarity at that.I will be the one to kill your family, every last one of them, his green eyes said, pupils dilated to eclipse any of the color. I will drive them to the very ends of the Earth and put their bodies up on display on wooden sheared spears if you dare.

Spotting Soona one last glance as she moved slowly on all fours towards Noa, her lacked movements evident that she was uncomfortable with his choice but once his eyes set on Dar, who had been moving to help the baby Apes move away from the fight that she sensed could break out, she looked at her Son tenderly. You… Do what you need to do to save your mate, she said softly, Noa feeling the pang hit him at the idea that Dar… 

His own Mother… Wanted nothing more than to turn back time and do the same for Koro, to help aid Noa in the fight in hopes that three against one gorilla would give them any chance. Noa knew - His mind playing the moments of his childhood where he had seen his parents foreheads pressing, his tongue out of his mouth at the display of affection, talking to Anaya and Soona about the lack of interest he ever had in fulfilling that, in setting another female Ape to take his Mother’s position that was garnered with respect and adoration. Noa knew Dar would have done what he could to save Koro and she was giving him the chance, confident her Son would succeed to do just that. 

Noa narrowed his eyes and puffed his breath against the Echo’s face. He cowered again and grunted as he fell almost straight on his back but got caught by another Chimpanzee behind him as Noa’s hand delicately plucked the blue feather right from his shimmering fingertips with acute ease and sacredness of what the item meant to the two of you. It glistened with crimson blood, dark and whispering to him that you were still alive, this blood was fresh and not dried and flaking off. Noa brought it to his lips and let his tongue swipe at it just once, coating it with a glimmer of saliva. Alive, it tasted… Tucking the feather into his armband, careful and gentle as the moistened feather now tangled into the dryer nature of his fur, he muttered.

“Take me to her.”

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[saltywritings]

Bend The Knee | Aegon ii Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You have been called upon at court to bend the knee to the newly crowned king, however, a surprising turn takes place when you bend the knee.

Warnings: Smut, Minors do not interact, male oral receiving, oral as a demand, adult content, slight female receiving.

A palpable undercurrent of terror unfurled its tendrils within you as you ventured through the hallowed halls of the red keep. The subtle cadence of your heels created a delicate patter, resonating against the stoic stone floors, each step echoing the rhythmic pulse of your heart, which had quickened its tempo within the confines of your chest. The ominous ambiance of the surroundings enveloped you, casting shadows that danced in eerie tandem with the disquiet settling in the air. The very essence of the fortress seemed to be imbued with an unspoken tension, as if secrets whispered among the walls, and the weight of history bore down upon you, amplifying the sense of foreboding that clung to the atmosphere like a shroud.

How could one not succumb to an overwhelming sense of terror while traversing the path leading to the throne room? The ominous summons from the king, directed specifically at you, added a layer of apprehension that hung heavy in the air. This unsettling journey unfolded in the aftermath of the harrowing executions, where both your brother and father met their demise for adamantly refusing to yield before the might of Aegon Targaryen.

The weight of grief and defiance still lingered, casting a somber shadow over your steps. The very air seemed charged with a palpable tension, the echoes of the recent tragedy reverberating through the corridors. Each footfall echoed with a haunting resonance, a morose rhythm that mirrored the throbbing ache in your heart. The throne room loomed ahead, its imposing doors a portal to an uncertain fate.

As you approached, the memories of your fallen kin and their unwavering loyalty to their principles pressed upon your consciousness. The foreboding atmosphere intensified, a testament to the gravity of the situation. The iron grip of fear tightened its hold, fueled not only by the formidable presence of Aegon Targaryen but also by the specter of the irrevocable losses suffered in the name of steadfast allegiance.

As the grand doors swung open, revealing the regal spectacle of the throne room, your gaze fixed upon the newly crowned king. Adorning his head was a formidable black crown, adorned with a radiant ruby at its center, a symbol of authority that seemed to cast a profound weight upon his brow. His dark, penetrating eyes met yours as he beckoned you forward with a commanding yet composed presence.

"Lady Y/N, come closer," he declared, his voice unwavering and devoid of menace. The resonance of his command held a magnetic power, drawing you toward him. The air in the throne room seemed to pulse with a peculiar intensity, as if the very fabric of destiny hung in the balance.

Complying with the regal summons, you gracefully approached the throne, your steps measured and deliberate. Standing before him, the gravity of the moment became palpable. The ruby at the heart of his crown gleamed like a beacon, a testament to the authority he now wielded. The silence that enveloped the room spoke volumes, punctuating the significance of your presence in Aegon's gaze.

"I ask of you what I have asked of all my subjects. Prove yourself loyal." Aegon notified you, his voice hung with authority with each word that echoed through the throne room. You stood before him; despite the loyalty that your father and brother had put their life on the line for you were not willing to die. they made their choice and you could be nothing but proud based on the honor they were willing to die for. therefore, you made your own choice.

You sunk down to your knee and looked to the ground as you pledged yourself loyal to his crown. However, a great confusion managed to overcome you as you heard a small laughter come from the king.

"Both knees, lady y/n." Aegon spoke with a certain chuckle to your tone. A great confusion engulfed your senses by his sudden amusement. Still, you complied wanting to ensure that you made it out of this room with your life. You now rested before him with both your knees flat on the ground.

"Come closer," he urged as you gave a small slide on the ground. Remaining on your knees he let out a groan in anticipation. "Come here," he let out an eager demand grabbing onto you by your waist and sliding you so close to him that your knees were touching the iron throne. You were between his legs, looking up at him with pitiful eyes as he smiled. It was only now that you had noticed the growing erection in Aegon's pants and the sudden blush that covered your cheeks.

"Open my pants and use your mouth to show me how loyal you are to your king." Aegon demanded of you, sitting back as he looked to you waiting for you to make a move.

"B-but your grace . . . "you attempted to struggle. "I am a maiden I do not know how to do such a thing." you suggest your voice stuttering in tear unable to look up to meet his eyes.

Aegon let out a sigh as he took your hands. "It is not hard to do. I will show you," he insisted grabbing onto your hands and pulling them to his pants.

He helped you open the button holding them together and brought your hand to the inside of his pants. His cock felt soft against your hand and was throbbing from the very contact you offered. Aegon guided your hand to pull it out and your eyes widened at the sight of his cock before your face. Aegon could not help but to smile at the way your eyes looked to bewildered at the sight of him.

"Now open that sweet mouth of yours," Aegon demanded, you complied without hesitation. You knew what was to happen next and you worried any lack of performance would result in the end of your life and therefore.

With your mouth open wide he grabbed you by the roots of your hair and sank you onto his cock. It was a strange feeling, to have one in your mouth. It tasted slightly salty and you could not help but notice the vein that was pulsing against your tongue as he sunk you onto him. He let out a loud groan of pleasure begun to sink back into the throne.

With this gloved leather hands rooted into your hair he looked at you with his cold eyes, biting on his lip as he begun to force your head up and down on his cock. You complied with the action, however, begun to gad the further he forced your head down. It was perhaps for a moment you attempted to wiggle off a bit to ease from the gagging but Aegon only took efforts to force you down further.

"Hush, Hush. Relax sweet thing that's part of it." He insisted to you as he continued to force your head up and down on his cock until he had balls deep, forcing your lips to swallow his entire length.

"Fuck- Fuck, you're so beautiful when you're swallowing my cock like that." Aegon let out in a groan, still listening to the wet sounds your mouth made as it engulfed his cock. His boots sliding across the floor as he attempted to hold out. But there had been something too good about the feeling of your mouth around him.

Aegon soon pulled you off his cock, watching as the spit that trailed from your mouth and down your chin connected to his cock. Aegon stood before you, his hand in your hair still as he forced you to look up at him. "Fuck, yes-" he let out in a moan again as his cold eyes remained on yours.

Aegon kept you looking up at him as he began to release. The only thing you could do was look up helplessly at your king as he begun to release his seed across your face, watching as it dripped down your cheeks and onto the fine lace of your dress. "You look so beautiful with my cum ruining your innocent face." He said with a smile. "Good little loyal subject," he took a second to praise you while he stuffed his cum covered cock back into his pants.

"Rise," He remanded and you complied standing to your feet, his cum covering your face, you dared not move. However, you were met with sudden shock when Aegon went to his knees, the king before you on your knees was certainly not what you were expecting and he lifted up your dress. Aegon was now before your clothes womanhood and he soon pressed his face against it, taking in a deep breath as his other hand held your back steady. You let out a small yelp and could not help the involuntary struggle.

"Hold still- you are still proving yourself." Aegon reminded you and you attempted to so, looking as his nose pressed into your cunt and he took deep breaths in. He let out a hum of approval as he pulled his face away and begun to pull your underwear down just far enough to expose yourself to him. Aegon did not hesitate, his tongue managed to do a swipe across the inside of your cunt and he soon let out another hum.

"Gods, you little whore. You fucking loved that. You're dripping wet, like a ripe peach." Aegon said, with his hands holding onto your waist his tongue went in again. it licked and sucked and while you found pleasure in it that was not his intention. No, Aegon was trying to suck out every drop he could. However, after a few moments he pulled away, pulling down your dress but leaving your underwear exposed.

"You are expected at my chambers at nightfall. I believe I know a few others ways to test your loyalty."

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Cold Lips

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, domination, violence, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

Yesterday's trailer and the panel with ewan did something to me, so I think that dark aemond is the most appropriate thing I can give you today and that's it. It begins!

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Although she knew it was dangerous, after what had happened she forbade telling the King about what she had discovered. Some part of her hoped that Prince Aemond was alive − she was willing to help him regain the throne if only he would agree to spare her brother's life.

She spent the rest of the day alone in her chamber, covered in thick furs, thinking hard about what had happened.

About Vhagar.

He told her she knew his name, so he must have been someone she had seen on a daily basis before. Her discovery frightened him enough that he was willing to kill her − however, did he really want to do it out of fear of her father's wrath and the fact that he would lose his position, or was it something else?

She bit her lower lip at the thought that a part of her suspected she might be working with the Prince, to be his liaison, a devoted servant who by some miracle had managed to get into her father-king's closest guard.

He gave up the idea of murder because he knew that even if he had faked her suicide − the King would have blamed him for not watching over her and he would have lost everything, so he came up with another excuse, hiding himself behind sheer terror, hoping that she would believe him.

However, what purpose did what happened between them afterwards?

She pressed her lips together, feeling the heat in her body at the memory of that overwhelming feeling of fulfilment, that wonderful tickling and tension rising in her lower abdomen with each of his thrusts.

She placed her hand on her womb, swallowing hard at the thought that he had come inside her, that she could expect a child because of his seed.

She squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to breathe calmly, thinking only of how much better it would have been if he had let her die that night.

Her father had demanded, despite her objections, that she join the funeral feast in her mother's honour, so she walked reluctantly down to the great hall, her ghost following her at a greater distance than usual.

She thought that he himself was horrified by what had happened between them and the consequences that might follow.

She sat down at the table next to her brother, her father smiled at her and she reciprocated the gesture, thinking with amusement about how easy it was for her to pretend.

"There she is, my daughter. My treasure, my greatest support." He said with a pride from which her throat squeezed.

Only a few years ago she would have believed his words.

She felt him grasp her hand and she reciprocated the embrace, stroking his skin with her thumb.

"She's no longer a child and I've decided it's time to find her a suitable candidate for a husband." He said lightly, she felt her heart stop, the smile disappeared from her lips, on her face only pain mixed with disbelief.

They were at a feast dedicated to the funeral of her mother, his queen, and he was discussing her marriage.

"I ask that willing lords report to me on this matter." He said contentedly, letting go of her hand, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

She felt him standing behind her, felt his menacing, dark aura, and wondered what he was thinking.

If he imagined her lying in bed with another man, letting him sink deep between her thighs.

She left the feast quickly that evening, explaining to her father that she was tired, which he accepted with understanding. When she stepped into her chamber her servants helped her to pull off her mourning gown, once again offering her condolences, blowing out all the candles one by one.

She lay comfortably under the thick layers of furs, looking out the window at the cloudless sky full of stars, thinking about what had happened, unable to believe that by some miracle she was still alive.

As she began to slowly fall asleep she shuddered suddenly; she heard the door to her chamber open − Vhagar stepped inside without a word and closed it quietly behind him.

She watched with a rapidly pounding heart as, with an unhurried, lazy step, he approached her windows, untied the curtains and covered the only source of light with them, repeating this act until complete darkness fell around them.

She could see nothing but blackness.

She heard the sound of steel hinges opening, then the sound of a belt being unbuckled and the rustling of robes falling to the floor.

She lay still, her lips parted in horror and disbelief, felt once again this familiar, throbbing sensation between her thighs and embarrassing, sticky wetness.

She listened to his footsteps, the old wood creaking under his feet as he finally climbed onto her bed, she heard it bend under his weight.

She felt the touch of his big hand on her cheek and trembled, taking a deep breath, realising he wasn't wearing gloves, his warm breath wrapped around her face.

She tightened her hands on his bare, muscular shoulders as his fingers slipped into the ties of her nightgown and just ripped them open − she squealed when she heard the sound of the fabric being torn and a cool breeze surrounded her flesh.

"− I won't stop −" He said in a trembling, deep voice, so startlingly clear that shivers ran through her, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan when she realised he wasn't wearing a mask.

She squealed loudly, her body arching all over, her hands clenched in his hair when she felt it, his cold, wet mouth clamped down on her warm breast, playing with her nipple, sucking and licking it, the spot between her thighs throbbing with pleasure and desire.

"− oh − oh, gods −" She mumbled out, never having felt anything like it in her life, his hands ripped her chemise off her and only then did she feel his whole naked body pressed against her skin − it was such an overpowering, shocking sensation that she was out of breath.

She wanted to enjoy every second of what was happening, his lips teasing her nipple with a loud click, clearly taking great pleasure from it, his hands tightened on her hips, forcing her to spread her thighs wider in front of him, her fingers stroking his hair − she thought with a trembling heart that they were unexpectedly soft and long.

"− we can't −" She choked out with an effort, wanting to retain the remnants of her sober thinking and decency.

He, however, only chuckled under his breath, amused, his hand from her hip slid down between her thighs − she whimpered loudly as his fingertips ran over her heat, collecting the moisture that had already managed to flow out of her, oversensitive and delicate.

"− should I leave you like this? − I'm not that cruel −" He hummed under his breath with a kind of excitement from which she quivered all over. She heard him raise himself higher on his elbow, his nose ran over her cheek − she gasped as she felt his fingers begin to apply more pressure, in sure, circular motions teasing the bud hidden between her folds.

All she could think about was that he wasn't wearing a mask, her hand rised involuntarily to touch his cheek.

"Tsk-tsk." He hissed as he caught her wrist − his tongue ran over her upper lip as his middle finger made its way inside her, searching with it for the spot he had rubbed earlier with his length. "Don't."

She mewled with delight and her body shook with a shiver of pleasure when he finally found it, her hips responded to his touch with desperate rocking, her mouth parted invitingly, letting his tongue deep into her throat, their lips joined in a sticky, loud, hot kiss.

She panted loudly along with him, stroking his hair as she felt him slide his finger out of her, impatient, his lips sucking and brushing her fleshy skin again and again as the tip of his manhood pushed against her swollen slit, thrusting forcefully inside her.

She clasped her hands on his bare back feeling the scars beneath them and cried quietly into his mouth, trying with difficulty to fit him inside her − he throbbed all over in arousal, her breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their bodies.

They both started to moan between loud, wet kisses as he began to root into her hot core − this time she was so wet that a few pushes of his hips were enough for him to begin slipping into her with ease.

"− mmm − that's it − so fucking good −" He panted into her mouth, gripping her hips tightly with his hands, stretching her tight walls with his length with every movement of his hips.

She moaned helplessly beneath him, stroking his hair, neck, shoulders and back, all sweaty from exertion, their lips finding each other in messy kisses over and over again.

"− fuck − do you really think I'm going to share what's mine? − that I would allow some mere, petty lord take you? − hm? −" He hissed out and she felt her walls clench tightly on him at his words in pleasure, heat surged through her lower abdomen from which her head completely spun, her helpless whimpering answered him.

"− p-please − I − ughmm −" She babbled, unable to focus on anything other than how he slammed his manhood into her, how wonderfully it teased the spot hidden in her walls.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel him closer, tightening her fingers on his back − she heard him groan low feeling it, speeding up, thrusting into her like crazy.

"− you want it, don't you? − my seed − deep, deep inside you − fuck, say it −" He breathed out between quick, deep, brutal thrusts − she felt him looking at her, felt his hot breath on her face, his forehead pressed against hers.

"− y-yes − please − fill me, fill me, fill me −" She mewled, both of them moaning loudly as a powerful orgasm shook her body, her core began to clench against him, forcing him to let go, his length twitching all over as his semen spilled deep inside her.

"− good gods, yes, take it −" He exhaled in delight, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, pushing his seed as deep into her as possible.

"− you're mine − I'm going to fill you every night − gods, you're going to bear me so many children −" He gasped in bliss, slowly coming down from his peak, the whimpers of pleasure coming out of her lips at his words − she wasn't sure she'd ever experienced anything like this in her life.

"− please −" She mumbled quietly like a helpless child, running her hands over his naked skin, wanting to remember that wonderful feeling − they were both hot and sweaty with pleasure, their bodies sticking to each other, her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

They both sighed when he finally fell on top of her, embracing her, their fingers sinking into each other's bodies, wanting to feel each other as much as possible, though she wasn't sure if two people could connect in any physical way more than they did now.

She could feel his loud, raspy breath against her cheek, the tip of his nose running over her hot skin, as if he wanted to check that it wasn't all just the result of his imagination.

"− stay − stay inside me −" She whispered, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, with a gentle movement of his hips sliding his already half-soft manhood fully into her, hiding himself deep inside her.

Even though she knew it was wrong and irresponsible, that she couldn't trust him, that he was a traitor, she had never felt safer with anyone before, her eyelids closing involuntarily, having not experienced a peaceful sleep for so long.

"− don't open your eyes until I leave −" He whispered in her ear and she nodded, stroking his soft hair, her lungs filled with his scent, male sweat, steel, dust and fire.

His arms held her in a tight embrace through this night and many nights to come, making the days blend into one for her.

Each time he came to her he would cover the windows with curtains so that she could see nothing, and then sink his lips and tongue into the warmth between her thighs, groaning in delight as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her, only to end up rooting deep into her, as he promised, filling her with his seed.

He always rose before dawn − she could see through her closed eyelids that the first rays of light were sneaking into her chamber despite the curtains, that if she opened them she could see his face.

She feared, however, what she would see.

All she could think about all day was the night, what he brought to her along with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips.

When he took her, he would say that he was her husband, that only he had the right to touch her, that she would only bear his children.

She was his.

He used to show this to her by standing closer than usual when she was eating or reading, by no longer leaving when she was taking a bath or changing, staring at her shamelessly, promising her servants in her presence that if they said anything to the King, he would end their lives.

"Vhagar doesn't mean it and he would never hurt you against my will. Am I right?" She asked coldly, frowning at him as the terrified girl tried to attach the long sleeves to her gown with trembling hands.

"Mmm."

When they were alone he would dare to approach her from behind as she sit, his leather-gloved hand running over her throat only to grasp her cheeks tightly and lift her face up, forcing her to look at him.

She stared into his eyes obscured by the dark material, at his mask, indifferent, cold, mocking, his thumb gently massaging her skin.

He didn't need to say anything − she could feel the tension between them quivering in the air, making her feel a throbbing inside her.

"Tonight I'm going to make use of those lips." He hummed softly, parting her lips with his finger − she closed her eyes, feeling that she couldn't last, her hand lifted swiftly the thick layers of her gown and slid deep between her thighs, sinking into her moist warmth.

He sighed quietly, looking down at it, clearly taking satisfaction from the fact that his mere presence made her unable to bear it, that she needed to relieve herself.

"− do you want it so badly? − me fucking those moist, sweet lips? − hm? −" He cooed, and she only whimpered, tilting her head back, resting it against his stomach, with a loud, embarrassing click rising and falling on her fingers, teasing her pearl at the same time, feeling her nipples grow hard with arousal.

"− please −" She mumbled, although she didn't know what she was asking for, they couldn't do it now − they had to wait until night fell, like every day.

"− you look wonderful like this −" He murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb, his voice trembling slightly − she knew that he was already completely hard, that he was dying at the thought of being deep inside her at night. "− so devoted −"

She mewled at his words and felt him clamp his hand over her mouth, stifling her moans that escaped her throat as she reached her peak − she felt her walls clench hungrily on her fingers, wonderful waves of heat surged through her body again and again. She heard him gasp with satisfaction as he saw her body spilling in front of him on the chair.

"− mine −"

That night as they lay in complete darkness, both of them falling asleep, his nose snuggled into the hollow of her neck, his soft manhood deep inside her, she dared to ask him the question that had long been pressing against her tongue.

"Are you Prince Aemond's envoy?"

Her question hung in the air as if in the void; she felt his body freeze − for a moment he did not breathe, his fingers tightened on her soft skin.

Silence.

Long, cruel, cold.

"Yes."

She swallowed loudly, a shudder went through her at his words. He felt it and leaned in, placing a soft, warm kiss on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her breast with affection.

"I want to help him. Can you convey this to him?" She asked in a whisper and felt him flinch all over, letting the air out of his lungs in disbelief − she felt him lift a little, his hot breath on her cheek.

"What do you mean?" He asked in a trembling, low, deep voice, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She pressed her lips together feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"I will support him if he spares my little brother. If he agrees, I'll do whatever he wants." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat − his lips pressed quickly against her skin, greedily, violently, kissing and sucking her, his length throbbing hard inside her.

He began to move again, slowly rooting into her with a sigh of delight and relief, saying no more until they reached their peak together, panting loudly, their bodies heated and quivering with exertion.

"− be patient −" He whispered in her ear with such tenderness that she felt her heart squeeze, heat spilling over her lower abdomen. "− soon − I promise you, we'll be married soon −"

After what he said, she fell asleep filled with hope, with the fact that she wanted to believe his words, that he would really protect her, that perhaps a great bloodshed could be avoided this time.

That they would really get married.

She thought that now, that everything had come together in her mind, she could finally look at him − her future husband, the man who had taken her for himself, who brutally and indivisibly stormed into her heart.

That was why, even though she had sworn to him that she would not do so, hearing him get dressed in a hurry she lifted her eyelids.

She felt her heart freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she couldn't catch her breath.

He sensed something was wrong, subconsciously realised she had broken her promise and lifted his gaze to her, his hands clenched on the belt of his coat.

A large scar ran across his right cheek, in his eye socket not a blue iris, as it seemed to her when she looked at him through the thin black material, but a sapphire, glinting dangerously in the first rays of the sun, his lips clenched into a thin line, in his healthy eye pain, disappointment and anger.

"You shouldn't have done that."

_____

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 @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[jubileemon]

Regarding Octavia's song I Will Be Okay:

The line "I'll just get older and you'll only know my name" implies that Stolas had trouble keeping up with her interests when he began his affair with Blitzø. Now that he's estranged from her for the entirety of his sentence, he has no way of finding out what she’s doing or who she's becoming unless some news about her gets out to Hell’s general public. When he reclaims his crown in a hundred years, the daughter he knew at the start of his banishment will be a distant memory, replaced by a stranger he won’t even recognize or know anything about except her name and the fact she was once his beloved child.

Stolas realizes the inverse of this too, mournfully telling Blitzø that he’ll be a stranger to her by the time he's allowed to regain his title. Why? Because his experiences during his century living as a commoner will inevitably shape him into a different person than he was before his banishment, meaning that all she’ll know about him is his name.

Nearing the end of the song, the scene begins a cataclysm of meteors showering from above and the ground exploding beneath her. Back in the episode "Loo Loo Land", she listens to a song called "My World Is Burning Down Around Me" by 'F*ck You, Dad' (the band) while her mom Stella is screaming at her dad Stolas about the affair with the imp Blitzø. The song title serves as a pun that her dad has supposedly ruined the family structure and she doesn't feel comfortable at home anymore and, when they reconcile at the theme park, Blitzø's fight with Robo Fizz results in the place burning down around them on their way out. Stolas tries to keep her world together that is their own relationship as father and daughter. Unfortunately, that falls apart in "Mastermind", which Stolas was willing to die for his lover after he previously promised to "never leave her". Her song tells how she's questioning if her dad's love ever existed. Now that he has left, her world is now burning down around her with no one to support it and she contemplates carrying on in her life without him. It takes a look at the box of her father's antidepressants before she decides to unironically say "F*ck you, dad" without actually saying it by the end of this episode, misguided as it is without knowing the additional context of those pills.

When Octavia asks Stolas if she was just an obligation to him, it hits harder when you remember that she actually was since it is usually a parent's duty to raise their child. On the political and aristocratic side, Stolas and Stella were arranged for the sole purpose of birthing her as a precautionary heir. As her father of that family, it's his obligation to raise her enough to be worthy of his legacy. When he saw how precious she turned out to be, it gave him a new sense duty out of love to raise her less as an heir and more as his pride and joy of a daughter.

The scene where Octavia decides to leave Stolas - it wasn’t because she hated him, or even Stella and Andrealphus’ manipulations. It was because she believes it’s her fault that Stolas is so miserable that he had to take antidepressants, and that he stayed in a miserable marriage purely out of obligation towards her. Octavia believes it’s better that Stolas be with Blitzø and be happy for once, which was why she also asked beforehand if it's why Stolas didn't hesitate when the chance to "leave" her appeared.

There is the fact that Octavia accused Stolas of choosing Blitzø over her sounds like jealousy, but then there were all of his efforts to protect her and make her happy over the years before the series began. Especially in "Loo Loo Land", none of the imps who attacked Stolas ever connected Octavia as his daughter because he was the bigger target. What's more, when they are alone, the prince is shown capable of protecting them both. With portraits in the mansion of them both being happy, it is possible that there hasn't been a single moment so dangerous that it actually required Stolas to risk his own life for Via like how he did for Blitzø in "Mastermind", and hopes that will never happen. For all of his actions that drove them apart, it is shown in "Western Energy" how much he would still be willing to sacrifice his life to protect Via if he ever has to, just by threatening someone like Striker.

[evilminji]

Okay, you know how City Spirits are a thing?

And Superheros both Die, Un-Die, Re-Die, Dimensionally Sorta Maybe Die But Then Don't, and also never Died in the first place? And probably do at least a portion of that in Medical? While ALSO hanging out, quantumly maybe Dead, maybe alive, in their Super Cool Clubhouse?

Which is ALSO exposed to space rays, the entirety of The Magic Club, weird alien Technology, aaaaand whatever they decide to store on it??

:T

I'm just SAYING...

For as long as dwellings Of Significance have existed, there have been house spirits. They are the IDEA of the house. The SIGNIFICANCE of it. What makes it HOME. The weight of the halls that turn into Halls. And The Watchtower? Is KNOWN to enough people, to have SIGNIFICANCE.

It's a HALL where Heros Live. A Place Of Safety. It GAURDS.

It is also inanimate. Steeped heavily in every sort of energy, be it magic or science, and multidimensional fuckery imaginable. But? Not SENTIENT. Yet.

Until of course... this new fangled Anti-Ghost Shield comes out. By the new and recently no-longer on the run (from the Goverment they're at war with) Dr.'s Fenton! Why were they are war? Don't worry about it!

They Won.

:)

Unrelated! Never threaten their kids. They WILL find you. Not a threat, just informing!

:) :)

The security guy they sent to the expo was from Gotham, unfortunately. So he found the couple to be completely normal. They? Should not have sent Thomas. He was hired BECAUSE his parents were Mad Scientists in the making. Batman was steering him away from a life of crime. Thomas could judge "normal" from "deeply unhinged" if it belly danced infront of him, in the seduction dance of a thousand, deep fried, mackerel.

It's his version of face blindness. Great with technology though! And the shield worked a treat. Even promised to be both ethical AND programmable! Not harming the ghosts it pushed out unless they try to force entry AND allowing them to program in exceptions. Allowing Heros such as Deadman to freely enter!

Is it a little janky looking? Yeah. But if it works, it works. They add it to the systems and flip it on.

One small and immediate problem. There is now a small knight shaped child in the engine room. She was NOT there a second ago. She has controlo of the ENTIRE Watchtower, claims to BE the Watchtower, and knows all their names. Knows a disturbing level of information about every employee on the Tower.

Oh and apparently "No one is leaving."

No one panic! Just unplug the... she has swallowed the ghost shielding unit into a wall. Slightly panic.

Panic lite.

Luckily, no one is willing to throw the first punch at what appears to be a small child. So the JLA Dark have a chance to literally run over.

They demand to know who's bright idea it was to add... "ectoplasm"? Was THAT the energy source? Oooh. Their departments probably in trouble. Later though, the hero's are trying to negotiate with a small child. Who is apparently a ghost.

It's not SAFE, she's insisting. Everyone has to stay HERE where she can protect them. From the nebulous threat of Bad Guys. They LEAVE and come back HURT. She is UPSET and everyone is going to STAY! Forever!

Not good.

Then Thomas pipes up, like the oblivious asshole he is, that he should PROBABLY call the engines makers. They did mention something a long these lines might happen.

WHAT.

You think, Thomas? Might be a good idea, maybe? Just a bit? YES FUCKING CALL THEM!

(All right, all right! No need to YELL! *ring ring* 'Ello? Maddie? Sorry to catch you at dinner-)

So now? There is a glowing college student, who was escorted here by a WEREWOLF, who just? Tore open reality? To some green, swirling hellscape? And popped through like "sup, sorry I'm late. Was in a council meeting!" And judging by the ficking CROWN and the various quietly panicking magic users, he probably didn't mean student council, and just?

Guess he's hear to talk to their newly sentient Tower.

Question! Asks Thomas, of the fucking Ghost King because of course he does, are they Dads now? Or if they already have kids, Dads AGAIN? Do they have to come up with a baby name?

.......oh dear lord, the Ghost King looks like he has to think about it.

What are we gonna tell our SPOUSES!? "Hey honey, guess what I got at work today! A NEW CHILD. They're a space station!"

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[asthedeathoflight]

The longer I sit with it the less convinced I am that Wake actually hated Gideon. Like, let's just look at the evidence here. We hear that Wake resented Gideon and only stuck around her to ensure that the tomb could be opened from Mercymorn, Pyrrha, and Wake herself. And no, I don't believe Wake sacrificed herself for Gideon out of any sentimentality. She wanted to kill John so bad she'd die for it. But then she was essentially alone with Gideon for twenty years. I don't believe anything Mercy says about Wake, and Pyrrha may have known Wake but like ghost Wake had plenty of time to develop more nuanced feelings after she and Pyrrha's epic breakup.

Which leaves the most compelling piece of evidence of Wake hating Gideon being that she says she does. To John of all fucking people. And I think if we really step back, it's more likely that she was lying there than that she was telling the truth. She's trying to goad him into killing her so he can't get any information out of her. Of course she's gonna taunt them with their spite baby she was gonna kill. John may have complicated feelings about baby death (mr infant finger crown) but it's reasonable to try and push that button.

Which is all well and good but negating the evidence that Wake hated Gideon doesn't equate to evidence she didn't hate Gideon. Except that we kind of do have that. Wake and Gideon only interact once in all of Harrow the Ninth, and it's when Wake saves Gideon's life by shooting Mercy with a herald bullet. Her extremely valuable, irreplaceable herald bullets she needs to kill John with. And you can't even argue that she's doing it to further her cause of using Gideon to kill John because she's just saving Gideon's ghost. There is no evidence based on how necromancy works that Gideon's ghost is at all a necessary moving part in the killing John plan. Her ghost being there in Nona distinctly does not help. Wake has a much better shot at killing John right there and then with the herald bullets. Letting Mercy tidy up her loose ends here looks like a pretty good deal from where I'm standing. But she can't stand by and let Gideon die. She was willing to sacrifice Gideon, yes, but she can't let her be murdered.

I'm not arguing that Wakes feelings towards Gideon are at all maternal. I don't think she's in the running for mother of the year. She's not even mother of the hour of the minute of the second. But it does mean something that Wake gave up residency in her bones to hop into the sword. She had no way of knowing that sword would one day end up within spitting distance of John. I think that Wake simply, in her own fucked up and angry kind of way, cared about Gideon and wanted to be close to her.

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Loyalty, Honour, A Willing Heart

I absolutely adore a good character deep-dive. And ADM had me in the mood to take a microscope to Thorin.

And Thorin makes such a good prospect...

The Hobbit Trilogy has four main scenes that I think speak absolute VOLUMES about who Thorin is as a person. There are more little parts, but these are the big ones that just punch me right in the feels.

Bag End

Bag End is where we see Thorin’s first major character reveal when he was talking with Balin about who they have gathered to go on the quest with them. 

He's speaking kindly about who joined him (mainly because one of those warriors is Dwalin, perhaps...) and Balin is shooting him down (his brother being one of the "old warriors"), and we eventually get into the dialogue that tells us SO MUCH.

"You don't have to do this. You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor."

Given that all that happened with the fall of Erebor, Thorin is not contractually obligated to do all that he has done for his people. Honestly, that weight rests more on Thror rather than him. But he still bears that burden. He has already done so much for his people, and repaid that nonexistent debt ten times over. His is in NO WAY obligated by ANYBODY to go reclaim Erebor.

But, Thorin has quite literally been raised with that as his entire purpose.  As the next line of dialogue goes... "From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland."

That burden rests so heavily on his shoulders.  It’s a given for him.  He has never lived a life or had any circumstance before Erebor. It’s always been his duty in some sense.  He’s always been obligated, because he was always regarded as Erebor’s crown prince before it fell.  (I've never seen anything that would point towards Thrain taking over after Thror, especially given those longer life-spans the dwarves have, so it would potentially make sense for the line of succession to skip every other generation).

He also always had to have the right behaviors and etiquette that becomes a Crown Prince™. That's part of what makes him the grumpy garden gnome that he is. His entire childhood was probably spent preparing him for the role he was going to take over one day.

After Erebor falls, Thorin is in exile, so his grandfather and his father are plotting to reclaim Erebor in some way down the road, (as Thorin's dialogue points out), so he’s involved with that because he’s the crown prince. 

And then they have the Battle of Azanulbizar.  Which was an absolute tragedy. 

Before Azanulbizar, Durin's Line was still well intact. It was not decimated by any means. If absolutely necessary, Thror or Thrain could potentially produce another heir just to secure the line of succession.

After Azanulbizar, Thorin is the last remaining male of his specific line.  I say that because Fili and Kili--while also technically descended from the line of Durin--are not truly from Durin's Line like Thorin is. They are maternally linked through Dis. If Thorin does not have any sons to carry on the 'name', then Durin's line would essentially become "daughtered out" since Dis would have produced the only direct descendants. If they had a last name, their line would die out with Thorin since he would be the last to be carrying it.

So, as much as I adore the brothers, they are only viewed as a close second. Not the best as they technically are not of Durin's Line.

So Thorin is the last remaining son of Durin, and all the responsibility falls on his shoulders.  Essentially, what his father and grandfather wanted to do, that is now on him, (again, the dialogue). And he no longer has Frerin there either. Both to help him with that responsibility, and to potentially produce an heir.

Another point that plays off of that is what would happen after Erebor if Thorin survived BOTFA. Given that his whole personality seems to be "must reclaim Erebor", it got me thinking about what would happen if he did get to rule Erebor.

I don't think this is necessarily something I've seen really explored in a fic. Most tend to place him as adjusting well into the leadership role--which, I do think he would do quite well because he has been living his whole life for this moment--but I definitely think he would go through some sort of 'mid-life crisis'.

When he has reached the goal that he's been striving towards for basically his entire life, where does he go from there?

Does he know how to be anything other than the savior of his people? That seems to be the role he has had for the majority of his life.

Now, circling back around to Bag End, there's still one more bit of dialogue. One that I LOVE.

"There is no choice, Balin. Not for me."

Balin's earlier dialogue hits the nail on the head. Balin is telling Thorin that he does not have to reclaim Erebor. He has built them a life in the Blue Mountains that they are thriving on (now). He has placed his people before himself consistently. That reclaiming Erebor isn't just another part of his duties towards his people that he is required to perform. That he has a CHOICE about this.

And Thorin's response to that implies that he's never had a choice. Both from his grandfather/father, (who groomed him for the role of King), and from himself. That he is 'destined' so-to-speak to accomplish it. That his whole life has been leading to this moment right here.

That's my breakdown of Bag End and that scene there. And....it's long enough that I'll probably break these up.