#set right after the usurping

[chancekey]

it was technically his temple anyway, so Narinder's holing up there instead of in some stupid hut

[waitingforsecretsouls]

Fëanor and succession

"High princes were Fëanor and Fingolfin, the elder sons of Finwë, honoured by all in Aman; but now they grew proud and jealous each of his rights and his possessions. Then Melkor set new lies abroad in Eldamar, and whispers came to Fëanor that Fingolfin and his sons were plotting to usurp the leadership of Finwë and of the elder line of Fëanor, and to supplant them by the leave of the Valar; for the Valar were ill-pleased that the Silmarils lay in Tirion and were not committed to their keeping." - The Silmarillion, Chapter 07: Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor

„Though after the rule of the Noldor was committed to him [Fingolfin] by Manwë (in place of his elder brother and father) he took the name of Finwë.“ -Morgoth’s Ring, The Later Quenta Silmarillion (II)

"He [Fëanor] claimed now the kingship of all the Noldor, since Finwë was dead, and he scorned the decrees of the Valar." -The Silmarillion, Chapter 09: Of the Flight of the Noldor

"As he [Fëanor] said with some justice: ‘My brother’s claim rests only upon a decree of the Valar; but of what force is that for those who have rejected them and seek to escape from their prison-land?’" -The Peoples of Middle - Earth, Chapter 11: The Shibboleth of Fëanor

"Therefore even as Mandos foretold the House of Fëanor were called the Dispossessed, because the overlordship passed from it, the elder, to the house of Fingolfin, both in Elendë and in Beleriand, and because also of the loss of the Silmarils." -The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: Of the Return of the Noldor

"With him into banishment went his seven sons, and northward in Valinor they made a strong place and treasury in the hills; and there at Formenos a multitude of gems were laid in hoard, and weapons also, and the Silmarils were shut in a chamber of iron. Thither also came Finwë the King, because of the love that he bore to Fëanor; and Fingolfin ruled the Noldor in Tirion. Thus the lies of Melkor were made true in seeming, though Fëanor by his own deeds had brought this thing to pass; and the bitterness that Melkor had sown endured, and lived still long afterwards between the sons of Fingolfin and Fëanor." -The Silmarillion, Chapter 07: Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor

"One thing only marred the design of Manwë. Fëanor came indeed, for him alone Manwë had commanded to come; but Finwë came not, nor any others of the Noldor of Formenos. For said Finwë: ‘While the ban lasts upon Fëanor my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people.’" -The Silmarillion, Chapter 08: Of the Darkening of Valinor

"Fingolfin had prefixed the name Finwë to Ñolofinwë before the Exiles reached Middle-earth. This was in pursuance of his claim to be the chieftain of all the Ñoldor after the death of Finwë, and so enraged Fëanor that it was no doubt one of the reasons for his treachery in abandoning Fingolfin and stealing away with all the ships." -The Peoples of Middle - Earth, Chapter 11: The Shibboleth of Fëanor

"So it came about that to Fëanor the rejection of þ became a symbol of the rejection of Míriel, and of himself, as her son, as the chief of the Noldor next to Finwë: […] So Fëanor would call himself 'Son of the þerindë', and when his sons in their chilhood asked why their kin in the house of Finwë used s for þ he answered: 'Take no heed! We speak as is right, and as King Finwë himself did before he was led astray. We are his heirs by right and the elder house. Let them sá – sí, if they can speak no better.'" -The Peoples of Middle – Earth, Chapter 11: The Shibboleth of Fëanor

"To his sons Finwë gave his own name as he had done to Fëanor. This maybe was done to assert their claim to be his legitimate sons, equal in that respect to his eldest child Kurufinwë Fayanáro, but there was no intention of arousing discord among the brothers, since nothing in the judgement of the Valar in any way impaired Fëanor’s position and rights as his eldest son. Nothing indeed was ever done to impair them, except by Fëanor himself; and in spite of all that later happened his eldest son remained nearest to Finwë’s heart." -The Peoples of Middle- Earth, Chapter 11: The Shibboleth of Fëanor

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Whumptober Day 3 - Set up for Failure

Link walked the castle hallways in the dark. Occasionally he could still feel slippery warmth on his fingers, a strange echo of what had transpired. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he found it odd that it would imprint itself on him so much considering it was hardly his first kill.

Perhaps it was just because it had been a while. Or because of who the person had been.

It had been deserved. But he regretted doing so in front of Zelda.

Nausea overcame him, alongside a mind numbing exhaustion that fought for control. His skin crawled, hair on the back of his neck standing on edge, but his mind was so utterly blank he could hardly put together a single thought.

He felt nothing, really, as he continued to walk. His skin settled. He checked his hands once, twice, thrice. No blood. But he could still feel it, could still hear the gurgling breath as air filled pathways it wasn’t meant to, bubbling and drowning.

He wished Zelda hadn’t been there. But there was no avoiding it. The man had lost his mind, had been threatening her. Whether he’d truly meant it or not was a moot point by now; the damage had been done.

The man’s followers had done more damage than anyone. And Link was still very keen on hunting the rest of them down like the animals they were.

He’d spent the last month in a continuous fury, focused and determined in a way he hadn’t been since the war. It had been invigorating, honestly, and it had brought him and Zelda closer together than ever before.

Now that it was over…

Link paused, world growing hazy and spinning. He felt dizzy. He felt sick.

He wished today hadn’t happened. But what else had there been to do?

It was over. That was all that mattered.

The king consort sighed heavily, deciding that perhaps some prayer would settle his rattled mind. He maneuvered through the castle discreetly, entering the small sanctuary dedicated to the goddesses that was set aside for the royal family.

He hadn’t expected to see Zelda there.

The room was only just a little larger than Link’s own bedchambers, wooden pews lining in pairs for four rows, leading up to an altar where the ancient goddesses shimmered in golden splendor high on the wall. Beneath them was a depiction of Hylia, harp in hand. The altar glowed in different colors as moonlight spilled through stained glass, flanked by incense that slowly trailed tendrils up to the heavens.

Zelda sat on the floor just in front of the statues and altar, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, knees drawn to her chest.

Link felt like he shouldn’t be here. He was likely the reason she was praying, hunched over in such a vulnerable position. The Queen of Hyrule should be seated at the pews, or perhaps standing in front of the alter with hands folded over her heart. Instead, she looked like a child seeking comfort. It made Link feel all the more uneasy.

But no. He shouldn’t leave her like this. That was cruel.

Is it crueler for her father’s killer to be near her?

Ozen’s face flashed through Link’s mind again, nagging at him. He shook the image away, only slightly perturbed that it haunted him. He’d killed hundreds. This couldn’t be any different. It couldn’t.

Slowly, Link walked to the front of the chapel, sitting on the floor beside her.

Zelda didn’t acknowledge him initially. The cold of the stone floor brought some life back to him, trying to push the fog in his head away. He started trembling, catching himself off guard.

“Do you think Farore made us to suffer?” the queen asked quietly, eyes never leaving the golden statues above.

Link watched her a moment, uncertain, and then followed her gaze. The Golden Three looked serenely back at the pair. His eyes traced over the scales of justice in Nayru’s hand, over the flowers blossoming and encircling Farore’s arm, the fire and stone sparking around Din’s fingers.

“I don’t see why that would be the case,” he answered truthfully. “They have no need to make us just to watch us suffer.”

“What if we’re their entertainment?” Zelda questioned almost bitterly.

Link honestly sometimes debated if they even mattered to the goddesses, but the Triforce had chosen them, so clearly they had their favor, for whatever that was worth.

“Farore made us for a reason,” Link settled on saying. “I don’t think she wants us to suffer. I wouldn’t make something to watch it suffer. I wouldn’t want to see our children suffer.”

He supposed, then, that perhaps with that logic Farore had to care at least a little bit. But perhaps she was too removed, too busy dealing with something else – his destiny, once entwined to her graces, was over, after all.

“I suppose our suffering is our own fault, then,” he admitted. “We must be doing something wrong.”

He wished he could take the words back as soon as he’d spoken them—he’d decided to sit here to comfort Zelda, blast it—but he had no way to retract them. He himself had thought it multiple times, wondering why he was the way he was. Clearly it was his fault. He didn’t pray enough. He knew that. It wasn’t as if Hylia wouldn’t help if he petitioned her, even if Farore was too far to reach. She’d answered his prayers in the past, when he still bothered to speak to her.

Zelda was quiet for a long time before looking at the ground, pulling her knees a little closer, eyes staring somewhere beyond the stone floor. “We aren’t the only ones Farore made. We all have destinies, we all play our part. Just because others break the pieces of the puzzle, just because we bleed when we try to fit together as a result… that isn’t our fault.”

The words settled heavily in his mind and heart, and a million scenarios ran through his mind. Ganondorf, ruining everyone’s lives with his selfishness and pride. Ozen, almost destroying Hyrule time and again with his own paranoia. Zelda, constantly using those around her to further her agenda.

Link, helpless and pathetic and stupid, letting himself be hurt time and again, wallowing in self-pity like a child pitching a fit, undeserving of any sort of praise or love given all the idiocy he’d done.

He almost smiled. “I’m constantly reminded why Nayru chose you with her grace. I imagine your explanation is the correct one.”

The pair sat beside each other, each lost in their own thoughts. Link wanted to look up at the statues again, perhaps even to try and pray, but found he didn’t even have the energy to raise his head. Instead, he watched his hands, convincing himself he’d scrubbed off the blood for the millionth time that night.

He probably shouldn’t have killed him. Ozen was no murderer. He may have been brandishing a sword, but he hardly knew how to use it. He may have been yelling at his daughter, but he had never actually hurt her.

How could Link have known that she wouldn’t get hurt, though? How could he have stopped himself, when years of anger and hurt snapped at once, when all he saw was blood and all he felt was rage?

What was wrong with him?

What was he at this point? Had he ever been a Hero? He was no Hero now. He hardly felt empathy anymore, hardly felt anything. Dealing with the insurgents was the first time he’d felt life breathe through him in what felt like years.

Even now, despite how he ached at the pain emanating from Zelda, he could still feel anger and impatience trying to burn inside him. He had the gall to be frustrated that Zelda was suffering like this because of his actions, the audacity to be upset that he had to comfort her after she’d watched him murder her father.

When had it gotten this bad? Why couldn’t he fix it? Could he fix it?

Zelda swallowed, taking a slow, deep breath, and when he looked at her, he could see how she bit her lip to control her emotions.

“I still loved him,” she whispered, barely audible, voice breaking.

The queen of Hyrule began to cry quietly, trying to hide her tears from her husband. Link tensed even further, stomach rolling in protest, heart slamming against his ribs. The frustration boiled to the top and he looked away for a moment, frozen in anger and fear and exhaustion and hurt and guilt, not sure what he should feel, knowing, begging himself to comfort the woman beside him, unable to speak a word.

He dug his nails into his skin until they broke through. It made his body feel like ice in an instant, quieting his mind and heart. He felt sick. This was his fault. He wanted to run and never look back.

Instead, he leaned slowly towards her, wrapping an arm around Zelda, inviting her to rest against him. She started to sob, wrapping herself more tightly in her blanket, burying her face in his shoulder.

Link just held her as she cried. He couldn’t speak for the longest time, but the longer her tears stained his tunic, the worse he felt. The anger dissipated, exhaustion burned away, leaving a raw, raw emptiness and hurt that he couldn’t put any words to, a wound that had scarred and reopened time and again over the years, never healing fully, never addressed, and never leaving him alone.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, hardly able to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Once the words came out, they wouldn’t stop. He apologized over and over and over, images of Ozen, of Ganondorf, of Hemisi, of Merovar, of fallen Sheikah and Gerudo and Hylians, of Lady Impa bleeding on the floor after the attack, of his children watching him, of his own blood dripping down his body—I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry—

The King and Queen of Hyrule wept bitterly into the night, their cries carried on incense rising into the sky.

[whitegownsandflowercrowns]

I do think all of the adults had some part to play in creating the Dance but if I had to break it down to who had the most power to prevent it it would be Jaehaerys up to and including the Great Council, Viserys up until the moment Aegon is born and Otto from then on.

[atopvisenyashill]

IF YOURE SANSA MANDERLY STARK

And you realize, after your uncle Edric dies, that your husband Jonnel is going to name not Edric’s son Cregard his new heir, but his other brother Barthogan as his heir. He is doing this specifically because “Cregan died after Rickon, so since Rickon wasn’t a Lord, it passes to Cregan’s next born son. Since Edric wasn’t a lord, it passes to Barthogan.” You are very mad because you and your sister Serena have been raising Cregard to rule and now you’re worried about her daughters, and her sons, and what becomes of you if Jonnel also dies, and you’re still mad you were passed over, so you decide “yeah fuck it i’m not just going to set myself up well, i’m going to make sure i have the ability to take the lordship, make myself ruling lady, and make things easier for a woman to inherit because now i’m pissed off”

What do you like. Do. Marrying all of Serena’s kids well is important but what would “marry well” mean. Someone rich and southron who comes with money & a household that is loyal to the two of you? Someone Northern, who will back your claim because they have a vested interest in you ruling? A mix of both?

You have to get the King on your side right. Have an in with him so if someone complains he’s like “well a daughter before an uncle blah blah blah.” You want LYANNA and HER husband on your side, and you want all of ALY BLACKWOOD’S daughters and THEIR HUSBANDS on your side because if your ultimate goal is ABSOLUTE PRIMOGENITURE you want the older sisters on your side right. You want the people of Winters Town to like you more than Barthogan and Jonnel. You want to do good things for them, so you want money (again - good marriages for Serena’s children). You want to be more competent or at least seem more competent. You probably want like….what Barthogan and Brandon like Not In Winterfell with you…….

[kaerinio]

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened. She woke suddenly in the darkness of her cabin, still flush with triumph. Balerion seemed to wake with her, and she heard the faint creak of wood, water lapping against the hull, a football on the deck above her head. And something else.

no, because the whole this is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened is giving some serious reincarnation vibes??? like, what do you mean the other was a nightmare, when you hadn't even been born yet?? what do you mean you've only now awakened???? it's not dany saying that her life has been a nightmare up to that point (it has). it's her distinctly reflecting on the fact that what happened at the trident shouldn't have happened (and though she doesn't know it yet . . . in so many ways, the outcome had cosmic influences!). it's something akin to aemon saying that stannis' fake light sword is only going to lead people further into darkness. robert's rebellion and the events it sets off tear the targs further away from their destiny, as alluded to in the whole ice armor imagery. but also, ofc, this is directly pointing toward dany's destiny as the prince that was promised, azor ahai reborn, stallion who mounts the world, etc.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced bonding, subjugation, some type of discrimination, elements of androgyny

♡ fem reader

Thinking about the big and burly behemoth Omega finally finding himself the cutest little Alpha to breed with…

He could never bring himself to breed with Alphas. Growing up, he developed a great disdain for them—all high and mighty rabid animals prone to violence, more often than not completely dimwitted to top it off, as if their massive ego had usurped the place of basic brain operation.

He couldn’t hate them more, yet he doesn’t correct anyone when they mistake him for one, either. In many ways, he wished he was born one instead of an Omega. It would make it easier to fulfill his desires that way. A dominant Omega isn’t all that normal, after all—and submissive Alphas are an even rarer breed to come by.

He hadn't found one yet. And other Omegas don’t really do it for him. They approach him, thinking he’s an Alpha, then feel disappointed when figuring out he’s not—which is fine, as he isn’t particularly interested in their scent either. Betas make for an okay compromise—they don’t care if he’s an Omega, it makes no difference to them—yet he could never really shake the feeling that something was missing when lying with them.

At the office, the scent of Alphas plagues him all day—how they strut around, stinking up the place with no concern for anyone else. This is a workplace, for fuck’s sake—can’t they have a little dignity and not treat it like a mating ground? He really hates them. All bigheaded assholes—

“Ow—” there’s bark and a hard thunk of something hitting the floor.

Someone just bumped into him—someone so small he hadn’t even seen them over the top of his clipboard. Looking down, he sees a fellow Omega—a pretty one. You must be as disoriented by the scent around you as he is—probably why you walked right into him—poor thing. He ought to help you up.

You hold your head in your hand, wincing at the sting of your rear—you’d fallen right on your tailbone. Looking up, you give the fellow Alpha who’d knocked you down a mean glare, “What the hell, asshole!”

His outstretched hand stiffens midway. That’s not a very Omega-like thing to say—especially not by one so small as you. No, wait… what’s that scent?

You ignore his hand and get up on your own, dusting down your pin-stripes with angry brushes—face pursed, almost pouty, but not quite, too stink-eyed as you lean in and jab a finger into his chest to punctuate your words, “Watch where you’re going next time, you…”

You soften up halfway through the sentence. It must have dawned on you as well. His scent. Not like other Alphas, but something else entirely—something that suddenly makes you blush all over, wide-eyed.

You don’t say another word, only giving a weak huff before turning tail and stomping away.

There’s something very cute about it—he’s left thinking while watching you, utterly stunned and still, replaying the events that just occurred over and over in his head—wondering how he’d never seen you before. You must work on a different floor.

Luckily, he’d made sure to read your name tag—pinned all properly on your chest like a badge of honor, neatly like the rest of you. Well put together from the top of your salon-styled hair down to the tips of your pointy black stilettos. Even with their added height, you must have been two heads shorter than him—no taller than any regular Omega.

It's no wonder he mistook you for one. You were as cute as one, too—like a doll he could put behind glass, up on a mantle, and keep forever. But oh my… that mouth on you and that awful snarl. Just like any other imposing Alpha, he supposed. Bratty and arrogant, quick to jump the gun and pick a fight instead of taking it for the simple accident it was.

He goes back and sets himself down by his desk—but he’s way too distracted to work now, too busy with the thought of you. That flushed face you showed him before teetering off was something he wouldn’t mind seeing again—also that cute scowl under certain circumstances and what type of expression you’d give him if he wiped it off.

He's lucky an office party came along so quickly. He wouldn’t usually go, but now he had a reason. He bet you’d be there—the way you were dressed when you’d bumped into him tells him you’re one to respect the memo—head to toe in such a neat suit, trying to come off as androgynous as if in desperation needing everyone to know you were an Alpha. It must be hard for you—looking like that but wanting to look… well, suppose more like him.

He's glad he never felt that way—wishing to be smaller and cuter like other Omegas. Sure, he’s been envious of them at times, but more so of their easy pickings and not their appearance. He’s happy being bigger and stronger—it keeps unwanted attention at bay. You probably struggle to do the same. He bets you get a lot of the wrong eyes following you. Yeah… you must attract the bad sort all the time—alphas swarming you only to catch your scent and lose interest. Or maybe not… Alphas are sick, after all. Come to think of it, most of them would probably get off on dominating another Alpha. In that regard, it must have been worse for you than for him. Luckily, both of your issues are now solved.

He wondered what you’d wear tonight. You’d look much better in something feminine and not that suit you’d been wearing. He hopes, but no, you’re wearing much the same thing—another tailored two-piece that all but drowns you.

He understands what you’re going for. You have to dress like that, or else what Omega would ever want you looking the way you do? Aside from him, of course.

No matter. When you move in with him, he’ll dress you in all the pretty things he knows you want to wear. After all, pretty colors, ruffles, and lace will suit you so much better.

“Hello again.” He approaches you by the hors d’oeuvres even after you’d visibly and explicitly chosen to ignore him.

You groan under your breath, responding without even bothering to look at him, “Do I know you?”

Your tough act is cute. He has to withhold a chuckle before answering, “Don’t remember? You called me an asshole a week ago.”

“You walked right into me, so it’s not like it wasn’t deserved.”

You have to love that arrogance—that air of unfounded superiority. He wonders, where do you keep it all? “Well, how could I not? You’re so small I didn’t even see you.”

You’re quick to bare your teeth—obviously, he hit a nerve—showing him that same snarl you’d done back then. Cute little canines—he bet they won’t even hurt going into his neck once you mark him.

“Watch your mouth, Omega.”

Still, with a small smile, he feigns surprise. “Wow—are you an Alpha? Funny, I didn’t know they came in such tiny packages.”

It flusters you, no doubt—your brows lowered into a full glower now. “And I didn’t know Omegas could be so rude.”

You turn to stomp again, as you’d done before—though this time, he grabs your arm before you’re gone.

You whip around with another bark, “Hands off—"

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes unexpectedly, giving you puppy-dog eyes you hadn’t thought him capable of. “I should have been more mindful of my steps. It was entirely my fault.”

You go still at the sudden show of humility and respect. Finding yourself softening by the tilt of his head, bowing at you in acknowledgment of your higher standing. Not that many bother doing that to you—between mistaking you for an Omega or otherwise neglecting your standing as an Alpha, both due to your physique. Seeing it up close and so abruptly flusters you.

“Let me get you a drink to make up for it?” he offers politely, almost in plead.

Struck with feelings of somewhat regret for your own uncouth attitude, you nearly accept on a whim. “That’s kind…” But then think it over. You don’t really want to lead him on, either. You nearly stutter, yet steal yourself. After all… “But you’re not really my type.”

He hangs his head with a dejected sigh, “That’s harsh.” But he’d already figured as much and didn’t really care. Giving you his most sorry grin, he insists, “Humor me anyway? Just one drink so I don’t feel like an asshole for the rest of my life.”

It’s clear you want to refuse—still, as suspected, your heart just can’t handle seeing a desperate Omega in need. Bless your dim Alpha instincts.

“Okay, fine. One drink, that’s all,” you end up agreeing. One drink can’t hurt, right?

You feel like a good Samaritan once the big hunk of an Omega runs off to fetch you a glass. Pitying him or even sympathizing, maybe—it can’t be easy for an Omega in the mating scene to look like that. No Alpha around would want an Omega bigger than them—it’s utterly emasculating, not to mention unnatural.

Of course, you’re aware you’re in much the same shoes as him—you’re not delusional. Only, it’s easy being an independent Alpha—you don’t mind being a lone wolf in the world—but Omegas were built to be domestic. So yeah, you pity him—the poor guy, he’ll probably never find a proper mate.

But you can’t let your pity grant him too many favors—you have no intention of taking on any charity case tonight, especially not a pity fuck. You’ll have one drink with him as a mutual apology. That’s all.

Luckily… one drink is all he needs. Add a little sprinkle of this and that in your glass, and you’re already in the palm of his hand.

He has to carry you bridal style before he’s even managed to lead you to the elevator—it’s empty all the way down to the garage. He puts you in his car, locks your seatbelt in place, then drives off. It’s honestly quite astounding how easy it had been. He’d thought trapping an Alpha would be a much more remarkable feat, an impossible one for an Omega—but this was no different from eating an unguarded piece of cake.

You’re drowsy as he carries you into his apartment. And that’s when the other drug kicks in. The overwhelming scent of being inside his nest sets off your rut like a matchstick being ripped along the red.

Your claws come out, puncturing his sheets as he lays you down on his bed.

You’re too delirious to do much but writhe—making it easy for him to unbutton your dress shirt, followed by your slacks. He has to scoff at your plain black boxers and binder bra. You poor thing, always trying to run with the big dogs when you’re no bigger than a bite-sized puppy. From now on, you’ll only wear lacey things he brings home for you. You won’t have to puff your chest—you can be as sweet and pretty as your delicate physique constitutes—his cutest, littlest, most perfect mate.

You gain newfound strength once he’s peeled your underwear down, baring your needy heat to his touch. Instantly, your arms spring into action, flinging themselves around him, pouncing like a predator at its prey with your fangs bared.

He stops you easily—placing his wrist between your teeth, using it as a muzzle. He chuckles, looking at you gnaw on it like a bone.

“I think the world has it all wrong,” he starts, though he’s not sure you’re even capable of understanding speech in your state. “Omegas are the ones better suited as leaders of society, not Alphas.”

As he talks, he continues with his ministrations, stroking your needy slit with a mean finger, swiping it cruelly before splitting between the folds.

“I mean, look at you—mindless in a rut, willing to pounce on anything that moves—like a wild animal.” Once he sticks his finger inside you, your teeth do his wrist the same justice—drawing blood, making him hiss through his smile, “I ought to keep you in a cage.” And yet he doesn’t pull either hand away. “It would suit you well—on your knees with a pretty leash and collar upon your throat.”

You’re wet in his hand—soaked and so warm he loses track of his own finger as if melting within you. His cock strains against his boxer, wanting to feel it for himself. But you’re still way too tight for that.

He feeds you another digit, and you moan—suckling on his wrist now more than biting, though still with your canines out and seeking.

“Look at these wittle teeth, tch—” he grins upon closer inspection, looking between them and your eyes—pupil-fat orbs, far gone in your instincts. “I bet they’re just itching for my neck instead, huh?”

The provocation seems to make you more desperate. Pumping you slowly, more so to stretch you out than stimulate, he can feel your breaths turn thicker with need, how you press your tongue against his wrist, wet and lousy, wanting for more.

“Well, go on then, Alpha...” He chuckles again, removing his arm from barring your mouth before wrapping your throat with the same hand, holding it like a collar, keeping you under control.

And then he bares his neck for you.

“I give my consent.”

♡ part two

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[fanaroff]

Kind of continuation to this comic.

The first thing he opens his eyes to—

———

“Narinder?”

Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Even through closed eyelids and flattened ears. His head pounded behind his eyes. A rhythmic thumping so loud in his ears. A noise he was so unused to. A mortal sound.

Pain was a blinding experience when one was no longer numb to it. The One Who Waits could only huddle in one spot and cling to his own shoulders with claws he couldn’t not yet control enough to retract. He knew where he sat, but he was not going to allow the recognition to settle.

Hurt lanced across his chest, his wrists. He wanted it to stop. This was not how things were supposed to go. He’d planned for so long. How could this have happened?

Narinder chose wrong. He chose wrong. He chose the wrong vessel. His vessel who built him up, built a Temple in his name, raised devotion! His vessel who then tore him down and reduced him to this quivering mess of a new mortal.

How he wished they’d chosen to kill him instead. To have ended his millennia of suffering, not extend it further.

He chose wrong.

The physical hurt now ran in tandem with the emotional. How could they do this to him? When he saw them choose… he thought that maybe things would go right. He would be free and his vessel tucked safely in their own little heaven… but he saw them return the Red Crown to their own head. That damned Lamb!

The one he gave life to! The one he saved!

Betrayed by one he trusted so—

Now he was here. Now he was mortal. How foolish of him.

“…Narinder?” Faust’s voice was gentle, no doubt a front put on for the followers (they should be HIS) that he could hear hanging about in curiosity. (Insects to be squashed! How dare they look upon his visage and see him in this form!)

Narinder knew that if he were to open his eyes, he’d see nothing but hatred in theirs. After all, he ordered his vessel to sacrifice themself. And after all, this was not something his vessel was willing to do. Would such an ask not generate hatred in one unwilling?

Either way, the refusal… the betrayal… has generated hatred within Narinder and when he returned to strength… he would make them pay.

There was no point in putting things off.

Narinder cracked open an eye, blinking rapidly against the blinding light, prepared to see the Lamb standing before him with a weapon in hand. (They’d be foolish not to, what if he chose to attack?)

Instead, the Lamb kneeled before him (why kneel now and not then?), a bowl of water in hand and fake concern across their face. They were still covered in spots of their blood and Narinder’s ichor from their battle, fleece torn in places and wool sticking up in different directions. Yet, they were the victor and looked it. Narinder had no doubt that he looked worse.

He felt worse.

Light from the setting sun lit against Faust, brightening them in almost a halo. It would be beautiful sight… if not for the knowledge he had.

“Betrayer.” Narinder rasped. It came out wrong. He wanted it to be a hiss. A snarl. But it was a wheeze of air at best. His throat hated it. He hated it.

Faust had the gall to shake their head. They opened their mouth to speak, but Narinder beat them to it.

“Betrayer. I never should have chose you. A lamb that defiled my name. My Temple for their own!” He slowly devolved into a rant. A proper tantrum for the ages. Spitting insults that brought gasps of shock from those around them, a few being hands to weapons (garden tools at best), and yet Faust did not react.

If he had taken a moment, he would have noticed their eyes darken to sadness and a frown overtaking their features. He would have noticed the hurt. The Crown trying to get his attention that he had chosen the wrong subject for his ire. But he was understandably focused on his own.

“I wish not to see you! I wish not to be here! Kill me, Usurper! End the suffering you drag out further!” Narinder’s voice had torn by the end, quieted by the force he attempted to put behind it and sounding as if he’d been exposed to the smoke of fires for hours.

He’d begged at the end. Begged to be killed and put out of his misery. And again the Lamb ignored this.

When Narinder was done, panting harshly and lying against the ground as his body turned tired, Faust stood from their kneel and turned to a she-rabbit. They placed the bowl of water in her hands.

“Take him to a tent. I feel he would be calmer if I were not in his line of sight. Have someone come to me if he attempts to attack anyone. Make sure he drinks. Make sure he eats. Force him to if you have to, but be careful. He has not eaten in a long while.”

The she-rabbit bowed her head as Faust turned without a second look to Narinder and strode towards the Temple. His temple no longer.

Narinder could only squirm and attempt at clawing, glaring at Faust’s back as he was dragged away with the help of two other followers. Kicking and screeching, he vowed to himself that the Lamb would pay for this.

They all would pay.

— —

Quick Oneshot that may not stay canonical, or it may stay as a companion piece. The image will stay canonical as the first thing Narinder sees upon his indoctrination. For now, it’s a prompt for myself.

I plan to do the main fic series from Faust’s POV, but I wanted to play around with some of Narinder’s thoughts. I don’t know if it worked though, I have a hard time thinking how someone might react in hatred so I hope I got it close enough.

Hope you like it!

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 3)

Aegon ii x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2

“With free reign of King’s Landing, Aemond will focus his attention on the occupation of bast-” Aegon’s face flushes bright red. “Harrenhal.” He corrects himself, “and the extermination of house Strong.”

“What did you call it?” Daemon arches a brow.

“Harrenhal,” Aegon repeats.

“Before that,” Daemon prods.

Aegon sighs, looking to his wife.

“Bastardhal.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“My brother’s term of endearment.” He explains, “a slip of the tongue.”

“Mmm,” Daemon hums. “Perhaps allegiance to your brother runs deeper than you let on.”

“I have left my siblings and abandoned my post to be here. I remain loyal to Rhaenyra’s claim and her line of succession. What else would you have me do?” Aegon scoffs.

“There are a number of things.”

“If you refuse to believe that Aegon is loyal to our queen, believe that he is loyal to me and I am loyal to my mother.” Y/N takes a protective step in front of her husband.

Daemon’s jaw ticks, frustrated and teetering near sanity’s edge. “You then, are responsible for his indiscretions.”

“I take full responsibility.” Y/N agrees, “he is here for me.”

“Perhaps he might further demonstrate his loyalty.”

“And how, do you suggest, I do that?” Aegon wonders.

“Deliver us your brother’s head on a platter.” Daemon sneers.

“Mother!”

“Am I wrong, Rhaenyra?” Daemon scoffs.

“That is enough!” The Queen slams her fist against the table. “Thank you, Aegon for the information you provided. We will coordinate with our army and send reinforcements to Harrenhal. We will send word to Cregan Stark-”

“By raven?”

“However I see fit, Daemon. Stay your hand.” Rhaenyra snaps. “You are all excused.”

Aegon is out the door just as swiftly.

Y/N flinches as it slams behind him.

Jacaerys remains stoic in the corner, saying nothing for a long while as his mother and step father begin bickering. “Sister,” he nods toward the hallway.

Y/N returns the gesture, following him out past the royal guards. “The nerve of him.” She is fuming as they begin strolling the grounds.

“That is Daemon.” Jacaerys breathes. “Pay him no mind.”

“It’s not as if I don’t want Aemond’s head. Luce is our brother, for the gods’ sake.”

Jace swallows, mouth set in a firm line. “He was our brother.”

Was…is he not anymore?

“In these dealings with Aemond, you must remember that killing him will not bring Luce back.”

“It would be even.”

“A son for a son was also even.” Her brother reminds her. “Your grievance with it hath brought you here.”

“I should have allowed the murder of a child?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What is even is not always right, I expect you know that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Ravens will take too long.” Jacaerys laments, “but mother will not let us deliver messages anymore. It is a shame that our safety comes at the expense of other’s.”

Y/N draws in a steadying breath. “Pity.” She turns away, in the direction of her chambers. Aegon is waiting for her there, sipping from a pitcher of wine. “Did they not give you a cup, my darling?”

“Hmm,” Aegon hums into the container, “of course.” He lowers the pitcher from his mouth, “but this is faster.”

The princess puts a hand to her head.

“I am not a dog that’s been kicked, do not look at me that way. As if I am weak.”

“I love you and you are hurting.” Y/N sighs, “I do not know how else to look at you.”

Aegon mulls this over for a moment. “I did not mean to call it bastardhal.”

“I know that.”

“You are not a bastard.” He presses on, “I am sorry for ever calling you one.”

“You are forgiven.” It is nothing more than a word. It cannot harm her anymore.

“If no house would claim you, then I would.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile, “thank you, Aegon.”

“You think I jest? Or does it simply mean nothing coming from me?”

“It means everything coming from you,” Y/N takes a step toward him. “Forgive me if I have made it seem-”

“No,” Aegon shakes his head, “forgive me. I am lost in this. I mustn’t take my frustration out on you.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “If you are loved by no one, know you are loved by me.“

“Without you I have nothing.” He reaches a shaky hand out, stroking her hair, reverently. “I am nothing.”

She draws back, searching his eyes. “That is not true.”

“If you ask me to slay my brother, I will do it.” Aegon breathes.

Y/N presses her lips together. She had not asked, Daemon did. But Aegon does not bend to Daemon’s will, only hers.

“Please do not ask.” He murmurs with wide, sad eyes.

Y/N cannot stand to see him cry. It tears at the depths of her soul. She wraps her arms around him, “I will not ask.”

Aegon clings to her. “I would do it.”

“I know, my love.” Y/N presses kisses to the side of his face. She knows his sadness, the burden of being least loved by everyone else. Some part of him will always seek to win her approval, her affection… her love.

He is pawing at her then, at the laces of her dress. He does not know how to comfort her, nor himself. He knows how to bring pleasure so blinding it nearly drowns out the pain.

Y/N helps him remove his clothes, wrapping him up in her arms. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” He’s stumbling backwards then, hovering over her on the bed. Easing his cock into her.

She sighs, losing herself in the gentle rocking of his hips. There is no haste to reach their peak, taking what little comfort they can from each other.

It is not until his thumbs skate over her cheeks that Y/N realizes she is crying. Even here, on their marriage bed, there is no end to suffering. Only an end to loneliness.

————————————————————————

Y/N waits until Aegon is sleeping soundly to clamber from the warmth of his arms and dawn her riding gear. Dragonstone is quiet as she makes her way down to the dragon pit. Stormborn is nestled in beside Sunfyre, her light blue scales complement the golden hue of her companion.

“Where are you off to at this hour, your grace?” One of the keepers asks.

“I’m going to take Stormborn out for a bit of fresh air. The moon is beautiful this evening, don’t you agree?” Y/N smiles, tucking a bit of loose hair behind her ear.

“Indeed, Princess.” He eyes the sword, sheathed at her back.

“This is only a precaution,” Y/N lies, “we can never be too careful in these times.”

He nods, “I will saddle her.”

“Thank you, Marcelo.” Y/N nods, tugging on her riding gloves as she waits. Tapping at her wedding band, beneath the cool fabric.

“She is ready, your grace.”

“Thank you, again.” She says, climbing up onto Stormborn’s saddle.

“It is my great honor.” The man smiles, watching in wonder as the princess sets off across the sea.

Only a few torches are lit at the entrance of Harrenhal.

Y/N lands near the stone walkway, striding up to the tall hooded figure and ripping back his cloak.

Aemond turns to his assailant. “Y/N?”

“Take out your sword.” She demands.

“Lucerys death was a tragic mistake, a lapse in judgment I do not care to repeat.”

“I will not kill you with your back to me, I am no coward. You will face me, take out your sword.”

“For the sake of the gods, Y/N,” Aemond growls. “Do you aim so desperately to break my brother’s heart?”

“I will not allow the slaughter of innocent people. This ends here.”

“A brother for a brother it will be then, not a son for a son.” Aemond reluctantly withdraws his weapon.

Y/N charges him, in a blind rage, their blades meet, clanking together.

“You make a better sparring partner than most.” He draws his sword away, narrowly dodging her next attack.

“This is not a children’s game, I want your head!”

Aemond purrs, “you must earn it then.”

She sees red, swinging at him again, until his blade slices across her side and she has cut deep into the flesh of his leg. Bringing the Prince to his knees, with her sword at his neck.

“Do it,” Aemond insists, “you will not get another chance.” He stares up at her blade, dripping with his blood. The fear etched into her eyes, tresses of dark hair clinging to her sweat damp skin.

In this light, each of them resemble their brother.

The end Y/N desires is so near she can taste it, rising like bile in her throat. She chokes on it. “No.” She drops her blade from his neck, covering her aching side instead. “No.”

Aemond hangs his head. “I am sorry for that business with Luce. I lost my temper that day.”

“And I lost my…” No, she cannot say it, the pain is too great.

“Let me see your wound.” Aemond insists.

In her shock, Y/N obeys.

He tears across the bottom of his cloak, knotting the material firmly around her torso. Unbothered by her hissing protest. “This will hold until you reach Dragonstone. Go to Aegon, he will tend you.”

“You must leave this place.”

“You have my word.”

“And you must leave King’s Landing.”

Aemond smirks, “where would I go?”

“Anywhere.” Y/N suggests, “take Helaena and your children. We both know, she is too kind to bear the weight of the crown and our blood. Take her away so she might be happy…and free.”

“Do you not wish to be free from the weight of the crown?”

Y/N hesitates for a long moment. “I am the crown. I am my mother’s heir, her only daughter. I cannot abandon her, she has lost too much.”

Aemond swallows, “very well. Helaena will write you. You and my brother might visit, once we’re settled.”

“Perhaps we will.” She will never forgive him for Lucerys. They will never be as they were before Storm’s End. “You are my husband’s brother and husband of my dearest friend.”

“I am also your brother’s murderer. A title that trumps all, despite your best intentions. You are good, and kind, but human all the same.”

————————————————————————

“Aegon.”

“Hmm?” He reaches for his wife, blindly, stroking a hand over her dark waves. “What have you done to your hair, darling girl?” He grumbles, “it is awfully coarse.”

Jace bats Aegon’s hands away. “My sister is gone, you buffoon. Get your clothes on.”

“Jacaerys?” Aegon springs up, covering himself with the top sheet. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N is missing. The dragon handlers informed me that she left on Stormborn nearly two hours ago. Sunfyre has been yowling ever since.”

“Alert your mother,” Aegon demands, “raise the guard. Who on earth let the heir to the throne take a dragon from the pit in the middle of the night?”

“She is a princess, not a prisoner.” Jace reminds him, “I have a hunch as to where she went.”

“Harrenhal.” Aegon begins tugging on his clothes. The little brat bedded him and snuck off; again. “She will be a prisoner upon her return. I tire of these games.”

“You mustn’t be so harsh, my sister would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Yet she will not stay with me.” Aegon steps into his boots. “Surely she loves me so dearly that she flees at every opportunity.”

“Do not see it that way.” Jace sighs.

“I have no other way to see it.” Their chamber door swings open, revealing the woman in question.

“Aegon,” Y/N chokes. The blinding rush of battle is gone, leaving only her pain.

“Leave us,” Aegon waves a dismissive hand at his nephew.

“Y/N,” Jacaerys looks to his sister instead.

“I am well, brother.”

“You are bleeding.”

Y/N glances down at her wound, “perhaps you might go quietly to the maester and request milk of the poppy?”

“The maester should tend you,” he argues.

“Aegon will tend me, tis but a scrape.” Y/N insists.

Her brother squares his shoulders. “Very well, I will be back.”

“Thank you, brother.” Y/N forces a smile as Jace exits the door.

“What happened?” Aegon demands, squinting into the dim light as his wife stands before him, in her riding gear.

“I could not do it.” Y/N curses her own weakness. “I went to Aemond, I stopped him from taking Harrenhal and I let him go.”

Aegon shifts her garments aside to reveal the damage. A long bleeding gash, beneath her ribs. “Aemond did this to you?” He sits her down on the foot stool, pacing in the small space before it.

“We dueled,” Y/N admits. “I made my mark on him as well.”

“Gods be good.” Aegon breathes.

“If Daemon catches word of this-”

“You are injured. That is where my interests lie, not in the folly of men.” Aegon seethes.

“He has already condoned the murder of children. Helaena’s children, of all people. What will he do if he hears of this?”

Aegon passes a hand over his face. “Surely we cannot leave the wound open like that, it will fester.”

“I know,” Y/N nods. “We must seal it up, with a heated blade. We can do it here, no one need know.” She reaches for his cup on the dresser, chugging the foul liquid down for some relief.

“You’re asking me to…” his eyes dart to his dagger, abandoned near his boots. “No.”

“Aegon.”

“I can’t.”

“It will be quick,” she reasons. “It will scar, but it is on my side, you will not look upon it often.”

“That is what you’re concerned with,” Aegon snaps, “of all things, you think I care about the scar it will leave? That I might frown upon an imperfection?”

“I-”

“You are maddening.”

“I am sorry. I do not wish to fight.”

“It is unavoidable from what I’ve heard. Marriage causes strife and disagreements.”

“Not ours,” Y/N insists, “you are the only person who understands me.”

“I do not understand why you would put yourself in danger.”

“For you.” Y/N tells him. “So you would not have to choose between your wife and your brother.”

“I would choose you, imbecile.”

Y/N bares her teeth. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are mine, Aegon! I protect what is mine.”

In the way of the dragon. And that, Aegon understands very well.

“Here it is,” Jace returns with milk of the poppy.

“Thank you,” Aegon takes the gauntlet, bringing it to his wife’s lips. “Drink all of it.” He demands.

“Is there anything more I can do?” The other man asks.

“Rest the blade of my dagger over the fire until it glows red, then bring it to me.”

Jace nods.

“First, might you find something for her to bite down on. Leather works best.” Aegon purses his lips, “bring me my belt.” One of them is still etched with her teeth markings from Laenor’s birth. He’s delivered two of their children, surely he can do this.

Jacaerys rushes to the armchair beside the bed, tugging Aegon’s belt free and placing it on the foot stool beside his sister.

Y/N curls her fingers around the harsh material. Her vision has doubled, swaying from side to side.

“Are you going to faint?” Aegon catches her face between his hands.

“I feel fine,” Y/N slurs.

Aegon taps her chin. “That is good, my dearest love. I am going to remove your shirt.” He eases the material over her head, leaving only the bindings to cover her breasts.

“The blade is ready,” Jacaerys calls, from the fire place.

“Open.” Aegon tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb until her jaw goes slack, taking the leather belt from her clenched fist and placing the strap between her teeth. “Bite.”

Y/N clamps her teeth around it.

“Good girl.”

Jacaerys approaches, handling the instrument with care.

“You will hold me around the waist, you are not to let go until I say.” Aegon instructs, waiting until she is wrapped around him in an awkward sort of hug. “There you go.” He pats her head before taking the dagger from her brother. He offers no additional warning before lying the blade flat across the expanse of her wound. The cut is a clean one, without jagged edges.

Y/N lets out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” he hushes her, holding the heat to her skin for just a moment more before tossing the dagger away. Gingerly withdrawing the belt from her teeth. Resting his forehead against hers as whimpers settle to deep breathing. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods.

“If you dare leave me again, Gods help me, I will shackle you to my side.”

Y/N strokes a hand over the side of his face. “Yes, Aegon.”

“I do not jest.”

Part 4

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

And I'm back with Part 3 of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! Thank you all so much for your patience and continued support for this story! It makes me so happy to see people get excited by my silly (and occasionally delusional) au ideas!

NOTE: You can find part 1 here and part 2 here.

EDIT: And you can find part 4 here!

And without further ado, onto the new stuff!

It was rather drafty in the lesser furnished cells of the dungeons. Merlin knew this well, as he had spent many nights during his first couple of years in Camelot trying and failing to get any sleep on the cold stone floors of those cells, kept awake by the freezing chill that would sweep through the dungeons at any given moment.

Merlin also knew that Arthur had never been kept in one of those cells, even on the rare occasions that Uther had him locked up for going against his orders. Whenever Arthur had to be put in the dungeons, he had been put in the fully furnished cells, meant for prisoners who were members of noble families.

Even when they were held in the same dungeon, the nobles and the peasants were subjected to wildly different experiences.

With that in mind, Merlin stopped by Arthur's chambers (or... were they his chambers now? Merlin certainly didn't want to think about that.) to grab Arthur's favorite blanket off of his bed. It was a luxuriously soft blanket, dyed a rich Pendragon red. That blanket was fit for a king and a pain for a manservant to wash, but Merlin had always taken good care of the blanket, knowing how much Arthur liked it.

Merlin folded up the thick blanket with meticulous care, ignoring both his own trembling hands, rendered unsteady by the volatile emotions welling up in him, and Gwaine's presence behind him, silent for once. Despite Gwaine's undying loyalty and penchant for mischief landing Merlin in an even worse situation than before, he seemed to understand the solemnity of Merlin's actions and the profound sense of grief over the life he had lived once before that had been so suddenly torn away from him.

The motions of carefully folding up the blanket filled Merlin with both comforting familiarity and near-crippling sorrow. Would he ever do this again, ever provide support and comfort for Arthur again? As much as Merlin wished to stay optimistic, even if his plan to reinstate Arthur as the rightful king of Camelot succeeded, the darkest corners of his mind hissed that Arthur would never tolerate his presence again, let alone trust him, after usurping him and, in Arthur's eyes, proving everything Uther had ever said about sorcerers to be true.

Merlin's heart plummeted, nearly stopping him in his track towards the dungeon entirely, at the mere thought of what Arthur must think of him now: a treacherous, conniving sorcerer who had manipulated Arthur into becoming his friend only to betray him. Merlin blinked, banishing his tears before they could roll down his face and fall onto the blanket in his arms, and forced his feet to keep moving steadily forward. No matter what Arthur thought of him now, how deeply Merlin has unintentionally wounded his friend, or how catastrophically Merlin's world felt like it was crumbling down around him, he needed to set things right.

Merlin clung desperately to that conviction, the thrumming need to set things right again, as everything else in him wanted to curl up in a dark corner and never move again. After an eternity and yet all too soon, Merlin descended past the gates of the dungeon, where he forbade Gwaine from following him any further, down the noble cell blocks, which were filled with sleeping, but thankfully uninjured knights, and finally through the dark, damp, empty, and cold peasant cells.

He couldn't see Arthur at first, but his magic sensed that he was here. Like always, it jumped, tugging on Merlin to act, whenever Arthur was nearby, causing Merlin to pause his step in order to focus on whatever his magic was attempting to do. This time, it tugged his attention towards the unlit torches lining the walls of the cell block. Light them, his magic seemed to beg of him, our king is cold!

Merlin's immediate reaction was to stop his magic, to push it down so that no one would notice, and, after a deep breath, he did just that. As Merlin stood still, holding Arthur's blanket in his arms and cherishing what would likely be the last few seconds that he could ignore what had happened over the last day and pretend that everything was normal, he heard the voice that he'd been both yearning and dreading to hear for the past day coming from the cell at the very end of the dungeon.

"If you're waiting to sneak up on me, you'll have to try harder than that. I can hear that neither magic nor a crown have made you any more stealthy, Merlin."

Merlin flinched backwards, expecting but yet somehow still unprepared for how much vitriol and bitterness Arthur hissed out his name with. He had heard Arthur yell out his name in variety of tones over the years, ranging from annoyed to bemused to downright furious, but he had never heard his name pass from Arthur's lips like this, spat out from his mouth like it was poisonous and vile. It caused so much hurt to well up in Merlin's chest that he felt it like a bruising punch, causing him to wince in pain, still hiding where Arthur could not see him.

As Merlin stood silently, only a few steps away from Arthur's cell and facing Arthur's well-deserved fury, and tried to desperately blink away the tears gathering in his eyes, his magic abruptly tugged his attention towards the torches again, more insistent this time. Letting out a stuttering breath, Merlin obliged with his magic's request this time, and the torches lining the walls burst into bright, golden flames in an instant, filling the cells with a merry warmth that felt entirely out of place.

Merlin heard a sharp gasp coming from Arthur's cells as soon as the torches lit up by themselves and winced. Right, Arthur was fresh off of Merlin's betrayal, so he was probably pretty jumpy, especially around magic.

Merlin's guilt rose alongside his frustration. Everything he does with his magic, he does it for Arthur, and yet every single damned time it backfires on him and somehow hurt Arthur! A spell meant to heal his father kills the king instead. A battle waged to ensure his continued reign steals his sovereignty instead. And lit torches meant to provide him with warmth and comfort scares him instead!

But before even more guilt could build up inside of him, Merlin heard Arthur's voice once more.

"I won't be scared by a coward of a sorcerer who would steal everything from the man he claimed to serve! Or is the great Emrys too important to even face the fool he tricked into believing that he was his friend?"

Before Merlin's mind could even process Arthur's words, his feet were already carrying him to the end of the hallway, right to the front of Arthur's cell. He needed to prove Arthur wrong here, their years of friendship weren't a lie or a trick, Arthur needed to believe that! Too much of Merlin's life, his very soul, was woven into his bond with Arthur, he couldn't let Arthur have any doubt that their bond was even real!

As he finally arrived at the door to the cell that held Arthur, Merlin's heart stuttered again, this time with grief. Based on the ferocity in his voice, Merlin had expected to see Arthur pressed up against the bars, ready to battle his perceived opponent. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Arthur, sitting alone on the dirty stone floor, his face wearing the same dejected and defeated look it had just days earlier, after Morgana had taken the citadel and Arthur doubted his own ability to rule his people. The only difference was that the lost look in Arthur's eyes from before was gone, replaced by a scornful glare that had Merlin feeling like he was the scum of the earth.

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to apologize, plead for forgiveness, whatever it took to just stop Arthur from looking at him like that, like Merlin was his enemy, but no words could form in his mouth, as too many emotions were welling up in his chest that it closed off his throat entirely. Merlin drew in a deep, fortifying breath, purposefully avoiding eye contact with a still-glaring Arthur the entire time. Once he felt like he had his feelings even marginally under some tenuous control, he finally met Arthur's gaze and held out the blanket like a pathetic peace offering.

"I brought you your blanket. I know it gets cold down here."

Merlin was rather proud that his voice only wavered slightly, not giving an indication of how disastrously close he was to breaking down into tears in the middle of the dungeons. Arthur merely stared at him for a moment, bewilderment appearing on his face for a few seconds before it was quickly wiped away by angry sneer.

"I don't accept gifts from the likes of you, sorcerer! It's probably cursed or enchanted to kill me so that you can finally get me out of your way for good!"

"No!"

The blanket fell to the floor as Merlin grasped the bars of the cell with both hands and pulled himself as close as he could to Arthur, who had flinched back at Merlin's outburst. His magic flared again, wanting to break down this barrier between them so that he could get closer to Arthur, but he denied its request, knowing that such an action would only agitate Arthur even more.

"Arthur, please, I never meant for any of this to happen! You must believe me! I only wanted to for Camelot to be safe from Morgana and for you to retake the throne! I only want to secure your reign, not end it!"

That, it seemed, finally got a reaction out of Arthur, but it wasn't the one Merlin was hoping for. Arthur finally stood up from the floor and stormed over to the cell door, getting close to Merlin, but just out of reach.

"And why on earth should I trust a word you say?! You've done nothing but lie to me for years, even when I gave you my complete trust! I thought you were my closest friend, the one person in my life who would never betray me, but as it turns out, I never even knew your real name, much less where your true loyalties lie!"

Merlin's face fell at Arthur's accusations, knowing that he was, in some ways, completely right in them. Still, he met Arthur's accusing glare with as much honesty as he could. After all that his own actions had taken from Arthur, he owed him the truth at the very least. Merlin spoke again, trying to muster up a calm, soothing tone despite his strong emotions.

"I know that you don't have much reason to trust what I say now, but I will do all that I can take make this right. I was born with magic, yes, but I was born this way for a purpose, and that purpose is you, Arthur. I am Emrys, destined to be the guardian of the Once and Future King, who will rule over the greatest kingdom history has ever known and bring peace the likes of which has never been seen throughout the land."

Merlin could see the moment of realization on Arthur's face as he put together who exactly the Once and Future King was, his eyes going wide with shock. Despite the situation, Merlin has just a bit of a smile on his face as he reminisced on fond memories.

"When I first met you, I just couldn't understand how such a prattish clotpole could ever be a king of legend, but the longer I stayed by your side, the more I could see the king that you were destined to become. A great man, a great leader, who will always stand up to protect his people, even if it means putting himself in danger."

Merlin's speech trailed off as he smiled gently at Arthur, trying desperately to give him reason to believe Merlin, to believe in the prophecy that tied them together, and, above all, to believe in himself.

To Merlin's surprise, he could see Arthur confusion melting into... something. It looked like something along the lines of hope or awe, which gave Merlin hope in return. But just as quickly as it was there, Arthur's expression shifted again to a frustrated anger.

"Even if what you're saying isn't some trick, your little bedtime story is wrong anyways! I can't be the Once and Future King if I'm not even a king in the first place!"

Merlin sighed deeply, knowing that they'd get to this point eventually. He had a plan, but would Arthur ever agree to it?

"I've tried! I tried to simply order the council to make you king again, but they won't do it! Geoffrey stopped me with some old laws that Bruta wrote! He said that I can't abdicate the throne to you because you're no longer legally a nobleman."

Arthur eyes widened frantically at the mention of Bruta's laws, his breathing picking up with panic. He backed up from the bars of the cell and began pacing around.

"Bruta's code, damn it, I forgot that they applied in these situations! Wait..."

His eyes snapped back to Merlin, looking red-rimmed and on the verge of tears. His voice, which was so full of fire mere seconds ago, now sounded hollow. Merlin's hope wilted upon seeing Arthur like this, and his magic flared again, still wanting to destroy the barrier between them.

"This means that the Pendragon house is no longer recognized, doesn't it?"

Merlin could only nod, unsure of what he could do to comfort Arthur. At Merlin's confirmation, Arthur took a shaky breath, trying to collect himself from the inner turmoil that he was surely experiencing.

"Everything... I've lost everything."

Merlin gave Arthur what he hoped was his most comforting smile, but it didn't do much for Arthur's hopeless disposition. After a small sigh, Merlin spoke again in a soft, comforting voice.

"Arthur, all is not lost. I have a way to make you king again! We just have to make you a noble again, and then I can abdicate the throne to you! And luckily for both of us, there's an easy way to make a peasant a nobleman quickly! And you should know, you wrote it into the laws yourself!"

Arthur blinked at him, not comprehending what Merlin had said for a couple seconds, before a sliver of hope showed on his face. However, as soon as it was there, it was gone again, once more replaced by anger and betrayal. Arthur quickly stormed over to the cell door, this time reaching the door itself and wrapping his hands around the bars so that he could yell in Merlin's face.

"I knew it! This was a trick!"

"What are you talking about? How would me knighting you and then giving you back your throne be a trick?!"

"You would have me swear on oath of fealty to you, which would legally, and for all I know magically, put me under your command! This was all just another plot to control me, wasn't it?!"

"Oh come on, you wouldn't have to mean it when you take the oath! You'd just have to say the words and then let me abdicate!"

"So now sacred oaths of loyalty are nothing but empty words to you?!"

"Gods, you really can't make anything easy for the both of us, can you, you prat! I'm just trying to give you your crown back!"

"You would have me disrespect the sacred oaths of knighthood! I would never swear an oath of fealty to you! It is a sacred bond of trust, which is apparently something that you know nothing about, Emrys!"

Merlin flinched back, still unused to Arthur saying the name given to him by the druids, much less hissed out in anger. Merlin backed away from the cell door and took a deep breath, trying to find some solution to this mess.

"So, I take it that you would not accept a knighthood from me?"

"Never."

Merlin sighed again, his eyes drifting around the dungeons as he tried to think of a different way to make Arthur a nobleman. Eventually, his eyes drifted back towards Arthur, who was still holding onto the bars of the cell door. As Merlin looked at Arthur, pondering any solution that he could possibly come up with, a metallic flash caught Merlin's eye, drawing it to Arthur's left hand.

There, the torchlight was reflecting off of Ygraine's ring, the one that Arthur rarely ever took off. Merlin was glad that Arthur still had it with him after everything that had just happened to provide some comfort, but it still didn't present Merlin with any solutions...

Wait.

Oh no.

Swallowing thickly, Merlin called out to Arthur again.

"Arthur, do you know of any, any other ways to elevate a peasant to the status of a noble?"

"I'm afraid not. Me granting knighthoods to peasants was the first legal opportunity for peasants to elevate their stations. There is no other way."

Merlin closed his eyes and tried to hold back his frustration. He wouldn't have to resort to that, surely?

"And you've really thought this through, Arthur? If you don't accept a knighthood, I don't think that there's any other way that I can legally make you a noble again, much less the king. Are you really prepared to go the rest of your life as a peasant with no title, no lands, no riches, nothing?"

Merlin could see that his words gave Arthur pause, forcing him to at least reconsider Merlin's offer. Merlin internally pleaded with Arthur to please don't be an idiot, just take the offer!

Finally, Arthur seemed to have reached his decision, as he glared at Merlin once again with conviction.

"I might be forced to live out my days as a peasant, but at least I'll be a peasant with my honor and integrity intact."

Merlin was, at this point, sorely tempted to bash his head into the stone wall behind him. Why, why did this clotpole have to make his life so difficult?!

Merlin gave a heavy sigh as he nodded, accepting Arthur's decision. Arthur looked rather smug about Merlin conceding to him, which he wouldn't be feeling if he knew exactly what Merlin had in mind as his contingency plan.

"Very well then. You've made it clear that you won't willingly take this one opportunity for me to give you your throne back. But make no mistake, you are the Once and Future King. This is your destiny, and I will see that it comes to pass, no matter what I have to do. I know that it might be unfair, but I only ask that you forgive me for what I do next. Please remember, everything I do, I do for you and the kingdom that you're destined to build."

Arthur's expression had gone from smug to confused to concerned very quickly, but Merlin didn't acknowledge the slight fear that had appeared on Arthur's face. Instead, he carefully pushed Arthur's blanket, which had been lying at the foot of the cell door, through the bars, ensuring that Arthur could grab it.

After that, Merlin turned on his heel and walked out of the now silent dungeons, his footsteps sounding authoritative and ominous as they echoed off of the stone walls.

Despite his measured footsteps, Merlin's mind was moving at sprinter's pace, trying to plan out everything that would need to be done in the coming days. The first thing that he definitely needed to do was let the steward know that he needed to plan a wedding on short notice.

After all, it wasn't uncommon for conquerors to marry their war prizes.

I hope you all enjoyed this continuation! Were you right in your guess as to what Merlin had in mind at the end of part 2? Please let me know if you'd like another part of this story!

I'll try to tag everyone who asked for a part 3 here. Thank you all for your support!

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

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@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

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@guiltyscarlet

And, as always, than you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[thewritetofreespeech]

Here & Now

pairing: Aemond targaryen x Targaryen!reader [Rhaenyra & Daemon's daughter]

summary: on the morning you were set to return to Dragonstone to reunite with your family, the Greens make their move to take the throne, and Aemond comes to you.

tags: heterosexual sex, fingering, loss of virginity, targaryen incest themes, tw: blood, tw: knives

words: 3.1K

-----------------------------⚔️----------------------------------

When you were a little girl, your mother used to read you stories. Ones about knights, fey creatures, and princesses locked in towers. You never liked the tower ones. You always asked why they just didn't jump out of the tower to get away.

Looking down at the courtyard from your window, you realized that maybe they had a long way down as you did and that's why they couldn't get away.

The door opened and you sprung from your seat to face your intruder. You weren’t sure who you were expecting, but it wasn’t Aemond. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.” His voice was even, but years of being near each other told you that his undertones were that of someone who was ashamed. “Are you alright?”

“I am a prisoner in my own home, Aemond. What do you think?!” You don’t mean to scratch at him. You are sure this is none of his doing, but he was the only one here.

You felt the fool for choosing to stay with your great-aunt Rhaenys, not wanting her to be left alone; even fierce she-dragons needed someone to lean on. But this morning you were barred from leaving your chambers by gold cloaks. You demanded to know what was the meaning of this. Demanded to know what was going on. Demanded to speak to your grandfather. Yet no one would answer you.

“Our patriarch is dead.” You felt a stone sink into your stomach. Somehow, you knew this to be true. King Viserys was very ill. It was only a collection of days in the best circumstances. “They’re going to make Aegon king this afternoon.” You felt as though the stone, and your breakfast, was going to come back up.

“So you are going to usurp my mother’s claim?! Take her birthright away!”

“It’s not my doing.” Aemond snapped at you. Clearly tired of being scratched. “It’s my mothers.” You scoff. You both know that Alicent’s clumsy maneuverings are just the attempts of her father. The King’s Hand with the knife in his back.

“So I am to what, hm? Sit here quietly while you take away my family’s future until you throw me over the walls edge?”

“I doubt you would sit here quietly, and no one is going to throw you over a wall, or any other ledge. Not if I have a say in it.”

You laugh. Despite yourself. Aemond was always funny, if you paid attention to him.

So few ever did. A second son, of a second marriage, with a princess in line for the throne. He was as meaningless as sand to the beaches to most people, then avoided completely after he was maimed. You always felt bad for that. Thought it was unfair that Lucerys got off scot-free after he crippled one of their own. People called those who took blood from their family Kinslayers, but what of those that maim their members?

“So you will let me go?”

Aemond shrugged. “Probably.” It was likely the best answer he could give. This wasn’t his decision. He couldn’t honestly tell you either way. But he did know, “you cannot take your dragon though.”

You felt your heart freeze in your chest. As if your Targaryen blood rushed out of you at the thought of abandoning your dragon. “You would take Stormsheild from me?” Your voice quaked despite your efforts. “Why not just cut off my arm? My heart….”

Aemond rushed over to you as you began to sob. Everything crashing down around you, and the thought of losing your dragon too much to bear. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” He whispered in your hair. “You can stay here. With me.”

You pull back from Aemond’s chest to look at him. Blinking away tears as you must not have heard him right. “What?”

“Stay here with me.” He repeated it. You had not misheard. “Stay with me and you can keep Stormshield and your home, and be back in line for the throne. As my queen.”

You step back from Aemond to look at him. “You would…have me forsake my own mother? Turn my back on her?”

“You were always meant to turn your back on her to be with me.” He clasped at your hand. Not pulling you close again but not letting you go. Aemond speaks of course of your engagement. You had been betrothed from a young age, much like Aegon & Helaena or any other noble child in the realm. King Viserys last ditch effort to bring the two sides of his family together, you assumed. It had not gone over well with Alicent or your mother. Your father threw a chair when his side was alone. But none of them could stand against the king and his decision, so the pact stood.

You had not been upset about it like the adults. You cared for Aemond. He had been sweet when you left him. You sent him ravens. He remembered your nameday and sent your candied treats in secret. And when you return, he had grown into a fine, if not jaded, man. Fierce, refined, handsome. What had been childhood friendship and fancy turned into a blooming love overnight. One you were excited to explore. But now your blooms were burning into ash.

“My mother won’t stand for this. My father will come.”

“I have no doubt he will try.” There was no way Daemon would let his truest daughter, his favorite, stay here without a fight. He wouldn’t be so brazen about his favoritism like his father, but even with his one-eye Aemond could tell that you were his favorite over his Velaryon vipers. If Rhaenyra took the throne, he would have broken their engagement the first chance he got. A second son nowhere near good enough for his Targaryen jewel. Now he had all the more reason to break it, as Aemond wasn’t stupid enough to think Rhaenyra & Daemon were going to give up the throne without a fight. But what if he didn’t have a choice?

“I want you to be my wife. Right here. Right now.”

You looked at Aemond in shock. Suddenly afraid. “You’re not going to—“I would never hurt you.” He seemed offended you would even suggest it. Understandable. “But this was how it was always meant to be. You and me. No matter what happens, no one can take that away from us if you agree to be mine. We can be together.”

Your head was swimming. Your heart was pounding. “L…Let me think…”

“There’s no time.” Aemond insisted. “Once the coronation starts, Aegon will be King and that will be the end of it.” They will be divided. Those for Rhaenyra. Those for his brother. And Aemond did not trust his brother or family not to ruin this for him. Just as Daemon would have her taken from him, his mother and family would do the same. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear to give up one more thing for Aegon’s happiness. “Say you’ll be mine. Say you will be my wife. Say you’ll stay here with me and we will be here together. Tell me that you want that.”

“I do.”

The words leave your mouth without you even realizing it. You had spent so long imagining a future with Aemond. He was your intended. He was your future. You loved him, but you also loved your mother & your family.

Aemond doesn’t recognize your distress though and swooped in to kiss you passionately. The two of you had kissed before. Brief, as children, to see what it was like. Then again before you left as a sort of parting gift. Then once final upon your return as a welcome home and back in his arms. It had never been like this before. Aemond, for all his hard edge, was gentle and shy with you. Now, however, he kissed you like a man who meant to consume you. Taking you into his body, instead of the other way around, so you could never leave him. When he broke away from you your vision swam. Righting itself after a few deep breaths but all you could see was Aemond.

“Undress.” You blink up at him in shock. “If we do this now, there’s nothing they can do.”

You realize Aemond wants not just your words but your chastity. As a sign of good faith. He wants to consummate your marriage before your vows. Cart before the horse. Everyone would have no choice but to accept your marriage now, or your side would risk the news that you were no longer a maiden and rumors Aemond was no more than a craven opportunist who would force himself of a captured princess.

You gulp. Feeling your tears bead up again in your eyes. This was not how you pictured your life with Aemond starting. This was not the dream you were meant to share. But dreams often fall short of reality.

For Aemond’s part, he also swallowed the lump in his throat and began to undress. Paying no mind to the habitual work of undoing his jerkin and belts to look at you. He hadn’t thought much on his marriage before your return. Save that he would do it and try his best. He would do his duty and have you give the realm more Targaryen blood to reign and treat you as honorably as he could. But on the few times he did think of his marriage, he would think of the wedding and your wedding night. How he would take his time with you. Appreciate you, the way you should be appreciated as a lady, as a Targaryen royal, and as his wife. But that was all gone. They will not have time for sweet words and sweet moments. That will have to come later now. Just another thing taken from him.

You feel embarrassed to be standing naked in from of Aemond. Your hands hopelessly trying to cover your modesty. Fretful glances around as if some septa in the shadows was going to jump out and cast shame on you. “Lie on the bed.” You do as you’re beckoned and lay down. Stiff. Ridged. Your hands balled into fists at your sides to keep them from flying up and covering you again.

Aemond watched all of this and did not look pleased. Still, he climbed onto the bed on top of you, and you try to sink further into the mattress to instinctually get away. “I will try to be gentle.” His words certainly were. You relax as a bit of the Aemond you knew came back into his voice and nuzzle against the hand on your cheek. “But this may hurt. It is not my intention. None of this…this wasn’t what I wanted.”

You know he doesn’t mean ‘this’ in general, but how this has come about. “I know.” You were both doing something neither of you wanted in order to get what you did want. What was love without sacrifice?

“It should only be this time. And I swear I will never hurt you again. Please, do not hate me.” You touch Aemond’s cheek in return. You could never hate him. Be cross with him. Snap and bite at him from time to time, but never hate him. He must know that.

He nuzzled into your palm as you did his and rested there for a moment with his eye closed. He then nodded, opened it, and his hand was no longer touching your cheek but the sacred spot between your legs.

You jump at the touch with a sharp hiss. Trying to crawl out from under Aemond but blocked by the pillows. He held you back. Shushing you as he continued his touching. “It’s only this time.” He reminded you. And you try to remain calm and still as he kept going.

Aemond needed no proof that you were a maiden. Your trust and faithfulness was all he needed to know that you would not break the arrangement between you; although he had not been so chaste, but he was a man. When he touched you, however, it was clear that no one had been there before him. Your entrance was tight around his finger. Nearly barring him out. He wanted to tell you to relax, but felt he had no place for it. ‘Yes, my love, relax. Don’t think about the fact that you are about to lose your chastity to a brute. Or that my family is usurping yours. Don’t think about the fact that this still may not work and you have thrown everything away for a hairbrained plan of a desperate man who just doesn’t want to be alone.’ Yes. Those were the sweet words every girl wanted to hear on her ‘wedding night’.

He removed his finger from her entrance, bringing it up to his mouth to lick two then pushing both back in. You whine. Feeling your entrance stretch to an uncomfortable level of accommodation. Your mother had been very forthcoming on what to expect from your wedding night, although she had been clear she wished it to be far in the future. She let you know that there would be pain. That there would be times that it felt like it wasn’t worth it. But it was your duty as a wife, and, with the right man, it could be quite enjoyable. You knew what she meant now as you felt your apex burn. When would the ‘quite enjoyable’ start?

By the third finger inside you, you had gnawed on your bottom lip so hard you were drawing blood. Aemond said nothing. Just watched you. He seemed terrified to do anything than what he was doing. Finally, his fingers came free of you and shifted above you. "You need to spread your legs." They had instinctively closed when he pulled from you and you blush as you do as he says. "Please do not hate me."

You had thought your apex burned when his fingers were inside you, but if that was the case then your whole pelvis was on fire when he pushed inside you. Your hands fly up to claw at Aemond's back as you let out a wordless scream when he split you & your maidenhead open. "Stop! Wait, wait! It hurts!"

"I know." His words are apologetic as he offers you a kiss on the cheek but does not pull out. "Just bear with it for me."

He stopped long enough to give you time to adjust. Try to relax. Anything. Then he pulled his cock out and slid it back in. Your teeth grit at the pain. It’s not as bad as you thought, after the initial shock. It does hurt, but to hear people talk about it it was the same as losing a limb. You fell off Stormsheild once when you were a little girl. Bruised something fierce from the fall. That hurt worse than this, but it was no less uncomfortable.

Aemond tried to take this as slow as he could for you. He knows this is not how a maiden expects to become a woman. Some hard fast thing to be done with and move on. But the clock was ticking. They had very little time left before the coronation and the ceremony started. It needed to be finished before then.

That’s what he told himself.

In truth, he was a lost novice again inside you. Your warmth. Your tightness. Just…you. This was not how he pictured you being bonded to him, but he would be a liar if he said he wasn’t still elated that you were beneath him and soon all his.

He could feel his climax building. Unable to hold it back any longer. Aemond reached blindly for the knife at the side of your bed, as no true Targaryen would ever go to sleep without a blade at their side, and sliced your hand open. You cry out finally. Having kept your jaw tight the whole time you were doing this in order to not scream and turn wild eyed toward Aemond to ask him what the hells he was doing, only to see him cutting his own hand. He threw the knife away to the side and linked your hands together. His eye turned to you. Holding you there for a moment before he kissed you deeply to fully seal your bond. A Valyrian bond.

With the pain redirected to your hand, you can finally feel Aemond inside you with some joy. It’s not pleasurable, but it’s not painful. Your head swam at the realization that he was inside you, he was kissing you, that he was all around you until suddenly Aemond’s hips stopped and you realized that there was more than just his cock inside you.

He let your lips go after that. Panting with you. Sweaty. Whole. You hiss sharply when Aemond pulled out of you. The pain returning to your center from your hand. Still bloody, sheets bloody, why did there have to be so much blood for this?

Aemond sat up and ripped a corner of the sheets into two clean strips. One for you and one for him. He wrapped your hand first and then his own, before he pulled you close to him on the ruined bedding. “Are you alright?”

You shrug against him. Your maidenhood was sore. Your hand was throbbing. Your mother was about to be tossed aside and you were still technically a prisoner in your childhood home. You weren’t sure how to answer that question.

“I will have to go. For the ceremony.” Aemond doesn’t want to talk about it, but he does have to go. Must show a united front for the kingdom. “I’ll come back later. To check on you.”

“Will I be allowed to leave?” You ask him. That question had still not been answered.

“After it’s over we’ll go talk to my mother and King Hand.” A name you both gave his grandfather as children to tease him, in secret of course. It wasn't nearly as funny as you remembered now. “You are under my protection now. I will keep you safe.”

Safe. How strange that word sounded now. You had felt safe with your parents. You had felt safe within these walls. You had felt safe with Aemond. But all of that had suddenly changed. What was 'safe' now?

Aemond dressed quickly, then came over to you again. Tentative, shy even, he came over to give you a brief peck on the lips. Like the ones you used to give as children. “I will come back.” He promised again. “Everything will be alright.”

Then he was gone. You were alone. You pulled your knees to your chest, despite the pain in doing so, and look out your window. Maybe the other princesses stayed in the tower because they had no choice too.

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.03

The hour was late, and there was not a soul aside from yourself and Prince Jacaerys in the guest house in Winterfell, so you were able to speak freely with each other away from any prying eyes. Your nephew's most recent revelation causes unexpected feelings of grief and sympathy to unfold.

The poisonous actions of your own family had spread so far it caused Rhaenyra to go into premature labor. “My condolences, Jacaerys. I did not know your mother had lost her babe.”

“Did word not reach the keep?”

“If it did, I was not informed.” You sigh, “Losing a babe is a lonely experience. I wouldn’t wish on my worst foe.”

“You speak as if you know this from experience?”

You feel a sudden chill; the only light in the room was from the candles on the table and the flames from the fireplace. Even in the dim light, you can make out the glossiness in his eyes; he was fighting to hold back tears. “A few years ago I had a babe that came early, a girl. I was going to call her Visenya.” You scoff, “Perhaps the name is cursed.”

“I’m sorry.”

The dead girl's birth was more painful than Maitland’s. The maester had no understanding of what caused the premature birth; the only thing you knew for sure was that you were completely alone. “I couldn’t bring myself to say it,” your voice begins to crack. “At her funeral, I couldn’t bear the thought of my own dragon being the one to set my tiny daughter pyre on fire, so Aegon commanded Sunfyre to do it.”

The mention of your brother causes Jacaerys to tense up. He looks furious.

“I know you think he is a monster, but he was the only one who helped me through my grief.”

Confused, he asks, “What about your mother, husband, or Helaena?”

You sit back in the hard wooden chair and smile at the mention of your sister. “Helaena is the most kindhearted and gentle of us, but she doesn’t cope well with death. It took her three moons for her to speak with me again, and even then my sweet sister only spoke in riddles.”

“What about Alicent?”

You lift the cup of wine sitting you had yet to touch to your lips in a poor attempt to hide the involuntary scoff. You rarely saw eye to eye with your husband, but your mother being untrustworthy was something you always agreed upon. “I have kept her at arm’s length and have for many years, trusting nought that she says.”

Jacaerys looks horrified. He was struggling to understand what it must be like to have a family that did not care much for one another.

“Do not fret, my prince,” you say reassuringly. “Not all mothers can care for their children in the way they perhaps wish they could.”

“Was Aemond not there to comfort you?”

Visenya’s death is what completely shattered your marriage. The broken feeling of sitting in your bedchamber alone after the silent sisters came for your daughter still haunted you. Not only should Aemond have been mourning with you, if he was there, they wouldn’t have taken Visenya away from you so soon. You prayed he would burst through the door when the midwives ripped the dead babe you had been cradling from your arms, but he never came.

He was with his whore, missing everything.

When Aemond returned and the maester told him what happened, he beat his knuckles bloody against the wall and only stopped when Ser Criston managed to restrain him.

“No, he was not,” you finally take a large gulp of the bitter-smelling wine. “My brother Daeron is kind, but he lives in OldTown. He wrote to me more than usual, but it was only Aegon who visited me when I was inconsolable.”

Jace says nothing.

“It’s not Aegon’s fault; all of this was my grandsire, Criston, and the men that sit in their council. They were the ones who plotted for years.”

“And your mother? Was she not the ringleader of the rightful queen being usurped?”

“My mother thinks she has a voice in the council, but she is yet to see that it was only possible previously because the king allowed it.”

“How did King Viserys die? Daemon thinks he was poisoned.”

“Perhaps he was.” You look down at the smallest candle and watch as the last of the wax melts away. “Will the queen be merciful when she sits upon the throne? Will she spare Helaena?”

“If you bend the knee, she will gladly take you into her heart, all of you. Our family doesn’t need to be torn apart.”

“It's not only our family who’s been affected. We’ve turned brother against brother. Ser Erryk is on Dragonstone while Ser Arryk remains in the keep. The kingdom's divide has already begun within the kingsguard. I dread to see what will become of the small folk.”

“When my mother takes kings landing, Daemon’s first act will be to hang all those who betrayed her, including the kingsguard who remain loyal to Aegon.”

“It’s not so simple, Jacaerys. Ser Arryk, he only stayed because he’s sworn to me, to my son. Not because he agrees with what happened. Everyone knows my father chose his line of succession; he wanted Rhaenyra on the throne then for you to be king.” You lean your arm over the table and take Jacaerys hand. “If I tell you something of value, you must promise that you’ll never say you heard it from me.”

“What—”

“Swear it.”

He nods, “Yes, I swear it.”

You let go of his hand; tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “On the day he was crowned king, Aegon tried to flee. And he has considered doing it again, but my mother and grandsire have the keep-on lockdown. But it may be possible if someone helps him.”

“Who… you would help him leave?”

It felt like a betrayal discussing Aegon in such detail with another, but you needed Jacaerys to understand the blacks weren’t the only threat to your family. “I would, and not because I don’t believe your mother would spare his life if he bent the knee, but because I know what would happen if he did.”

A look of understanding passes his features. “His own men would turn on him.”

“If Aegon is gone, his son Jaehaerys is next in line. Healena does not want this for him; she will gladly hand the city over to Rhaenyra, and without bloodshed.”

“I have the feeling you are still withholding.”

“Of course I am,” you chuckle lightly as the tears you fought so hard to hold back finally fall. “I do not wish to send my own brother to death. I want to save him from being crushed under the weight of a crown he did not ask for.”

“Do you really think he’d leave his wife and children?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. “He cares for the twins, but it didn’t stop him from trying to leave before.”

Jacaerys looks uncertain, but how could he not be? There were things you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t begin to explain that you’ve seen the threat from the north, his mother sitting on the iron throne. The death of thousands by the hands of dragon flames. How you just knew your mother would betray Aegon one day.

“It’s late,” Jacaerys stands up. “We should both sleep and speak again tomorrow. Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight, nephew.”

When Jace leaves and you are alone, you begin to crumble. You desperately try to hide the sobs escaping your mouth; exhaustion and pent-up emotions are finally catching up. You pick up the small wooden toy sitting on the table and hold it tightly. Maitland had many toys, and you hope he wouldn’t seek the one you took to feel close to him until you return.

Hearing a soft knock at the door, you rub at your eyes, and presuming it’s Jacaerys, you open the door and are taken aback when it’s not him. “Lord Stark,” you step back to let him in. “Forgive my unladylike appearance; if I had known you were coming, I would have dressed more appropriately.”

Being in a nightgown and robe with only Jacaerys as company didn’t phase you, but in front of the Lord of Winterfell it was rather embarrassing.

“Forgive me, I saw the candlelight and presumed you were still awake... We can speak in the morrow.”

“No, my lord,” you cross your arms over your chest and smile. “It’s fine.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before continuing. “From the moment I returned to my chambers, my son has been all over me. Apparently he’s going to meet the bronze fury.

You smile. “He asked today if he could come with me to see the dragons, but I wanted to check with you first.”

“I—can you assure he won’t get hurt?”

“No dragon can ever be completely tamed, but their emotions are entwined with their riders. And since I hold no ill-will towards your son, he’ll be safe.”

“Okay, he may go with you.” He reaches to open the door. “I best be going; try and get what little sleep I can, as I’m sure Rickon will be up early with excitement.”

“Goodnight, Lord Stark.”

“Cregan,” he locks eyes with you. “When it’s just us, you can call me my first name.”

Mother above, you could only imagine the look on the dowager queen's face if she heard a lord give you leave to speak his name.

“And when it’s just us, you may still refer to me as princess, Cregan.”

He smirks at your teasing. “I’ll see you in the morrow, princess.”

—

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳. 𝘎𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺—𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺.

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦.

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘷𝘪. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮’𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯.

𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵, “𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦. “𝘔𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺—”

𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?”

“𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘦𝘭. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦.”

“𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦?” 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

"𝘕𝘰, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦; 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯, “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘐 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵? 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳. “𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵; 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘨. 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?

“𝘕𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦; 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦,” 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘭𝘺.

“𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦,” 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴.

𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥.

“𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯?”

“𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭,” 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.”

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴, “𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵; 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.”

“𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

—

“As you say it’s difficult with sons, I dare say I spoil my boy. He’s inherited most things from me, even the things I wish he did not.” You lean against the wooden bannister, standing beside Lord Stark, watching as Rickon plays with his direwolf on the snow below. “Your son, Rickon, is a very kind boy; you must be proud.”

“Northerners are born hardened; it’s in our nature, but I do sometimes regret my son not having the softness of a woman to help guide him. But as you say, he is kind, and that’s all I could ask for.” Hearing the Lord of Winterfell speak of his son in such a way was bittersweet. You didn’t doubt Aemond’s love for Maitland, but your son being kind wouldn’t be high on his priority. “And I’m sure the young prince is lucky to have a mother who loves him dearly.”

You clear your throat. “I find it rather fascinating how different things are outside the city I grew up in. A young lord or lady not marrying soon after their spouse dies is almost unheard of.”

“I could have,” he muses. “My marriage was political, but I was lucky; I grew to love my wife, Arra. She was soft-spoken and would sing a lot. I did not believe it would be possible to find another like her or anyone so deeply devoted to loving another woman’s son. The ladies I entertained with the idea of marrying showed little to no interest in Rickon, so I chose not to bring them into his life.”

You turn to face him and say, “Not many men would say that. Most of them would put desire above love and duty without a second thought.”

Cregan rests his arms beside you on the bannister and leans in ever so slightly, a mischievous smile pulling on his lips. “Tis possible for both to exist; even the most dutiful of men and women still have desires, princess.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile. “You wouldn’t have fared well growing up in the keep as a lady, my lord. I was taught if a woman had improper desires or urges, they were to go pray in the sept for forgiveness.”

You feel the warmth from his body when his broad shoulder brushes against your own. His voice is lower than before when he says, “Winterfell doesn’t have a sept to pray in.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Vermithor landing just outside the walls of Winterfell.

“I believe it’s time for Rickon to meet my dragon.”

—

True to your word, Rickon was unharmed when you took him to greet the bronze fury up close. You even flew around the outskirts of Winterfell three times before Vermithor landed beside Silverwing from the same location you left.

Rickon took your hand and excitedly pulled you through the castle grounds until he spotted Lord Stark and the maester, who were patiently waiting on him. As you watch the young boy go to attend his lessons, you jump, hearing a voice beside you.

“A morning he will never forget.”

“Nephew,” you take in his appearance. “Are you going hunting?”

“Yes, I’ve been invited to join several of the lords; however, I reckon whatever I catch will be devoured by Vermax.”

Jacaerys offers you his arm, which you take. “Very ill-tempered for a little thing, I imagine he will be formidable when fully grown.”

“Big enough to saddle two, so the dragon keepers say. I wanted to let you know the queen has written; she has refused Aegon’s terms.”

“What terms?”

He narrows his eyes, “the ones your grandsire, Otto Hightower, spoke of when he stepped foot on Dragonstone. Did you not know?”

“I was unaware he had even left the keep at any point.”

“The former queen claims me and my brothers will be treated kindly; after my own mother bends the knee.”

“Alicent speaks with two tongues.”

“I suspected as much. She spent years calling us bastards.” When you reach the stables where the other lord's horses are being prepared, he lets go of your arm. “Lord Stark isn’t going; I believe he is staying so he can speak with you in private.”

“I won’t go back on my word. I will do what I can to help your mother sit on the throne.”

He nods and begins to walk towards the stables.

“Jacaerys,” you call after him. “It’s true you don’t share the same features as your mother, but that does not make you a bastard.”

“Do not jest,” he says defensively.

“People will believe what they wish and may whisper behind your back, but it doesn’t change the fact you are of blood and fire,” you cup his cheek. “Ser Harwin had blue eyes. You have brown eyes, as did Ser Laenor.”

You almost feel guilty seeing the look in his eyes. Had the young boy not thought of this before? The rumors of Rhaenyra’s sons being bastards were most likely started, but those on the Green Council as another way to belittle and discredit a woman in a position of power. It is known Aegon has bastards, but not once has it ever been mentioned at court.

You are caught off guard when you turn to walk in the opposite direction, and Cregan is waiting for you. Smiling, you walk towards him, “my lord.”

“Princess, I was wondering if you care to join me in the godswood.”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad; I believe we have much to discuss.”

[auraxins]

notes: boothill x gn!reader, fluff, mutual yearning, affectionate teasing, kissing, mentions of canon-typical violence, ~1k words

happy pre-boothill day, i hope he comes home to us all!

No matter how many times you wipe them down your legs, your palms refuse to cease sweating. 

He’d sent you a text weeks ago, that he’d try to see you soon. In fact, his words were that he’d be home soon. 

And you know never to get your hopes up too high. The life of a Galaxy Ranger, especially such a loose cannon like Boothill, has no strict schedule. For all you know, he’s ass-deep undercover on a planet thousands of light-years away right now. 

But his contact status has been set to online for the past hour. 

Which should mean that he’s going to message you again. You can’t quite bring yourself to hope for the alternative; that you’ll actually see him, hold him. Life rarely turns in your favour like that. 

Nonetheless, you are wiping your hands and bouncing your leg as your body desperately attempts to keep all the nervous energy that has accumulated in the past sixty minutes within the confines of your skin. 

Anticipation is funny like that, the way it can take hold of your body and even usurp control of your mind. It builds and builds until it becomes all you can think about, all you can pay attention to. 

So much so that you barely even notice when a figure approaches on the horizon. A familiar silhouette, long hair and a statement hat; unmistakeable. 

Your heart pounds. 

Momentarily, you’re halfway to convinced that you’re seeing things. There’s no way you could be this lucky. Even as he reaches you, looks you up and down with a relieved and toothy grin, it feels more likely that you’re experiencing a hallucination. 

He pauses just far enough to give you some space, and cocks his head as he speaks. 

“With a frown like that I’d reckon you ain’t all that excited to see me, darlin’.” 

There are new scratches and scuffs on his torso. They’ve been very crudely cleaned out, small caked-on patches of dirt and other peoples’ blood still lining the ridges. You push away the urge to sit him down and pick them out. 

“You took a while,” you say quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers sincerely. “Got caught up in somethin’ big.”  

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s finally in front of you, within arms’ reach. You shake any residual negativity from your mind and step closer, bringing your hands to Boothill’s waist. He leans into your touch instinctively, though you know he can’t feel it, and holds your shoulders gently in turn. 

“Well, at least you’re home now.” 

He hums in agreement, pressing his lips to your forehead. It’s warm in comparison to the metallic chill of his hands, part of the only stretch of flesh he has left. For a moment, he simply lingers there, basking in your presence. 

You wonder how he’s felt in the months you’ve spent apart. 

No matter how you’d missed him, at least you had the comfort of your home and friends. He’s been alone out there, in danger out there. The thought has you subconciously grasping onto him tighter, snaking your arms up to embrace him more completely, to anchor your hands into the hem of his cropped jacket. 

Boothill brings a hand to your chin to tilt your head up, before giving you the sweetest smile you think you’ve ever seen on him. It spills from his lips to the corners of his eyes, deep crow’s feet oozing with contentment. 

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted you right here like this,” he confesses earnestly, leaning in until your nose brushes against his. “Those fudgers kept me away far too long.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the censored profanity. Clearly he still hadn’t been able to fix his synesthesia beacon on his travels. 

“Those fudgers- ” you tease lightly, releasing one of your hands to trace along his abdomen- “can’t get to you anymore.” 

“Damn right they can’t,” Boothill laughs, pinching at your cheek in retaliation. “Not after I put a bullet in ‘em.” 

“Boy, you sure know how to flirt.” A giggle escapes you as you wriggle away from his hand, only to end up with him grasping your hips and pinning you against him. 

You bring your own hands to his chest, smoothing down the fabric of his jacket. Your thumb lingers along the little golden medallions pinned to the left breast, admiring the way they glitter in the light. 

“I must be good at it, if I’ve nabbed a sweet little thing like you,” Boothill simpers, emphasising his words with a gentle prod to your nose. You almost hate how effective it is, how if you had any less self-control it might have made you fall weak at the knees. 

His adornments clink as you twist your fist into his jacket, yanking him so that your chests bump together. 

“If you’re so good at it, how come you aren’t kissing me yet?” 

There’s no need to tell Boothill twice, as he closes the distance between you in an instant. 

Adrenaline spikes through your veins and you weave your fingers into his hair. It’s tangled and definitely hasn’t seen water for a few days, but you can’t care less in the moment. You simply need to hold him however you can, to ground yourself against his body. 

He’s on you like a man starved, sharp teeth grazing your lips with every feverish kiss. You find it hard to forget how far removed from humanity Boothill has become in moments like these, but it does little to deter you as he squeezes into your hips and you kiss him harder in response. 

All that matters is that he is here with you, and you are kissing him. 

That alone makes everything right with the world. 

[lady-ashfade]

No Longer

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Alicent Hightower x Lady!Fem!Reader

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 371

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: tw!death, sickness, mourning, angst, crispy and Alicent aren’t a thing, short, maybe slight!dark Alicent, Rhaenrya x reader.

-`｡ﾟ˘: ﾟ⋆ ––✷☽ ᱬ ☽✷––⋆ ﾟ: ˘ ﾟ｡.`-

Alicent was relieved to have you by her side throughout the years, her comfort and someone who brought her peace. The day’s in kingslanding were troublesome and you let her forget about everything.

“My love, are you alright?” soft hands reached her shoulders and the smile residing on your face she saw in the mirror sent a wave of warmth throughout her chest.

In a short answer she was not well, her faith was being tested and her guilt was eating up at her. The gods had placed her one this path and she must see it through, even if it’s hard.

“Tired,” she turned and kissed your knuckles, “long day of petitions.”

A part of you always hated the way she carried herself and how she treated things, but you loved her and wanted to be blind to the cruel truth she hide so well.

The truth was never hidden for long and was quickly revealed the next morning after being awakened by her maid with the news of the kings death.

Watching as the crown was placed on Aegons head you felt sick to your stomach. The throne of your old friend being usurped by your lovers son. Of course Alicent was blessed you were by her side and even dressed you in green.

Fear and anger set inside you at Alicent and she wondered why you pushed her away at this time. She was free from being queen, free to be yours but you ignored her existence, failed to come to shared meals.

The news of lucaerys Velaryon’s death spread rather quickly and you stayed locked up in your room all day. Part of you was to blame, you could have made Alicent see the Rhaenrya would have be right. That no war was supposed to happen. The maids came in and out your room to clean the sickness, or check up on you even when you screamed at them.

Alicent lost you by her side.

Leaving a note to say you had left kingsland with no support of her son, claiming that the woman you loved was dead.

Gossip was how she found out you were back in Rhaenrya’s arms. Back to the one you loved first.

[moon-ayyye]

There are a lot of What-ifs when it comes to jason todd. What would've happened if bruce didn't take jason in? what if jason was taken in by selina and became stray? what if jason didn't die?what if jason was found before the lazarus pit? but one that i don't see at all is what if jason didn't come back and just stayed with the All Caste?

The Lost Days arc would go about the same as in canon (without the talia thing because ew), but after the car bomb thing doesn't pan out jason just starts looking into the batfam more. He sees his dad for the first time in years. He forgets everything and considers coming back home.

But then he finds out how his death was handled

Of course he'd still be pissed off about tim becoming robin, but more than that bruce and dick spun it so people though tim was the second robin. Jason's whole identity was usurped, and was prompted by alfred of all people. Add to that the memorial case and the victim blaming, as well as him not having a memorial in titans tower and tim talking shit about him every chance he gets and jason starts to lose hope. But these things could be fixed! These could all be explained away as emotionally incompetent people compartmentaling in order to get over their grief! right?

Then he finds the footage of dick killing the joker for tim. Sure, the joker taunted dick using jason's memory, but it was him thinking tim was dwad that really set him off. The final nail in the coffin would be bruce reviving the joker. Jason now has proof that 1. tim was indeed his replacement, and 2. Bruce's morals and dick's clean hands are worth more than his mangled corpse.

He scraps all of his plans because now he KNOWS that bruce would never kill the joker for him. Disillusioned with bruce and gotham in general, he sneaks into arkham and pits a bullet in the joker's skull, then goes to the all caste for training. If they didn't care about him, why should he care about them?

I think ducra would be less wary about training jason in this au, since his drive for revenge had dissipated, and he wouldn't "bring great evil into this world."

Since ducra wouldn't really show favouritism to jason, since he isn't as much of a flight risk or a time bomb, i think his and essence's relationship would go way better than in canon. Their main points of contention were jason leaving the caste and ducra's favouritism, and without those 2 factors, their relationship could actually flourish.

Due to the all blades being linked to the soul, it would make sense if the caste taught soul magic. This would make jason a way better fighter than any baseline vigilante or assassin. Maybe he could use his abilities to hide his body language to avoid shiva and cass' ability? The all caste doesn't get massacred here, so he learns how to really socialise, talk with people with different experiences, so he could occasionally go back to the alley or the hill to reconnect with his old friends, like dana or numbers, since he wouldn't push people away like in canon.

The untitled wouldn't be as big of a threat as they were in RHatO since there are way more people available, and jason being super trained, so maybe jason would adopt a new vigilante identity to help people on a more personal level. He considers going by Red Hood, as a taunt to the man that killed him, but he doesn't like it. It's a remnant of a past he'd rather forget. Maybe he'd go by cardinal, but he doesn't want to be associated with a bird anymore. I think marauder would be a really good name for him, a man who goes around looking for things to steal and people to fight.

You can have him interact with some justice league dark members, especially Constantine since I really like their dynamic, and he could deal with hellspawns since he wields the allblades now.

JayEssence is a rarepair, which is a shame since i think these 2 could have a really interesting dynamic if written properly, so I'd probably go with that as the endgame ship, but you could work in so many of his ships. JayRose? childhood friends on the titans who reconnected after jason studied under slade for a bit. JayEddie? same thing but they reconnect in hell. Jaytemis? they could run into eachother during a mission and they'd recognise death anywhere. enemies to reluctant allies to lovers. JayDana? classic childhood friends to lovers. The possibilities are endless

[thought--bubble]

Same as it was

Aegon II X (Prostitute Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Word Count: 2432

Aegon Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Snake Banners by @arcielee

Caution Banner by @zaldritzosrose

Warnings:: dirty smut. There really isn't much plot lol. Oral (M & F Receiving) , Squirting kink, Overstim, cum play. Infidelity (technically).

A/N: This is my first attempt on Aegon and is based on some head cannons I have of him. I am totally open to any comments or suggestions about writing him.

"He's a damn usurper!" You whisper hushed to Marella.

Marella is your madame for lack of a better term.

"You're his favorite girl, and he has ordered you specifically. There is nothing I can do. " She grits her teeth and continues shuffling through dresses and holding them up against your body.

"I... I can't! When Queen Rhanyera inevitably comes to claim her throne, I'll be killed!" You bite at your fingernails, anxiety pumping through your body with such harshness you were afraid your knees would buckle.

"You place far too much importance upon yourself. You're a whore. They likely would just pass you off to someone else."

Your stomach turns at the thought. You don't mind working in the brothel. It feels safe. You have the madame and the other girls if something were to go wrong, but this, what Aegon is asking for, It's just too much.

"Why can't he just come here as he always has?" You plead with Marella desperate for her to understand your plight.

"Because he is a king at war. He can not just frolick into town and fuck a whore in his leisure time. He is being watched, and there is a bounty on his head!" Marella chooses a plain looking green dress that hugs your feminine curves. "Here put this on"

"NO! I'm not going!" You rip the dress from Marella's hands and toss it onto the bed. "If there is a bounty on his head and they come looking for that head while I am in his bed, what is to happen to me then?" You look at her expectantly with eyes wide. She couldn't possibly send you there knowing you will most likely be killed. Could she?

"You would most likely be killed. But if you do not do what he tells you to do, you could be killed right now." Marella picks the dress back up off the bed, shoving it harshly against your chest. "Die now or die later. That is your choice. King Aegon has made his choice, and that choice is to have you, up at the castle for him to call upon as he so pleases, I have grown to care for you over the years but not enough to cross the King! Now get dressed!"

You know she's right. Aegon wanted you badly enough that he sent two guards to escort you back to the keep. A place you knew you didn't belong. Queen Heleana is there. You have heard the stories of her generosity and kindness but how kind could she be to her husband's favorite whore?

Not to mention the ever so pious dowager queen, who no doubt would sooner set herself on fire then show any kindness to a whore who regularly services her married son.

"Why me?" You whimper to yourself as you drop the current brown dress you are wearing to swap it with the green one Marcella had chosen for you.

Marcella chuckles from behind you. "Never know with men. Sometimes they find that one thing they like and that's it. Whatever it is for Aegon, it seems you have it."

You roll your eyes and huff as you shake your head in disbelief. "Gods." You look up to the ceiling as soon as you have the dress on. Fighting back tears. He is going to get you killed, and you know exactly why, all because of that one thing you do in bed that he always claims is "so rare."

You straighten your back and shake out your limbs before you exit the room head held high, walking directly to the two men who had been sent to fetch you.

"Put this on." One of the men handed you a hooded cloak. You quickly put it on and lower your gaze. You were going to go with these men and hope that at some point in the future, there would be a chance for you to escape. One of the men grips your upper arm tightly as he leads you out of the brothel, and the three of you head up to the red keep. Each step bringing you closer and closer to your new life as the King's personal whore.

As soon as you breech the gate, the men move faster, and the man holding your arm pushes your head down further. Clearly, this was a mission that was to be completed without alerting other members of the royal family or council.

It is only once you are ushered into a chamber that you are finally allowed to lift your head. "Stay here." is all the man says before swiftly exiting the room.

That final bang of the heavy door slamming makes you flinch. "This is it, isn't it?" You hold your stomach feeling like the little bit of food you ate this morning might make a second appearance.

"I am going to be imprisoned in this room, as the King comes and goes as he wants." You push the hood back off of your head and look around the chamber.

It is the most beautiful room you have ever been in. Luxurious quilts are laying across the top of the large oak bed. A chaise placed strategically by the window a bookshelf to the left.

A small table and two chairs off to the side of the hearth and a wash basin in the corner of the room. If you had to make a choice in being locked up somewhere, this was probably one of the better options.

You take the cloak off and hang it over the back of one of the chairs and reach for the wine that was left on the table. You pour yourself a large cup and start to chug it, and as soon as you finish, move to pour yourself another as you hear the large door opening.

You close your eyes tight, you haven't seen him but you know it's him. That familiar chill crawls up your spine and the back of your neck, alerting you to his presence.

In truth, he is not a cruel man. As far as targaryens went, he was actually quite gentle. But he has a hunger that is incredibly hard to satiate. It's like he is empty and is desperate to fill the empty space with anything, sex, drink, food, anything he can get his hands on.

"How are you settling?" Aegon wastes no time at all quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist as he presses himself up against your back.

"Why am I here? You know you could always just send for me. " You feel him push your hair to one shoulder and start trailing soft kisses along your neck.

"Then I would have to await your arrival and hope you aren't busy with other customers." He gently nibbles up the side of your neck while sliding the flat palms of his hands up your stomach and over your breasts.

"This way, you're always right here when I need you." He presses himself tightly up against your ass. His hardness was evident through his trousers. "And I need you right now." He nips at the top of your shoulder, sending waves of pleasure through your entire being.

"And if someone asks who I am? Why I am here? In such nice chambers?" He chuckles into the crook of your neck.

"No one will ask. I'm the king I do as I like. " He whispers sensually into the shell of your ear as he pulls your dress down off your shoulders. "You know what it is I want"

You know exactly what he wants and how he wants it. That is why you are his favorite. You slide the dress the rest of the way down your form, stepping out of it.

You turn towards him a lustful gleam in your eye as you take his bottom lip between your teeth. "Of course I do your grace".

He takes your head between his hands and kisses you like you are air, and he has been suffocating. The neediness radiates off of him in waves.

You push him back and chuckle as you walk toward the bed. He might be a king and a feared man out there in the land of westeros, but in here, in this room, he is a desperate wanton fool and has no qualms with displaying it. He follows on your heels reaching his hands out trying to get hold of you once again.

You crawl onto the bed on all fours as he excitedly tears at his clothes, desperate to remove them as quickly as possible.

You stay positioned on your knees on the bed waiting for him. You have done this so many times, you know exactly how to start.

He jumps into the bed and lays down flat, pumping himself to hardness while he waits for you. "C'mon, C'mere," He whines as he reaches his hand out towards you.

You can't help but giggle at his desperation as you lift your thigh up over his head and bring your heat just above his face.

"Oh, thank you, beautiful." He says as you smother him with your cunt just the way he likes it. He dives in lapping at your soft inside while flicking your nub with his finger. His other hand pushing at your back urging you to get to work.

The feeling is overwhelmingly good, sending shocks of pleasure down your legs with tingling in your toes. You lean forward and take his cock into your mouth as he grunts loudly into your heat.

"Yessss, that is it" He growls and rubs his entire face into your cunt jamming his tongue inside your body with the finesse of an extremely practiced partner.

You moan onto his cock your drool dripping down the sides and pooling amongst the short silver hairs at its base. He moves his hips up jamming his cock further down your throat.

You make sure to take it as far as you can, fighting the urge to gag as the heat in your stomach builds up to an incredibly compact tightness.

You roll your hips dragging your cunt along his face feeling the smile he presses against your folds. He is in his favorite place burried in the cunt of his favorite whore. He harshly takes your hips in his hands pushing you down further onto his face. Lesser men would suffocate, but Aegon could breath you in all day and remain upright and alert.

He sucks and licks at your clit with precision knowing exactly how to make you topple over the edge and as soon as you do he brings his fingers to your clit and vigorously rubs in quick circles overstimulating the nerve to get exactly what he wants.

When your legs clench tight and you gasp with his cock hanging out of your mouth he knows he is about to be rewarded with his favorite treat. He opens his mouth wide as you gush over his face like a fountain, and he attempts to catch every drop.

He had accidentally found out that you were capable of such things one night down at the brothel and that is how you became his favorite whore. You always found it comical when the other girls would tell you of the borderline torturous overstimulation he would put them through just to test if they would do the same thing.

Aegon laughs with glee as he pushes you off of him. You assume the next position placing your cheek flush against the quilt of the bed, leaning your ass up in the air.

"See? Fully trained. Why wouldn't I bring you up here?" He chuckles giddily to himself as he grips your hips, placing you directly in front of him while he slowly slides himself into you. He loves to watch. He is a visual man this much you had learned. He spreads your cheeks apart so he can see clearly as his cock slides in and out, your wetness collecting at the base.

"I swear it gets better every time" He speeds up his movements gripping your cheeks harder as he continues to watch himself fuck into you with a look of utter satisfaction on his face. "This cunt. Somehow its perfect, does just what I want"

"Yes your grace" You feed into his need to be respected, you had learned that quite sometime ago, he wants to dominate, feel a sense of power and control that he just does not have in his every day life.

He ruts into you harder hitting that sweet spot with accuracy. He's been fucking you for years he knows your insides, probably better then you do at this point.

He brings one hand down around to your clit and rubs against it with moderate pressure.

"One more" He barks out with strained desperation. "C'mon"

As if Aegon's mere voice could command your body, you found yourself spiraling toward another release.

"Yes, your grace, as you wish!" You moan as he drills down into you gasping for air and rubbing your pearl furiously as once, again he makes you see stars, quickly changing the motion of his hand from a circle to a vigorous rub the overstimulation making your legs shake.

"Give me it, Give me it!" He commands, slamming into you with such force the posts of the bed shake. Everything around you slows down as the buzzing in your ears grows louder, and with one final screech, you give him what he wants and splash all over his hand and the quilt beneath you.

He then brings his wet hand up to your hip to hold you in place as he nearly impales you while chasing his peak, he reaches his end quickly with a snarl and as he does he pulls out and releases himself all over your backside spreading it over your cheeks and enjoying the shimmer of your skin covered in his spend as he rides out his high.

Aegon collapses down onto the bed with a laugh as you turn back to look at him.

"This is why you're here. War is stressful." He chuckles. "I won't have time to travel to that damned brothel as many times as I am going to need you."

"Need me?" You move up the bed careful to avoid the wet mess you had just left.

He gently strokes your cheek with his thumb. "Yes, I need you, and once I catch my breath, I think I'll need you again"

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