#the moodboard queen herself!

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as royals who fall for you (maknae line)

read hyung line here

genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes

length: 11.3k

c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)

a/n: as much as writing royals was tricky, it's kind of 🤢 sad 🤢 to see this au end. that being said nobody ask me for a pt 2 pls i need to recover from the trauma LMAOO and as always, huge thank you to the queen of royal au's herself @sorryimananti-romantic for helping me finish the fic and for teaching me how to make moodboards using something that is *not* word doc :')

san

pov: you're forbidden lovers

“shh,” san hushes you with a teasing curl of his fingers that are buried inside you. “wouldn’t want everyone outside to know what a dirty little slut the princess is, do you?”

his other hand covers your mouth, stifling the breathy moans and desperate whines that escape your lips as you sit in between his legs, naked and pressed back to lean against his chest

there is the sound of water splashing over the edge of the bathtub when san hooks his feet around your inner ankles so that he can spread your legs wider for him

he presses the palm of his hand harshly against your clit and your back arches with a muffled worship of his name

“or maybe you like that,” he teases “you like the idea of people knowing how good i make you feel with my fingers”

san removes his hand from your mouth and lowers it to pinch your nipple, smirking against your neck as you babble incoherently

he coos as he adds yet another finger into you, “imagine that, everyone knows you as the princess who loves being fucked dumb. and by one of her servants, no less” 

all caution is thrown to wind and you drop your head back to lean against his shoulder, mouth lolling open with unrestrained pleads for more, more, faster as he angles his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside of you

“cum, princess” he demands

you grip bruises onto san’s thighs and arms when the pace of his fingers doesn’t relent even after your orgasm has washed over you

his arms tighten around you as his thighs flex to keep you still in his hold

you let out a choked sob from the overstimulation, teetering between pain and pleasure

“give me one more, i know you can do it,” he coaxes

the hand that has been fondling your breasts snakes down to rub your clit

with his fingers knuckle-deep inside of your pussy and his other hand playing relentlessly with your sensitive clit, the scale tips over and your vision blurs as another wave of pleasure hits you, more intense than the first one

“princess?” and then a knock. “are you okay?”

san slowly draws out the remainder of your orgasm with lazy thrusts of his finger into you

you just know he’s enjoying himself when you have to hide the shakiness in your voice to answer back to your maid outside, “everything’s fine. i’ll be done soon”

“soon?” san smirks, lifting you up by the waist to align your folds with his swollen cock. “then we better make this quick”

because you and san do not have the luxury of time, much less the luxury of love

he isn’t just another one of the numerous servants who serve you

he is everything to you despite how taboo it is for a princess and servant to love each other

his insignificance within the palace makes it much easier for him to slip away; for nobody to take notice

but at the same time, his insignificance is the whole reason why you two must be secretive in the first place

you make sure san has safely snuck out of the bathroom before you finally exit the bathtub and stand on unsteady legs

you allow your maids to come in and help you into the elaborate attire you are to wear for the afternoon

your parents have informed you that you are going to have visitors, thus requiring you to look your best

without much time left until the appointed meeting due to your…escapade, you make your way to the great hall, catching a glimpse of san’s dimpled smile from amongst the other body servants and waiting staff in the room

you have only just settled into your seat next to the king and queen when the guard outside the doors announces the arrival of your guests - the monarchs from the neodonian kingdom

schooling your expression to one of neutrality, you watch as they enter

and then you realise it isn’t just the neodonian king and queen who have come to visit

but the prince as well

he is undeniably handsome and pleasing to the eye with his sleekly gelled hair, chiseled features and tall, sturdy build

the young prince catches you looking at him and breaks out into a friendly smile and-

oh

he has dimples too

the king garners everyone’s attention with a clear of his throat, before he welcomes the monarchs

prince jaehyun, you learn his name is

“after much discussion between ourselves and king jeong and queen jeong, we are pleased to announce our desire for closer relations between our kingdoms,” your father starts, booming voice resounding within the hall

you can’t stop yourself from looking over at him as he speaks with purpose, a strange niggling feeling starting to twist your stomach

the tight smile that your mother passes you from your father’s other side does little to settle your nerves

“as such,” the king continues, “we shall look forward to the engagement between my daughter and prince jaehyun”

there is a roaring sound in your ears, as if you have been pushed to stand under a raging waterfall

engagement

the engagement

you

prince jaehyun

the engagement between you and prince jaehyun

it takes everything in your body not to bolt up from your seat

your hands grip the armrests of your seat with a grasp so tight you are certain you will leave a permanent imprint of your agony

instead, you look around frantically for the one person your instincts are screaming for

where is san?

you are afraid to see how much this is going to hurt him

you are desperate to tell him that you had no idea about this

you are aching to press confessions of love and reassurance against his lips

but just like the insignificance of his status, san is nowhere to be seen

over the two years that you and san have been in your secret relationship, he has gained extensive knowledge of which particular tasks allow him a greater chance of seeing you, which corridors reach you the quickest, and which times during your schedule you have a break

never would you have thought he would use this knowledge to avoid you

it continues like that for the weeks following the announcement

you have no choice but to spend time with your future fiance when your father tells you very clearly to “ensure the prince feels at home”

prince jaehyun is warm and you find yourself getting along with him like you two are friends, but that is it - there are no sparks brighter than friendship

when you spend time with him, you cannot help but compare him to san; san would’ve said this, san would’ve done that, san, san, san

jaehyun engages you in conversation, easily filling in the gaps and lulls with little comments here and there, equipped with a charming laugh and deep dimples

but it only reminds you of san’s dimples and crescent eyes when you two would race through corridors, fingers tightly interwoven as you both run away to a secluded area with hushed giggles

jaehyun points out that neither of you like mushrooms during a dinner and helps nudge the servings on both of your plates to one side

the smile as you say “thank you” does not fully grace your lips because you think about san, who boasts that he will eat all the mushrooms in the world so that you never have to lay eyes on one ever again

jaehyun offers a soft yet sturdy hand to help you down the stairs or when he notices you are walking in heels across an uneven surface

your body recalls san’s rough, calloused hands that leave a trail of goosebumps wherever they touch your bare skin as he worships your body all night long

jaehyun is handsome and he is kind, but he is not san

the night before the king officially announces your engagement with prince jaehyun arrives

and still, you have not had a moment alone with san since he disappeared during that first announcement in the great hall

hurt and longing consume you to the very core

some days it is manageable, a concealed yet incessant thought, like a sticker stuck to the sole of your shoe

other days it wraps around your soul completely like a constrictor tightening as it slowly squeezes the life out of its prey

but you know that you cannot be selfish

what you feel, san feels with an intensity multiplied several times

after all, you are not the one who must stand in the shadows as the love of your life becomes engaged to somebody else, powerless to do anything but watch and poison your own smile with lies

you are lying on your bed when a quick, sharp knock sounds on your bedroom doors

you make no move to acknowledge your visitor, having told your maids very clearly you did not want to be disturbed tonight

your last night as yourself before you become prince jaehyun’s fiance

but then the knocks come a little more urgent, a little more frantic, just like your heartbeat does as it starts to speed up in anticipation

you hold your breath as you hurry to pull open the doors-

and there he is

“san-”

he swallows the rest of your words in a desperate kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw as he walks you backwards so that he can step into your room

he tilts your head and slots his lips against yours again while he nudges your door closed with his foot

it isn’t until you let out a whine as his tongue swipes over your bottom lip that he pulls back to finally look at you, both of his thumbs caressing your cheekbones

you grip the front of his linen shirt, afraid that he will disappear as soon as you let go

“san, i- i had no idea, i didn’t agree to any of this”

he shushes you gently, a painful smile adorning his handsome face

“i know. i know, so please don’t cry, love,” he murmurs softly

you don’t even realise the weeks of suppressed emotions have started making their way down your face in salty trails until san uses the back of his fingers to tenderly brush them away

“i’m getting engaged tomorrow, san,” your voice breaks as reality settles in

you are so afraid

you are so lost

above all, you are so in love with san

“i know,” he reassures again, “but until tomorrow, you are still mine”

and so you spend your last night together

time has always been precious; conversations, kisses and touches rushed and with fervour

but tonight, san takes his time with you

he lays on your bed with you cradled on top of him, limbs tangled together as he savours the taste of your lips against his

he turns you onto your back as he slowly undresses you, leaving tattoos of his love each time he bares another part of your body

he pleasures you with his fingers whilst whispering into your ears, creating a harmony with his praises and the melodious moans that leave your lips

and as he brings you both to your highs numerous times throughout the night like an ingrained dance routine, it is accompanied with confessions of i love you

san holds you against his chest under your blankets so tightly that you cannot tell where your body ends and his body starts

before you drift off, safe and protected in his arms, he murmurs against your temple, “no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter what happens in the future, my heart will always be yours”

“as will mine”

you wake up the next morning to an empty bed and an equally empty heart

restless and drowning in a mix of emotions, you pace the empty corridors of the guest bedchambers

which is where jaehyun finds you as he exits his room

he is surprised but is quick to greet you kindly, “good morning, princess. what are you doing here?”

you pause mid-step

what are you doing?

“prince jaehyun,” you let the words come out of you before you can regret them. “can we talk for a moment?”

he nods, entering his room again as he pulls the door open wider for you to follow

jaehyun closes the door and then offers you a seat on his sofa, before pulling up his own chair and settling a respectful distance away from you

“i hope you don’t feel uncomfortable in my room,” he explains, “i thought that we would be less likely to be disturbed in here…considering most people know of our engagement today”

“actually, i wanted to talk to you about that”

“go on,” he encourages you with a dimpled smile

you take a deep breath

“i’m sorry,” you blurt out

and then you are admitting to the prince that he is lovely and charming and caring, but you just don’t see it working out with him

you don’t want to get engaged with him

because your heart already belongs to somebody else

“good”

“i’m so sorry, i should have been honest with you from the start but- wait, what?” you look up from where you have been nervously picking at your cuticles

jaehyun is smiling at you - a genuine smile that you did not know he had

“i’m actually relieved to hear that, princess,” he admits. “because i…also have someone that i love back home”

and for the first time, you and jaehyun truly see each other in the same light

“who is it?” he asks

“his name is san,” and then you add on, “he has dimples just like you do” 

you ask him the same question

you see the way jaehyun’s expression softens with love from just the mere thought of the other

it makes you wonder whether you have the same look on your face when you mention san

jaehyun jokes, “want to be the one who tells your father we’re calling off the engagement? i don’t fancy getting executed today”

but despite what he says, mere hours later, when you are both standing in the great hall before your parents - the kings and queens of both your kingdoms - he is the one to speak up

“your majesty, we have decided to part ways peacefully and would not like to proceed with the engagement. our kingdom will always be your ally, regardless of marital relations or not”

“what?” you see veins starting to appear across the king’s forehead as he tries to maintain his temper, but the queen and the jeong monarchs seem to be taking the news much better

disappointed, perhaps, but understanding

the queen leans closer to remind the king that they had all agreed to this engagement on the terms that the decision would ultimately be yours and jaehyun’s

you suddenly speak up because this may be the only time you have the courage to

“i have one more thing to say,” you declare. “i revoke my noble status and thus declare nullified all the privileges, rules and traditions that come with nobility. i have someone i love and i wish to marry them as myself, not as the kingdom’s princess”

the king roars furiously, “that is enough! leave!” and he slams his hand against the throne’s armrest

shocked and betrayed by your father’s reaction, you rush out of the great hall with tears welling in your eyes

only to run straight into the waiting arms of san

“oh, princess,” he murmurs against the crown of your head as he engulfs you in his embrace

he doesn’t have to say anything for you to realise that he has heard the whole conversation

but you do not care about anything anymore

you are where you want to be, held by who you want to be with

“how are you here?” you sniffle

“jaehyun approached me earlier. i thought i was going to get beat up,” san’s attempt to make you smile is successful

when you lift your head up to look at him, you realise his eyes are wet as well

then you feel his body stiffen as his eyes shift to focus on something behind you

someone

he immediately steps away from you, bowing deeply as he greets the queen

you turn around to see her face adorning an endearing smile

“it’s fine, sannie,” she says, and you are not sure whether you and san are more surprised by the fact that she knows him by name or by the affectionate nickname she has used

“i’ll, uh, leave you two to talk,” he flusters

she thanks him with a teasing remark, “i won’t keep her away from you for very long”

san waits further down the corridor, back turned to give you two a moment of privacy

and then she is stroking your hair affectionately

“i am so proud of you. you’ve grown up so well and you are so brave,” she says

you don’t understand

you ask, “why aren’t you angry?”

“oh, baby,” she fondly runs her fingers through your hair, just like she used to when you were younger. “before my duties as the queen to my people, i am the mother to my daughter. i love you and all i want is for you to be happy”

your lips tremble with emotion as your mother pulls you into a hug

“does sannie make you happy, dear?”

you nod, “the happiest”

“then that is all i want. now go,” she takes a hold of your shoulders and gently turns you in the direction of san. “i’ll talk to your father”

with one last encouraging squeeze, you race down the corridor towards san

he hears your footsteps and has already turned around with open arms waiting to catch you

you hear him let out an oomph! with how hard you throw yourself into him, but he is then swaying your bodies side to side

san pulls back slightly with an incredulous look. “does this mean we can be together? together together?” 

“i goddamn hope so because i gave up my princess privileges for you. no more carriages, no more assorted sweet delicacies, no more daily massages-” you fold down your fingers as you continue listing things off

he cuts you off with a tickle to your sides as he says, “that’s easy to sort out”

“first, you’ll still be my princess,” he unfurls one of your fingers so it stands upright again

“second, i’ll carry you myself so that you never need to use your feet again,” he unfurls another finger

“i’ll give you a treat whenever you want,” he kisses your lips, nibbling on your bottom lip with a teasing tug

“and, dear princess,” he pulls you flush against his body and you have to steady yourself on his chest to avoid tripping over, “i can give you hourly massages…”

smirking, he starts to lower his head to suck pretty marks onto your neck as he whispers in a low voice, “...if you can keep up”

mingi

pov: you're the prince's maid

for what you are about to do, you could very well be executed should somebody catch you

but desperate times call for desperate measures

and there’s no guarantee that you and all the other staff will not be executed anyway…

not with what has just happened in the palace

you push the door closed behind you with a soft click, using the brief changeover of guards to slip inside the bedroom of the youngest prince, unnoticed

you call out softly but urgently, “prince mingi”

when you hear him groggily murmur, starting to bubble towards the surface of consciousness, you dare to give his shoulder a rough shake

“prince mingi, please wake up”

his eyes flutter open, confusion starting to clear the fogginess in his head as he struggles to comprehend the sight of your face hovering inches from his, deep into the hours of the night

“w-what’s going on?” he clears his husky voice, “are you okay?”

you wish you could reach out and smooth the wrinkles of concern from his forehead

reassure him that everything will be okay until he falls back asleep

but there is no time

“the crown prince is dead and we must leave. now.”

the effect is immediate, like you have just driven a knife into his chest

although you suppose it must not feel very different for prince mingi right now

“the crown prince is d-” the word tastes vile on his tongue, so he asks after his second oldest brother instead. “what about prince eun?”

you must drive the knife into him once more

“he was the one who murdered the crown prince, but he has framed you for the murder. there is no time, prince mingi, we must leave now”

“the court will find me innocent,” yet he lets you tug him out of his bed

you hastily help prince mingi into a dark brown robe while you shake your head, “not when your inscribed sword is currently covered in the crown prince’s blood. we do not know who is secretly working for prince eun. until we know for sure, we do not stand a chance of clearing your name”

he knows that you’re right, even if his heart is hoping that you are wrong

the prince slides his hand into the gap between his bed and wall, pulling out a spare sword and wrapping the belt around his waist

eyes sweeping across his chamber one final time, he locks eyes with you grimly before turning to flee

you follow the prince through a back passageway - it’s not entirely a secret and it won’t be long before the royal guards come for the prince, discover his empty bedroom and give chase

but it is long enough to give you two a head start

he helps you up onto the back of his personal horse before he swings himself up easily onto the saddle behind you

with a nudge of his feet, the prince sends the horse into a gallop

you startle with a yelp, having never ridden a horse before, much less one at this pace

prince mingi presses himself a little closer to you and slots his chest against your back as he leans forward to guide your hands to hold the reins with his

“here,” he murmurs, “just follow me”

he shifts one hand to settle on your waist, guiding your body into a comfortable rhythm that dances in sync with the horse’s movements and his own

when he’s sure you’ve gotten the hang of it, the prince places his hand back on the reins, yet he stays close, keeping you safely encased within his arms to prevent you from falling off

you’re not sure how long you two ride for

but at some point the prince slows the horse to a canter

with the slower sway of the steed, the steady clack of hooves against the forest floor, and the warmth of the prince around you, you drift off to his whispered, “sleep, i’ve got you”

you wake up to find yourself on a scratchy pile of leaves

the events of last night piece themselves together when you spot prince mingi, still adorning his deep blue silk pajamas, leaning against a tree a few feet away

it would have been a sight to see if not for the fact that-

��what are we going to do now?” you sit up, and the prince’s robe, you now register, falls from around your body

the prince gives you a warm smile as you rub the sleep from your eyes with fisted hands

“we’ll head into halsburg. the town is small enough the news should not have traveled that far yet. we’ll replenish some supplies and go from there”

it’s unspoken

the fact that there is no solid plan from there

even if the two of you have managed to escape the royal guards, for how long can you two run?

plus, it will be impossibly difficult to find evidence while on the run, when the answers are within the castle walls themselves

but you push those thoughts aside as you two enter halsburg, the prince’s hood pulled up over his face

you do the bulk of the purchases, less likely to be recognised by the townspeople

it’s mainly food and water for yourself, the prince, and his horse, and a simple tunic to replace his royal pajamas - something you have been teasing him about since you woke up

later that night, hours away from the outskirts of halsburg, you two settle for a couple hours of rest

a small fire crackles away to the song of the cicadas, an occasional pop as the licks of flames cast shadows across your faces

you glance at the prince sitting across from you, who is idly fiddling with his pajama top

specifically, the royal crest of the song family embroidered onto its front pocket

your heart clenches painfully, knowing the death of a family member is hard enough to process without the additional weight of being framed for murder, much less by your own brother who is the real culprit

“prince mingi…” you start, voice low

he glances up at you, eyes softening as he curves his lips up into a small smile, “i’m okay.”

you hesitate for a split second before letting the clench in your gut pull you to your feet, and you shuffle to settle back down in front of the fire, except this time beside the prince

all the while his eyes never leave you, not even when you nudge his shoulder softly and say,

“you don’t have to be strong. not in front of me…”

and he knows

because despite the differences in your social statuses, you are the person he trusts the most

you, the girl who used to trip over the lengths of his robes that you carried, now a woman who holds herself righteously and bravely

you, who chose to risk your own life from the moment you woke him up in his chambers

you, who is still risking your life to flee with him

“only if you stop calling me prince,” he jokingly nudges you back, attempting to make the atmosphere lighter despite the wetness that is starting to paint his eyes. “with you, i am just mingi”

“okay, prince mingi,” you tease

yet, you still extend a hand out to him, palm upturned in a silent invitation for comfort should he wish to seek it, because you can tell that he isn’t quite ready to seek it verbally

mingi laces his larger fingers through yours, tucking your interlocked hands closer to his body as he draws his knees up so that he can rest his chin upon them

mingi thinks that he feels numb more than anything, but he finds he isn’t as surprised as one would expect him to be

perhaps he always knew of his middle brother’s thirst for the throne 

he just never thought it would be enough to spill blood

for now though, he lets himself be distracted by your thumb tracing mindless patterns against his knuckles

he lets himself relish in the heat radiating from your side that seems to warm him from inside out, even as the embers of the fire slowly lose their glow and die out with the darkening night

the days start to repeat themselves

you two cover as much distance as you can while sparing what time you can afford for yourselves and mingi’s horse to rest

mingi has decided to travel to prince yunho's kingdom, an old and trusted ally who may be able to provide you two with protection while he pulls strings to fight back against prince eun

from his calculations, the journey will take at least another two weeks

and although mingi doesn’t tell you this, deep down he does not know whether you two have two weeks left

the threat of the royal guards catching up hangs over the two of you like a hangman’s noose

neither of you have brought up that night by the fire either

but something has definitely changed in the way you seek comfort and reassurance in each other

as if so long as you have each other, everything will be alright in the end

when you feel him tremble as he sleeps curled around you, restless from a plaguing nightmare, you hush sweet nothings and brush his locks away from his forehead until his breathing steadies out again

and when you’re seated on the saddle in front of him, you now having long grown accustomed to horse riding, he still finds himself resting a comforting hand on you somewhere - your hips, thigh or over your own hand

sometimes when he is laughing softly with you, your arms brushing against each other, you imagine a different story; one where you are worthy of loving him

sometimes when you are tucked into his chest, small exhales escaping your open lips as you sleep, mingi imagines a different story; one where he is able to love you freely

because despite the blood running through his veins that has ultimately led to his downfall, you still look at him as though he has placed the stars in the very sky that you two have spent countless nights under

and although he knows the reality is that he cannot, he tries to write his own story, even if just for tonight

you are lying in his arms, legs tangled together, when the question comes tumbling out of his lips

“will you stay with me, forever?”

he feels you still in his embrace, before you’re pulling back a little to look at him with a chuckle

“you should be asking a princess that, prince mingi, not somebody like me”

“you are a princess in my eyes”

you can’t help the endearing look that crosses over your face as you lightly tap his nose, “you know that is not how it works”

“then we can run away. for i am already as good as dead to my kingdom,” he tells you with boyish determination

“you cannot, mingi. your people need a good prince”

“but what prince would i be if i cannot even boldly love you? the person who is dearest to me?”

under his sincere gaze and the weight of his words, you allow him this moment of solace

because perhaps, you want it just as much as he does

“okay, i’ll be your princess,” you breathe out

“forever?”

“forever”

that night, it is just you and mingi - no titles that separate your world from his, no looming threat of death - just two people in love

even as an uneasy pit settles at the bottom of mingi’s stomach, a growing feeling that gnaws away at him into the early hours of the next morning

he is startled awake, your expression frightened, and he immediately understands when he hears the thunderous chorus of hooves hitting the ground towards you two

mingi had known there was not much time left, but he did not think that the inevitable confrontation would happen this soon, only mere hours after the soft kiss he had pressed against your forehead

the desperate attempt to escape once more is futile, the royal guards closing the distance within minutes

left with no choice but to stop, you and mingi demount and the guards move to flank you both in a wide semicircle

when the head of the guards, prince eun, saunters forward, mingi matches with a stride of his own so that he can step in front of you

“you killed the crown prince, eun,” mingi spits at his brother

“running and denying your actions up until your very last moments, i see,” prince eun laughs condescendingly. “and you even took a little dog with you, too”

mingi presses you closer to his back, hiding you from the leering gaze of his brother

prince eun smiles smugly at mingi’s reaction, before he takes out a scroll and unravels it

“for high treason of the assassination of the crown prince, the king hereby decrees the immediate revocation of nobility of his third son, song mingi, and for the execution of song mingi and his maid upon sighting.”

you press your nose into mingi’s back, taking one last inhale of his familiar scent

the bowmen all take aim as prince eun sneers, “any last words, brother?”

mingi turns around, and all you can see in that moment are his warm eyes and dimpled cheeks

“i love you, my princess,” he proclaims

“forever,” you reply

he brings his lips down to connect them with yours, drowning out the distinct vibration of loosening strings and the hiss of flying arrows with the roaring symphony in your hearts

you’re unsure what pain swallows you whole first - the pain as an arrowhead sinks into your chest, or the pain as you realise that this is the end of your short-lived love with mingi

you struggle to keep the smile on your face as you lock eyes with mingi, trying to memorise the loving gaze that adorns his own face

you see his mouth moving, but the pain exploding throughout your body is too loud for you to make out his words

with your last breath, you gasp out your final confession, “i love you too, mingi. we’ll meet again in the next life”

as the world starts to fade away, cold creeping into your limbs, you hope that in another story, in another lifetime, you and mingi will be able to find each other again

wooyoung

pov: you're the princess of a rival kingdom

“absolutely not, advisor lee,” your mother raises her nose in the air

“your highness, i understand but-”

“oh please, do not flatter yourself, queen cho,” queen jung spits out, “you are not the only one who abhors the idea”

you glare at the prince sitting across from you, your own gazes reflecting the tension in the room

advisor lee has suggested that your family and the jung family host a joint royal ball as a grand display of amity between the two neighbouring kingdoms, particularly between the princess - yourself - and their prince - prince wooyoung

there have been spreading rumours in town of the strained relationship between the two royal families

which aren’t entirely untrue

as a child, the two kingdoms have been loyal and steadfast in their alliance and friendship

in fact, it is not uncommon to find you joining prince wooyoung in his kitchen, begging the chefs to let you two lick the spoons

or to find prince wooyoung squatting next to you in your garden as you both look at the ladybugs

but as power imbalances emerge and political agendas start to diverge, a wedge is driven between your families

the relation is now dangerously close to severing completely, but not without the increasing attention of the towns surrounding the two kingdoms

and one of the last things both royal families need is unease and disunity amongst the commoners

which brings advisor lee to look on with exasperation as he tries to do his job - advise

except neither your mother nor queen jung look ready to accept his advice

your father nods slightly at the two of you, “you are dismissed, as are you, prince wooyoung”

you curtsy as the prince takes a slight bow, before you obnoxiously flick your hair over your shoulder and turn away on your heels

you escape to the garden, knowing that the meeting will take at least another hour before you are required to bid the jung family farewell

except, surprise surprise

who do you run into

you narrow your eyes at prince wooyoung as he steps towards you, who has one eyebrow quirked, “a royal ball, he says?”

“absolutely not,” you fold your arms across your chest

“oh please, do not flatter yourself, princess,” he sneers, not dissimilar to the nasally tone his mother had voiced her dissatisfaction earlier with

neither of you back down, daring the other to say something else

before you two break out into giggles, eyes glittering scandalously

“did you see your mother deliberately pass the salt instead of sugar for the tea?”

“and then the face my mother made when she took a sip of it-”

he pulls you to crouch behind an azalea bush as you both chortle like children, out of sight, before he brings you in for a dizzying kiss 

you sigh, resting a hand on his chest

“do you also abhor the idea of dancing with me, prince wooyoung?” a teasing lilt in your voice

“absolutely,” he nods grimly, “why go to all that effort when there is a much grander and longer-lasting solution?”

“and what is that, my prince?”

he sneaks another chaste kiss from your lips, “for me to take your hand in marriage, my princess”

at his words, your smile dampens

“you know that i would say yes in a heartbeat. it is not i who needs convincing, but our parents”

because despite the growing hostility between your two families, the relationship you share with wooyoung has, ironically, blossomed into one of well-concealed adoration, intimacy and love

you two have come to learn that that one slightly lighter stone on the western side of your kingdom’s outer walls comes loose, and is the perfect size for slipping a piece of paper behind it

you two have also come to learn that every fourth week, if you ask your personal tutor enough questions about the plants laid out on the store’s table in front of you during your scheduled lesson in town, you’ll be able to drag it out long enough for you both to just catch a glimpse of each other as he and his escorts cut through the town on their way back to his kingdom

and of course, you two have come to learn the most isolated spots in your own respective kingdoms, like the second stairwell leading down to the cellar in wooyoung’s palace

and amongst the azalea bushes in the back garden in yours

which is exactly how you knew that he would appear, how you knew that he would give you those sweet kisses you have been craving so desperately 

as wooyoung cups your jaw to kiss you once more, one that leaves you wanting to chase his lips forever, he bets you that it’ll only take two weeks of close-quarter meetings between your royal families before one of your mothers blow up and the ball idea falls through completely

in response, you bet him that they won’t even last two weeks - one at the most

except you’re both wrong

the meeting turns into two, followed by several more as the planning goes ahead

sometimes, the meetings are held in the jung palace

other times, their family journeys to your kingdom instead

one thing that stays constant is the malevolence in the air

the parents are sarcastic snipes and saccharine smiles

and on the surface, you and wooyoung are further extensions of your own parents’ simmering loathing for the other

but under the intricately-carved wooden table, you two are playing footsies, jeweled heels and leather shoes engaged in a playful fight

you see how many times you can slide your heels up along his shin, gradually inching closer towards his inner thigh with each coquettish touch

he has you pass him anything and everything under the guise of forgoing the help of the numerous royal butlers and maids around the room to deliberately irritate you

really, it is to accidentally brush his fingers over your hands; to see the pretty shade of rose that settles over your cheeks and ears as you both try not to break out into giggles

and perhaps, during the meals that may take place during the meetings, there have been a couple of peas flicked at each other here and there when no one is paying attention

(unbeknownst to you two, the maids and butlers alike must hide their own endearing smiles)

the weeks turn into months and you practically have a permanent glow radiating from you, now that you have been seeing the prince so frequently

(which also does not go unnoticed)

as you select a necklace from the assortment of choices to emphasise the plunging neckline of your off-shoulder gown, you wonder how the day of the royal ball has arrived so quickly

your personal maid, jihye, carefully fixes the clasp of the necklace around you before stepping back to let you look in the mirror

you smooth a hand over the soft lavender charmeuse of your dress, nervously looking at jihye

“how do i look?”

“stunning, my princess,” she assures you, before adding, “prince wooyoung will definitely love it”

“prin- he- what? i- sorry?” you say unintelligibly, before you try to salvage the situation by tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you laugh her off

but jihye just looks at you knowingly

meanwhile, prince wooyoung is already at the grand hall, the jung family having arrived two days prior for the final preparations of the ball

he and his friends, princes from kingdoms located further up north and towards the east, are lingering around one of the tables decorated with flower arrangements and elaborate candle holders, ignoring the longing glances of other attendees, women and men alike, thrown at their striking posse

wooyoung is trying to keep his gaze subtle, scanning the vast number of people at the ball without craning or turning his head, searching for one particular face

yours

prince yeosang nudges the others, jerking his chin to motion towards the distracted wooyoung

when wooyoung finally realises he isn’t as subtle as he thinks, all his friends are already looking at him with varying degrees of smirks

“just know that if there were not so many people here,” wooyoung begins with a pleasant smile, “i would flip you all off right now”

before he can try stepping on his friends’ toes in the form of petty revenge, prince seonghwa points towards the entrance as his smile grows impossibly wider

“look”

wooyoung turns around

and like any typical man who is head over heels in love, the world around him slows down

the gushing whispers spreading throughout the ballroom fade into the background

because finally, there you are, gracefully stepping past the threshold of the arched doorway in all your alluring beauty, accentuated by the way your curled locks and flowing gown frame your body

for the briefest moment, you lock eyes with him, and wooyoung feels his brain shutting down on him

“you’re going to catch a fly in your mouth, woo”

“pick up your jaw. it’s on the ground”

prince yunho pretends to dab wooyoung’s mouth with the ruffled sleeves of his cream shirt, “you’re drooling, darling”

at that, wooyoung smacks his lips dazedly before coming to a moment of realisation, blinking hard twice to bring himself back to reality

“god, you’re hopeless. just go up and talk to her,” prince hongjoong snickers. “the whole point of this ball is to show off how ‘close’ your families are anyway”

wooyoung grumbles that he knows, he’s just looking for the right timing

which, unfortunately, does not seem to come

you spend what feels like the next two hours being whisked around, feigning polite interest as you are forced to engage in dull and bland conversations with numerous men of differing royal statuses, all of whom are no doubt trying to make an impression on you in hopes of becoming a potential suitor in the future

not that you have eyes for anyone apart from the one who already has your heart

the very same person who is currently fed up with watching you converse and let your hands be kissed by men who are not him

even if he knows you are pretending, he thinks that you sure are damn good at giggling at all the right times

you are trying not to let your smile turn into a grimace as the older-aged man, lord ryu you think, boasts of his wealth to you, when wooyoung enters your peripheral vision

“princess, lord ryu,” he greets you both, before looking down at the latter, “pardon me as i take the princess for a dance”

lord ryu, visibly irked but unable to say anything to the prince of significantly higher status, lets go of your hand to step back into a bow, “of course, prince wooyoung”

you giggle, this time genuinely, as wooyoung takes your hand to gently lead you towards the center of the ballroom, where several others are starting to waltz to the soft music that is now playing

you rest a hand just below his shoulder, feeling the sturdiness of his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, as he places his other hand to settle on the dip of your waist

a little possessively, you might add

“you look beautiful today,” he murmurs lowly, away from any prying ears

“only today?” you quirk an eyebrow teasingly

his voice drops down an octave, “well it’s not every day that i can tell you, princess”

wooyoung’s eyes flicker down hungrily to look at your lips

you run your tongue slowly over your bottom lip, knowing it will drive him absolutely crazy that he cannot just take you right there and then in front of everybody

and you can see the moment his resolve snaps

“meet me for some fresh air in ten,” bringing his lips as close to the shell of your ear as he dares

and then he’s gone

you become progressively antsy as you wait out a generous amount of time after he leaves for you to also slip away from the ballroom

wooyoung pins you against a pillar as soon as you emerge in the garden, aching to kiss you and fight for dominance until you’re both breathless and light-headed

“you don’t know how desperately i wanted to kiss you in front of everyone - let the whole world know that you’re mine,” he nips at your bottom lip

you rest your hands on his chest, fingers curled around the pleated front of his satin shirt to hold yourself steady as he turns your lips into an artwork of swollen cherry reds

he tilts your head back a little more, your mouths moving in tandem, soft moans drawn out of you, when-

“what in god’s name is going on?”

you and wooyoung startle apart at the shriek

the blush dusting your faces pale almost immediately at the sight of not just your mother, but also queen jung and a few of the royal staff

it’s kind of amusing that of all things for the two queens to have the same mindset about, it is the discovery of you and wooyoung’s secret relationship that unites them, both sharing twin expressions of horror and revulsion

you’re ripped from each other’s arms as you are forced back into the confines of your bed chamber, royal ball long forgotten

your only solace is learned later that night, when jihye brings a trolley of food you have no appetite for, that the jung family have not yet returned to their kingdom

they are still in your palace somewhere

yet that does little to soothe your tears, overwhelmed by the drastic turn of events, and you do not know when you fall asleep that night

all you know is that it is to a bed too cold and a longing in your heart too gaping to ignore

“princess,” you look up to see jihye standing at your door the next morning, almost apologetic, “the king and queen request for your presence in the throne room”

as you approach the room after tidying your appearance, your breath hitches when you spot him just by the double doors

you barrel forwards into his waiting arms, uncaring of the staff following behind you

not that they have the heart to stop you either way

“i thought you would have been forced to leave,” you blurt, unable to believe that wooyoung is right in front of you

“i’m still here,” he chuckles. “i have been summoned by your parents”

your heart drops down to your stomach at his words as you realise what this meeting is about

“and i am glad they did, princess,” wooyoung is quick to interject before your apology makes it past the tip of your tongue. “i am going to ask for your hand in marriage. officially”

“what if they banish us from ever seeing each other again?” worry overwhelms you as your breathing quickens

wooyoung gently laces his fingers through yours, bringing up his other hand to cup your face and run his thumb comfortingly over the curve of your cheekbone to keep you grounded

“no matter what happens today, no matter what the outcome is,” he looks at you with the fierce determination of a man ready to give up anything and everything for your sake, “i will never ever stop fighting for you”

he presses his soft lips against yours

“for us,” he vows

your breathing evens out, and while your heartbeat still pounds inside your ribcage, you know that it marches in rhythm with the man in front of you

this time, not afraid to appear in front of the rulers of your kingdoms - your parents - you and wooyoung nod in reassurance at each other once more, hand in hand, before you both push the doors to the throne room open

together.

jongho

pov: you're under his protection as your royal guard

over the din of volunteered names in the meeting room, jongho steps forward

“your majesty, i will accompany the princess,” he declares

“choi jongho?” your father scans him up and down with regard before nodding in approval, “it is decided then”

“him? surely i need another person with me as well?” you protest

your father quirks an eyebrow at you, a subtle reminder that whilst he is your father, he is also the king

“no, you will need to travel in disguise and stay as discreet as possible. only jongho will accompany you as your royal guard”

your father looks away and starts to address the next item on the meeting agenda; it is quite clear there is no room for argument

meanwhile, jongho sidles up to you

“you trying to catch bugs or something? close your mouth, princess,” he teases under his breath

you nudge him with an elbow, “you’re the only bug i see around here”

he rolls his eyes but you both snicker in unison when one of your older sisters turns around to shush you with a dirty look

regardless, you stay silent for the rest of the meeting

you’re not sure why jongho stepped forward to take on this task

because for someone who is your main royal guard and is supposed to be loyal and obedient, he sure makes it clear that his job is about as gratifying as babysitting

(“you can’t talk to me like that. i’m the princess”)

(“no, you’re not. you’re an idiot”)

in fact, when you had been notified a few days prior that you would be traveling with one other royal guard - who had yet to be decided at the time - jongho had spent every single day gloating that he would finally get a break from babysitting you

and yet here he is

with the opportunity to hand you off to somebody else

but instead, baring his teeth at the other guards who offer themselves up for this scouting mission

he would never admit to it either, but jongho personally spoke to the king years ago about being rostered on as your main bodyguard since he’s “known the princess for the longest and so i can protect her the best”

you don’t want to travel to the border

you’re in charge of maintaining security and defense along your borders and with neighbouring kingdoms, usually dealing with complications remotely through the ministers and advisors who work for you

this time though, there has been recent unrest near the southern borders of your kingdom near denport, a city notorious for bandits and fugitives

the situation has worsened with increased risk of bloodshed, thus has the need for you to survey the borders in person

and as the youngest sibling of five, the king has made it very clear that this is your opportunity to prove your capabilities

jongho makes sure to remind you of this fact when you grumble your way through packing a satchel of essential items to take with you

(“your fluffy slippers are not essential, princess”)

(you listen and throw them back onto the floor of your bedchambers, but stuff in a few paperweights when he isn’t looking out of petty revenge because you know he’ll end up carrying your bag for you later when you ask him to)

it’s a relatively long journey to denport, so as soon as you are ready, jongho having long finished packing his own bag, you leave your kingdom with him at your side

by the time the sun is starting to set later that day, you’re passing through a small town

he suggests calling it a night and recuperating at one of the inns

you wait while he inquires about available rooms and then follow him through a small alleyway to the inn that he has chosen for the night

you take all but one look at the rotting wood and creaking sign at the entrance before you are crossing your arms like a petulant child

“there’s no way i’m staying the night in this sorry excuse of an inn”

he merely blinks

“you’re technically not the princess right now so you better listen to me or god help me, i’ll-”

“you’ll what,” you challenge, nose-to-nose

or nose-to-throat, you suppose

but before you can dwell any further on your height difference, jongho picks you up, slings you over his shoulder like you are nothing more than a sack of potatoes, and walks into the inn without a care in the world that you are screaming bloody murder

you resign to your fate and flop uselessly against his back as he carries you up the stairs

instead, when he throws you onto the bed upon entering the room, you look up at him sultrily and smirk, “ooh, now i’m turned on”

jongho shakes his head with exasperation but you don’t miss the redness that is creeping up the back of his neck as he turns around to close the door shut

“wait,” you sit up on the bed, “we’re sharing a room?”

“it’s safer. i’ll sleep on the sofa”

you scrunch your nose at the arrangement, but you do admittedly feel a little more at ease in the unfamiliar room of the inn

you start to take a shoe off before a thought flits through your mind and you point the shoe in your hand at him like a weapon, “you better not snore”

jongho rolls his eyes as he steps forward to take the shoe out of your hand, and then he is bending down to help slip off the shoe from your other foot

a thank you lies on the tip of your tongue

“you’re the only snorer in this room, princess”

nevermind.

it’s gone.

you’re settled in bed, waiting for jongho to finish washing up and turn off the lights, when you spot it

holy shit

your immediate reaction is to seek his protection

“jongho!”

the door to the bathroom swings open almost immediately as he rushes out, eyes alarmed, alert, and zeroing onto you

water drips off the ends of his hair and you can still spot suds on his exposed torso

“what’s wrong? are you okay? are you hurt?” his voice is laced with restrained panic

you point to the corner of the room and then he sees it too

his body stiffens completely

because, mere metres from the two of you, presence sinister and dangerous…

is a fucking spider

all is quiet and still for a while, your eyes flickering back and forth between your royal guard and the spider in a tense standoff

then, just as you are about to speak up, jongho grabs his bag and swiftly turns on his heels to head towards the room’s door

“where are you going?!” you shriek

he looks at you forlornly from over his shoulder, “to prepare for my execution”

“what the fuck are you on about, jongho?”

“for abandoning my duties and failing to protect you. farewell, princess. you are on your own from here-”

his sentence is cut short as the spider scuttles towards him

and that is how you two, disguised, but still a royal princess and royal guard no less, are given an eviction warning because he streaked through the corridors of the inn half naked and screaming at the top of his lungs

needless to say, the innkeeper ends up having to remove the spider for the two of you

“you’re so embarrassing,” you whisper to him once you two are finally settled in bed and on the sofa

“no, i’m jongho,” he cackles

you don’t humour him with a response, but you know he snickers himself to sleep that night

you can’t help but let the corner of your lips tug up as well

a few days later after leaving the town, you two are resting side by side against a tree trunk when you decide to grace jongho with the opportunity to redeem himself

he’s currently halving a sandwich so you two can share

“if i were trapped in a forest full of spiders and you were the only person who could save me,” you ask gravely, “what would you do?”

without missing a beat, he replies, “prepare to grieve your death and make sure your pet cat is well fed in your honour”

he passes you the bigger sandwich as you turn to look at him with the most scandalised expression

“can you at least pretend to think for a bit?” you grumble

there’s a hint of a smile on jongho’s face when he apologises, “okay, sorry. ask me again”

you hit him with a different scenario this time

“if you had to fight a giant spider who had taken me hostage, what would you do?”

he hums thoughtfully for a few seconds, unscrewing a canteen of water for you and placing it by your side

“i would say, she is all yours, your spidery majesty, and then i would bow and walk away”

“fuck you,” you shove him good-naturedly with your shoulder

he swipes the canteen before you can knock it over and presses it into your smaller hand instead, giving it a quick pat as he dismisses your insult, “sure, if you think you can handle my dick”

“like they say,” you waggle your eyebrows at him as your voice drops down lower, “practice makes perfect”

jongho’s stoic facade finally cracks when you lean in closer and he hurries to stand up and put some distance between you and him

he shifts his legs subtly, clearing his throat to say, “we should go, denport is close”

when you’ve finished off the last of your sandwich, you dust off your fingers and grab jongho’s offered hand to stand up too

“let’s go”

one thing you have both noticed is that the closer you get to the border between your kingdom and denport, the quieter and thicker the atmosphere seems to get

the small towns you pass through have less people roaming around; in fact, most people seem to flee back into the refuge of their own houses, locking their doors and closing their windows when they catch sight of your pair

and then it happens

your plan goes awry

you and jongho are harshly awoken by a commotion outside the small room you have rented for the night

there’s a sickening smell accompanied by wails of grief in the air

when you rush outside, all you can see is a huge crowd of people gathered and your ears strain to pick up on the broken hushes of information being thrown around

“his son is lucky to have been spared”

“lucky to have seen his father slaughtered by bandits?”

“i heard it wasn’t money that they were after, though”

“those damned denport devils are up to something”

that’s all you pick up on before jongho snatches your arm and leads you back into the inn, telling you that it’s too dangerous to be out there; too dangerous for you two to continue traveling

which leads to the very first argument you ever have with him

you two butt heads all the time with your own fiery fronts and hardheadedness but more often than not, he yields to you

you’re facing him in the dim room - it is shadier than that first inn you two made a stop at weeks ago, but you’re both sharing one room just like you two have done at every single inn since

“we need to go check it out!” you shout at him

jongho takes a shaky breath as he tries to keep his voice even, “no, we should go back to our kingdom, report on the situation and call for backup!”

you throw your hands up into the air, “we’re already here - we’re basically at denport! what if something blows up soon? it might be too late by the time we go back”

jongho steps in closer as his eyes narrow

you don’t cower because you know he would never hurt you, but you do step backwards because you don’t think you can keep a clear head when he is standing so close to you, proximity dizzying like the buzz of alcohol

“of all times for you to play hero and do something that you weren’t asked to, why now? why put yourself in danger?”

your back hits the wall as jongho corners you

your chest heaves, as does his, both of you overwhelmed with emotions

he holds your gaze but his eyes are rounded with agony and distress

you don’t understand why he is so against your decision

you don’t know what to say, until your eyes flicker down involuntarily at the movement of his lips parting to exhale-

“damn, jongho, your lips are real chapped. you should use some of my lip balm”

he blinks hard at the absurdity of what you chose to say

he looks at your lips

he makes a decision

“then give me some of yours,” he says, a little breathless

and then he’s pressing his chapped lips against your smooth ones, the taste of coconut filling your mouth as your lip balm smears

suddenly, he pulls back with the audacity to look shocked as if you are the one who kissed him

and then he leaves the room without another word

he doesn’t return that night and you don’t manage to sleep either

you wonder when you started becoming used to falling asleep with him in the same room

jongho clears his throat awkwardly when you open the door in the morning and find him leaning against the wall just by the doorframe

you’re not sure whether he came back not too long ago from god knows where, or whether he was actually standing guard outside all night

you think you know which one it is, even if he doesn’t confirm it

“we’re checking out,” he mumbles, shuffling briskly into the room to grab his few belongings he had left and exiting the room again with you trailing behind

neither of you say much more to each other

you think that he’s going to lead you back the way you two came, lead you back and undo the weeks’ worth of journeying and go back to the castle

but then he’s sighing, deep and burdened, and he gently takes your hand to continue on towards denport

he’s never held your hand before

not like this, at least, tenderly tugging you along with every step so that you are no more than a few inches away from his side

you want to bicker with him and chortle together like usual but you keep quiet, giving him the space that he appears to need even if he is physically ensuring you are tucked right into his side

you two walk until the sun has dipped below the horizon

from what you know, you are right along the southern border and denport will only be another half day’s walk away

jongho makes a small bonfire before he joins you to lean against a fallen log

he shimmies off his coat and drapes it over your legs and then the forest also settles into silence along with you both

it’s now or never

“why are you so against us going to the border?” you ask him

he runs his fingers through his hair

an unruly tuft of hair stays upright and you fold your arms to stop yourself from reaching out and smoothening it for him

he looks at you as he says, “i’m fine with me going to the border, it’s you i’m not fine with. you do remember that i’m your royal guard, right”

“is that all there is to your reason,” you push, “that you’re my guard?”

you both know you’re referring to more than just the argument itself

jongho’s gaze breaks away, looking ahead at the flames of the fire instead

he is silent

for once, jongho is unarmed; no immediate snark or teasing remark to toss back at you

you hear him swallow and take a breath

“i…i don’t know,” he starts. “all i know is that with each passing day, the more i want to keep you safe”

jongho looks at you again, eyebrows drawn down ever so slightly

“why do you make me feel so worried?”

at his words, your heart clenches in an unfamiliar way and you attempt to lighten the mood, “maybe you like me”

“maybe i do”

oh.

with the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes, it almost looks as though he is about to cry

“please, don’t go to the border, princess,” he begs softly

his plea remains unwavering and you find your heart doing the exact opposite

after a few seconds of silence, you say

“okay, jongho. i won’t”

the tension from his shoulders seeps out and he gently tugs you towards him so he can tuck you into his side once again

“you promise that we turn around and go back tomorrow morning?”

you nod against the warmth of the crook of his neck, then murmur, “do you think father will be disappointed in me? for returning?”

he rubs a hand up and down your arm soothingly

“of course not, princess. you’ve already done so much more than you needed to. he’ll be proud of you”

and then he adds on, “just like i’m proud of you”

this is the first time anyone has ever really validated your efforts; being the youngest of a large family means you are often overshadowed

caught off guard, all you can do is whisper out, “thank you, jongho”

he hums and you feel his smile against the crown of your head

you’ve never been drunk before, but you think that this is the closest you have ever gotten

you are intoxicated by him

“if you’re thankful,” the rumble of jongho’s voice against your cheek is pleasant, “can i ask for something?”

“whatever you want”

he eases you from the comfort of his neck and tilts your chin up slightly with a finger, cheeky grin plastered across his face

“can i have some more of your lip balm?”

[esther-dot]

when long night falls 6k

Appearances can be deceiving, and Jon is not yet used to discerning truths from lies. Her hair is brown enough, even in the candlelight, where Sansa’s was red. Ygritte was kissed by fire, as was Sansa. Neither had been lucky.

All That We Forgot 16k by @rumaan

The Wall has fallen, the North has fled south, and Stannis Baratheon sends a delegation to the Vale of Arryn, the last untouched region of Westeros to seek their aid against the Others. A delegation that includes Lord Commander Snow. What will this mean for Alayne Stone?

The Thawing of Winter 100k by @jade-masquerade

Sansa knew Jon married her—married Alayne—for the Vale, or maybe, because of his past, he saw her as a fellow bastard and meant to raise her up the same as his people did for him, how they chose Lord Eddard’s sole surviving son as King in the North. But when she looked at him, she saw nothing of the sort in his eyes, only a flash of desire, the way a man ought to look at his wife, before he steadied his gaze. If this was truly wrong, she wondered, then why did the gods let it feel so right? corresponding moodboard by @the-lords-kiss corresponding moodboard by @sunbeamsandmoonrays corresponding gif by @readingisloving

Came Down the Mountain 12k by @darkmagyk

Alayne Stone makes a name for herself during the Long Night by feeding the troops of the army of the living. But after the Dawn Breaks, her father takes to back up to the Eyrie, even as she hears that a new Stark has taken Winterfell, a young Lord named Brandon. But whatever Petyr Baelish had planned for her must change with Daenerys Targrayen flies up to them on dragon back with a offer the woman who is Sansa Stark is desperate to refuse. corresponding moodboard by @the-lords-kiss

maybe everything that dies, some day comes back 1k orphaned

Following his resurrection, Jon leads a retinue of men to gather supplies and new recruits where they can find them. He doesn’t expect to find anything else along the way — that is, until they reach the Vale, where the echoes of harp strings can be heard in the middle of the night, and a bastard girl in the Eyrie strikes a chord within Jon he thought to be long vanished.

You lied to me ficlet by @justadram

“You lied to me,” Jon pants, swinging his legs over the side of her narrow bed and sinking his head into his hands.

Stone and Snow 1k by @jonsastan

“My daughter, Alayne Stone.” Petyr Baelish’s voice exuded charm and submission. The Dragon Queen did not seem impressed. Alayne dipped into a low curtsy, focusing her eyes on the Queen’s small feet. Such mighty ambition walked through the world on such tiny feet. “Your grace.” She murmured. The Queen looked at her for a long moment, longer than royalty looked at a bastard. “You’re a pretty little bird.” Still a bird. Alayne thought before scolding herself. Not before, only now. You were never a little bird in a gilded cage. You are bastard born and bastard brave.

cover your eyes (do i feel right, darling?) 12k @majicmarker

Jon Snow’s arrival at the Vale is met with trepidation and intrigue; after all, what could this bastard-come-prince want in this far-off corner of his kingdom? But Jon has heard the whispers that the Eyrie’s prized beauty is not a bastard of Littlefinger’s at all, but the daughter of Winterfell—and Jon means to steal her away.

Underneath, All Along ficlet by @myrish-lace-love

Jon steals Sansa from the Vale, but for reasons of her own, she'd like to stay Alayne a little longer. Alayne, after all, can wish for the company of her handsome traveling companion at night.

Alayne AU 4k by @sunbeamsandmoonrays

A girl in grey on a dying horse the stranger may be, but she was not his sister. The Red Woman gave him a false prophecy…and false hope, it seemed. So why was he still transfixed? corresponding moodboard

frostfire ficlet by @zoyaalinas

jon and alayne at the eyrie. vale au. post parentage reveal.

Who am I darling, to you? ficlets 1, 2 by @blackholeofprocrastination

When Jon’s is sent to treat with the Lords of the Vale, he finds someone unexpected on the weirwood throne.

as i stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge 12k

Jon travels to the Vale to find allies in the fight against the army of the dead.

godless 3k by @charmtion

Alayne. He tastes the word. Lets it roll on his tongue like a plum-stone, the scraps of flesh still sweet on it.

Lies/Luck 1k by @phosphorescent-naidheachd

“Have we met before?” he asked, the words leaving his lips before he could think them through.

My Maid of Stone 11k WIP by @cappymightwrite

It was a near windless half-hour of waiting. Of only her cloak and hair occasionally moving, her body as rooted as a tree. Later she would remember this day mostly as metals. Silver of the valley. Iron of the rocks and the clouds. Zinc of the evening storm in its full fury. Rare gold of the sky as it chose now to break open. Her silence matched her stillness, until at last, there, out of the mist: marching men. * Or, a newly crowned King in the North comes to the Gates of the Moon, unaware of what he will find there…

if i can't relate to you anymore, then who am i related to? 13k by @jonsaslove

Alayne watches him. She knows. In her bones she knows. But her mouth doesn’t let her form the words. Her mind doesn’t let her consciously acknowledge it. Because it cannot be, it can never be. If she lets herself accept the startling truth she can't unknow it, and then every carefully crafted facade will come crashing down. Because the man is Jon Snow. And Jon Snow can’t know that she is Sansa Stark. (Because she’s not. She’s Alayne Stone. And somehow that’s more dangerous). -- Or; Jon comes to the Eyrie. Alayne remembers.

Stone and Snow 1k by @alemoncakelife

Jon Snow meets Alayne Stone corresponding edit

Family Ties 2k by @framboise-fics

Her husband had her father thrown out of the Moon Door. Her husband is her brother. Her brother is her cousin. Daughter, sister, cousin, wife. Who is she supposed to be? She will let her husband tell her, she supposes.

what one finds in the snow 1k by @amymel86

The Eyrie is perhaps the most peculiar castle Jon has visited as Lord Commander, nestled high in the Mountains of the Moon, surrounded by nothing but air, craggy rocks and soaring birds.

I Remember (I Remember) 1k by @hilarychuff

“That’s pretty,” Jon says, and her heart thumps hard in her chest.

What Lies Beneath Her Skin 100k by @chispas-and-broken-bindings

Sansa Stark returns to a fractured North for the first time since traveling south as a young child to be fostered by her Aunt Lysa in King's Landing. Stannis Baratheon's troops have broken against the walls of Winterfell, starved and weakened by the relentless northern storms - their King's fate unknown. Roose Bolton lies dead within Winterfell's walls as his bastard, Ramsey Snow dances a bloody minuet with Jon Snow, the half-brother whom she has never met, and his rag-tag band of wildlings in the northern woods. Petyr promises that it's time for a true Stark to return and bring these mongrels to heel, with the might of the Vale behind her. Yet, the girl does not feel like a true Stark, nor does she know how to break free from Littlefinger's claws. A chance encounter sets her on course to Jon Snow's war camp, where disguised as Alayne, she helps the resurrected King-in-the-North unite the North and become Sansa Stark once again.

Rosemary (For Remembrance) 7k by @orangeflavoryawp

“’My daughter, Alayne Stone,’ Baelish repeats, motioning toward her, almost daring in his tone. Jon’s eyes slip back to Sansa’s.” - Jon and Sansa. What winter means in a world that teaches them to forget.

King Jon & Alayne ficlets 1, 2 by @vivilove-jonsa

“Jon would never harm me.” “How can you know that, sweetling?  Years have passed since you last saw one another.  You’re not the girl you were when you left Winterfell no more than he is the boy you knew…and I wasn’t aware you were ever that close to begin with.”

Buried under with my desires 2k by @captainbee89

Post resurrected Jon is sent to the vale to get an allegiance on Stannis' behalf. While there, he discovers a long lost part of his past, and maybe his future.

Art: Have we met before?, A familiar face, More beautiful than me? by @leulahart, Reflections of Aemon and Naerys, Should two bastards hookup or what? by @jonsawilldanceanon, The Bastard and the Lord Commander by @palominojacoby ,The Lord Commander and the bastard of the Vale, Alayne and Jon by @amunetmana, Alayne and Jon by @melinaillustrations, Alayne by @songofaurora If he calls me his daughter one more time... by @asoiastarks , Alayne Stone by knightmarescape

Edits: Charm Him. Entrance Him. Bewitch Him. Stone & Snow by @theirwinterfell, Stone was a bastard's name i'm alayne, i must remain alayne because she's stronger by @countessmaryarostova, Jon x Alayne by @paloma-nevada, Jon rides to the Vale by @lunaathorne , Oh it would be so sweet to see him by @whiteraven0001

Gifsets: May I wear your favor? by @alaynestcnes, The Brooding Bastards by @jonstarks, Jon x Alayne, Sansa loved to dance..., A Ghost wolf... by @thewindsofwolves, She had not thought of Jon in ages by @akarena, Oh it would be so sweet, Sansa Stark went up the mountain by @kitnjon, Alayne & Jon by @paloma-nevada , I am a bastard now just like him... But of course that could never be by @bericdondarrion , It sounds like a wolf by @fromtheboundlesssea , A ghost wolf by @kummittelemaanninja , Alayne Stone and Jon Snow parallels by @jonsansasource

Shout out to the post where the Jon x Alayne ship name was declared to be Jolayne (And I suppose that makes this medieval version of Jolene pertinent!)

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE -SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - RICKON LIVES

[evagreen-stories]

Mother of the Realm | (Daemon x f!noble!reader) (part 1/?)

Summary: Left behind after the blacks take King's Landing, Aemond’s Lady-Wife finds herself striking a certain arrangement with the rogue prince to guarantee her and her children's safety, though strange occurrences should change the conditions of this arrangement drastically.

Warnings: dark!themes, dubcon/coercion, warcrimes, dark!daemon, age gap, time typical gender roles, lactation kink, breeding kink, p in v, throat fuck, canon typical behaviour, slight degradation, mentions of noncon/forced pr0stitution, mentions of violence, mention of arranged marriage

Non-Canon Storyline: : two years into the civil war, reader (young Lady of house Celtigar) married to Aemond, the war drags on for longer than in canon

Disclaimer: This Fic is written on the basis that most of what mushroom says is true! The story came to me in a fever dream and I felt like typing it out lol. This storyline is mixed of book  / hearsay / imagination; I tried to write it all out in a way that makes sense and is easy to follow.

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

my masterlist series moodboard series masterlist

It's the dance of the dragons, the war has been going on for two years and has escalated to new dimensions of destruction and violence, with the blacks now having invaded and taken over Kings Landing and the Red Keep where you, the lady wife of Aemond Targaryen, live as well.

Married a year before the dance of dragons began, you have given him two sons already; a young boy of 26 months old, Rhaegar, and a babe of 11 months, Baelor, and are with your third; four months along, the maester’s presume.

Most green supporters were now locked in cells while you and your children were imprisoned in your chambers; a privilege you received as you are the only daughter of Lord Bartimos Celtigar, a loyal supporter of the blacks.

Who knows, had your father not been swayed by the sweet words and reassurances of queen Alicent, hadn’t fallen trap into accepting the marriage proposal to Aemond in an effort of hers to sway your house’s loyalty in favour of her side, perhaps then you would now be standing on the other side of this door as a free woman. 

Instead, your own husband had kept you surveilled at all times ever since the war began, in fear you would run away and join the blacks, and had forbidden you from leaving the Red Keep ever since his return from Storm’s End where he had gone to secure a betrothal for his younger brother Daeron to one of the Baratheon girls; an endavour that would end with the death of Lucerys Velaryon and jump-start the most brutal civil war seen to date.

Followed by at least one kings guard as soon as you stepped out of your chambers, the presence of your husband and the freedom to roam the gardens and halls had made it easy to forget your new house rules on most days.

With the confinement you had found yourself in ever since the war began you had turned all your attention and efforts into becoming the best and most loving mother you could be. A desire perhaps fueled by the clear preference of your own mother towards your brothers.

You wanted to be better than that. You studied books and listened to old wives' tales ever since you had flowered, knowing it wouldn’t be long until you would be wed off to fulfil your duty as a proper lady-wife.

And fulfil your duty you would. Unlike most other nobles you had taken to not employing a wet nurse or nursemaids at all.

Being made prisoner in your own home freed up all your time to be able to do so. Your sons would sleep in your chambers and be on your lap all day long. Both had only ever drank your milk, knowing no other chest but their mother’s.

And yet, what had once been a cage with thin, golden bars and a nice view, had now turned into one of thick stone walls, the confinement of your chambers only being eased by the presence of your two young children.

The days were long alone, yet more peaceful for you than you had expected them to be. Even if your father had not come to see you once, you did speak to your trusted servants, listening to the tales they would tell you about just what was going on outside the very wooden door you would stare at daily. 

And by the sevens, was it horrifying.

Rhaenyra, now dubbed ‘the cruel’ and ‘Maegor with teats’, had ordered the forceful taking of the two queen's Alicent and Helaena to a pleasure house, their services to be sold to whoever could afford it; at least those are the rumours that have been spread around the castle grounds.

Any woman would think this fate horrifying but even more so you: as wife of the prince regent at the court of the usurper you certainly were an easy target for the mad queen’s wrath. Worry of being made to share the same fate consumed you more with each day; a fear that would eventually make you request an audience with Rhaenyra.

Instead of her, you now find yourself with her husband the rogue prince – or now, the king consort – Daemon standing in front of you.

“I requested to speak to Rhaenyra.”

“Yes. And now you’ve got me. Speak before I change my mind.”

You stay silent for a few moments, pondering how to ask the question. "Is it true what they claim? About Alicent and Helaena, the pleasure house?"

"Oh it is true," Daemon said, walking slowly towards you as he spoke, his eyes roaming you from your head to your feet. He stopped a few feet before you and looked into your eyes, the smell of sweat and ash surrounding the dragon rider. 

"Alicent is not a hostage nor a political ploy - she is a traitor, guilty of high treason, and will be treated as such. The usurper queen may say otherwise but we all know the truth."

“What about Helaena?” You say, almost pleading, Alicent and you had clashed often over the past two years, your differences in mothering and you not being devout to the faith being a frequent cause of argument; but Helaena – oh, sweet Helaena – is a different story.

Another victim of powerful scheming. You had to watch her suffer tremendously from the effects of blood & cheese, something that too shook you to the core. The son of your dear friend, slain so horrendously right in front of his mother and siblings. 

"She had no choice in any of it, she is innocent."

"Helaena," Daemon said, scoffing at the mention of her name. Of all the greens, Helaena was the only one that he didn't really hate. "She may be innocent, but she knows what kind of people her mother and brother are and she remains loyal to them. What does that say of her?"

"Helaena never had a choice, neither did I. We are not like your wife Daemon; we did not have the blessing of having a king as our father that would let us do however we pleased. We were all forced into this." You protest, frustration now evident in your voice. "You have already killed her son. Beheaded him infront of her own eyes. Is that not enough?"

“We did not kill him; we simply avenged our own.” Daemon's scowl deepened as you spoke, though he had to admit you were right, at least somewhat. "Fine. It seems you are the only one who wants to plead for her safety. I will speak to the rightful queen, perhaps she won't be entirely opposed to your request of freeing Helaena.."

Daemon paused for a moment, gaze lowering to your bump, before speaking again. "Tell me. Who is the father of the child you are carrying?"

You look down your small bump at his words, laying a hand on it reflexively. "My husband, Aemond, of course. Why?"

Daemon took note of your movements as your hand went to your belly, a flicker of hatred in his eyes when you said Aemond's name. "Just making an observation. How old are you now? 20? And already three kids at your heels…”

"I will turn 19 soon. Yes, I’m carrying my third child. What of it?" you tilt your head slightly, taken aback by his change of topic and his increasingly intrusive questions.

"Three children, at nineteen." Daemon seemed almost impressed. He looked at your belly again.

"I don't know of what concern my husband and I's private matters are." Your voice betrays you, sounding way more hostile as you intended it to.

Daemon looked at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. He was eyeing your body up and down, and his silence made you feel his gaze prickling your skin. "Does your husband like seeing you pregnant?"

You stare at him silently, mouth agape at the shock of such an intimate question. "Yes..." You admit reluctantly.

A smirk broke through Daemon's frown, as a low chuckle came from his lips, eyes still lingering on your stomach. "He keeps you as his broodmare. You're clearly a fine one as well; babes not even out of the cradle before you’re with child again. I don't blame him."

"He is my husband. It's his right to have children with his wife." You say defensively; repeating the words you have been taught all your life.

"It is indeed." Daemon said, taking a step closer to you, invading your personal space. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking in your scent. This close, he could see his own reflection in your eyes. "His right, and your duty. You must be a good wife to please him so thoroughly."

You stare at him silently again, before shrugging timidly. "He doesn't complain." You don't want to risk saying too much, so you continue with the question you had been planning to ask all this while.

"Rhaenyra... What is she planning to do with me? With my children? I heard she has rewards out for Maelor…"

"She has no intention of killing you or your children. Though you may still be stripped of your title as princess." Daemon paused a moment before continuing. "As for Maelor... There is a bounty on his head, yes. He is the only remaining son of the usurper. Since he is so young she will let him live; but only under her influence." 

He raises his hand to tug a strand of hair behind your ear. "She contemplated selling you to the pleasure house as well, you know? But since you're gravid and played no instrumental part in their schemes, I could persuade her not to do so."

You look at him wide-eyed, feeling a pit form in your stomach, as if your worst fears had been confirmed. "What- a-are you jesting?"

Daemon took note of your reaction. He was still close, he could see the outline of a dimple in your cheek and smell the sweet scent of your milk surrounding you; a smell still clinging to your body as you had just finished feeding your youngest before he entered the room. 

"Indeed. Rhaenyra is not like other women. Much less merciful and the men that surround her even less so." He said, still smirking. His hand had found its way to your waist now, his fingers running along your side. "But a good word from me and I could persuade her not to do so. You should thank me."

You stare at him, your hand moving to hold onto his arm, ready to push him away. You study his face, recognising an unsettling darkness in them. "You wouldn’t do this just because. What is it you want from me?"

"Hmm..." Daemon took another deep breath, your scent was really strong with this one. Different notes were in your scent as well. He wondered if those were remnant of your perfume you had applied in the morning or perhaps an oil youve applied to your hair.

He let out a sigh as he tried to keep it from affecting him. He lowered his head towards yours and spoke slowly, every word a whisper. "No, you're right. I wouldn't do it just because. But for you, I could make some exceptions. You've always had my attention, you know that? The pretty little thing that you are, wed to my maimed nephew."

"What are you saying?" You try to sound brave but the quiver in your voice betrays you.

Daemon chuckled as he noticed your nervousness. He could tell from your shaking body that you were afraid. He put a hand under your chin, moving your head to look into his eyes. He spoke slowly and quietly.

"Let me have you and I shall guarantee your and your children's safety."

You stare at him bewildered, stunned silent for several long moments. "Are you mad? I will not betray my husband!"

Daemon chuckled, amused by your naivety and innocence. "Oh my sweet lady... Do you have any idea what you're in now? You're in war, taken hostage by your enemy. Your husband will be happy so long you don't die. I cannot sire a babe on you anyway, so there is nothing to worry about." Daemon smirked, looking at your stomach, and your body, that sweet aroma that surrounded you, drawing him closer and closer.

"Give yourself to me and I shall guarantee yours and your children’s wellbeing.” He doubles down.

You stare at him, trembling slightly in fear and anger, your voice growing quieter the more you struggle to contain your emotions. "You can't be serious. If... If my husband won't have my head for this, then your wife will."

He raised an eyebrow as you spoke, a smirk gracing his face. He was still holding onto you, close enough to kiss you if he wanted to. His gaze was fixed on your lips as well, and your scent was just so... Irresistible to him. 

"Rhaenyra won't care. In our marriage we are free to seek pleasure wherever we like as long as our loyalties don’t falter. The things I can do to you, you will enjoy them alright..." His voice became low and quiet again as he spoke the last words, the hand that previously rested on your waist now slithering around your back and ascending lower and lower with each passing moment.

You stare at him in disbelief, fear and anger boiling inside you. Just when you want to protest yet again, the loud sounds of something collapsing startle you, your head snapping to look around Daemon's wide frame with urgency.

Your eyes settle onto Rhaegar. The wooden tower he was building had collapsed, an inconvenience the toddler quickly moves on from by starting to build it anew. Baelor sits not far from him, abandoning his own toy to crawl over and investigate his brothers doings.

The anger you had been feeling subsides immediately, replaced by worry and an urge to cry as you worry for whatever their fate will be as this war continues.

You don't want this.

You do not want to let him touch you, but it might be the only way to protect your children from harm, especially considering how cruel rhaenyra has proven herself to be. Your stare is focused on your oldest still, watching as his tiny hands wrap around each block and meticulously place one onto the other.

So innocent, so fragile.

"What about them?" Your voice as soft as a whisper.

Daemon didn't take his eyes away from yours. His gaze burning into you as he studies every expression you make. Your scent, your warmth, almost driving him crazy. "They will be taken care of. I told you I wouldn't let them come to harm." He said as he ran a hand through your hair, the curls of your hair wrapping around his fingers. "Don't worry, sweet girl, all will be well. If you agree to my terms, that is."

He can watch your jaw clenching and eyes gloss over before hearing the ever so soft word he has been waiting for leaving your lips. "Fine."

Servants had been sent by Daemon to take your children to bathe them and play with them. You did not miss the sympathetic look they gave you. Perhaps being able to tell what will happen to you purely based on his instructions to not return until he tells them to. 

You’re standing at a window looking out at the city taking note of the sun lowering on the horizon, dressed in nothing but a simple silk robe, when the door opens and Daemon walks in without knocking.

He steps inside, wearing the same clothes from before; sword and dagger still at his side. He comes closer and takes in your appearance, pleased at the sight. He approaches you with a calm step until your bodies are mere inches apart, bringing his hand up to caress your arm.

"You’re trembling," Daemon spoke, his voice smooth and dark. His eyes were examining you again, taking in your appearance. You had changed from the last time he saw you, you looked more womanly now.

A mother to two already, with a third growing inside, the outline of your small bump visible through the loose fabric. His movements were precise and confident. You could tell he was trying hard to contain himself.

For now.

Your gaze follows the movements of his hand as it runs up and down your arm. You can feel his large calloused hand and cold skin through the thin fabric of your robe. It’s a stark contrast to your soft and warm skin, unmarked and unblemished from living sheltered all your life.

In a small voice, barely more than a whisper, you ask, “Can we just get this over with?”

Daemon nods, taking note of your trembling once more before he turns and walks over to a nearby table, taking off his sword and dagger and placing them onto it. His head tilted as he looked at you from where he is standing.

"You were quick to give into me so easily. Were you that desperate? Does your husband not satisfy you?" He said with a smirk, beginning to undo his tunic.

You tighten your jaw, upset at his words that, to you, sound accusatory of promiscuity - a sin for a highborn lady. A married one especially.

“Desperate to keep my children safe, yes. My husband always kept me well satisfied.”

"Hmm..." Daemon huffed. His body language shifted a little. He seemed more agitated and tense, not liking that you brought up Aemond's name, much less so that you praised him. He walked back towards you now, closing the distance slowly and taking a good look at you.

His eyes kept darting to your stomach as you spoke of your husband. With every movement you make you entice him even more. “I don't know what he does to you to satisfy you, but I assure you I can do it better."

You roll your eyes at his words; he had always been cocky.

"He and I are very compatible in that regard. Now, can you just do what you need to do? I'd prefer to get this over with soon." It was the truth. Aemond’s and your intimate life was very well. Three children in three years of marriage served as proof of that.

Daemon's blood was running hot at this point.

"Compatibilities. I see..." Daemon said, his words filled with mockery. "Well, there's nothing I'd prefer more right now than to be inside of you, so I guess we're compatible as well." He approaches you quickly, now dressed in nothing but his breeches, eagerly tugging at the belt holding your robe closed, watching as it falls open and reveals your bare body underneath.

He took a sharp breath as he took in your figure, almost letting out a moan of desire at the sight of your body, his gaze roaming your body eagerly.

“Gods, you’re stunning.” His gaze settles on your breasts, swollen from all the milk inside them. “I heard you don’t employ a wet nurse. Why is that?”

You stare ahead blankly, trying not to make any sound or expression when you can feel his hand rest on the curve of your waist. “I don’t believe its good for the mother-child bond. That mothers should nurse their own children, or they will bond with the wet nurse instead.”

Daemon smirks at your response, thumb caressing over your delicate skin as he now looks at your face. “Is that so? Does your husband enjoy watching you breastfeed?” He asks with a low chuckle before pulling you in, his hardened length in his pants now pressing against your belly as He holds you close with both arms wrapped around your waist. “Or does he enjoy tasting your milk himself? Do not lie to me, woman. You won’t like the consequences if you do.”

Your hands rest on his chest, you’re fighting the urge to push him away with every fiber of your being, your head hanging low as you do not dare to look at him directly. You take note of his skin; scars and healed burns covering his muscular form. The body of a battle-hardened warrior.

Reluctantly you admit, “Both…”.

“Oh… you’re even more of a little whore than I thought, aren’t you?” he whispers into your ear. “What an eager to serve little thing you are. You’ll make a good little toy for me after all.” One arm wrapped still around your waist the other moves to your front, his large hand stroking over that small bump of yours.

“Almost makes me sad you’re with child already. I’d have loved to pound my own into you.”

Your head snaps up at him now, huffing in offense you exclaim, “Daemon!”

He simply smirks, amused by your objection. Leaning in close he whispers into your ear, his hot breath burning on your skin. “You may be carrying my nephew’s child now but there is always a next time. A few more months and I could still make you mine.”

He turns around with you in his arms, leading you backwards towards the bed until you feel the mattress on the back of your legs. A small push of his makes you sit down on it. Knowing your duty, you take it upon yourself to scoot fully onto the mattress.

He watches with a smile on his lips as you do so, happy with your compliance before reaching down and spreading your legs open for him to look after he noticed you keeping them shut.

He takes a good look at the treasure between them, groaning out when his manhood twitches at the sight of it. He stands up straight again, taking off the breeches that held him contained until now as his intense stare moves up your body once more.

You feel so vulnerable and exposed for him, completely bare and spread wide open for him to examine as the intensity of his gaze only intensifies. He does not look like a man now. With his pupils blown wide he resembles more a predator ready to pounce its prey than anything else.

His gaze fixed on your cunt, as if in a daze, he reaches out tentatively, his rough fingertips grazing along the sensitive flesh for painfully long moments.

Tracing along the form of your fleshy lips again and again, your breathing is but nervous gasping as one shiver after the other runs over your skin.

Suddenly the sensation fades as he climbs between your legs, one hand on your thigh to keep you spread open for him as he starts pushing himself into you without any more preparation, blissfully surprised to find your cunt wet and welcoming for him.

He can’t hold back a low groan as he pushes himself all the way into you, leaning forward and lying fully on top of you. His face is mere inches from yours as he slowly starts to move his hips, deeply penetrating you at a slow pace while he studies your every expression.

Grunting, your hands move to hold onto his sides as his knees dip into the mattress on either side of you. You clench your jaw tightly, trying to stop any sounds from escaping your lips while you struggle to accommodate him.

Aemond was more than enough to satisfy you, but Daemon was a whole lot more man than him – in all regards.

He knows this, too. Its easy for him to tell by the way your nails dig into his skin as you struggle to get used to him.

“How come you’re so eager, sweet thing? Do you enjoy a man taking charge of you?” A wicked grin on his face his movements become more powerful, your body rocking back and forth with the force of it.

You want to say no, to deny every second of it and not give him the satisfaction of watching you enjoy his touch, but when he starts to hit an all too familiar spot inside of you, you crumble immediately. Not being able to hold back your moans anymore you can barely manage to answer him with a weak “…yes”.

“No wonder my nephew wouldn’t stop breeding you. You’re the perfect little plaything.” He pushes his body into yours, pushing you into the mattress while he whispers into your ear. “Don’t worry, sweet girl. I will violate you properly and make sure you enjoy every second of it.”

With that, his thrusts quickly grow rougher, starting to pound you with such force the entire bed rocks with it, all while watching every expression on your face.

His breathing heavy and rasp he soon shifts his attention down to your breasts, that are bobbing up and down with each forceful clashing of his hips into your. He tried to control himself, he really did, but he just cant anymore.

A hand cupping your breast he leans in, taking the sensitive nub on it between his lips. Just a few soft movements of his tongue over it and he can already taste it. Feeling the warm and sweet liquid dripple onto his tongue makes him humm contently as he starts indulging himself in the sweetness of you. His hips grind into you deeply but at much more humane pace than before.

Your eyes shut in pleasure, your own hands moving by themselves as they embrace him, moving into his hair and caressing his back. This is what Aemond liked, your dear husband.

Oh, if you would ever see him again…

Daemon is surprised, you embracing him was the last thing he expected, even less so you pulling him in more, but he loved every second of it.

He would swear he is in heaven. The warm embrace of his cock while the sweetness of your milk covers his tongue driving him crazy. It could have been hours of him doing this or mere seconds, all he knows is he finds himself spilling his seed into you way sooner than he wanted to, his relentless thrusting an expression of his frustration as his loud moans fill the room, shameless and utterly unafraid of how much the guards outside your door will hear of this.

His slow and deep grinding into your cunt continues as he stays suckling on your breasts, his spend soon clinging to both of your hips and pulling long white strings whenever he pulls away only to push back in with even more force. His antics only cease when he is sure he has drank all of what you can give, both your breasts feeling comfortably light while a throbbing sensation in your cunt would stay with you until the next day, you're sure.

He collapses onto you, still deeply buried inside, squishing your breasts under his weight while his heavy breaths right in your ear send shivers down your spine. Your arms travel by themselves again, wrapping around him and holding him close. Just how Aemond has always demanded you hold him.

“You’re a very good fuck… really good.” Daemon growls right into your ear.

A few moments later, he rolls off of you onto his back, laying next to you and catching his breath while studying your side profile.

This quiet moment gives you the first chance to gain back your senses, a wave of guilt washing over you as the sensation of another mans spend spilling out of you and running down your skin onto the mattress makes you realise the severity of what had just happened. Eyes fluttering, trying to ignore the burning sensation in them, you say, “I think… I think you should leave now.”

Had you have looked at him, you would have noticed his smiling face turn to stone in an instant.

This was the worst thing you could have said.

To command the dragon to leave your bed. He could not leave that be.

“Stay quiet. You have no say in this.” His voice is stern now and he rolls onto his side, leaning over your body and staring daggers into your skull, his hand grabbing your chin harshly and making you look at him. “If I want to abuse your pretty little cunt all night I will do so. And you will take it.”

“Don’t... don’t you have somewhere to be?” Your voice is shaky, your fear heightened by the anger you can see burn in his eyes. A desperate attempt of yours to sound considerate for his valuable time is only pouring more oil into the fire.

“Don’t try to tell me what to do. I have all the time in the world to play with you.” His fingers twitch slightly, as if holding back the urge to choke you. “Stop acting like a baby. You know the way of our world. You know when a woman is better off just taking a cock and shutting up.”

“Damn it, I need a break.” He sighs, it sounds almost like a growl as he tries to control his anger. He lets go of you, shoving you away slightly, as he gets up of the bed and takes a few deep breaths. “You got me all riled up, whore.”

You sit up in the bed, hugging your legs as you look at him. His large frame, the burn scars all over his back, his temper flaring and the sheer power he holds over your fate make you fear for the consequences.

You didn’t mean to upset his highness.

“Don’t call me a whore…” It slips out quietly under your breath, yet he hears it anyway. You weren’t used to such language. Despite his acts, Aemond would never say a foul word to you. 

Oh, Aemond…

“Shut up, whore!” Daemons raised voice take you out of your thoughts. He barks, closing in on you rapidly and pulling your head back with a tight grip on your hair. “Would I send you to the pleasure house being called a whore would be the least of your problems! Show me some gratitude!”

Daemon‘s anger takes over, mixed with his still pressing need in his cock, he drags you off the bed and pushes you to your knees in front of it, the bedframe pressing into your back uncomfortably.

“Perhaps I was too nice to you.” He growls, hand still in your hair as he makes you look up at him, ignoring all your pleas and apologies.

“Let me show you your new place in life. Open wide.” He commands, his other hand having a firm grasp on his cock as he traces the form of your lips with it.

For the first time ever since his first visiy earlier today, genuine fear overcomes you. Not daring to oppose him, you open your mouth as commanded, gagging immediately as he shoves himself into your mouth.

Aemond enjoyed the mouth pleasures as well yet had been far gentler than he was. Your hands move to Daemons thighs on their own, trying to push him back just a little, but when his second hand too moves to your head and holds it in place, all hope for ease is lost.

Tears start burning in your eyes in an instant once the thick head of his cock hits the back of your mouth, even more so when you can feel it push in deeper, forcefully flattening your tongue underneath as he made his way into your throat.

The room fills with his sounds of pleasure, guttural moans and growls, your desperate gagging and struggle drowned out by the volume of his.

The bed behind you and his hands in your hair make any escape impossible and you thank the gods when after what feels like an eternity he finally pulls out of your throat, a string of saliva connecting him to you as you gasp desperately for air.

“Fuck, that’s it,” his voice is deep and raw with lust, “That’s a good girl, finally.”

The praise does little to make any of it easier as he thrust himself back into your mouth and down your throat before you even had a chance to wipe your now freely flowing tears.

Daemon soon loses himself in his depravities, the fleshy pouch on his stones slapping harshly against your chin with each thrust. Your face a mess of tears and spit you’re unable to do much more than dig your nails into his thighs and take all he wants to give.

By the time he shoves himself all the way down your throat, his hips flush with your face as he tightly holds your head in place and spills what else he had left in him into you, you’ve near lost all grasp on reality.

Your back and knees aching near as much as your jaw, you can finally breathe in relief once he separates himself from you once and for all, leaving you collapsing forward with heavy breaths as he stumbles backwards a few steps, groaning in satisfaction as he studies your pitiful state.

“This is where you belong from now on,” he says after a while, “On your knees for me, whenever I want. Do you understand this now, whore?”

On your hands and knees, still breathing heavily and coughing occasionally, you take a few moments to find your voice again. Avoiding his gaze, you mumble, “…yes.”

“That is no way to talk to your king,” he objects, “Speak properly, whore. You’re a princess, you know how to.”

Defeated, you make no more attempts to be willful. Looking up at him, you answer, “I understand now, my king.”

A wicked smile on his face he approaches you, petting your head a few times. “That’s a good princess. Now clean yourself up. You would not want your spawn to see you like this.”

Leisurely walking back to where his clothes lay discarded, he starts dressing himself as if this all had been nothing out of the ordinary.

Adding “I will be back for more once I feel like it.”, he grabs his swords and disappears out of the door just as swiftly as when he had arrived, shutting it with a loud thud.

You were still on the floor, your back now resting against the bed as you spread out your aching legs in front of you, hoping for relief in this much more comfortable position.

A thousand thoughts run through your head yet not a single one stays long enough to grasp.

With no idea just how much time has passed it is the sound of commotion in the halls outside tour door that draws you out of your blank stare. It was late in the day now and the sky barely lit. It was suppertime for most, and undoubtedly, the maids would soon return with your sons and serve your own meals.

You had hardly managed to throw your nightrobe back on, wipe away the remnants of him with the nearest piece of cloth and open the windows, hoping to ease the smell of sex in the air, before the knocks echo through the room.

Just as predicted, here were your sons, in the same carefree mood they always were. Happy to see their mother and now ready for a meal. Supper was served not long after.

While you had received only stew and bread before, the table was now set with the first mouth-watering meal ever since you’ve been made prisoner. While you sit there, little Baelor on your lap and Rhaegar on a high chair next to you, you watch them intently.

The way each of them indulges in their meals, digging into the food with their bare hands and making a mess that no doubt would require a second bath before bed, your heart aches and you struggle to hold back the tears.

They are so innocent, completely oblivious to the death and suffering surrounding them. Their helplessness stands out to you. Unable to even feed themselves without help, they very much depend on you.

As you go on about the evening, taking the time and enjoying the presence of your two loved ones, by the time you lull the little ones to sleep, you’ve made your decision.

You will do all it takes to keep them safe. All it takes to keep them from harm.

And if that means submitting to Daemon’s every vice without complaint, then so be it.

Authors note: This story is currently halted as I focus on my Aemond and OC works for a while but will eventually continue. Follow me for updates or comment to be put on the taglist for this fic in the future!

View this series masterlist and moodboard for extra content.

[barbieaemond]

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath. 

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells. 

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.”  He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

 “Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King. 

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him. 

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth. 

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”  

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (32)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, assassination attempt, misunderstanding, physical violence, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that it was only when he saw her that he awoke from some kind of half-sleep – as she threw herself into his arms, rejoicing, he remembered with affection how often she had done so when they were children.

He, his mother and his siblings, at the invitation of his uncle, Ormund Hightower, had travelled to the Old Town to visit their relatives and, certainly in his grandfather's eyes, to demonstrate to the Black party the extensive support his elder brother had offered them.

Daeron, his youngest brother, was to stay there under his protection.

He regretted it deeply, for although he was much younger than him, Daeron was a quiet and curious child, just like him; he liked to read to him before sleep about the great dragons and the conquests of their ancestors, sharing his knowledge with him.

However, his mother and father decided that he would receive his education in the Citadel and that he would stay there for many years until he reached the age of maturity.

He did not think it was a good idea to separate him from his family, but he did not dare to oppose his parents' wishes.

Even then he lived in the belief that they were infallible.

He shyly suggested that his betrothed could accompany him, knowing how much she wanted to see the legendary city, and in fact, he felt that her presence by his side would be something he would cherish.

However, his Queen responded to his proposal coldly, saying that Rhaenyra would surely be concerned about her and that she would not be separating the little girl from her mother.

His niece received this news with sadness, however, she beamed at his words that he would bring her some sort of memento from the Old Town.

Indeed, the Hightower family stronghold and the great white tower dominating the entire city made a gigantic impression on him. History beat from the buildings and tenements built of white stone, hundreds of years that had passed since Aegon the Conqueror had set foot there, walking the exact same streets as he had.

He thought sadly that he regretted not having his Rhaenys with him, for she would surely have delighted in everything around him, sharing with him this common joy, giving him the feeling that he was experiencing it all with someone rather than his older brother − he was yawning, bored, looking around only for a place to sit and drink wine after supper.

He might have found the time he spent there enjoyable had it not been for the fact that he felt lonely − despite spending time with his family and finally not having to watch Jace and Luke, he felt neither satisfaction nor contentment as a result.

He thought helplessly, lying alone in bed, that although he had a solitary nature, he had become used to her presence, the warmth she emanated, to the tender, soft embrace of her arms, the sound of her heartbeat under his cheek as he fell asleep.

He realised then, for the first time in his life, that he did not desire to marry her simply because of his father's will.

That he would have wanted to do so even if he had changed his mind.

The door to his chamber opened shortly after he had returned to the Red Keep − she ran through it with a smile wide and sincere, filled with laughter, her eyes shining like rays of sunshine as she was by his side a moment later, enclosing his waist in a tight, tender embrace of her little arms.

He smiled involuntarily under his breath, feeling satisfaction at the thought that she had immediately come to welcome him, which meant that she had missed him as dearly as he had missed her.

Taking advantage of the fact that they were alone, he enveloped her in his arms and cuddled her into him, pressing his face against her vanilla-scented hair.

"− I've missed you so much, uncle −" She muttered, squeezing him tightly, as if trying to melt into one with him.

"− there, there − your husband is by your side now −" He hummed, feeling proud, loved, wanted.

A thought flashed through the back of his mind that he had felt exactly the same then, when she had thrown herself into his arms in Harrenhal, when his hands had lifted her in a gesture of euphoria, when her legs had crossed over his back and their lips had found each other in a deep, lustful kiss from which his cock had swollen all over, slapping impatiently against her abdomen.

He felt like throwing her to the ground, pulling off her breeches and fucking her like a whore.

As it turned out, she shared this desire with him, for as soon as the door of his chamber closed behind them they behaved like animals − he took her as she stood, pressing her against the wall, pounding into her from behind with greedy, deep, impatient thrusts of his hips, her little, tight cunt barely able to fit him in, intensifying his sensation.

He knew he wouldn't last long, his cock was so hard it almost caused him pain.

"− why is it − so big − o-oh, gods −" She mumbled, clearly feeling herself exactly what he did. He licked his lips, watching as he opened her wide again and again with thrusts of his fat erection, her folds glistening in the sunlight from their shared sticky wetness, slick and warm, welcoming him home.

"− and what do you think − fuck, Rhaenys, I'm not going to pull it out of you tonight −" He exhaled, ashamed of his own desperation and what was happening to him, his own helpless groans, the violent, desperate stabs of his hips with which he thrust again and again into the delicate flesh of his beloved wife.

Her scent, her closeness, her sounds were driving him mad.

"− let me, Rhaenys − let me, let me, let me −" He breathed out pleadingly, feeling how wonderfully close his fulfilment was, which after a moment shook his whole body.

He leaned his head forward and parted his lips wide, making indefinable sounds of pleasure and relief as he felt his wife's little cunt clamp down on his cock, sucking his warm seed deep inside her.

He embraced her at the waist, sinking his face into her neck, into her hair, trying to calm the rapid pounding of his heart and his anxious, ragged breathing.

"− Rhaenys −" He whispered, in his tone of voice something like a question and a request at the same time.

"− hm? −"

"− stay wtih me −"

He heard her sigh softly and for a moment he was terrified that she would refuse him, that she would reject him again.

"− I will, my love −" She hummed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, kissing the skin of her neck with tenderness and devotion with his lips swollen with fulfilment.

"− what did you want to convey to me? − your mother has another condition? −" He asked reluctantly, at the same time wanting to focus only on her and wanting to know what the situation was like, whether anything had changed in his absence.

"− I'm carrying your child −"

He felt his heart stop, his healthy eye open wide in shock.

"− what? −" He mumbled.

He felt her take his hand in hers, placing it gently on her lower abdomen.

"− you're going to be a father, uncle −"

He tried to remain composed, but was unable to − a laugh of disbelief and joy left his throat, one he hadn't heard come from his lips in a long time. When her face turned to his he immediately shut her mouth with his, with a caress of his thirsty, wet lips showing her what he felt.

"− Rhaenys − oh gods − this must be a dream −"

He became so euphoric that he took her twice more, the third time bringing her to such a state that the bedding had to be changed for fresh ones − he decided he would give the order after they had both rested, not wanting to rouse her from her slumber.

Bare, tired after the journey and the exertion he had forced her to make, filled to the brim with his spend and with his heir in her womb, she fell asleep peacefully in his arms, covered by him with thick furs to keep her from growing cold.

He thought that never before in his life had he loved her as dearly as he did now, although even then it seemed to him that his heart could not house such deep affection.

The thought that he could love her even more terrified him.

As soon as she was awake he ordered that a bath be prepared for them − they were both all sticky with sweat and he thought they could benefit from a moment of relaxation together.

After his servants had done their job and left his chamber they stood up, completely nude and shameless, sinking into the wonderfully warm, fragrant water. He pulled her in behind him and seated her between his thighs, a quiet murmur escaping his throat as her cheek pressed against his chest.

He was content.

He was satisfied.

He was fulfilled.

"− the gods are gracious to us − they support our cause −" He whispered, looking ahead with blank gaze, combing his fingers through her soft hair.

"− I wish to spend the day with you − I will order whatever you desire to be prepared for the supper −" He muttered, taking an unruly strand of her hair from her face, wanting everything to be perfect that day, his proof of how much he cared for her welfare and happiness.

His wife looked at him, her gaze clear and calm, without a shadow of regret.

"− I wish Baela would dine with us −" She murmured, raising her hand to his cheek. He closed his eyelid and pressed his lips together, reminding himself with frustration, though he tried to forget it, that his niece had not arrived in Harrenhal alone.

"− why? −"

"− if it wasn't for her, my mother wouldn't have allowed me to come here − she protected me and our child in the sky −"

He swallowed hard, letting the air out loud, feeling both discomfort and understanding at her words. Now that he knew his wife was with child, he actually appreciated that their cousin had not allowed her to travel alone and that, if only for that, he should show her hospitality.

"− so be it −" He muttered, wanting to end the topic.

"− where is Alys? −" She asked uncertainly, and he felt his heart leap up into his throat, his stomach squeezed into a knot. He ran his hand over his face, trying not to show his nervousness.

"− she is locked in her chamber −"

"− I wish to see her − perhaps tomorrow, when I…−"

No fucking way.

"− no − I spared her because you asked me to, but only for this reason − in return I demand that you do not go near her − she is a dangerous woman −" He said impatiently, all tense, feeling his heart pounding like mad, afraid of what else this hag might tell her.

What else she might lie about.

His wife seemed surprised by his reaction.

"− she helped me − she tried to protect me −" She mumbled out, and he felt something inside him snap.

In her eyes, this whore was flawless, and he was the cause of all their misery.

Was this part of her plan too?

"− she told you that she tried to seduce me behind your back by saying that she would carry my bastard child? − hm? − that prediction she didn't share with you? −" He hissed furiously, however he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth.

He swallowed hard when he saw his niece shake her head as if she didn't understand what he had said, pale, her lower lip beginning to tremble, her eyes wide.

Fuck.

"− it's a lie − she was hoping I'd betray you, that I'd hurt you − I'm convinced this was part of Strong's plan − to distract me, to leave you alone and broken-hearted − the affection I have for you is a hindrance to him −" He explained quickly, raising his hand to her face, stroking her cheek tenderly, all warm with emotion, wanting somehow to soften his words, to make it clear that he had nothing to do with this vision.

That he felt as horrified and disgusted by her words as she did.

A shiver run along his spine as her hand stroked his bare, wet chest.

"− did you speak with her? − after you conquered Harrenhal? −" She mumbled, as if she was in complete shock.

He grunted, twisting in his seat with a quiet splash of water, unsure how to explain this to her without deepening her possible suspicions.

"− yes − I wanted to draw out of her why she did it −" He said.

"− you didn't tell me about her words − you hid it from me −" She said resentfully, her brow furrowed in exactly the same way as when he had told her about what was about to happen in the Eyrie.

He felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck at the thought, his breath stuck in his throat.

"− because that's what she wanted − to plant uncertainty in my heart and yours −"

"− how am I supposed to trust you if every day I find out that there is still something I don't know about? −" She muttered in pain, wanting to lift herself out of the water. He grabbed her waist in a gesture of horror and surprise, forcing her to fall between his thighs again, looking at her in disbelief.

"− if it wasn't for your request, she would already be dead −"

"− only dead will she give you the confidence that you will not do what she prophesied? −"

He let out a loud breath at her words, angry and hurt, feeling the accusation in her question, though when she was not by his side after he had locked Alys in her chamber, he did not devote his thoughts or his fantasies to this woman.

In truth, the fact that she was near, at his fingertips, and he felt no need to see her confirmed his belief that everything she had said was a lie.

Daemon was right.

Just because he perceived her as a fine-looking, perhaps even tempting woman didn't mean he needed or wanted to put his cock inside her.

He wasn't desperate, he wasn't broken because he knew that his wife, his lover, his childhood friend, though furious at him and hurt, though far away from him, had not abandoned him.

This realisation brought him relief because it made him understand that he was not an animal with no control over his instincts, but a thinking man with a will of his own, filled with warm, tender affection for the woman who was now looking at him in pain.

How was he to explain to her that he had been faithful to her not only with his body but also with his heart?

That what he really feared was that he might lose her again, this time forever?

"− do you want to argue over the words of that treacherous whore whose life you yourself asked me to spare? −" He asked at last, heartbroken that she was slipping out of his hands again, that he was losing her again despite the fact that only a moment ago they had been making love, unable to tear themselves away from each other.

Her lips tightened into a thin line out of helplessness.

"− I didn't know −"

"− so you fucking know now −" He growled, losing his temper, filled with rage and regret because she didn't believe him, because she couldn't see how deep his feeling was, even though he tried so hard.

After a while, however, something happened that he did not expect.

His niece burst out crying before his eyes, like a small child hiding her face in her hands.

This sight cooled his anger, bringing him back to earth.

"− shhh − come here −" He whispered, pulling her head towards him, cuddling her face into his chest, locking her into the tight, secure embrace of his arms, and she did not push him away.

They stayed like that for a long moment, not moving, his lips placing a tender, warm kiss on her head once in a while, taking in her scent.

He couldn't be mad at her, his sweet little wife, the mother of his child.

She had given him everything he had ever wanted.

"− no more secrets, Rhaenys −" He whispered.

"− you know everything now − I am bare before you, not just with my body − you see me as I am −" He added, staring dully ahead, playing with the wet strands of her hair, contemplating how exposed he was to her, with what ease she could hurt him if she wanted to.

"− when you were not by my side, I had nightmares − I dreamt that you were dying, each time through my fault − I dreamt it because it is what I dread the most − in the years that you have been in Dragonstone a cold, black emptiness has burned in me − I have felt nothing − I have experienced nothing − my mother placed the daughters of the lords under my nose, and all I could think of when I looked at them was that they were not similar enough to you − they couldn't or didn't want to understand my true nature − they didn't see me −"

He muttered, feeling that his words were not coming from his mind, but more from his subconscious, from what lurked in the depths of his heart.

It was everything he had wanted to write to her in response to her letters over the years, but couldn't − every time he wrote those words down on parchment he felt pathetic, weak, small and tore the result of his work to shreds, throwing them into the fire where they burned just like his heavy heart, filled with darkness and pain.

"− I am tired, Rhaenys − I am exhausted − since that night, when I tamed Vhagar, I have had no peace, no rest − only with you, then, in that chamber beneath the Red Keep, when I fell asleep by your side − I −" He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers, unable to properly explain what he wanted to say, what an agony the eight years he had spent separated from her had been for him.

Some part of him believed it would get better, while the other part screamed with rage, regret and disappointment.

He tried to reconcile these two halves with each other, but he couldn't, because they simply didn't fit together.

One of them wanted to kill her, the other wanted to abduct her and take her as his wife.

When she arrived years later in the Red Keep, he was on the verge of madness.

"− I'll speak with her − alone −" She whispered after a moment, and he froze, looking at her in disbelief as she stood up slowly with a splash of water and stepped out of the bath.

He felt the pain of humiliation and regret that now that he had really opened up to her, she seemed not to be listening to him.

An unpleasant shudder of rejection shook his body as he ran his hand over his face, bitter.

"− my words mean nothing to you? −"

"− it's not about you, uncle − I have to do it for myself −"

His words accomplished nothing − his niece demanded that his guards lead her to the chamber of the Witch of Harrenhal, and he agreed, leading her figure away with sad, empty gaze.

He waited for her in a gloomy mood, not even wanting to imagine what this whore might have put into her head.

He covered his face with his hand, swallowing hard at the thought that she could have told her anything − suggested that he had taken her into his bed when he conquered Harrenhal, that he had tried to take her by force, that he had courted her, anything her imagination could bring that would make his wife push him further away.

He thought with rage that he should have killed her when he had the chance.

He shuddered as his wife stepped into his chamber after a period of time that seemed to him to last for hours. He rose from his chair, horrified to see that she had not bestowed a single glance on him, her face expressing nothing.

He watched as she sat behind his desk without a word, feeling his heart pound like mad at the sight of her hands reaching for parchment and quill.

"− what did she tell you? −" He asked coldly.

His wife did not lift her gaze to him, bent over her letter, dipping the tip of her quill in ink.

"The truth. I am writing a letter to my cousin in the Eyrie to accept Alys into his fortress as a medic." She replied calmly, without a trace of regret or anger.

He swallowed loudly, concerned, not knowing what had happened there, what was meant by that enigmatic expression on her face that told him absolutely nothing.

He could not, however, hide his relief at the thought that his wife had regained her reason and wanted to send that treacherous whore away.

"Good." He replied dispassionately.

He paced around the room, looking at her, begging in his mind for her to look at him, to tell him that this woman had confirmed his words, and that she didn't resent him for anything.

His niece, however, as soon as she had placed her letter in the hands of the servant, lay down in his bed saying that she was very tired and wished to rest before supper.

He approached her uncertainly and sat down beside her on the bedding, his hand rising to her shoulder and stroking it in a gentle, affectionate gesture.

"− shouldn't you have a meal now? − surely you are hungry and thirsty after such a long journey −" He asked, feeling that now more than ever he had to look out for her and her well-being, wanting to make sure she was provided with everything she needed.

"− there is no need, uncle − I will wait until evening −" She whispered and closed her eyes, letting him know that she had ended the subject.

He sighed heavily and stood up, sitting down behind his desk, bending over the correspondence he had exchanged with his brother, together trying to find out where Lord Strong had hidden and whether their grandfather had put his hand to his disappearance.

His wife, true to her word, only got up when the servants began to prepare the table for supper; he watched her without saying a word, thinking she looked charming as she did now, sleepy, with her hair in a slight disarray, rubbing her tired eyelids with her hands before asking one of the women to help her get herself in order.

It was a sight meant only for him − her husband.

They waited with the main courses for Baela. When his cousin stepped into his chamber she emanated with joy, a smile of satisfaction on her face that made his stomach twist. He looked away at this sight, frustrated, and sighed heavily.

"Dear cousin. My congratulations. You are going to become a father." She said softly and he only nodded, wanting her to end this feigned courtesy as soon as possible, fill her stomach with food and wine and leave them alone.

Baela took a seat on his left and his wife sat opposite her, on his right. His niece nodded at the servant to begin serving the table − the door to his chamber opened and several young men and women entered with jugs of wine and trays full of food. One of them approached his wife and leaned over her − she nodded, wishing the man would pour her some wine.

The servant filled her cup halfway, as was good custom, she, however, shook her head.

"More." She demanded, leaving him and her cousin in consternation.

"Is that wise? In your condition…" He muttered, wondering if it would be good for their child, but her stern gaze made him close his mouth, recognising that he didn't want to add to both of their frustrations that evening.

As soon as the servant had done his duty his niece raised her cup as if she wanted to make a toast. He assumed she wanted to drink to the health of their yet-to-be-born child and reached for his goblet, however, she pointed her chalice towards the man standing next to her, who looked at her questioningly.

"Drink." She commanded.

The servant smiled shyly at her, as if he did not understand what she expected of him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Drink. To the bottom."

A long, awkward silence fell − he felt his heart stop in his throat, a cold, unpleasant shiver run along his spine.

What?

The boy laughed, shaking his head, clearly nervous and terrified.

"I am not worthy, Your Grace. I would not dare."

"I order you to drink it all to the last drop." She hissed in a voice that did not bear opposition.

The wine was poisoned.

"I can't, Your Grace, I…"

"FUCKING DRINK IT." He growled with rage as he stood up abruptly from the table, looking at him with wide-open eye thinking that if he didn't, he would pour the contents of that cup down his throat himself.

The man shook his head and he pressed his lips into a thin line, moving towards him like an enraged animal.

"Hold him." He threw to his guards, who immediately grabbed the boy by the shoulders, refusing to let him break free despite his terror and cries.

"N-no, Your Grace. I can't drink wine. It affects me badly. I might die." He whined, tears in his eyes, his face pale as if death itself stood before him.

He wanted to poison his wife.

How many other people here were acting on Lord Strong's orders?

He was sure he'd gotten rid of all the rats by recruiting new people to work in the fortress, but as he could see, new ones were appearing anyway.

He should have killed them all.

He smiled at his words in a way at which the boy wept aloud, clearly knowing what awaited him. He took the cup from his niece's hand, who looked at him with parted lips.

The dragon's blood now pulsed through his veins.

Dragons knew no forgiveness.

"I'd love to see this." He sneered, gripping his cheeks in his palm, squeezing his jaw as hard as if he wanted to break it.

The boy cried out loudly as he tilted his head back with a brutal jerk, digging his fingers into the skin of his face forcing him to open his mouth. He grinned as he pressed the cup to his lips, forcibly pouring its entire contents down his throat.

The man began to choke, trickles of wine running from the corners of his mouth down his cheeks. When he thought it was over, he reached for the jug and filled the cup again, repeating the same process. He pressed his lips together when he saw his eyes fill with blood, his skin begin to turn purple, his body shaken by convulsions.

The servant collapsed to the ground, blood and foam beginning to drip from his mouth as if he were some kind of butchered animal, and the only thing he could think of, looking at him wide-eyed, was that this was what his wife could look like, the woman who was carrying his child inside her.

The woman he loved could have died that evening in his arms.

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 7

Masterlist Here, Moodboard Here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 8,800+

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

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Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood

Notes: Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner! Thank you for your patience, I had this chapter beta-read twice. Thank you to @since-im-already-here and @vespidphoenix for their kindness in volunteering to do that for me! Such love and appreciation for you both.

Song Suggestions: Casper's Lullaby,

Their Wedding Serendade: Turning Page - Sleeping At Last

“I will not marry him.” 

Her voice held such sorrow, but her cries fell on deaf ears as her governess began to tug her hair into place with the rough scrape of a bone comb. Thrown onto her hands, pale gloves thrust up to her elbows by the hands of her ladies maids; her shoulder straps readjusted to float down her forearms like beams of radiant moonlight. 

“He has heard your demands, and seen them done. You are his princess...”—her governess’ voice paused while she shook her head to rid her eyes of her own tears—“...and now you are his bride. You bound yourself to him the moment you placed that damned band over your unity finger.” The small quiver in her tone had the princess’ eyes spilling over with a fresh stream of hot tears. 

Immediately springing to her feet and snatching her hair out of the firm grip of her ladies maid, she flung herself against the corner of the room. Her face was littered with tears, her eyes swollen and lip bruised from the force of her teeth clamping on them. 

“My princess,” the governess spoke, her hands quivering as they reached out in an anxiety induced panic, “You have been training your whole life to marry royalty. This was a title you were born to bear. You are to be queen of your lands, ruler of your home country. With your union to the king-.”

“-I will not marry him!” She beat her gloved hands against the wall, her enclosed fists almost shattering her bones atop the cobblestone walls. Sobs rocked her shoulders, her wails echoing throughout the hallway and flooded the ceremony space with her grief. Attendees held a similar somber expression, along with royal subjects celebrating with glee at the prospect of a new queen. 

“My lady,” the governess’ voice shook as she stepped closer to the shaking princess and placed her hand over her shaking shoulder, “My lady, please.” 

The bloodshot eyes of the royal princess snapped up to her with a cold and frightening stare. 

“What would you have me do, my governess? Wed this man who is more than twice my age? Dine with this man, consummate a union with this man? A man who already rules over these lands as king? A man who i-is-...” 

Her eyes fluttered closed as a fresh surge of tears fell from her darkened orbs. 

“A man who is my father?” 

The princess rounded on her ladies in waiting, her eyes now incandescent with helpless rage. “What would you do?” she continued. “What would any of you do, were you in my place? The law of the land binds me to this ring. I have become plagued by an unnatural and grotesque curse-.”  Her voice halted in her throat, plagued by her own revelation. 

That is exactly what this was. This was a curse. 

A curse on her soul to bind her in matrimony to her own flesh and blood. Where other children dreamed of fairytale romance, being spirited away into the arms of a lover, she was bound by fate to this ring. 

The princess’s gaze landed on a pot of water hanging in the fireplace. As she walked in that direction, her eyes never leaving it, the water went from simmering to bubbling to boiling over. Hardening her resolve, she grasped the iron handle and removed it from its place above the fire. 

“My lady! What are you-,” the calls of her ladies in waiting were silenced by a single look from  the governess. 

The princess’ sobs began to crack and cackle into maniacal and sinister laughter. 

“I will curse you. I will curse all of you,” she booms, casting the glove from her left hand to reveal a violet ring encrusted with an array of several stones bound within a thick band. Nine stones of unique colors danced within the light, their forms melded into a large central stone in the middle. The green hue of moss overshadowed the radiance of the smaller stones, the thick band dwarfing her unity finger. 

“If you are thinking of casting it into the fire, my lady,” the governess stepped closer, her hands held with palms facing outwards in defense, “The damage is already done. You are bound to marry him, there is nothing you can do.” 

The princess flung the band from her finger and threw the object into the iron pot. 

“In that hopelessness, I shall thee bind,” she intones in a hundred voices, at once of the deepest bass and highest soprano. The attendees within her chambers stepped back, some thrust onto their knees under the powerful boom of her voice. 

“Whosoever shall find, claim or attune to these crafts, their souls shall be cursed under the plague of unity,” she continued, her hair shifting in colors and tones to several shades closer to death, “May their suffering feed my heart with gladness and life, as my suffering brings gladness onto thee.” 

“-My lady,” the governess spoke, her eyes widening in fear as she witnessed the princess wither beneath her curses, “My lady, please-.”

“-And as my yearning for a love true and just shall never be quenched,” the princess’ voice hitched, her own tone dominant within the vocal strands of external forces, “I will allow the wearer to place a plague of conditions on their heart the moment the craft is thrust upon them.” 

Her hair whipped in the unnatural wind, the ring now smelting down into a lava of molten gold. The gems began dancing within the pale light as smoke poured from them in hues darker than night.

“Should their conditions never be completed,” the princess continued, her heart swelling with vicious rage, “I will claim their souls and bind them to my own in eternal suffering a year from the day it begins.” She ripped a fistful of her vibrant hair, placing it within the concoction alongside her tears. 

The ladies in waiting, the maids, and the governess clutched their hearts and covered their screams with their hands as the clouds of smoke spread through the chambers. 

“My lady!” The governess shrieked, “Princess, please! You do not know what it is you are making. This unnatural phylactery has no place in the lands of the living. My princess-.”

“Your Queen,” her voice boomed, her pupil-less gaze snapping over to her governess. Her face contorted into an unnatural and cool gray tone, her vibrant hair lifeless in hue while whipping around her face within waves of spectral ocean. 

“My queen,” the governess repeated, bowing her head to the royal witch. Her hue returned to her, the gold simmering down as she poured the liquid onto the coals below the surface. An unnatural steam rose within the flames, the vapors smelling of metallic blood mixed with the sweetness of honey. 

“I-I just-...” the princess wailed in defeat, her shoulders slouched, “-I just wanted to find love, governess. I wanted so desperately to find peace with a spouse of my own choosing. I wanted a partner to court me; to woo me, to cherish me. I never wanted-.”

“Sapsorrow, your king awaits you,” A voice called from behind the door, interrupting the unnatural scene within. As the ladies glanced nervously between the princess and  the door, the final words of the princess’ confession bound all but one stone within nine rings, leaving the central moss agate laying dormant, as if awaiting a final command. 

“I just wanted a love that was truly mine.”

- 

The echo of those final words plagued your mind, dancing as the concept of time began to mould from the past and spring you into your future. The repetition of ‘truly mine’ rotated and stirred within your slumber, breaking the peace you had once found for yourself beneath your bedsheets. You catapulted from your huddled pile of blankets into an upright position; your damp hair clung to your brow and sweat stuck your nightdress to your body. Your plagued slumber left you with more questions than answers. 

Had the spectre wanted you to see that image? Did she have control over your mind, did your attunement to the moss agate ring bind to you? Drawing your right hand up to your face, you rotated your thumb and index finger over your temples to rid yourself of the nightmare that seemed to persist each time you lay down to slumber. 

A light rap at your door had you jolting from your thoughts, snapping your head towards the wall and hastily making your way over to the interruption. 

“Governess!” A hushed feminine whisper called to you, “Governess, can I come in?” Perona continued her polite rapping, the drum of her knuckles gathering up rapidity against the wood in an anxious thump. You sighed, shaking your head and allowing a small smile to dance over your features. 

Collecting the iron handle beneath your hands, you open the door and immediately become overwhelmed by the embrace of your pink-haired pupil. She squealed into your ear, bouncing happily on the balls of her feet as she attempted to twirl you. 

“You are getting married to Mihawk today!” Her voice squeaked with high-pitched enthusiasm, “Have you tried on your dresses? Have you written your vows? Did you read his letter yet? Have you thought about your perfume? How are you doing your hair? Are you doing it in three different styles for the three different outfits?” 

The sheer rapidity of her questions had you unable to find an anchor to hold them. You fluttered your eyelashes shut, shaking your head hastily and attempting to wrap your mind around her flurry of words.

“Of course you haven’t read his letter yet, I still have it! I am scatterbrained today, my lady. I can barely contain all of the excitement!” She continued, breaking away her contact from you and thrusting a wax-sealed envelope into your hands. 

“Perona-?” You began, your voice halting as she danced past you into your chambers and staring at the two mannequins in the corner of your bedroom beside your changing shield. Her voice caught in her throat, all air relinquished from ballooning her lungs. You turned to face her, holding the envelope close to your chest as a warmer smile drew itself to your features. 

“O-Oh-... Oh m-my-...” Perona’s words found no harbour against her lips, all thoughts became silenced within her mind as she hovered over to the dresses. You allowed a warm giggle to rise within your throat at her fawning over the objects. 

“Do you like them?” You asked her, cocking your head over to the right hand side to find a better angle to read her face. 

“They are beautiful, my lady,” she whispered, reaching her hand towards the sleeve of Sir Crocodile’s creation and halting before her digits found purchase, “Can I touch them-?”

“-Don’t you dare, Perona,” A gruff, masculine voice called from the corner of the room. You snapped your face over to the doorway, noticing Zoro donned in lengthy tan sleeping trousers and a dark yukata hanging limply at the front. 

“Zoro!” You gasped, drawing your chemise closer to contain your form from his eyes, “It is one thing having Perona in my personal suite, but another to have a young gentleman while I’m clad in my nightdress.” Zoro shook his head, his wolfy grin taunting you beneath his down tilted head. 

“Would you change your tune if I said I have wine?” Zoro’s brow quirked up, revealing a green bottle from behind his back with a small, nonchalant shrug. You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head and removing your arms from concealing your chemise from vision. 

“Have you got a saber tucked somewhere on your person, Zoro?” You quirked your own brow up in question. Zoro laughed, turning away from his lean to reveal three swords clinging limply against his hip. 

“You can take your pick, my lady,” he shrugged, his hand lying on the hilt of his favoured blade. You opened your arms to him, gesturing for him to enter your suite with an elaborate flurry of motions. 

“Then by all means, my green-haired pupil,” you mixed your tone somewhere balanced between absolute sarcasm and unwithheld appreciation, “Welcome to my humble abode. Shall we begin by getting ourselves ready for the ceremony, or having a drink before breakfast?” 

Zoro answered wordlessly with a small smirk. Withdrawing the white blade from within its scabbard to claim the cork from the top of the wine bottle, and unlatching the wax by severing the rim with his sword. He reached towards your small dining table, upturning three of the four teacups from their place atop their saucers and pouring the amber liquid to the brim. 

“You gonna open your letter?” he asked, nodding to the envelope clutched within your hands and reminding you of its presence, “We’ll do a small cheers and give you a bit of privacy to read it.”

“I hope you are both planning on giving Mihawk a similar wake-up call,” you laughed, reaching forward and claiming a teacup from Zoro’s outstretched grasp. Zoro chuckled, shaking his head as he raised his own teacup to clash the rim with your own.

“Oh, he’s been up for hours,” Zoro confessed, Perona giggling as he handed her her own teacup, “He’s been brooding in the ceremony space: hovering over the decor and pacing, last time I checked.” Perona struck the corner of her teacup against Zoro’s before meeting the edge with your own. Your brows furrowed, glancing from the corner of your eye outside your bedroom window to seek out the elevation of the sun. 

“How many hours remain between now and the ceremony?” you asked Perona with a partial anxious quiver depicted within. Perona stepped forward, brushing her shoulder against yours in a small gesture of comfort. 

“You’ve got two hours, my lady,” she whispered, prompting your heart to nearly stop beating and your breath to halt in your lungs, “That’s why I thought to wake you-.”

“-And why I thought to bring you booze,” Zoro added, throwing back his teacup and downing the contents in one heaping gulp, “Just to take the edge off.” Your hands stuttered, taking a small sip of the wine within your cup before setting it back down. 

“I thank you both for your thoughtfulness, my dears,” you gave them a small downturned smile, your brows triangulating in the center of your forehead, “I have thoroughly enjoyed my time getting to know you as my pupils-.” 

“You’re going to be our lady now, my lady,” Perona added to your thoughts, “No longer just our governess, but something akin to an adoptive mother beside Mihawk as our apprehensive father.” Your breath caught in your throat, hitching at the thought of becoming unified not only to a spouse today, but upholding a promise to chaperone the two wards at a place of higher standing.

“Don’t think too hard about it, my lady,” Zoro reassured, his brow furrowing down. Placing his mug down on the table, he reached his hands up to clasp your shoulders beneath his heavy-handed grip, “You’ve already got so much goin’ on in your head, just know-,'' his breath caught in his throat as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He was bewitched by the charm of your melancholy and apprehensive expression, your doubts begin to spiral behind your eyes. 

‘You are not good enough for this role. This is not your place. This is not a role you were born to play. This was a role that always belonged to someone of higher standing; someone of higher class-.’

“-Know we would be proud to have you as our lady, not just a governess hired to serve a role,” Zoro continued, collecting your chin beneath his fingertips to hold your gaze with his own. Perona stepped her body closer to you, weaving her arms around your waist and hastily drawing her cheek to press against your back. 

“I can hear her too, my lady,” Perona whispered into your back, prompting you to break your eyes away from Zoros to glance over your shoulder. Perona’s large, dark eyes looked up at you with sorrow and understanding held within her orbs, promises of empathy propelling her utterances, “And any words she brings onto you harbouring doubt, I will smother you in nothing but kindness and love to reassure you.”

Heart swelling at her utterances, your eyes began to pool over with gladness. The mist of your eyes clouded your vision as Perona continued to sing her praises into you. 

“I love you, my lady,” Perona hushed, her eyes beginning to dance with her own emotion. Her lip quivered, looking up into your eyes with true adoration and love at you, “We both do, don’t we Zoro?” At the sound of his name, Zoro’s breath caught itself within his mouth for the second time. 

You trailed your eyes back over to his, breaking away from your contact with Perona, and meeting his hazelnut orbs with your own once more. No whisper of a word, nor utterance fled his lips; all emotion depicted in the slight shudder of his eye and quirk up of his lips. Sighing out, you drew your arms around Zoro’s waist, turning your head to feel his heartbeat below his warm chest. Perona continued to nuzzle against your back as Zoro’s hands on your shoulders snaked over your back and pulled you both closer to him. 

“I am so glad to have met you both, dears,” you whispered, scrunching your eyes shut and deeply inhaling your insecurities, exhaling your worries into the air as they held you firmly. 

“Zoro, you need a bath. You stink, and I can smell you from here,” Perona called over your shoulder, “I pity your proximity, my lady. He’s probably spilling that musky smell onto you, meaning we’ll have to bath you too- My lady! We’re running out of time!” Perona immediately broke away from the embrace, tugging at your hips to break from Zoro’s grip and leading you to the changing shield.

“You: bath,” Perona ordered, pointing her finger at Zoro, “And you,” she snapped her eyes over to you, “Moon-dress first, right?” You sighed, nodding your dismissal of Zoro with a light smile. Zoro grunted a cough, adjusting his waistband around his yukata, and nodded in return before exiting your chambers. He halted at the table, collecting the half-drunk wine bottle by the neck, before heading through the door and latching it again with a small click.

“My lady, the moon first?” Perona asked once more, taking your attention from the door to gaze into her eyes. You nodded in confirmation, prompting her to shove you behind your changing screen to rid your body of its night chemise. You folded the chemise over the door of the screen, as the variety of items presented themselves to you in order from lesser to grander. 

“Perona, sweetheart,” you called to her, your voice holding an anxious laugh, “There is far too much material here for me to continue thrusting this onto my body.” Perona laughed in response, walking over to the screen and peeking over the top of the wooden frame. She inhaled deeply, a small squeak propelling her inhale. Her brows rose in excitement, her eyes upturning in glee at the first part of the assembly of the moon dress. 

The bodice of the dress clung to your breasts, an ovular shape wisping in layers of tulle and smoothed satin to draw over the midpoint of your shoulders. Trailing down from its seamless layers, your back was joined with an elaborate assortment of ridges and latches. Upon investigating it initially, you were unsure of why such items were joined in bands of silver, onyx and gold to its back until it hit you.

This was truly the moon. 

The silvery hue of the beams, the mystery of fluttered blues and pale whites cascading from end to end; all bound by circular divots of darkened onyx and quartz to resemble faces and craters atop the lunar surface. The many layers of skirts laid a train ending in the same ovular shape as the neckline atop your chest. 

“O-Oh, my g-goodness,” Perona’s voice managed to stutter out, her soul mirrored within her expression of youthful adoration and excitement, “You look so beautiful, my lady. As luminescent and radiant as the moon in peak of nightful.” You sighed with your smile, brows upturning and weight falling away from your shoulders. 

You gave Perona a small twirl, the material pooling and drifting as effortlessly as warm mercury over cool stone. She gave you a small applause and a small jittery cry of joy before ushering you over to sit at your vanity. Glancing up at your features, the illumination of the dress mixed perfectly with the tone of your skin and hair.The task had been executed flawlessly. 

“Now then, my lady,” she said, shaking her head and clapping her hands, “I am going to leave you to get yourself primed, painted and dressed with the jewellery-,” Her eyes widened, “-Jewellery, my lady! I have to get the jewellery!” She hastily turned back around and fled to the door, flinging it wide and immediately cowering away from a large, balled fist descending to where wood once was. 

You recognised the scent first, the smell of cigar tobacco and ashen smoke wafting into your chambers mixing with the expensive and earthy cologne of the hulking and boorish-.

“-Sir Crocodile,” you uttered as you began to rise from your vanity. Turning to face him, the intimidating aura of the hulking man hung behind the threshold of your door. 

“My lady,” he nodded his head in response, his head ducking below the frame to meet the purple hue of his eyes with your own, “May I enter your space?” Perona sucked in a breath, darting her eyes between the man at the door and you in your bridal dress in a small panic. Without turning his head, Sir Crocodile’s eyes met with Perona’s through the corner of his narrowed gaze.

“I harbour no ill intent with your mistress, little mouse,” Perona pouted at his words, prompting the twitch of his smirk to pull at the corner of his lips. He cleared his voice, removing the cigar from his lips and extinguishing the flame atop the stone wall beside the door frame; an action prompting your lips to curl in a small snarl. 

“As I were the means to provide you with such a dress,” his sinister smirk drew up to his cheeks, the huff of cigar smoke pooling from his lips, “I desired to be the first to see you in your radiancy. How are you enjoying your daw' alqamar-,” he shook his head in reprimand for his verbal linguistic slip, “-Your moonlight, my lady?” 

Several thoughts lingered in your mind: a reprimand for using your wall to douse the burnt end of his cigar, asking him to leave your space to continue dressing yourself for your wedding, thanking him for the skill that designed and crafted the garment over your body. Elevating to your feet and walking over to the door frame with precision and grace, you halted your movement and dipped into a low stooped curtsey.

“Sir Crocodile,” you spoke in a low and stern tone, “I would offer my praises and my gratitude to you presently,” your tone twitched in subtle agitation as you rose to your feet, “But I am a bride, and my groom is awaiting me.” Crocodile hummed through his nose, his smirk continuing to hold against his lips as he stared down at you. He took a moment to stare at your bodice, his brow twitching as he cocked his head.

After taking a moment's pause, his eyes softened to a point almost unavailable to an untrained eye. 

“You look beautiful, my lady,” he offered in a hushed whisper, “That dress was made for you by my means,” he stooped lower, remaining outside the threshold but hovering closer to you in proximity, “And you wear it as it you were born to don such a garment.”

At those final words, both Perona and Sir Crocodile left you in your solace to prepare yourself for your wedding ceremony. As you applied the final stroke of paint to dance atop your lips, from the corner of your eye; you spotted the parchment paper sealed with a wax stamp not dissimilar to the letter of summons from Mihawk those months ago. 

Placing down your lip-paint brush, you reached for the letter and unfolded the crease and snapping the small seal holding it closed. Immediately, your eyes widened at its contents:

“My Beloved Wife,

In light of harbouring no such secrets between us; I have written the vows I desired to forge with you, and present them to you before we meet for the first time as husband and wife.” 

You halted your reading, the swell of emotion elevating your heart to a risen drumbeat of both adoration and anticipation. Quickly reading through the customs he wished to claim over the ceremony, your smile broke your sorrow as you truly witnessed how much thought he placed into each declaration and decree. So many elements, so many customs you were learning held meaning for your husband to be; you found yourself awestruck.

“I have no such means for communication with you before we meet to truly know if you agree with the terms. 

But know this, 

I appreciated you for your skill as a governess to our wards, I found myself smiling at your playfulness as my Lost-Lady, and I am looking forward to the future that we will find ourselves forging; unified as one. 

My darling, I do

I will.

And I will always love you. 

Dracule Mihawk ~ Your Devoted Husband.”

A small drop soaked the page, swelling the signature lovingly scrolled ink into the bottom of the page, smudging its words. Shocked, you rose your hand to your cheek to find a damp trail of tears falling against your cheeks; completely unaware of when you had begun to cry. A small laugh flung from your lips, prompting you to sniff and shake your head before setting to the task of reapplying your paints and perfumes to the highest quality. 

The final step was placing the cascading veil atop your hair and covering your eyes, sheer in material appearing to illuminate pale blue under the lights. In your hand, you clutched your bouquet of lilies, roses, and baubles of babies’ breath. Nestled into the arrangement peered throughout were small wisps of blue forget-me-nots, a small nod to your prior filterless encounter with your Farm-Hand and you as his Lost-Lady. 

The halls were littered with similar flowers, illuminating the area with bulbs of roses, flurries of jasmines and hiding within the scattered arrangements: the same innocent and small forget-me-nots in clusters joined with twine. Although walking alone, you felt the presence of all guests loitering within the ceremonial space of Castle Kuraigana to propel you. 

Murmurs of hushed voices, small conversations resonated within the halls and beyond had your heart beating with irregular jumps in anticipation for what awaits you behind the large, closed doors. You sucked in a breath, the trail of your moonlight dress dancing along the lengthy hallway for each movement of your feet. 

‘You are truly going through with this, are you? Joining yourself to a role that you have no place in unifying with-.’

“-Sapsorrow,” your hushed voice rang into the air, the atmosphere cooling at the immediate utterance of her name. Whispers and hushed hums alerted you of her presence standing beside you in her spectral regality. 

“You dare speak my name, Governess?” the voice to your side answered you, your spine and follicles standing in tingles at her tone. You rolled your neck on your shoulders, twitching your hands by your side to rid it of your anxiety as you turned to face the spirit haunting you.

Her hollowed eyes framing her pupil-less gaze found your face, her sinister smile resting comfortably against her lips. Hair swiping in a wind not present as she moved, her dress pooling at her feet like a flag within water. She was a horror to behold, but there was a deep melancholy reflected in her eyes. 

“Queen Sapsorrow,” you stooped low, bowing yourself almost to the floor with your humility, “I express my gratitude to you.” You heard her spectral voice hitch in her unnatural throat, her animosity fleeing from her in the wake of curiosity. Before she opened her mouth to speak her taunts to you, you spoke once more as you rose to your feet. 

“I have no parents; no father, nor mother,” you confessed to her, your eyes depicting your honesty through each word spoken, “No family to call my own, until this very moment.” You stepped closer to her, reaching out your hand to bare your right palm to her. 

“I was alone in this world, drifting from place to place and finding purpose as a governess - an excellent governess,” you corrected yourself with a smile. Her uneasy and cautious expression unwavering for each parting moment you held her hostage with your words. 

“You are the reason I am here, and I will forever be grateful to the future you had bound to me,” She clicked her tongue at you, scrunching her nose to reveal her snarl at you. You hardened your resolve and continued, “Two wards: a man akin to a roguish son, alongside a beautiful and delightful daughter. In this unity: I have found a love that is truly mine,” you concluded, a warmer smile drawing up to reveal your teeth to her in a kind smile. 

Sapsorrow’s eyes widened, her unbeaten heart fluttering and reigniting within her chest at hearing her own words reflected from the lips of another.

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk?” you offered her, stepping closer to her and continuing to hold your hand elevated to the front of you.

“Excuse me?” Her spectral voice called, her tone somewhere between offended and bewildered at such an offering. 

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk, Sapsorrow?” you again offered, gesturing to her spectral hand with your forehead, “From what I know of your history in the tale once told to me, you deserve your own happy ending. Walk with me, and I will be glad to share mine.” 

“You think my curse ends with just you?” Her form faded from vision, her voice reverberating in the hall outside of the ceremony with you, “Oh, I have eight more curses to awaken, you arrogant woman-.” Her voice held source from all corners of the hallway, “-Nine if you account for the clause that stupid tall blonde placed upon the band lying around that inked doctor’s neck!” 

Her sinister cackle broke her sentence, unnerving you more than the words she was speaking,“I shall start with those who aided you in completing your conditions; the easiest of the three to ensnare will be the Crocodile, for I know where his ring lay-.” 

Your breath hitched at her confession, her own words halting as she attempted to stuff them back into her undead lips. A rough spectral sigh drifted within the walls, her face once again revealed to your eyes. She looked softer, almost human now. Her hair was less wild, her face less horrifying, and her eyes soft and baring pupils within them behind her thick and lengthy eyelashes. The was truly beautiful, her sorrow depicted alongside an unfamiliar warmth in her undeath. 

“I will allow your happiness to lie only with you, Lady of Kuraigana. You deserve peace today,” she confessed, a warm smile rising to her lips as she leant forward to take your hand, “Enjoy the time you have with your love.” She stepped forward, pressing her left hand against your offered right, a tingle dancing against your skin at the contact. 

“This is where I leave you,” she confessed, floating backwards slowly towards the high ceilings, “But I will be watching your future closely.”

“Thank you, Sapsorrow,” you offered your gratuity by slinking down to another low bow. Halting her final exit by the upper window, she turned once more and glanced at the corner of her eye at you and smirked through the left hand corner of her lips. 

“The Sun-Dress is my favourite, my lady,” her small laugh propelled one of your own to dance alongside hers, “If I had a heart, I would even show mercy on Red-Hair for such a fine craft. But alas,” her beauty once again faded into the horrifying spectre you had initially seen her as, “I do not.”

Her spectral body disappeared from the window, a swell in orchestral melody commencing as soon as she departed from the space. You were once again drawn to this single moment, your heart beating now in anxiety of what your future held for you. 

You were to become Lady of Kuraigana, bound to one of the former warlords of the seas. The World’s Greatest Swordsman as your beau, the Lord of this land you were now to call home. As you began to step towards the threshold of the door, the wooden barriers were pulled back by members of staff to reveal the attendees within. At the end of the ornately decorated row, your gaze immediately found linked with the honeyed hue of your beloved. 

Flowers lined the pews within the large room, candles alight with warm flames to illuminate the shadowy row. All eyes snapped to you, gasps fleeing from their lips as they took in your incredible beauty dressed in an arrangement as radiant as the moon. You could audibly hear the smirk from the hulking Sir Crocodile, as praises of your dress were flung into the air with their comments and sighs. 

The music swelled, a small smile drawing up to your face as you propelled yourself forward while clutching your bouquet close to your naval. You thanked your veil from shielding your nerves from prying eyes, a small blush dusting your cheeks as you shamelessly raked your eyes over the body of your intended.

His shirt was dipped into a deep ‘V’, tasteful frills decorating the hemline against his collarbone and neck. His overcoat lay open black in colour with the softest shade of mauve within the inner shield. Dark, leather pants were clasped by a golden buckle decorating his waist, the outer frame of his thighs supporting embellished embroidery in the similar mauve decorating his overcoat. Atop his head, his signature hat with his puffed, white feather dancing behind the broad brim and shielding his curled locks beneath it. 

In all your time spent with Dracule Mihawk, you could safely assume you had a grasp on how to read the subtle changes in his stoic face. His lips were barely parted, his eyes only slightly widened and his face only a single shade away from his regular hue with the dusting of the palest pink. Once again, the thought hit you like a puff of cautious wind: you were to wed Lord Dracule Mihawk, become his wife and he your husband. 

If his words to you were left unread and unwritten, you would have no doubt plaguing your mind at this very moment of one thing. Lord Dracule Mihawk was hopelessly, truly and deeply in love with you. 

As you approached the final steps towards him, you slowly turned to view Perona standing to the side of the aisle, noticing Zoro standing beside your intended: both holding similar expressions mirroring your own. You had all been awaiting this moment with the greatest anticipation: from the moment your accidental hands toyed with the moss agate ring, to the knowledge the curse bound you now by fate. 

Mihawk opened his mouth, watching as you slowly placed your bouquet he had affectionately crafted for you within Perona’s outstretched and awaiting hands. The officiant gave you a soft smile, turning to address the large number of attendees scattered amongst the pews in their most formal attire. 

“Valued and adored guests here gathered,” she began, her arms gesturing outwards in a warm embellished wave, “On behalf of the Lord and Lady to be of Kuraigana, I would bid thee welcome to witness the unification of two souls in matrimony.” Mihawk had yet to tear his eyes off you, paying attention to all words spoken by the woman in front of you, but hypnotised by your presence at his side. 

“There are a few elements to witness performed here. We are to leave no stone unturned nor phrase unuttered in their bonds forming,” she continued, turning away and gathering a larger twin candles within her hands and holding them to the side of her body, “Lord Dracule, you may reveal your wife from beneath her shroud, so we may witness her declarations departing from her lips.” 

Mihawk rose his hands to your collar bones, his fingertips pinching the sheer material within his thumb, index and tall finger and hastily withdrawing the shield from your face. He allowed himself the luxury of the backs of his hands brushing with your cheeks as he flung the sheer fabric over your hair, a shaken breath escaping your lips at his tender touch. 

As your eyes met without filter between you, his expression finally revealed more to you than a subtle tick and twitch. The air was sucked from his lungs, his eyes softening as he found his body drawing closer to you almost against his will. You smiled up at him, adoring this new and unrefined experience of adoration dancing over his face. 

“I present you with two candles,” the attendee informed you, placing them out in a gesture for you to take them from her hands, “I shall alight the wick of Lord Dracule's, and he will speak his actions and their meaning aloud.” She lit his wick, gesturing for you to turn to face one another with your candles extended in the middle of your bodies.

“With this flame,” Mihawk uttered in full clarity, “I vow to light your way through all darkness that plagues you.” He extended the flamed tip to ignite your candle in front of you. 

“Under its light,” you uttered with a small bow to him, “I trust you to guide me.” A small sniff from Perona, attempting as she would to halt her emotions from expressing themselves, had a similar experience rising in Zoro behind Mihawk. The two wards witnessing their Lord and Lady now unifying themselves in matrimony finally began to find harbour within their hearts in each passing moment and gesture. 

Taking the candles from you and placing them within their designated dishes on the table and elevating a silver goblet and accompanying decanter. She poured the crimson liquid within the spherical container, offering to place the cool stem within your fingertips. 

“Your cup may never empty,” you expressed, offering to your swordsman the container, rotating the object twice within your hands first and bowing your head low, “For I will be the wine that fills it.” His fingers brushed over yours, grasping them and taking them with him as he elevated the wine to his lips. He continued holding his hands over yours as he offered the goblet up to your own lips. 

“May I be the wine that fills your cup,” his smile twitched at the corner as he added, “And may you always be satisfied with the contents that replenishes you.” A small blush rose to your cheeks as your eyes never broke from Mihawks. He elevated the wine to your lips, allowing for a small sip to pass from your lips. The celebrant reclaimed the goblet from your hands and placed it beside the lit candles, rising now a tray with two cubes of sticky honeycomb atop the surface. 

“This may get a little messy, bear with us everyone,” the attendee expressed, drawing a small teetered chuckle and rise of giggle from your guests. Mihawk allowed the softness to be depicted in his face at the small giggle that fell from your lips, both claiming the sticky cubic piece of honeycomb into your fingers. 

“I shall serve you in all the ways you require,” you both spoke in unison, “And may the honeycomb taste sweeter coming from my hand.” You both placed the sticky cubes within each other’s awaiting mouths, both laughing at the mess atop your fingertips. Without hesitation, Mihawk clasped your wrist, holding your hand in place as his tongue danced around your fingertips to skillfully rid them from the honey. Your shocked expression was shrouded by the presence of Mihawk’s thumb within your own lips, prompting you to perform a similar action to suck the sticky substance to rid its presence from his digits. 

Small whistles and flirtatious commentary fell from the lips of the Red-Hair pirates, hooting and hollering in their support of such an unbridled expression of lust within the ceremony. Another rise of laughter occurred between you as you retracted your fingertips from each other’s mouths. The attendee placed the tray beside the goblet and returned with two thin sheets of material and offered them to Zoro and Perona. 

Perona reached forward and gathered the material within her hands, Zoro apprehensively doing the same with no frame of reference as to why he was doing so. 

“The two wards under the care of Dracule Mihawk will present the ties to bind you, solidifying their positions in upholding you within your commitment to one another as your chosen witnesses,” Mihawk turned away from you, as you did him, to gather the material within the hands of the wards behind you. 

“May our bond continue to grow all the years you choose to remain with us in unity, Perona,” you whispered to her, prompting her to smile through her tears that began to fall as soon as your vows commenced.

“I will stay as long as you’ll have me, my lady,” she confessed in a similar tone, offering the sash for you to take into your arms. 

Although you both were too wrapped to hear the conversation occurring behind you, Zoro and Mihawk had a similar moment parting between them.

“Although you are destined to earn my title as ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’ in single combat, I am proud to call you a son under my familial name, Zoro,” He uttered with a small twitched smirk and narrowed eyes. 

“I will hold both such titles with honour, Lord Mihawk,” he reached forward, his arms containing the sash and prompting both Mihawk and you to return in facing one another. 

“May this knot you tie demonstrate to those present here the symbol of your unity,” the attendee uttered to you, prompting a skillful dance of fingertips brushing and hands clasping one another to tie the two sheets into a single knot in the centre. You and Mihawk both presented the unified material to the celebrant, who collected it from you by the knot in the centre. She placed the knot beside the dish containing the small syrupy honeycomb remnants, raising a box containing two bands of gold within. 

“My lady, you may raise your hand to place the ring atop your beau’s unity finger and relay your vows onto him,” she gestured for you to claim the larger band within the box, elevating it to his left hand and hovering it over his fingertip.

“My beloved,” you began, glancing from his hand to dart your focus between his two honey-coloured eyes, “These are the vows of promise I swear unto you, unifying us in marriage.” He awaited expectantly his breath hitching once more as you relayed your confession of love onto him.

“I will never possess you, for you belong to none but yourself,” you smiled at him, beginning the descent of his ring slowly over his finger, “I cannot command you, for you are free.” Shimmying the object over his first knuckle, you continued to relay your vows.

“I pledge to you that your name be the one I cry into the night,” your smile cracked at the corner of your face at a small stifled squeak from Perona, “And may mine be the smile that greets you the morning after.” You slid the ring over his final knuckle, securing it to the base of his finger before interweaving your fingertips with his. 

“May this ring be a symbol of my devotion to you, unifying us as one to all those who view it,” you concluded. Finally meeting his eyes once more, his glazed over eyes held such softness for you it felt too intimate for his public persona. He firmly squeezed your right hand within his left before unweaving his fingertips from yours and collecting your ring from the box presented by the attendant. 

“My beloved,” he began, clasping your left hand with his right, and elevating his left hand to hover the golden band above your left finger; his own new band catching your eyes as it danced in the light, “These are the promises I swear onto you through my vows of devotion.” He slid the ring slowly over your fingertip, his eyes never breaking away from your own as he presented his words.

“I will never command nor possess you,” he ushered the ring over your first knuckle, “For your will belongs to you alone.” Sliding the ring over your second knuckle, he continued to relay his vows slowly onto you. 

“I pledge your name to be cried from my lips in the night, and my smile-...” his right hand gently squeezed your fingertips as his smile drew up onto his face, “-be what greets you on the morrow beside you.” Perona stifled another squeal behind her unoccupied hand clapping over her lips, prompting a smile to break over your own lips. 

“May this band unify us in matrimony, and be a beacon of my promise to all who view it,” Mihawk concluded, immediately stooping his lips to press a chaste kiss atop your knuckles, much to the detest of the celebrant. She clicked her tongue to reprimand him, shaking her head with a smile of her own. 

“Given your lips can’t hold their restraint, my lord,” her warning tone playfully reprimanded him, “I will now allow for the lord and lady to solidify their unity in the sharing of their first kiss as husband and wife. You may both collect each other and seal your covenant with words left unspoken. You may now share your lips with one another.” 

Mihawk immediately began his descent, cradling your jaw beneath his left hand and shepherding you towards him with his lips parted in anticipation. You hastily drew your own left hand up to his right cheek, your right hand finding purchase on his waist and anchoring yourself to him as he finally pressed his lips onto your own. 

His lips were slow in movement, savouring the sweet taste of sugary honeycomb mixing with the bitter wine presented to each other earlier. He gasped into your mouth, opening it to deepen the unity between you by presenting a small flick of his tongue into you. His nose brushed with your own, his hand on your jaw fell immediately to your waist and clutched you firmly against his waist. Brows furrowed in unbridled passion, the world around you fled from memory at each press of his lips against your own. 

You slid your hand up to clasp his shoulder, a small squeak fleeing from your mouth into his as he turned your body in a low dip towards the guests in their seats in the pew. This action drew you away from your lustful hypnosis, the applause and cheers of your guests gleefully erupting into the air. He hastily drew your body back upwards with the flitter of your luxurious dress pooling behind you. 

“I am now delighted to pronounce, through this seal of unity,” the celebrant concluded her presentation, “The Lord and Lady Dracule of Kuraigana. Celebrate and uphold them, and may jovial celebrations continue into the night with merriment.” Mihawk clasped your hand and placed it into the crook of his left elbow, beginning his ushering of you to flee with him from the ceremony space to continue into your reception. 

Several of your guests greeted you both with their offerings of congratulations and affirmations, Red-Hair Shanks prying your husband away from your arms with his arm hooking over his shoulders and ushering him into a warm embrace. You made eye contact with the first mate of the Red-Hair pirates, who offered you a polite smile and the nod of his head; both of which you returned with actions mirroring his own. 

However, as soon as you became distracted by the embraces falling to your now husband, your elevated mood of joy was immediately halted as a floating and severed gloved hand clapped over your lips. You could not offer a hum of protest, nor a scream as your body was pried away from Mihawk’s and into the hallway outside of the ceremony space. 

“All part of the plan, Starlight,” a soft, nasally voice reaffirmed you in your ear. You turned your head to meet with the face of the flashy-fool himself, his face painted to the highest quality. His hand rejoined his forearm with a small suctioned ‘pop’.

“I’m gonna take my hand away from your face now, alright? You gotta be quiet and listen to what I’m ‘bout to tell you,” He nodded, his eyes serious with no room for joking. You nodded in return, prompting a smile to rise to his lips. 

“I’ve done some reading,” Buggy informed you, his tone apprehensive and nervous, “And there’s a custom in Kuraigana regarding weddings that sounds way too fun to be left out of ol’ Hawkie’s.” 

“And what may that be, sir Buggy D Clown?” Your frown deepened the longer Buggy kept you away from your new husband. He chuckled at your apprehension, a sly smile now developing further in elevation. 

“You are to be dressed in a new gown, no longer a bride but a wife under his name,” he confirmed with a nod, your understanding reflected in your own nod. “As your new dress is placed onto your body, you’re a new woman. And as a new woman,” his eyes twinkled with mischief, “Your groom has to woo you to win back your favor.” 

“What are you saying, sir?” you narrowed your eyes, and threw him an accusatory and pointed look. 

“What I’m saying, Starlight,” he continued, linking his arms with yours and beginning to shepherd you further away from your celebration, “Is that I’m going to kidnap you and dress you in your starlight gown,” he grimaced a small grin, “I may have had a couple of my crew break in and steal the mannequin earlier,” he quickly uttered before waving his hand in front of him to halt your protests, “And he has to humble himself and perform a skill worthy enough to win your favour.” 

Your bewilderment was pictured over your face, looking from his eyes and apprehensively allowing him to draw you to the peer. 

“What type of skill, Buggy?” you asked him, your curiosity peaked the longer the clown explained himself.

“Could be anything, Starlight,” he shrugged, his playful smirk pulling wider. His eyes twinkled, the paint falling within the crows feet beneath the blue and white hues, “He could dance, sing, recite poetry, he could even juggle. It truly doesn’t matter as long as you’re impressed and successfully wooed.”

You took the moment to study him. From his painted face, to his beautiful assortment of a red and yellow diamond patterned vest, to his tanned leather pants, and all the way back up to his hair braided and styled away from falling in front of his eyes. He threw his best grin at you, his lips curling in an apprehensive and crooked smile. You shook your head, stepping closer to him. 

“Does Mihawk know about this?” You uttered quietly, your dress shifting behind you in your haste. He sighed out a shuddered laugh of dark glee.

“Oh, I’m certain Red-Hair is filling him in right about-...” he trailed off, thinking long and hard about his answer. As soon as your feet found the wood of Buggy’s ship, the anchor rising and sails drawn down by his crew, he gestured to the doors of Castle Kuraigana in the distance.

“-Now.”

[glossykissies]

the readers and… who?

— the series ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

episode one: bunny reader pt.1

introducing… my newest moodboard series! i will be creating moodboards based on my different readers with some of the characters i think they pair best with! along with the moodboard will be a brief description of their dynamic. i will mostly featuring characters that i write the most on this blog, but who knows, maybe i’ll throw in someone niche! enjoy scrolling through ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ ౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆

queen maeve (the boys) ♡

maeve just adores her little supe!bunny, also known as her alias ‘baby doll’ — as does the rest of the world. she’s the corporations cash cow, always flouncing around in the sparkliest, glitziest outfits made specially for her, which is why when she first joins the tower… maeve can’t stand her. she thinks the whole thing is silly and makes a mockery of her, but once she notices the creeps at the tower taking advantage of her, she decides to take her under her wing and protect her. soon, her protectiveness turns to lust and then to love, and well — you know the rest.

nate archibald (gossip girl) ♡

the only time nate and sweet bunny!reader are under fire on the gossip girl blogs, is when she slips up and calls him daddy in public or the two of them get escorted out of a fancy restaurant for getting frisky in the bathroom. having nate as her boyfriend is basically like having a lover and a full time sugar daddy in one. any bag she wants is hers, the shoes have already been ordered — and at the drop of the hat if she’s feeling the slightest bit of stress he whisks her off to the hamptons for the weekend. his calm demeanour and gentle dominance keep the sweet, needy, fashionista it girl in check (most of the time!)

ellie williams (tlou2) ♡

bunny!reader is well loved around the camp, but no one loves her more than her girlfriend ellie. they’re complete opposites, bunny being mega girly despite the odds, ellie being — well, not. bunny is super sociable, always planning ways to make jackson more fun, whilst ellie is fairly quiet, sticking mostly to herself and her small group of friends. bun is sensitive, ellie always having to comfort her anytime someone gets in danger, or god forbid — an animal dies (yet ellie will explain every time that the animal had to die so they could eat dinner) bunny is ellie’s soft spot, and she doesn’t have many of those left… which is why upon request els will always find bunny a cute little trinket on her supply runs, even if it’s just a bunch of old ribbon.

scott miller (twisters) ♡

the MIT nerd and the fashion student combination, scott and bun. he’s a little older, and in his opinion it shows most of the time when the two of them are together. bunny is hyper everything — hyper-energetic, hyper-feminine, hyper-sexual, it’s nothing like anything scott has ever dealt with before, but of course he loves her… even if he has a funny (grumpy) way of showing it sometimes.

clark kent (smallville) ♡

just a farm boy and his spoiled, cheerleader girlfriend. clark gives bunny anything she wants — if she wants to get food, clark’s already starting up the truck. if she wants to go shopping, bless his heart— he’s gathering any money he’s got so he can be a gentleman and pay. if she needs to get her pussy blown out — clark’s pressing her lower back down and pressing a kiss to her shoulder telling her to relax so he can fit it all inside. he’s the full package, and has no idea how he ended up with someone as perfect as bunny (he clearly doesn’t own a mirror.)

part 2 coming soon!

[emilykaldwen]

You're The Lighting of the Blaze | One Shot | Jacaerys x Helaena

(moodboard by @vampire-exgirlfriend)

Title: You're the Lighting of the Blaze Ship: Jacaerys x Helaena WC: 6,484 Rating: Explicit Summary: On the eve of war, all that Jacaerys holds dear is poised to be stolen from him. But the fire flows through him just as the rest of his family, and a dragon does not surrender his treasure so easily.

(Jace x Helaena Betrothal AU)

Notes: This was my entry for last year's big bang, and in honor of tonight's finale, I'm finally posting it to tumblr. I've been seeing my Jacelaena stuff get some traction, and I'll definitely be writing more of them (and I'm totally open to suggestions to percolate). They are a featured side pairing in my main fic as well.

Tumblr Masterpost | AO3 Link

When I first saw you / The end was soon To Bethlehem, it slouched / And then, must've caught a good look at you Give your heart and soul to charity 'Cause the rest of you / The best of you Honey, belongs to me

Helaena’s hips rolled up against Jacaerys’ mouth and the sigh that escaped her was soft, a murmur crossing her lips like a prayer in the sept. He couldn’t quite understand her words, but looking up from his comfortable spot between her thighs, he could see the furrow of her brow. Whatever caused her eyes to dance beneath her lids was distressing, at odds with the way her body bowed against his touch.

“Hush,” he consoled against the soft skin of her pale thigh thrown over his shoulder. Helaena moaned and he swiped his thumb lazily over the slick gathering against her. A gentle swipe over that bundle of nerves that made her tremble even in the sleepy dream that held her. “You’re safe now.”

Helaena’s head tossed against the pillow and she wriggled her ass into the bed. A smile caught along Jace’s mouth, the proud smirk that spoke to his pride and satisfaction. He nuzzled his nose into her, bumping up against her clit, and pressed his mouth to her skin. “Lykiri,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over her as Helaena’s hips jerked at the attention.

She fell apart soon after that, with his fingers pressed inside of her against that spot he found that made her keen and cry in her wakefulness. In sleep it shudders her out of the dream, finally, and her mouth parted in a wordless cry that dares to have them found out. He crawled up her body and pressed his face between her breasts and the thin fabric of her nightgown kept his mouth from tasting the salt of her skin.

Helaena’s fingers rose to dive into his tangled curls and held him close. “The crow flies,” she murmured. “The crow dies.” A yawn, the haze of sleep clouding her lavender eyes. Jace turned to rest his chin on her sternum and watched her for a moment.

“Worried?” he whispered, and Helaena squirmed beneath him, tugging on his dark brown curls until he crawled up the rest of the way. His princess tasted herself off his mouth, the kiss otherwise chaste and full of sleepy softness.

“We’ll be caught one day,” she replied in the same hushed tone, and his mouth swallowed her words, pressing his hips against the apex of her thighs and encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. Jace relaxed at the feel of her against the front of his breeks, where he was half hard.

“Nothing will happen.” The promise in his voice was true. So what if they were caught. They were betrothed and would be married soon. No matter how much Queen Alicent dragged her feet, he knew Helaena had her gown fitting the moon before. His mother had even casually mentioned the idea of him and Helaena moving to Dragonstone after the wedding.

“You should be able to enjoy the flush of new marriage with privacy and not under the scrutiny of the entire court,” she’d teased. It had been a cool day, the sun warm and the sky endless. She’d pulled the pair of them into her office, a cloistered room overlooking the main courtyard outside of the Holdfast and the main gate of the keep - the Dragon Pit a great focal point in the distance. Helaena had been curled up in the window seat with a stack of letters his mother had given the pair of them to work through. The workings of the realm were all in little baskets between this office and Lord Tyland in the Hand’s Tower.

The thunderous look on his mother’s face at the mere suggestion of Otto Hightower entering the Red Keep once more had kept that nomination from going through.

Dragonstone was his mother’s seat, but she stayed within the capital, refusing to give an inch, sitting on the council where she belonged. It would be his seat one day, and he found that he thought constantly about the great stone table carved with all the land of Westeros. He thought of running his fingers through the rivers and over the mountains, thought of how his grandsire took him before the Iron Throne and told him “This will be yours one day, lad.”

He thought of the hollow eyes of his uncles and his bride, of the wan, feral look on Queen Alicent’s face.

The words “such Strong boys” lingered in his mind, and Jace thought of scarred Ser Harwin, Lord of Harrenhal. The fire had stolen the life of his father, the Lord Lyonel, but Harwin had endured. No longer the champion of the Realm’s Delight, Lord Strong lived a quiet life in a crumbling castle on the edge of the great God’s Eye with his younger sister, whose favor Aegon wore tied around his wrist. He wrote Jace ravens from time to time asking how his training was going, and telling him how proud he is. He cannot come back to King’s Landing, not when Jace has grown tall and broad, with dark curls and a way with a sword.

That is saying nothing for the way that Luke and Joffrey’s hair had grown in dark as mahogany, righteous curls on Jace and Luke’s head, and Joffrey’s pin straight with their mother’s features staring out from his mischievous, sprite-like features.

Jace startled at the sensation of Helaena’s warm fingers ghosting across his eyes. It drew a smile just as it drew him from his thoughts and she hummed.

“Would you give it to me if you could?” she asked with a soft moan, and he could feel her soaking into the front of his breeks. He pressed further into her as if there was no barrier between them. “Turn the line to that of women as you have no sisters?” Jace thinks of his cousins and thinks of the almost future where they had wondered about betrothing him to Baela instead to keep Corlys Velaryon appeased, and he wonders had Baela and Rhaena had been his sisters, if he would be wed to one of them without hesitation. If he had sisters instead of the brothers he loved, would he have lost Helaena, like the fragments of a dream upon waking.

He thinks about the gentleness of Daemon with his daughters, thinks of how warmly he smiles at his mother when no one is looking, and knows that they are waiting for the crown to perch upon her head. They’ll be his sisters one day, but too late to change destiny.

“I would,” he murmured, and sucked a mark against her jaw where she cannot hide it, where it will be there like a beacon for all to see; that Helaena Targaryen is his, and he will be king and none would take it away. “I will.”

An uncertain edge permeated the Landing when Queen Alicent left by wheelhouse toward Oldtown, Vhagar in the sky above her as Aemond provided the first escort. Aegon disappeared for two weeks after that to Harrenhal before returning, lighter than his usual melancholy allowed, and he rolled his eyes at them as he headed to the dragonpit.

Helaena was to go with him.

“It is a celebration for the Hightowers and it’s been so long since we’ve seen Daeron,” Helaena said. Tension curled in Jace’s gut at the idea of being parted from her, and he remembered her words about the death of crows before she wrapped her arms around him and he sank into the taste of her and the candied lemon she’d eaten that morning.

“I didn’t get to taste you this morning.” She grinned, all bright teeth and a sharp, feral edge in her lavender eyes. Jace snorted and knocked his cheek against her. He would take her in the alcove beneath the stairs if there was enough time. His mother had forbidden him from providing escort, anxiety over the King’s declining health drawing those worried furrows to her brow.

“It’s not safe for you in Oldtown, Jace. Stay here, where it’s safe.”

Yet he must let her go. But she is a Hightower just as she is a Targaryen, and there she should be safe.

“What is it? Two days on Dreamfyre? When you feel reckless, just come back. Or better, Vermax and I shall meet you in the mountains and we’ll just stay there.” He nipped at her mouth, cupped her soft cheeks in his rough hands and tilted her head back for another kiss. “Dreamfyre would love to roost in the mountains, wouldn’t she?”

Helaena’s laughter echoed off the red stone of the courtyard before he swallowed the sound down to keep in his chest where his heart beats in time with hers.

The King died a fortnight later.

Jace watched as his mother sat upon the Iron Throne. It was an ugly chair, a twisted metal monstrosity forged from his ancestor’s conquest. His mother wore her hair as Visenya was said to have worn hers: an intricately woven braid along the top of her head woven with black and crimson ribbon and silver Valyrian runic charms. Her gown was red silk, long draped sleeves that fell about her like water and cut to reveal the black underdress, the tight sleeves a shock of obsidian against the blood red. The tail of her braid hung over her shoulder and down to her waist and Jace remembered sitting in her lap as a boy to play with her hair, her own fingers tender in his curls. He could not imagine doing such a thing if his mother had portrayed the vision that she did now. There was a hardened look in her violet eyes, and outside of the tender rim of red that showed her grief, she was, in every sense of the word, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her Name.

The crown looked heavy, Jace thought. His mother deserved a sunburst, she deserved to drip in jewels. She did not need such a clumsy, heavy thing to weigh her down when she flew through the sky with such joy.

Joy that was absent from her face as news of Oldtown closing their gates and sending ravens was relayed. Lord Beesbury’s voice echoed in the cold quiet of the chamber, cold fear and heated anger curling along Jace’s spine. This was to be expected - that Aegon would be pitted against his mother no matter how much he did not want this.

“We’ll need to draw them out,” Daemon’s voice echoed, Dark Sister held naked in front of him, the wedding ring that matched his mother’s glinting in the light streaking through the window. “Treason cannot be tolerated.”

“I would welcome my dear brothers and sweet sister back into my arms,” his mother said, so beautiful and queenly. “We must not frighten them, nor give them any further reason to listen to the poison that’s being fed them.” Her gaze, like Valyrian steel, cut to Jace. “You are to stay here.”

All eyes swiveled to Jace. Daemon smirked at him. Luke raised his eyebrows.

“Of course, your Grace,” Jace replied, and his mother held his gaze before Daemon spoke again.

He mounted Vermax in the dark of the moonless night.

Oldtown had closed their gates, but no matter how they forgot, a dragon does not tolerate that which is theirs being taken.

The Grande Festival in Oldtown was an ancient affair, dating back to before the conquest, when the Hightowers ruled as kings in their own right. It was the sort of event Jace had heard about in passing. The grand carnival in Oldtown had been a tradition even before the landing of the conquerors. The city was decked out in banners, not just the flapping viridescent banners of House Hightower, of which there were plenty. There were colorful streamers and fabrics twisting across every lane and thoroughfare, the sky littered with falling colored papers and flowers from people standing with great baskets out their windows above. Music and the scents of foods filled the air; the crisp sweet tartness of apples and cinnamon pies, the currants and spice of mincemeat tarts mingled with roasting boars and stag carved there on the streetside. Beef sloughing off the spit with spices from Dorne were just as mouth watering as the array of pastries beside them, and if Jace had been there for any other purpose, he would’ve gladly indulged.

Tonight, his indulgence was in quarries that were far more dangerous, and far more rewarding.

Jace adjusted his mask, ensuring that it was secure around his head. The other masks he saw ranged from the simple fabric domino cuts that simply covered the eyes to full face paper with hanging beads. As he approached the heart of the festivities they became more elaborate: headdresses of iridescent feathers around ornate full faces with silver inlays and gold leaves.

The raven mask he wore was one that should pass notice. His curls were braided back with a gold ribbon, and the material was smooth on his face, made with fine, soft feathers and an abbreviated beak that did not get in the way like the plague masks and other bird beaked visages did. It covered his full face with only his bright lavender eyes circled with grease paint looking out. Jace had his own ruff of raven feathers surrounding him, but was far less ostentatious than many of the masks around him. The great fan of feathers that others sported wouldn’t serve him when he was trying to get close to his princess.

His dragon mate.

Helaena stood in the great square in front of the High Tower, beneath the fluttering banners of her mother’s house and the flapping Targaryen banners. Lanterns were strung across the place like great fireflies and colored light streamed out from the wrought iron and glass window of the tower behind her.

Like a dream, she was cloaked in silks of lapis and gold, her silver hair turned molten in the light. Her mask was more paint than physical creation; blue and silver and gold paints decorated her smooth skin in the visage of butterfly wings and delicately spun fabric to emulate more wings were affixed to a tiara. She sparkled as a star would, leading him as if he were a traveler lost in the wilderness.

While he knew where he was going, Helaena was the one who looked lost. Her beautiful costume could not hide the frozen, remote look on her face, nor the way her large, lavender eyes danced around the crowds, flinching as her mother touched her shoulder. Jace’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, seeing Alicent as Helaena’s jailor rather than someone tender.

For so long, Jace had thought of Alicent Hightower as simply The Queen. Remote and icy, her beautiful face with perpetually narrowed eyes watching him, taking in his dark curls, the set of his jaw, the very non-Targaryen features he displayed that he knew could not be explained away by his grandmother Rhaenys’ Baratheon heritage, that everyone else seemed to ignore. She stood on the dias beside her daughter, swathed in mourning black of a widow, her gown lined in gold and green trim, her black lace veil worn over her features in lieu of a celebration mask.

He wondered if she were truly mournful and Jace knew in his chest he would not begrudge her joy at being freed from his grandfather. The man had doted on him, doted on his siblings, but the years gave weight to age and opened his eyes, and he could see the wrongness of it all. He saw the cruel negligence to his wife, he saw the way he dangled carrots of affection to his own mother, his chosen heir, and then turned around and denounced the discord that his actions sowed. Jace had vowed to never treat Helaena the way Viserys treated his wife. He would never treat his children the way that he saw how his mother was treated.

It was insidious, and something that took Jace far too long to realize and understand - that his grandfather did not see his mother, not unlike the way he passed over his other children; an old man falling deeper into his dreams, of his longing for a woman who died brutally in the birthing bed. It was the ghost of his long passed grandmother that kept Rhaenyra Targaryen at the edges of her father’s graces. To witness his mother claw as fiercely as Alicent Hightower clawed for just a scrap of attention from the dying king was enough to make Jace consider regicide, not to mention kinslaying. The senselessness of it all made his stomach curl and when he thought of putting Helaena through the same, his vision would go red and his stomach would heave.

He would do better, as he always did, as he always had to do. Even as he felt compassion for the woman, there would be no forgiveness for her hand in the strife.

Nor would there be forgiveness for how she hoarded his bride away from him, as if the death of one king meant she could do what she pleased.

Helaena was his bride, and he was her groom. They would be together, they would fly their dragons together, and share their bed every night. Helaena would be his queen one day, ruling by his side in all the ways that she deserved, and they would heal what had been broken and fractured, torn apart by his grandfather’s negligence, picked over by his mother and the former queen in their long simmering resentments

He would never forgive Alicent Hightower for trying to take Helaena away, to marry her to Aegon and attempt to put the crown on his head.

Oh, this wasn’t a coronation, not yet. First, there needed to be ravens sent and alliances made and barely a week had passed since the king’s death. It wasn’t even enough time to get a raven north to Winterfell, let alone alliances. Not with the suddenness of the King's demise. But everyone knew what was coming.

While Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen sat the iron throne, swathed in her grief, she had not yet been publicly crowned. Not with the mourning of the old king and the rituals being followed. Even as the small council addressed her as their liege lord, the position was tenuous and some kind of truce needed to be made.

A heavy hand clapping his shoulder made him start and Jace turned to look into the face of Aegon Targaryen.

His uncle looked utterly miserable. Aegon’s eyes were bloodshot, his round face flushed beneath the golden mask of dragon scales. Of course, there was no doubt that he would wear the golden visage of his beloved dragon.

“Found you,” he murmured, the lightest slur to his wine soaked breath. “Truly fascinating, nephew, that you escaped your mother’s skirts and came here of all places.” Lilac eyes flicked towards the dias. “Definitely not to rescue me.” Wine sloshed over the edge of the goblet he held as he took a heavy swallow of it. His thick fingers tightened on Jace’s shoulder.

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about, my lord,” he said, pitching his voice to try and disguise it, and a peel of laughter, edged with mania, fell from Aegon’s mouth, sputtering wine as if Jace had said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“You are pathetic,” he said. Which was utterly rich coming from his uncle, though he was barely any older. Aegon was a feral thing, a tom cat who prowled and refused to be kept down, yet a wet thing, desperate for affection. “The way you look at my dear sister can’t be hidden by that.” Aegon lifted his goblet to tap the mask’s raven beak. “Not to mention your terrible posture.” A clap on the back this time. Jace gritted his teeth.

“I am the prince of the realm now, uncle,” Jace hissed in reply. He refused to extract himself from Aegon’s hold as if he were retreating. “The future king of Westeros. I’m sure you’re most relieved about that.”

Aegon’s grin was sharp; manic and gleeful and sad all at once. “Aye,” he murmured, leaning in. “That you are. I should challenge you to a duel-” he paused, burping in his face, and Jace suppressed a sigh. “Make my mother happy.”

He’d never admit it to Aegon, but he understood the sentiment, even when their own mothers were as different as green and black.

“Tell me, is that what you desire? Or will beating me in a duel - if you even could - hold favor for long enough?” It was a low blow, and Aegon’s eyes narrowed even as the smirk turned cruel and sad across his face. “Or would you simply call your second? I’m sure Aemond would take more joy in it.”

Jace suppressed his shudder even as he said it. Aemond would find more joy in it, and Jace knew he likely wouldn’t get out of that with just an eye lost. His gaze instinctively roamed their surroundings as Aegon drank, looking out for the sight of Aemond Targaryen. There was no flash of his long, silver hair, or the familiar straight line of his shoulders. He wondered if the festivities might be too much for him. Helaena struggled with crowds herself, and Aemond struggled with them for his own reasons after losing his eye.

The event of it all still curdled in his belly, but there was nothing to be helped now.

“Vicious little brat, aren’t you?” Aegon snorted, mouth a bitter twist.

Jace breathed in through his nose, feeling the tingling in his hands, just aching to wrap them around his uncle’s throat to shut up his stupid mouth. His lavender eyes found the vision of Helaena once more and he exhaled slowly.

“You don’t want this,” he told Aegon with conviction, teeth gritted and turning to get him to face him head on. “You don’t, and she doesn’t. Don’t do this for me. Do it for you, or her, since I know you care for her too.” Fuck, it would be so easy to push him into the alley and end him. But while Aegon was an even match, it would simply make things worse.

Besides, Jace had no desire to be a kinslayer, cursed and haunted.

Aegon’s head cocked, mouth pursed in a mimic of his mother, and he looked towards the dais, eyes tracking up to the fluttering banners. “What brother steals his sister’s birthright?” Aegon muttered, eyes tracking back to Jace’s. Red rimmed and lined with tension, Jace knew Aegon didn’t desire this; he desired other things, like forbidden nymphs frolicking in rivers.

“What brother indeed.” His mother knew this was not Aegon’s doing, but it didn’t mean that boys didn’t present a problem - alternatives to her rule.

But that was an issue for another day. Right now, he needed to get to that which he was being denied. He’d take it with fire and blood, if he had to. Jace would just prefer not to.

Aegon shook his head and shoved him back slightly. “You fucking owe me, you little prick.” Something eased in Jace’s chest, the knot that had been building as he waited. Whatever Aegon was meant to do, Jace would have his opportunity.

He watched, wide eyed, as Aegon sloshed into the fountain with a whoop, drawing the attention of the party goers, and began precariously climbing the statue in the middle - an elaborate mime of the Seven, and Aegon was… gripping the breasts of The Mother as he hauled himself up towards the seven pointed star above them.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Jace muttered, caught between horror and amusement and let the crowd surge around him as Aegon called for attention. Which meant no one was looking at the dais.

“Friends and countrymen!” Aegon hollered out, his voice echoing off the sunbaked brick and stone of the courtyard. People cheered in response. “As the wine flows and tits come out-” Ribald laughter rippled through the crowd and Jace tuned out the flaxen haired buffoon and started making his way towards the edge of the festivities, searching for a way to get sight unseen towards the back of the platform where Helaena still stood, also focused on the spectacle her brother was making.

Alicent Hightower had turned to hiss at Ser Criston and a few of the Hightower guards that gathered around her. What danger could there be in this stronghold, for Jace noticed a distinct lack of protection now along the back edge; the back edge where Helaena lingered, melting further into the banners and curtains lining the platform. He recognized that look and it made his heart ache. His belly roiled with anger. She looked trapped, she looked like she wanted to run, but in an unfamiliar place, was unsure where to go. Jace knew she could handle herself, but when it came to crowds, and lights, when it came to all of this? Every instinct in him screamed to go up there, to hold her slim, warm hand in his and twine their fingers; a firm hold, and one that couldn’t be torn away.

Raucous laughter and applause echoed from where Aegon was on the fountain and Jace watched Ser Criston and the other guards make their way into the crowd. Queen Alicent stood at the front of the dais, hands clasped against her waist.

When he turned to look for Helaena again, she was gone.

He blinked.

“Helaena?” he whispered harshly, reaching up to remove his mask but pausing before he could. “Fucking thing,” he muttered, trying to look around and see if he could spot the glimmering blue and gold and silver of his betrothed. “Ābrazyyrys, skoriot ilā?” The Valyrian flowed more easily from his mouth than it had before. Helaena made studying… fun.

He wished they were back in bed, her mouth on him while she made him practice reciting the prophecies of Daenys the Dreamer.

“Vasīr ābrazyyrys ikson daor,” came a smooth voice, the words like a song, a dream. The scent of lemon wafted around him and he felt a warm hand stroking up his spine. “Don’t turn around.” Her voice was soft and commanding all the same and it made a shiver roll through his body, heat and arousal, excitement and nerves. “Did you come all this way just to find me, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Her mouth brushed against his shoulder. Her fingers curled nervously - he knew it was nervously by how tightly she clung - into his tunic. “I dreamed you.”

“I don’t know the word for bride,” he apologized, voice in a rush, breathless. His heart was thudding in his ears. “I’ve dreamed of you too. But we have to go.” A yearning edge to his voice and he tilted his head back to the sky as if praying for the opportunity to do it. Helaena’s arms moved to wind around his waist from behind, and she pressed her face between his shoulder blades. His hands came to rest over hers in a soothing motion, but as much as he wanted to wind in her embrace - “We have to get out of here.”

“I know, I dreamed this, I just told you.” He felt her rubbing her face against his back and Jace wondered if the paint on her face would streak across his shirt.

“Come on, this way. If they find me here, I don’t think Aegon will be able to make another distraction to keep your mother from demanding my head on sight.” Jace reluctantly loosened her arms and finally turned in her embrace. Helaena tilted her head back and her lavender eyes were luminous in the night, the lantern light reflecting like fireflies in her gaze. She reached up to run her fingers along his mask, smiling softly at the touch of feathers, the curve of the beak and he wished he could rest his head against hers, to kiss her as he longed to.

“Do you have wings that sprout from your back?” she asked. He snorted and shook his head at her, letting the feathers tickle her face and they needed to go but she giggled at the way they tickled her and it was worth it. “How could anyone think you are a raven when you are so clearly a dragon?” She wondered softly, her eyes, just as light and lavender as his.

“They whisper about it and I hate it. How easily they dismiss me and force me to declare who I am,” he’d railed to her, tears at the corners of his eyes, pain in his chest. By sight, who would see him and think him a Targaryen? How easily he was looked over, how easily ignored– unlike his uncles, unlike Helaena, unlike his own mother.

Helaena’s hands had been warm on his face and she gazed at him, unblinking. Her eyes were the same shade as his own, and far more beautiful, he thought, with her hair like moonlight.

“How could anyone look at you and think you are anything but?” she asked. “When I see myself in you? Dragons both.”

“No, Vermax is off waiting.” Her fingers were tugging at the tie that held the mask to his head and he reached up to grab her fingers. “Once we leave,” he said but he couldn’t hide the longing in his voice.

She sighed and kissed his beak. “This way. I scouted it out a fortnight ago.”

“Of course you did,” he laughed, and with another glance at the commotion, he let his bride pull him through the crowd, none paying all that much attention to them. He supposed that if her mother turned and found her gone, she would think Helaena had fled into the High Tower. There was no reason to think that she was running away, cutting down a narrow alley and over the canal bridge.

“Dreamfyre is waiting,” she told him as they ducked into a little space between buildings, barely big enough for the both of them. It hid them with a perfect view of the little gate, a lone guard looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but there. Jace didn’t see any sign of the Hightower emblem upon his armor. No, he wore the emblem of the city watch, and he was young, which meant he’d picked the short straw on the evening’s rotation.

“What do you mean, Dreamfyre is waiting? Ah, right, you dreamed this,” he chuckled softly, and preened when she reached up to stroke his beak again. She tutted at him and looked about, pressing her hand against his chest.

“Umbagon, Jacaerys,” she ordered in that voice she used to command Dreamfyre. It made him shudder and his toes curl in his boots, his cock twitching in anticipation from what that voice usually meant. ‘How well she had him trained,’ he thought.

His violet eyes tracked her as she strode across the alley, the silver curls flowing down her back catching the light like starshine. Jace’s eyes narrowed when the guard perked up, the smile on his face meaning one thing, but then it faltered, his eyes widening at whatever she was saying to him. Jace had been prepared for this to be so much harder. Seven Hells, he’d been prepared to fight, prepared to draw blade and blood to get her out, to get them away.

Here he was, watching her back while Helaena had sent the guard scurrying away, holding onto his helmet as he was sent rushing further away from the party. She turned, a glowing thing in the torchlight, and beckoned him over. Laughter escaped him as he pulled the mask off, his curls catching a bit along the edges. He was finally able to see her with clear vision and he couldn’t help but indulge, grasping her by the back of the neck to pull her in for a proper kiss. Helaena laughed into his mouth, fingers cupping his cheeks as he tasted her, crowding her against the wall. They had to leave, he couldn’t get caught. It would be death if they were caught, but in the few moments they had, he would take them.

“Ao rystas,” he murmured, grinning.

Helaena beamed. “Ao rystas,” she returned the greeting and the sound of Dreamfyre’s call echoed across the hills outside the city, drawing both their gazes. “Hope Vermax can keep up,” she chuckled and together, they ran into the night.

His princess had surprised him by pulling a rucksack from beneath some bushes when they had hit the field, reminding him that she had dreamt of fleeing, and had prepared to. “I thought it would just be me,” she had explained as they flew over the sleeping, dark expanse of the Reach. “I dreamt that a raven came with news that would let me fly away.” She had kept a feather that had fallen from his mask in her hands, running her fingers over the inky blue-back edges of it. “I like it when those dreams come true.”

Vermax could keep up without a rider, although Jace couldn’t tell if it was because Dreamfyre was slowing down enough so they wouldn’t lose him, or if his weight really slowed his sweet boy down that much. It was one of her eggs that Vermax had come from, their bond strong as his and Helaena’s had grown.

In the beginning, Jace kept looking over his shoulder for the great bulk of Vhagar on their tails - for if anyone would be sent after them, it would be Aemond. Aemond who loathed the attention that Helaena bestowed on Jace. Aemond who loathed their betrothal. Aemond who did his mother’s bidding without question.

Jace wondered at that, for he knew it well. He wished nothing more than to make his mother proud. He wished for nothing more than to be a worthy successor to the throne, to be the King that the realm deserved. He had seen it in Aemond’s eyes when it came to Aegon, and he’d seen it when Aemond pinned him with a glare, swinging his sword against Ser Criston in the training yard.

Sometimes he wished he could tell Aemond that he could have it. He could have the lessons and the pressure, he could have the burden of legacy, the burden of his tarnished and whispered parentage on his own shoulders. Jace would give it up… he would give it up if it meant, in the end, he could still have Helaena, the two of them and their dragons living on the wind.

Aemond hungered in the way a dragon hungered for meat, for flesh, for everything. He couldn’t blame him. Jace thought he might feel that way as well, if he were in Aemond’s position. He wondered if Luke would feel that way some day. If his own brother would grow more angry and serious, chafing at the bonds of being the second son.

They needed only to rest once, ducking beneath the cloud cover to nestle in the forests that lined the borders of the Reach and the Crownlands. Vermax kept close, tired from flying so far back and forth. They watched him prowl through the forest, coming back with the corpse of a doe and licking his jaws over the bulk of it.

“I think he brought it to feed us,” Helaena murmured, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder. Dreamfyre had already found her meal, several cows in the field nearby. Jace turned his head to nose against the crown of her silver head. She smelled like the sky. She smelled like the promise of rain and the musky scent of dragon, and still beneath, the bright scent of lemons clung to her hair.

“He’s been a good boy, flying as swiftly as he did.” His fingers plucked at the lacing of her gown and Helaena shifted, turning so he could get his other hand there to work at her gown. “He knew how hungry I was for you.”

Her pale skin glowed, barely illuminated by the tiny fire they dared to foster before them. The silk fluttered around her waist and he drew her into his lap. “Now you let me have you?” She grinned at him, impish and serene all at once. Helaena drew a moan from him as her fingers dove into his hair, tugging enough for him to feel it shoot straight to his cock as she tilted her head back. “For I am hungry too.”

They woke hours later, half dressed and tangled into one another. The fire died down but Vermax had come over in the passing of the night to curl his warm bulk against Jace’s back and keep the chill at bay. Helaena was already awake, staring up at the blanket of stars in the sky, her fingers stroking absently over his brow.

“We need to beat the dawn, for it shall burn away the shadows.”

With aching bones, Jace climbed up Dreamfyre, who let out a low grumble, and Helaena spoke to her in soothing, musical Valyrian, as if coaxing the dragon from her own dreams. Vermax was complaining like a child, but promptly quieted in response to Dreamfyre’s warning huff.

“We’re almost home, Dreamfyre,” Helaena reassured, and they took off into the sea of stars, racing to beat the dawn.

Hours passed, and Dreamfyre ducked beneath the clouds. The first thing that Jace registered is Vermax’s eager cry of joy and the responding sounds of dragon calls.

Dreamfyre let out her own call, and in the distance Jace could see two small dragons shoot up from seemingly nowhere.

It was Dragonstone, the black rock shooting up from the ocean and cutting through the early morning fog, the sun a blazing eye at the horizon. It was their ancestral seat, his ancestral seat, and they approached the shores, a dreamer and a someday king. Dragonstone, where he would take Helaena to the rocks and make her his wife, his future queen. Surrounded by the expanse of the Blackwater and the Narrow Sea, by dragons and by himself alone, Dragonstone was where he would keep her safe.

He would be a good prince, a good king, a good husband, and a better father. Jace pressed his mouth to the pulse in her throat and his arms tightened around her waist, fingers splayed possessively against her belly and he pulled her closer to him to keep her warm.

Her head turned, the wind pulling at her braids. Her smile was brighter than he’d ever seen and her eyes, his eyes, their eyes, met his. She was his hope, she was his future, she was his star chart coursing the way home across the seas.

“Welcome home, my dragon princess,” he murmured and she brushed her mouth against his, breathed in his exhale.

“Welcome home, my dragon prince.”

Vermax and Dreamfyre roared to greet the dawn.

I still am totally in love with this story and I hope you enjoyed it! I would absolutely love to hear what you think! If you want more Jacelaena, you can catch them in my Aegon x OC series The Maiden and the Drowning Boy, as well as some drabbles under my Jacelaena tag!

If you enjoyed this story, please reblog and spread the love!

[dreamlandcreations]

The Queen

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

The Dance of the Dragons took place after the right of princess Rhaenys to her inheritance was disregarded, although it wasn't as devastating as it would have been a few decades later, the war did not pass without loss, not even sparing the royal family and their extended circle of relatives.

King Jaehaerys died on his dragon and many were lost trying to claim a dragon of their own. Just after a few months, Viserys was ready to make peace at whatever cost. Daemon, as his heir, wasn't so eager to settle for less.

In the end, his love for his family, and an offer of freedom from his marriage and a promise of proper heritage calmed the fiery-natured prince and an agreement has been made.

After starting her reign with a bloody war, many expected Rhaenys to be a tyrant at best. She, however ruled with grace and was loved by all for she was fair and wise, the people called her either Rhaenys the Just or simply The Grace.

Almost twenty years later, it is time for her eldest, the princess to prove herself to be more than a brave dragonrider and skilled fighter. Many feared her first choice as the heir would be the last as well, for finding a husband meant she would select the future king.

Although almost all available lords were heard, there were only two truly considered, the Prince of Dorne, with who she would unite the Realm, and Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince himself.

• moodboards masterlist •

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

This is not a rewrite and just barely canon compliant. The first few chapters take place during ACOWAR and the remaining take place 80 years in the future.

Read on AO3

-

They came for her in the night.

Hair unbound, in a thin night dress, the fae males came with rough hands and lewd stares. They pawed at her body and threatened to strip her naked if she made a sound. They threatened worse if she fought them. Elain Archeron was bound, gagged, and left to rot for days in a cell where she wept silent, bitter tears. Did anyone know she was missing? She’d been separated from Nesta, whom she could hear screaming day and night like a wild animal. It was a promise of what she’d do should she get free of her own restraints—Nesta would go out fighting.

But Elain had decided compliance would serve her better. Even when they returned, reeking of iron and salt, Elain was certain it was all a misunderstanding she could clear up. Feyre was fighting a war—they must have thought she and Nesta were helping. They were, of course, but Elain had concocted a pretty lie she was certain would stand up to scrutiny. They hadn’t known the full scope, had merely been welcoming their sister back home.

They were innocent—which was the truth.

It was only when she was dragged into that throne room that Elain understood she was merely collateral damage. Her life meant nothing to the fae, just like she’d always been told. She was merely a copper piece to be bartered with before she was ultimately discarded. 

She was exhausted and starved after days of nothing—not even water, which dripped into her cell but was inaccessible to her due to the gag shoved in her mouth. Four human queens watched—the same who had come to her home, who had listened to Feyre’s pleas for help. Elain tried to maintain eye contact with them, but none would look at her.

They might feel a little shame, but not enough to put a stop to what was coming. There, situated on the gleaming onyx marble floor, stood a cauldron big enough to bathe in. Smoke poured around its iron rim, warning her of what would happen should she be submerged. Elain tried, vainly, to keep herself from being shoved in. Her foot caught on the lip before Elain was tossed into the frigid water. She held her breath, intending to just pull herself out.

Hands, rough and unyielding, grabbed her limbs. She tried to scream, which only pulled water into her lungs. Elain struggled to expel it, which only caused her into inhale more water. Her lungs were on fire as panic flooded through her. Every mechanism her body had was working against her, making her an enemy of herself. Elain tried to vomit up that water, which caused her to gulp down more. Her mind was frantic, legs kicking against the hands wrapped around her ankle.

Please! She screamed in her mind, praying some long forgotten deity sympathetic to humans would emerge. Humanity had long abandoned the gods who, truthfully, had abandoned them first. They blessed the fae with superior senses, strength, and magic they could call upon at will. What had they given humanity? Nothing but suffering.Why should humans offer prayers and worship when they turned their backs on them?

Elain had never been religious, truthfully. But right then, she was desperate. Please, she begged again. There was no answer to her, only her limbs loosening and the once burning pain fizzling into an almost pleasant numbness. She’d thought the drowning would be the worst part.

Elain was wrong.

Just as her mind began to blacken around the edges, letting her slip into hazy oblivion, the hands yanked Elain further into the endless waters she drowned in. The heat and pain that had once bubbled in her lungs spread outward, burning Elain from the inside out. Her bones were ground to dust, reforged in that white flame. She could feel it pouring from her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Elain tried to scream, but more flames licked along the back of her throat, rendering her mute. 

The hands that had once dragged her down now seemed to cradle her, holding her gently as Elain’ sensitive skin scabbed and flaked away before mending itself. She felt each stitch, each pull of the invisible, immortal thread that was remaking her. 

I don’t want it. Please, Elain thought, twisting around in that boundless, endless water. She stretched out her hands trying to find the boundaries of this cruel, cold new world but there was nothing at all. Time had become meaningless, though she was certain she’d been suspended for an age. If she managed to escape, she’d find a millenia had passed.

Elain choked back a bubbling sob at the thought. A whole life lost, and for what? The obsession a few women had around immortality? One kings drive to punish her sister? Elain didn’t understand the politics at play, searching for some answer that would explain what had happened. 

And oh. Feyre must be miserable over the whole thing. A life dedicated to keeping her and Nesta alive and safe—ruined. Elain wished she could tell Feyre none of this was her fault—that she forgave her for any wrongdoings Feyre might have committed, that she didn’t blame her youngest sister for any of this. 

Nesta would be next, unaware of the horrors waiting for her. Elain was certain it would break her. Maybe it was for the best she’d gone first—perhaps whatever horrors the cauldron wanted to inflict would extend no further than Elain’s body. Perhaps Nesta would be shoved in only to find her feet touched the bottom. She wished for it, trying to will away the unbearable pain as she prayed and prayed, and prayed.

The hands that held her stroked her cheek, and all at once the pain was gone. She wasn’t dead—Elain could feel her frantic pulse beating in her chest, but nothing hurt anymore. What would happen next, she wondered? She wanted to know what would become of her—was there some afterlife she was being ushered off to? Some new horror she was moments from being subjected to?

Elain felt warmth flood through her as a reassuring presence made itself known. Pressing itself against her chest, the voice echoed through the dark, fear can’t harm you. Not anymore. Ask your questions—and receive an answer. 

Elain felt loved, felt it as surely as she felt the cold come rushing back toward her. She didn’t want to leave that reassuring embrace, but water was rushing over her, along with her need for air.

Her knees slapped against the unforgiving ground as she gasped in a breath of air. Through her soaking hair, Elain looked up to find Nesta staring back at her, eyes wide with horror. It had been years drowning in the Cauldron. She knew it had been.

But she was right back where she’d started. It was like no time at all had passed. Elain wanted to scream, but air was too precious to waste on fear. Something else was pressing against her mind, whisper that she needed to turn, to look, to see.

“Don’t just leave her on the damn floor.”

The voice was new to her and yet somehow familiar. If a voice could be a home, that deep, masculine sound certainly was. Elain felt the cloth draped over her shoulders before she dared to look, taking in the man in question.

Something clanged through her, answering a question she hadn’t known she’d been asking. It was a cruel twist of fate to feel that twang, that snap, that last, missing piece fall into place. Their eyes locked, drinking in one russet, one gold. She wanted to touch him, to bury her face in the collar of his jacket and inhale the warm, masculine scent of her. 

The world had fallen away and Elain forgot why she was on the floor or what had happened mere moments before.

I’ve found you. 

“You’re my mate,” he whispered, answering the question she’d clearly been shouting between them. He pulled on the thread between them, yanking Elain back to the present. Mate.

Oh, no. 

Pure terror clawed at her. It was a nightmare that remained unending, that she couldn’t wake from. Nesta was yelling, just as soaked as Elain was though uncovered and uncared for. No one had come to claim her. That was a relief, Elain decided. She merely remained on the floor, unwilling to go to that man.

Elain needed to go home. 

–

“Are you sure about this?” 

Feyre asked for the millionth time that day. Elain had never been more sure of anything. Feyre didn’t understand, small minded and distrustful of humans despite living nineteen years of her life as one, but Graysen would. They were a love match—he’d fought his father to propose to her, though no one thought she was good enough. She’d been impoverished and no one back home had forgotten that. Her sudden wealth had been explained thoroughly by their father receiving the missing chests on his once sunken ships.

She knew now it was the price paid for taking Feyre away. Graysen didn’t, though—he believed the lie. Still, she knew how he’d fought to make her his wife and Elain had to believe that love would hold even now.

Even after she’d become the very thing he hated. 

Wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, Elain turned to face Feyre. “Promise you won’t hurt him.”

The look in Feyre’s eye told Elain that her sister would hurt him if she felt it was necessary. That this was a promise she could not keep. Still, Elain demanded it rather than confirm, once again, that she wanted to see him. She’d been locked up in this mountain prison for months, subjected to the tiptoeing of Feyre’s winged friends and the uneasy conversation with Lucien Vanserra. How long before he decided to stake his claim? She’d been reading about mating bonds—how they affected males, the laws that governed them, and perhaps most horribly of all, that they could not be broken.

Only rejected. 

Elain didn’t want to speak to him again. Instead, she wanted to put everything behind her and go back to a life that made sense. 

“Even if he takes you back—”

“He will,” she whispered fiercely, twisting the iron engagement band around her finger anxiously.

“Even if he does,” Feyre repeated, undeterred, “you’ll outlive him by centuries.”

“You don’t understand,” Elain heard herself say, catching the look of hurt that flitted across her younger sisters face. Feyre didn’t, though. How convenient that the male she loved also happened to be immortal and her mate. Elain often wished for that, too—that the bond would snap between her and Graysen and she’d, at least, have something to cling to. She didn’t have that, though it didn’t make the love she felt any less present. The mating bond meant nothing to her—Lucien might have some uncomfortable claim over her, but he didn’t have her heart.

And he never would, she vowed. Elain had begun to pin all her feelings of resentment on him, heaping all the hurt onto his shoulders regardless if he deserved it or not. Elain didn’t particularly care about his feelings, in part because she didn’t think he cared about hers, either. She was simply an object he was entitled to.

And everyone wanted her to give him a chance. She could see it on their faces, the pity when they mentioned him, the cajoling when she wouldn’t give him the time of day. Rhys would pointedly refer to Feyre as his mate when Elain was in earshot, as if Feyre no longer had an identity outside it. Cassian and Azriel shifted around her, eyes looking everywhere but at her. Claimed, they seemed to whisper. 

What about what she wanted? What she needed? No, Elain would go. If Graysen wanted to reject her, he could do so in person. Though, she prayed he wouldn’t. Too afraid to use her magic to see what might happen, though it whispered against her mind she only needed to ask, Elain allowed herself to be carried into the human lands. 

When they landed just outside the high, stone walls, Elain caught her sisters stiffening. She knew what they saw out here, knew they viewed this place as inferior. Beneath them. They’d gladly accept immortality if it meant they never had to return to this place. Had it truly been so terrible, Elain wondered? Had there been no joy? No happiness? 

She’d had all that. Her life hadn’t become a waking nightmare until she’d been turned. There was no joy, no happiness for her as an immortal fae. Rhysand’s palace in the mountains was overwrought and impersonal, everything dressed in neutral creams and beige. Feyre liked it that way, but Elain missed color. She missed living things, the passage of time. 

Archers on the walls pointed arrows at Elain, who trembled slightly. Everyone was watching—the eyes of the fae on her back, the humans on her front. Elain wasn’t afraid they’d hurt her���Feyre wouldn’t allow it—but she was afraid Graysen wouldn’t come out. That he’d reject her.

“Tell Graysen that his betrothed has come for him. Tell him…tell him that Elain Archeron begs for sanctuary.”

She knew her role, here. She was supposed to convince him to aid them in the upcoming war. Elain didn’t dare glance over her shoulder where Rhysand stood, afraid if she did, he might guess all her thoughts. He’d realize, too late, that she had no intention of helping them. That if it came down between leaving with Graysen and leaving the fae to fight their own wars, well…

It was horribly selfish. Terribly unkind. Elain tried to ease the roiling guilt in her stomach, sloshing around as it demanded she do as she’d been told. 

Elain wanted both, but if she had to choose, just this one time, she wanted to choose herself. 

Behind her, her sisters talked quietly though Elain wasn’t listening. All she heard was the soft crunching of boots on snow—she knew those steps, had heard them creeping over wood floors not that long ago. 

The door opened with a bang, and there he was. Wild, blue eyes scanned the space before landing on her, and a gloved hand slid through his warm brown hair. Relief shuttered over his handsome face. Elain staggered a step forward as Graysen lurched for her, stopped by his father.

Oh, no.

She hadn’t factored him in. Hadn’t thought he’d come. The elder Nolan stared at her coldly, and Elain knew he knew. Graysen might not know, but his father did. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked coldly, staring down that birdlike nose of his. She’d never liked him, and he’d never liked her. Perhaps he was about to get what he’d always wanted—a life free of Elain Archeron.

To her credit, Elain tried to address him. Her words failed her, terrified it was all over. That the fae had succeeded in stripping her of every last ounce of her humanity. Elain and Graysen merely stared at the other, separated by an invisible boundary neither of them could cross. He wasn’t listening.

“Elain—why are you with them?” he finally asked, unconcerned with the words they were saying.

Nesta answered for her, like she always did. Elain tried to find her voice—she managed to stammer out the plea Feyre had rehearsed with her. Give the humans sanctuary, she pleaded. Please. 

And then, he told them. Nolan, hand still on his son's shoulder, staring at her with a mix of triumph and hate. This was it—the moment Elain had been dreading. She’d wanted to tell him herself, to explain it all. It wasn’t as if she’d jumped in willingly, though perhaps to a man like Nolan, it simply didn’t matter. She ought to have died rather than become one of them. 

And here she was.

Allied with them. The fae who had never done anything to prove themselves, once again making demands. Elain could feel her resentment rising with just as much ferocity as her fear. Her alliance with her sister would cost her everything. Feyre had gave, and gave, and gave—but Elain had, too. She’d convinced Nesta to let Feyre and the fae in, had sent the servants away with gold and promises they’d be alright. Had tried to do the right thing.

And for what? 

“I would be inclined to believe you if you were not lying to me with your every breath.”

Elain fumbled for her words. “I—I am not, I—”

“Did you think that you could come to my house and deceive me with your faerie magic?”

It was Rhys who spoke, smooth and clear. “We don’t care what you believe. We only come to ask you help those who cannot defend themselves.”

Elain drowned it out, trying to silently plead with Graysen. His eyes were locked on hers, and she knew what he was seeing. The magic that made the fae so lovely—deceitfully so, because mortals often fell into their traps before they were ripped to ribbons.

Or worse. 

Feyre’s friends tried to keep the lie up, but Nolan wasn’t having it. When Mor said any weapon could harm a mortal, insinuating Elain still was one, Nolan spoke again with far more venom.

“But she isn’t a mortal, is she? No, I have it on good authority that it was Elain Archeron who was turned Fae first. And who now has a High Lord’s son as a mate.”

Elain didn’t know how she didn’t throw up right then and there. As Jurian—his likeness was painted in every schoolhouse, in every history book, and on the armor of so many soldiers—stepped out to inform everyone he had told the Nolan’s everything—Elain forced herself to breathe. Graysen’s lips had parted, his expression slack. Did he think, because she’d been assigned a mate at random, that she was done with him? She wanted to step toward him, but Feyre and Nesta were flanking her, half shielding her with their taller bodies. Jurian monologued, out of place for the scene. Elain couldn’t make sense of any of it. Why was he there? Why was he talking? 

Elain wanted to scream at them all to shut up, shut up, shut up! It was a power contest with each person attempting to one up the other at her expense. They didn’t care about her. In fact, Elain believed they were hoping for all this—the overwrought theatrics, the sneering human lord, and her eventual breakup.

What would be left? Oh, she’d grieve—she was certain they thought so—but then she’d fall into Lucien’s waiting arms like she was supposed to. Maybe they’d make her. She wasn’t clear on that front. 

“I did not mean to deceive you,” Elain whispered when a lull in the conversation allowed her to. Graysen’s emotions seemed to war over his features before settling into a flatness that scared her

“I find I have trouble believing that,” his father said.

Graysen spoke, finally, his every word a knife. “Did you think you could come back here—live with me as this…lie?”

“No. Yes. I—I don’t know what I wanted—”

“And you are bound to some…Fae male. A High Lord’s son.”

Elain was going to be sick. “His name is Lucien,” she told him, wanting to be honest. 

Graysen’s temper rose, cheeks coloring with anger or something else. She couldn’t say. “I don’t care what his name is. You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”

“It means nothing,” she swore, hating how her voice broke. She was a crier by nature, and here, even in her anger, it seemed those tears would betray her. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it  or why they did—”

“You belong to him.”

There, beneath his angry words, was the same hurt pooling in her gut. Elain stumbled forward only to be shoved back by Nesta and Feyre. “I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”Graysen’s eyes flicked to her sisters, to the fae warriors lingering behind her, crinkling at the corners as he made some last minute decision.

“I want to speak with her. Alone.”

A chorus of no’s erupted from everyone and Elain was pulled back further not by Rhys, but by Azriel. She shoved his hands off her, infuriated that once again, everyone else got to decide her fate. She tried to surge forward and Feyre began negotiating, ever opportunistic.

“Here is how things are going to go—”

“Let her go,” Graysen called, interrupting her sister, his hand on his sword. Cassian rose to full height, clearly seeing a challenge. It was unfair, she thought as Graysen unsheathed his blade in warning. 

“You promised!” Elain called, restrained by Azriel as she thrashed against him. “Feyre, you promised!”

“Is this the famed diplomacy faeries have to offer us?” Nolan asked, his alarm plain. Overhead, on the walls, his men pointed ash arrows at all of them. Rhys surely had noticed—what was the likelihood they’d all escape? 

“Let’s all calm ourselves,” Rhys said as if he’d read Elain’s mind. Perhaps he had, though she hadn’t felt his presence. Glancing over his shoulder, he beckoned for Azriel to bring Elain forward.

Elain shoved Azriel away from her person, smoothing out her skirts with whatever dignity remained to her.

“I want to speak to her. Alone.”

“No,” Feyre repeated, apparently willing to die on this hill. “Whatever you have to say to her, you can say to all of us.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Graysen snapped. “Is she your prisoner, then?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then let her answer for herself,” Graysen demanded. “Lady Elain?”

“I…yes. I’ll speak with you.”

“Not alone—”

“However he likes,” Elain snapped at Nesta, frustrated they were going to try and control this whole thing.

“Ten minutes,” Graysen conceded, perhaps realizing that, otherwise, he’d have a bunch of faeries in his courtyard making demands on him. “Ten minutes and you can have your shelter.

“No wards,” his father added, still sneering down his nose. “We don’t need them.”

Rhys seemed to bristle, though he merely said, “Suit yourself.”

Graysen beckoned Elain to follow him, sandwiching her between his own body and his fathers. She marched through the doors, wondering if this wasn’t, somehow, a mistake. A trap of some sort, where she’d be slaughtered as an example.

“Ten minutes,” his father warned, stalking off with a few guards. Graysen didn’t wait, flinging his arms around her body.

“Oh, gods,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I thought you must be dead.”

It only took Elain a minute to wrap her arms around him, too. Was that her shaking, or him? “They took me in the night. Held me for days, I—” a sob escaped her, silencing whatever else she said.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked, taking her face in his hands with such gentleness it threatened to ruin her. Thumbs sweeping over her cheeks, Graysen looked as if he could see her, and not the otherworldly beauty meant to make her a predator.

“They killed me,” she told him, tears streaking over his cheeks. “It hurt.”

“Tell me what you’d have me do–”

“Your father–”

“Will not interfere,” he murmured. Graysen released his hold on her face to tuck her hair behind her ears. “He promised me when I put that ring on your finger…worthless as I understand it to be.”

“I love it,” she whispered.

“I’ll help your faeries at the gate in exchange for you,” Graysen told her, “in whatever way you’ll have me.”

“Can I…can I stay here? I hate it there,” she whispered, still holding him tightly. “It’s like a beautiful prison. Every time I try and leave my room, someone is waiting at the door for me.”

Graysen’s relief filled Elain with the same. “I was hoping you’d…yes. Besides, I’ve heard rumors of a creature who might be able to unmake you.”

“Truly?” It was a dangerous thing to hope, and yet Elain couldn’t help herself.

Graysen’s smile was a beautiful thing. “Truly.”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hey i just read some of your fics and i can’t lie..IM. IN. LOVE!!!! I absolutely adore your writing style too! When i saw you wrote something that included Roman Empire I screamed lol.

I was curious tho how would König from that au would’ve react to his lover being tired and pregnant carrying his heir. (Pregnancy kink alert) and their sex life looks during pregnancy 👀.

(This is not a *fic* fic, I just love to do these cute little moodboards! lmao)

Roman!König gets so fussy when his little fairy gets pregnant 🥺

Their new hut is barely even built before she notices that her moonblood no longer arrives. When she tells König the good news, he's already the happiest man in the world but now he's about to burst from joy. All his dreams are finally coming true!

König is so proud of his queen, but he's also proud of himself. He’s been working hard every day – as a man should! – hunting and fishing and building their new home and making love to his woman, basically toiling from sunrise to sunset. Now that there's a baby on the way, he can finally catch his breath and concentrate on taking care of his wife and finishing the roof for their new house ❤️

And lovemaking! There's lots of it in the first months, but when the baby starts to grow, König refuses to "bully" her before the child is born. Says that in his homeland people believe that it can hurt the baby if a man tries to get an already pregnant woman pregnant again. As much as he would love to do his daily duties, he can't risk the health of their child so it will simply have to wait.

Man starts to talk to her belly before even a month has passed, and in his own crude language too. Doesn't see how his fairy queen is rolling her eyes at this – even a mighty warrior turns into a simpleton when they've managed to get a woman pregnant, it seems.

She’s not jealous, per se, she just thinks he’s being a bit silly :/ König likes to ramble to the baby even more than he rambles to her these days, and the baby bump is not even visible yet! And when it is, gods, he gets even more silly. Every morning König gives her a kiss, then goes down to her belly and gives the baby a kiss too, then says Guten Morgen with a wide, cheerful smile.

It’s nice to see that at least someone here is happy, because she’s not having it easy; her back and knees hurt all the time, she wakes up five times during the night, her feet are always sore, she has to pee constantly, and her appetite is gone. König isn't really helping: he tries to feed her all the time “to make the baby strong” and gets worried if she doesn’t eat enough.

So it's a good thing that König has his little building project going on, otherwise he would go mad :/ Man is working hard to build the animal pens before winter, hunt the food, and do some carpentry such as make them a sturdy enough bed (...) that he dozes off in the evening after eating three large bowls of stew. These two lovebirds are soon sleeping under a pile of furs, with König's large hand protectively over Fee's tummy while the embers in the firepit offer them warmth through the night ❤️

And if Fee was treated like a queen before, now she's almost like a goddess. Barely gets to prepare the food because König doesn't want Fee to exert herself. The only thing she's allowed to do is weave (they have this cute little vertical loom), and if she ever looks tired, König will order her to rest and comes to pet her head or massage her feet.

Starts to excitedly talk about how he will teach the child how to run and wrestle and hunt and fight, be it boy or a girl. He has to teach their little wolf cub to fend for itself if need be, right? When Fee cuts in and says that if it’s a girl she can always marry a strong husband, König looks at her in shock. His baby girl, marrying some ugly, big brute who just wants to force his head under her dress?? There's no way he’ll let that happen!

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Introductions (2.1.1)

About me:

↪ Leah, she/her/any pronouns

↪ In my early 20s

↪ Reader, writer, sometime animator and artist

↪ Big cannibalism fan. Huge, really ;)

↪ Been doing martial arts for over a decade

↪Fan of CJ Cherryh

↪I reblog stuff from @leahpardo-pa-potato

My writing:

↪ Generally horror, with sides of fantasy

↪Posted in regular chunks of 500-1k words

↪I love tag games, esp OC ones :)

↪I do mini-series, one-shots, and novels

↪I will love you forever if you send me an ask

↪See my full list of one-shots here and my longer pieces below

My art and animation:

↪Masterpost here

↪Mostly blender 3d animations, though I do a bit of drawing too

↪ Don't expect it quite as often as my writing ;)

↪Just interact here to join the taglist!

WIPs / Longer stories

The Unwanted Visitor: (Completed)

Aida's house has been haunted by a spirit for as long as she can remember. Thing is, she's grown used to her Unwanted Visitor (or Vis, as she likes to call him). So when exorcists come after him, she does what any sane person would: protect her brother friend.

↪ Urban fantasy-comedy, very light-hearted

↪A lot of found family and sibling squabbling

↪If you like teens causing chaos, this is for you!

↪Final bit here

A Perfectly Normal Schoolgirl: (Completed)

All Katherine wants is to eat mortal food, bask in the warmth, and be a normal schoolgirl. But when a boy begs her to help him save her parents, she finds herself fighting for her (and his) life once more.

↪Urban fantasy with a side of horror

↪ Basically an inversion of a bunch of tropes

↪My attempt at writing fantasy without mentioning magic by name

↪Full thing here

Convenience Store Vampire: (Completed)

You'd expect vampires to be imposing and terrifying, masters of the night and princes of darkness. But that's not Davie, no siree. He's stuck down by Sunny Mart, working all day to scrape by. The last thing he wants is any trouble. Unfortunately for him, that's exactly what he's getting.

↪Silly urban fantasy shenanigans

↪ What it says on the tin + slice of life

↪Full thing here

A Tale for A Mouse: (Completed)

Who doesn't like to listen to evil old dark lords monologue about their childhood? Take a seat and come hear the story of the Spirit Emperor, as told by the man himself!

↪Cannibalism. Lots of it. World building too :D

↪High fantasy told via monologue

↪I cannot stress how proud I am of this.

↪Full thing here

Fast Food:

An embarrassment to his entire tribe, Hash is lazy and uninterested in anything. So, when he reaches majority, he gets unceremoniously booted out of home. Follow his adventures through Triworld, as he somehow ends up in every single single conflict across the continent.

↪High fantasy with a side of humour

↪Very heavy Lore™ and Worldbuilding™

↪ My excuse to ramble about fictional history

↪Latest bit here :)

A Tale of Love, Death, and Maggots:

Doc's been wandering through hell for a good twenty years, now. He thought he'd seen it all. He thought he'd felt it all. He thought he'd lost it all. But it turns out love just has a way of crawling back into his chest and breaking his heart again.

↪ Tragedy?, fantasy?, horror?, Idk it's a weird little thing

↪I hope you like death because this sure has a lot of it

↪Latest bit here and here's a moodboard of it

Lich-Queen (Completed):

Iraela has all but won: the King of Ceredell and his bride are gone, the cities fallen to her army of undead, and the way to the throne cleared for her. But her coronation, and her sanity threaten to fall apart under the weight of duty. Can she hold it together until she truly becomes Lich-Queen?

↪High, dark fantasy with some horror and gore

↪Watch Ira slowly lose her mind in real-time

↪If you like cannibalism, you'll love this

↪Full thing here

The Novel™ (Mind of a Mercenary):

Luna, Terror of Garvenoi, mind-mage extraordinaire, has been caught at last. Whilst everyone celebrates, she is given an ultimatum: Be an indentured hunter for the government, or die. But when she signs on with them, she finds that perhaps death might have been a better choice...

↪ Urban Fantasy set in a Non-Earth world

↪Starring a sassy, mean-girl villain protagonist

↪Enjoy several hundred pages of Luna trying and failing to run from her duties

↪Find snippets here (find the others on my masterlist of writing)

Finally, my taglist! If you interacted with this post/already asked me to add you, and you don't see yourself here, please remind me! I may have accidentally missed you :')

Oh pls kill me I felt so silly doing this- Anyways bye guys hope to see y'all around don't judge me for this

[nestaarcheronweek]

♕ Announcing Nesta Archeron Appreciation Week 2024 ♕

Join us in celebrating Nesta Archeron from April 21 through April 27, 2024!

Welcome to Nesta Week 2024! Feel free to participate in any way you can, from headcanons, fanart, moodboards, fics, drabbles…. no matter how big or small, anything celebrating Nesta is welcome!

Please tag @nestaarcheronweek and use the tag #NestaWeek2024 so we can see all your lovely posts!

This year’s prompts are as follows:

Day One: Queen of Queens ♕ Nesta has accumulated many titles, but one of our favorites is Queen of Queens! How do you see her living up to this title?

Day Two: Metamorphosis ♕ Nesta has undergone many changes during the series — physical, mental, and emotional, just to name a few! How do you see some of the changes she’s gone through?

Day Three: Self-Care ♕ Nesta has experienced a lot of hardships during the series, making it all the more important for those moments of self-care. How do you see her taking care of herself?

Day Four: Lover ♕ Nesta has had many opportunities for love across Prythain — who do you ship her with? Cassian? Emerie? Eris? Gwyn? Azriel? Cresseida? Any and all ships are welcome!

Day Five: Wolf ♕ “So Nesta had become a wolf. Armed herself with invisible teeth and claws, and learned to strike faster, deeper, more lethally.” How do you see Nesta using her teeth and claws?

Day Six: Birthday Girl ♕ While Nesta doesn’t have a specified birthday in canon, that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate our favorite character turning a year older! How do you think Nesta and the people who love her would celebrate her special day?

Day Seven: Free Day ♕ Any topic of your choosing!

A huge shoutout to @dustjacketmusings, @c-e-d-dreamer, @talkfantasytome, @kale-theteaqueen, @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk, @melphss, and @podemechamardek for helping to organize this event!

Please contact @moodymelanist with any questions. We can’t wait to see what you all create!

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXX

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds / @lady-of-tearshed / @what-about-elvenis / @gameafoot /

The sky was a vicious blue, bright and cloudless. The smell of blooming flowers was in the air, strong enough to choke. Elain had to raise a pale hand to cover her eyes, blocking the unforgiving sun. A gentle wind blew, kissing her cheeks. The grass was cool beneath her bare feet, dew drops making the edges of her pink skirts damp. 

Elain glanced down, tilting her head when she noticed that it almost looked like blood. It stained the elegant fabric, ruining it. She frowned as she straightened the wrinkles, her brows pinched. Red rose petals were littered between the emerald blades of grass, a perfect path that she chose to follow. 

Elain walked with steady steps, unnerved by the silence in the open space. There were no singing birds, no buzzing bees, no trickling streams. A shiver danced along her spine as she continued forward, the scarlet petals shifting until they whirled together like a rushing river. 

It looked like hair, she observed. She tracked the length of it, searching. Her mind moved slowly, her thoughts disconnected from what she saw. 

Empty eyes stared upwards, unblinking amber gemstones. 

Elain woke up with a gasp. Her body moved involuntarily, shooting upwards despite the numbness she felt in her limbs. Someone quickly created more distance between them, and Elain twisted her neck so she could face whoever it was. 

“Vassa?” She said, voice a strained rasp. She had forgotten to refer to her using a title. Elain cleared her throat, wishing she could have a sip of water. She let her vision adjust to the night, pretty hair the colour of a copper coin flashed as the other woman nodded. 

The cursed queen breathed a relieved sigh, tension leaving her shoulders as she slumped into a more comfortable position. “Elain?” At the tilt of a chin she received in response, Vassa ran a hand over her face roughly. “You weren’t waking up,” she declared, her accent similar to the one in cities that had bordered the wall. 

Koschei. 

The death god’s name echoed in Elain’s mind. If Vassa was with her, his involvement was the only explanation she could think of. 

Elain took a shaking breath. “That happens sometimes,” she mumbled, letting her fingers dig into the soft earth in an attempt to ground herself. She checked her surroundings to decide what she might do next, hoping that she recognised where she was. 

The moon was high, and stars glittered tauntingly against the endless dark. Elain was left with the impression that they were laughing at her misery. She could tell that she was near water, perhaps past the forest’s edge and a bit farther than the clearing she found herself in. The air was damp, a humid fog clinging to the trees and creating a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. 

Elain was certain that she was no longer in any of the seasonal courts of Prythian, and although she might have been in one of the solar ones, she determined it was quite unlikely. There was something distinctly ancient about the forest, leafless branches reaching up towards the sky like hands made of bone. The wood of each tree was a ghostly white, a stark contrast to the dirt covering the map of roots beneath the surface. 

There was magic thrumming all around her, Elain knew, but it was unlike her own. There was something about it that briefly reminded her of Nesta. She frowned, concern replacing all other emotions. She wondered if she was in the Middle, keeping in mind the stories Feyre had told her. 

“Had a good night’s sleep?”  

The question rocked Elain, snapping her out of her own thoughts. She had not noticed that there was someone else there, but the familiar voice was enough to make anger rush through her veins. 

Elain faced Lethe, scowling as she saw how beautiful the other female still looked despite the ordeal they had endured. Her dress was left in perfect condition, no tears in the expensive fabric. She had unpinned her hair, and it fell in an icy sheet to her waist, not a single knot between the strands. Embers sparked to life in her eyes as she raised an unimpressed brow. 

“You’re here.” Elain said without thinking, stating the obvious. For a moment, she was glad to have someone she knew with her, but she was quickly reminded that the two of them did not exactly get along.  

“I’d rather be dead,” Lethe declared with a sniff. The words hung between them, sharpened by the silence. 

“That can easily be arranged,” Vassa offered, but was promptly ignored. 

Elain kept looking at Lethe, their gazes locked, when a horrifying realisation dawned on her. “No one knows,” she muttered, heartbeat thunderous in her ears. Panic gripped her like a claw and she tried to pull at the mating bond with no success. While she thought it was probably the distance, a million awful scenarios came to mind. 

Lucien. 

Elain grabbed at the curls against her scalp, tugging to stop herself from whimpering. If Beron would go so far as to harm Eris, she had a hard time believing he would have second thoughts about doing the same to her mate. 

“No one knows,” Lethe confirmed, sounding exhausted. 

“Fuck,” Elain mumbled under her breath, the foul language slipping from her tongue easily. “What about Eris?” 

Lethe straightened, a commanding air to her at the mention of her friend. “What about him?” When Elain remained quiet, the other woman shook her head. “There’s nothing to be done for him.” 

Elain felt the events leading up to that moment crash down on her like a wave. With no outlet for her frustration, she heard her own voice raise accusingly. “Some friend you are,” she spat, the anger making her brave. “We should have helped him, he’s hurt–”

“Hurt?” Lethe snarled, interrupting the rest of Elain’s sentence. “You think he’s hurt?” 

Elain winced at the aggressive tone. “I think–”

Lethe laughed, the sound grating like a blade against marble. “You think Eris is hurt?” When Elain remained silent, she waved a hand, the nails on each finger filed to a dangerous point. “I think you’re stupid,” the Autumn noble snarled. 

Vassa made a soft sound, a gentle warning. Lethe continued as though she had not heard, teeth bared threateningly. “Eris is dead, and I’m stuck here with the foolish little human girl he felt responsible for.”  

“I’m not human,” Elain corrected, a finality to the statement. It was the first time she had said the words out loud, acceptance sneaking up on her as steady as the rising sun. Where grief once would have been, confidence in herself only remained. “I’m not human,” she repeated, “and Eris isn’t dead. He can’t be.” 

Elain refused to consider it. There was something constant about the Autumn heir, like the unchanging seasonal court he had been born in, timeless.

All the fight seemed to leak from Lethe, her shoulders curling inward as she bent her legs to her chest. “No one could have survived that.” She rested her chin against her knees, looking very young, voice breaking like glass as she spoke. “You wouldn’t have recognised the dagger, but it’s made entirely of gold and tipped with ash.”

“The ash is enough to kill him?” Elain asked, her question wavering. She felt a burning behind her eyes, and she blinked to keep her tears at bay. 

Lethe sighed, but there was no judgement in the sound. “Our teachers in the Forest House told us that the High Lord slaughtered his father with that weapon and forced himself onto the throne.” She paused, using her sleeve to wipe at her cheeks. “Ash wood is like a poison without a cure for the fae.” 

Elain closed her eyes, clenching them shut to cut herself off from the rest of the world. There was a sharp ringing in her ears, like the aftermath of a bell’s toll. It took all of her willpower not to break down into wretched sobs. 

A gentle hand rested on Elain’s back, a comfort as she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” Vassa lied. The human queen rubbed at the spot between Elain’s shoulder blades, staying close even as her nerves settled. 

“Hope is for those who don’t know any better,” Lethe offered, no matter how unwelcome the opinion was.  

“Lucien is going to come for us.” Elain said softly, putting her wish into the universe and hoping against all odds that it would become a reality.

[barbieaemond]

Intrusion (part I)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: (modern) Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!reader

WARNINGS: angst, Aemond has no filter, drug use (very brief), mentions of overdose, suggestive themes, sexual tension (sadly nothing more but part II will be a helluva ride)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sothoryos is a large continent in Martin’s universe. It is located below Essos.

WORD COUNT: 7k

Song for this fic:

taglist: @zae5 @chompchompluke @multyfangirl

“What’s up with the green light?”

Jason's voice came distantly, even though he was sitting right next to her. She looked up through her long eyelashes, scanning the mighty, green-lit Hightower from top to bottom, an emerald glow kissed her face.

“How dumb are you? It was a beacon once.” She said mindlessly, dragging her eyes away from the car window to watch her brother crouched on a little mirror with three lines of white powder on it.

“D’you want some?”

“I’m done with that shit.”

“I should hope so.” He chuckled, rolling a banknote between his fingers with the expertise of a magician ready to do his trick. “Dad is still paying the hospital to keep their mouth shut. Not to mention the papers…”

She heard him snort the substance, humming with delight as it reached his brain. She looked at him for a moment, green just like the glowing light on her face. It was so easy for Jason to surrender to the void. She struggled to do even that.

“Speaking of which” he said wiping his nose “he could’ve bothered to come.”

“And watch Otto Hightower gloat in his face? Dad would rather throw checks to the homeless.”

“Why are we here then?” he asked as the car stopped in front of the huge, tall building, the tallest in all the continent.

“Because he wants to remind everyone we are still the wealthiest in this wretched world.” She said she grabbed her little purse and got out of the fancy car as soon as the driver opened her door.

Blinding lights fell on her as photographers took note that the Lannister family had sent its scions to attend the annual Gala held by the Hightowers. A party that had always been held in the capital in the previous years, at least until what the newspapers had called the divorce of the century.

“I would not be so sure about that.” Jason said, squinting his eyes in front of the ruthless flashes. “Papers say Viserys is going to pay a fortune, for alimony and all that shit.”

“Miss Lannister! Here, please! On your right!”

She built a broad smile for the photographers, maneuvering her hair to let it slide down her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip. A well-thought-out act, repeated incessantly for as long as she could remember. A beautiful machine doll bathed in gold and diamonds.

“Do you still read papers?” she asked, not breaking her plastic smile.

“How else should I find out if I've done something illegal?”

“They’re a reliable source on that, less on others. They claim I had a thing with Cregan Stark when even walls know he’s gay.”

They claimed many other things. But she never confirmed or denied the rumors, because it was all part of the plan.

Any rumor of an alleged flirt or talk of an engagement with a scion from one of the old power families of the country only increased the height of the pedestal on which her father and mother had placed her. So that when rumors died, the vultures would come even more savage, raising the stakes to win the most coveted prize in their circle of starched shirts and centuries-old privileges that no longer had any value except in the small, greedy world inside their small, greedy heads.

She moved, swiftly but graciously, and stepped inside the building, followed by her brother and his giggles, and the photographers screaming at the top of their lungs, begging for another picture—just one more. The begging had started already.

The Hall of the Hightower Palace was a sight to behold. Adorned with green and dark tones, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and yellow cocktail music pushing all the fine-dressed people to chat and laugh more loudly as if they unconsciously tried to imitate the lively ups and downs of the notes.

The Lannisters lingered on the entrance, immediately catching many pairs of eyes, greedy and green as the decorations around them.

“Are they waiting for us to go greet them?” Jason asked, watching the Hightowers at the center of the Hall. “Gods, why do they always act as if they were royals and us merely subjects?”

"Apparently, it has been proven they have hints of blue in their blood.”

“Who’s the blondie?” he asked, taking his sister’s arm as they walked towards the hosts.

“Helaena Targaryen.”

“Oh! The freak?”

“She’s not a freak. She’s a renowned entomologist.”

“And my point stands.”

Miss Lannister knew all the four Hightowers waiting to be greeted. After all, who didn't?

Otto Hightower was the most influential man in the country, although he liked to hide and pull his strings behind the curtains. They said that family and strangers made no difference to him. His daughter Alicent would agree with a stiff lip.

She wore the most lavish dress of all, but that was not what caught the eye, but rather the determination in her gaze and the way she stood. A woman free from the chains of a marriage she had never wanted.

“It is a pleasure to have both of you here.” She said smiling at the two Lannisters. Her father Otto was towering just behind her, a curious look on his face as his eyes rapidly scanned Miss Lannister.

In fact, he stepped in, saying “Indeed, Alicent. Especially Miss Lannister. I’m relieved to see you well.”

After what happened in Pyke, was the part he deliberately omitted.

The young woman looked at him, unfazed, building another one of her plastic smiles and then directed her attention to the youngest son of Alicent and Viserys Targaryen. Daeron.

The boy was no more than twenty, but he had a way of standing and carrying himself, which gave him at least five more years. That was the price of being doomed to inherit a heavy family name and all within it. The young Lannister girl understood it all too well.

As for Helaena, she seemed the most out-of-place creature, like watching a dolphin swim along sharks. The Lannister girl didn’t know her that much; truthfully no one did. Helaena was always far away from the country for her studies, traveling to the edge of the world to discover wild and rare creatures. She had a way of avoiding eye contact, Miss Lannister noticed, if not for brief and furtive glances, as if she was afraid that if she looked too much, she would see too much.

“And you don’t call that a freak?” Jason asked once they moved away from the Hightowers.

“You are just sour because she barely looked at you.” his sister answered, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Hey. I’m nice to look at!” he said gesturing to his figure.

“You tell yourself that.” she sipped her bubbly like water, barely tasting it, as her eyes roamed around the lavish hall, watching the same old play unfold, with the same old puppets. And she was one of them, perhaps the main star, ready to follow the script and never stray from it. It was her purpose in life. A well-trained parrot with a melodic laugh and the stillness of a porcelain doll.

She looked around and saw the eagerness, the anticipation as they bided their time before flocking to her, begging for flesh and money and power, each one of them so eager to sell one piece of themselves to be on a golden plate, the very same on which everything was always freely given to her. Things, places, people. The Golden Girl, they called her. She was born in it, she reflected it. She never had to ask, she never had to beg for anything. While everyone around her seemed to be able to do nothing else.

"Miss Lannister, we would love to have you as our guest in High Garden. Please, consider our invitation."

"Miss Lannister, did your father receive the gift I sent him last week? Please, have him contact me as soon as possible, I have another proposal for a collaboration."

"Miss Lannister, please, convince your father not to cut off the funds, I wouldn't know what to do without the invaluable support of your bank.”

“Miss Lannister, please—"

Please. Please. Please. Please.

They all came muffled, the beggars and their begging, as if speaking from the surface while she was deep down underwater, floating. Then the puppet would take over, moving haughtily and mischievously, promising lies with empty smiles and stolen words. The same old power play, to tell the world the Lannisters were far above it.

But amid the muffled chatter and greedy eyes, there was one in particular, stripped of all reverence, blue and cold as the eye of the scientist dissecting something under a microscope.

He had placed her under the lens out of pure boredom.

He never attended these kinds of gatherings, at least not after Sothoryos, not after Floris. He was there only because his mother had insisted, almost pleaded with him. This was the first public event after the divorce. It was essential to appear close, united.

The word tasted rotten in Aemond's mouth.

He had made sure Aegon would not attend, and had come in through the back, creeping into the hall like a spectre.

Alicent had seen him at once, her eyes widening with surprise as if she were certain he would not come. And they had barely talked.

She had kissed him on the cheeks with that look in her eyes, the one that rose tenderness and contempt at once inside him, twin flames mirroring and dancing around each other. His mother's lips opened and closed repeatedly, like a record needle cutting the same groove on and on without making a sound. And he had no desire to fix that.

Once, maybe. He had nurtured so many unspoken words that they had ended up souring and festering the more he held them back, locked in a dark corner where no light filtered. So, his mouth stayed sealed and silent, like a tomb.

He had withdrawn to a corner of the hall, watching as the people lingered with their gazes on his dead eye, half curious, half scared. Something he was all too used to. He found himself cursing under his breath for wasting time in such a vapid and useless way. He could have been at home, studying, or working in the basement.

But then he had spotted her.

It was hard not to.

The moment she had entered the hall with her brother, it seemed she had drawn all attention to herself, absorbing all the light from the chandeliers. It seemed that her golden dress was truly made of gold.

Aemond had seen her once or twice in the past and each time, two distinct thoughts had rapidly crossed his mind.

First: that she was a pretty doll with more money in her pocket than cells in her brain.

Second: that he wouldn't mind taking her doll's clothes off.

No man with sense would have denied her beauty, but the more he looked at her, the more he saw how dry she was, how cold, like a sculpture doomed to live the same moment forever.

It was all scene, all pose. And Aemond understood it at once since he himself had enacted the same play in the years past. He knew what it meant to be an inanimate thing waiting to be moved by others, for duty or loyalty. Things that had lost all meaning to him once he’d found out that the more he latched on these things, the more hollow he felt.  

He watched the Lannister girl build fake smiles at each turn and he found himself grimacing, feeling pity for her, almost contempt. Perhaps she was just a tool, an extension of his former self for him to loathe, like spitting into a mirror.

But he just couldn’t stop watching.

She had a way of making the place where she stood like some kind of holy shrine and everyone around her kept scrambling to fall at her feet. She had a way of moving, slowly, like a creature living underwater. She would lean forward as she listened to people, only to retreat when it was her turn to speak, and she did it quietly, making the privileged speaker unconsciously lean towards her.

A tactic—a working tactic, though. Because Aemond had found himself craning his neck forward more than he would’ve liked to admit, and he wasn't even close to her.

“Choosing your next victim?”

He turned on his blind side as Helaena stopped beside him, handing a flute of champagne.

“Hāedar.” he said, taking the glass “Don’t say that. With all the shit they say about me, tomorrow they might title I’m a serial killer.”

“Well, you do have a dank basement in your place. And with the way you keep looking at the Lannister girl, it would be hard to beat the allegations.”

He looked down at the sizzling bubbles and curled his lips. Helaena did the same as her blue eyes scanned his face. Of all her brothers, she had always had the closest bond with Aemond. Born only one year apart, they had grown up as close as twins. Helaena did not look down when she talked to Aemond; she did not stutter or struggle to voice her thoughts as she did with anyone else. And his lips, which struggled so much to voice his emotions, always curled up in the most spontaneous way when they spent time together.

“You won’t get away with a smile, though.” She pointed out after a sip of bubbly “You barely talked to me earlier.”

“I was afraid our mother would stir up a hornet’s nest seeing me here.”

“She was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“I shouldn’t have. This place smells of coffin.” 

She watched him for a moment, trying to guess his mood and, therefore, whether it was a good time to speak. “Did you get my message last week?”

His eye remained fixed on the elated crowd, but Helaena didn’t miss the slight twitch in his lips. “I did.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“What was there to say?”

“Aemond, I know you have your grudges, but... he’s our father and he’s severely ill. He wants to see us, all of us, at Summerhall, next month. I want to believe he’s changing and—”

“Must I remind you what happened the last time we had a family heart to heart?”

She did nothing but cast a single, saddened glance to his dead eye and all her willingness to talk and try to make things better withered like a leaf in a frosted land.

“He’s changing because he already has one foot in the grave. Quit the fancy words, Hel, he’s not changing. He’s just trying to relieve his conscience. A bit late for that, no?” and he downed his champagne in one gulp.

“Aem—”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t care.” He said, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket and placing one cigarette between his lips. He glanced one last time at his sister and with the coldest distance he said “But do let me know when he dies. I'll toast to that.”

She had had three flutes of champagne while talking to a countless number of faceless beggars when she started to feel nauseated. She didn’t even know by what, whether it was the champagne, the people, or herself. Perhaps all of them.

The cold night air embraced her as she went out on the terrace, making the hairs on her arms stand and her half-covered spine shiver. She had not brought her coat with her, but she did not mind. The cold awoke her from her torpor, made her stop being a relic on a mantelpiece.

She slipped a cigarette between her lips and looked into her purse for the lighter. "No, no, no—" she said to no one, frantically feeling every nook and cranny of the purse. "Fuck!"

"Here."

She jumped, turning her head just in time to see a lighter flying towards her. She caught it, staring at the dark corner on her left. There was a man sitting there, wrapped by the shadows, except for a thin white hand laying on the table, long fingers, and half a cigarette resting between index and middle.

She squinted, trying to get a better look. “I can’t see you.”

“I do.”

It was just a simple statement, but his tone was strange, riddled with an edge of shrewdness.

She stared at the dark figure for a moment longer, then lit her cigarette and walked a few steps closer.

"I would like to know who I'm speaking to, stranger." She said, handing over the lighter.

A moment later the shadow stood up, and she had to lift her chin as she watched the glow of the lamps unraveling his face, sharp like a knife. The air hitched in her throat, her gaze inevitably caught by the blue of his eye, as well as the dead blue of the prosthetic. "Oh."

His arched mouth bent upwards. "Define your oh."

“It’s just a oh, you’re not a stranger after all.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, curiously tilting his head with a ghosting grin “What do you think you know about me? Aside from what you read on gossip papers.”

“I don’t read gossip papers.”

“Yes, you do. All the girls like you do that.”

“All the girls like me?”

“Dolls with a trust fund to squander before forty.”

She raised her eyebrows, quickly scanning the young man before her. He was clad in black, with a black turtleneck and a leather jacket, accentuating his sharp features and pale face framed by short hair, a bit curly but neatly styled. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. I have blue blood in my veins.”

“I don’t work for my family.” He said matter-of-factly “They don’t pay my rent and they don’t cover up my shit.”

“Mine neither.”

His eyebrow raising was enough to dismantle her lie right away. “Papers say otherwise.”

“Do you trust papers and their cheap rumors?”

“Hmm. Trust is a strong word. But true or false, rumors are often more revealing than facts.” he took a long drag on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes and she watched as the dead one remained unnaturally still. It was not disturbing, she thought. It gave him a sinister allure, catching her off guard.

“Then I should believe all the rumors about you and your...charming mystery.”

“They say I’m charming now?” he asked with a smirk.

“I believe they called you a sphinx” she deadpanned “before claiming you hit a journalist, a woman.”

“And which one do you think is more likely?”

She looked at him uncertainly. Well, he was charming. But he was a lot more mysterious. More than a sphinx, Aemond Targaryen was a living riddle.

Even before the accident in Sothoryos, from where he returned with an eye missing, the second-born son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower was a foggy figure, often in the shadows, more than often in the shadows of someone else, his half-sister Rhaenyra, his older brother Aegon. And after Sothoryos, he seemed to have grown his own shadows, distancing himself from his family and dropping his academic career to do Gods-know-what in a small flat in the oldest quarter of Oldtown.

“Both?” she dared.

He clicked his tongue, looking away with disappointment, and flicked the cigarette. “Too easy. And now you’re boring me.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” she chirped with a tight smile.

“Don’t expect me to follow you. I am not one of those wankers inside who come in their pants as you bat your fake eyelashes.”

The smile left her face instantly, and she glared at him, throwing her half-cigarette on the ground. “It is true, then. Royals do act like the rudest jerks.”

Instead of looking offended, her words seemed to do nothing but tickle his pride—some kind of gratification that poured like poison from the angles of his mouth. “I don’t act. But if I wanted to, I'd know who to turn to.”

“Meaning?” 

“And you keep boring me.” his eye went momentarily below her neck, and he tilted his chin “Are those pretty diamonds slowing blood to your brain?”

Miss Lannister looked stunned. No one, ever, dared to talk to her like that.

She was used to being praised and begged and praised. A beautiful portrait framed by gold and hung on a wall for all to see. She should have been outraged, she should have used her last name as shield and threat. But for once, she was breathing on her own, free of any strings.

“Are they real?” he asked suddenly, and she stilled as his hand ghosted on her necklace, feeling his cold fingertips hovering above her skin.

“Of course they are.”

“Hmm.” He mused, pulling his hand back as he continued to stare at the necklace and then down at her dress.  “They serve their purpose I’d say.” he said dragging his eye back to her face.

“Slowing my brain?” she asked with a little vitriolic smile.

“Hiding all the fake beneath them.”

“Who are you, a fortune teller?” she spitefully asked. “Do you possess the Third Eye as well as the Fake One?”

“One eye is enough to see right through you, golden girl.”

“And why were you watching me if I am so blatantly obvious?”

He almost shrugged his shoulders. “These parties are dreadfully boring. I was in need of a distraction, and you were hard to miss.”

“I could say the same about you.” Her gaze flicked for an instant to his dead eye. “Except that I don’t hide in dark corners from my own family.”

Whether he was stung by her words or not, his composure remained utterly impassive. A sphinx through and through.

“No. You do it before them.” An amused smile, spiced up with poison, curled his lips. “At least I have the dignity to disappear instead of begging for attention like a pathetic creature.”

Her words did not sting, but his surely did. And they shouldn’t.

They had crossed paths once or twice in the years prior, but effectively, Aemond was but a stranger to her. She wasn’t even aware of him watching her inside the hall, maybe too absorbed in her puppet play, or maybe resigned to scream into a crowded room of deaf mannequins.

She swallowed heavily, not dropping her gaze, waiting for all the gold to shield her, hide her, serving its purpose once more. But Aemond had a strange look in his eye. He was staring at her, and what he saw thrilled him.

He was sure he would see harshness, contempt, but not that. Not…anguish. It was buried in her pretty eyes and yet it just lied there in full sight, the darker shade of abyss beneath the crystalline blue of the deceiving surface.

If only someone had bothered to look.

“You remind me of someone.” he said almost mindlessly.

“Do I dare asking or do you wish to offend me some more?”

He seemed to ponder for a while, looking at her as if he were measuring an opponent.

“Come with me. I’ll show you.”

He moved, leaving the terrace without waiting for her, sure enough she would follow him. And she did.  

Not immediately, though. She stared at his tall figure as he went back inside and thought she should go back to the party, go back to the script. There was something uncanny, almost eerie about staying close to him, like walking on the thin thread of a cobweb while being dreadfully aware to be walking towards the spider’s bite.

But the dread made her feel alive, made her heart pounding in her throat. So, she followed him.

“I didn’t know your family had it.” She said with a tinge of amazement as they stopped before the painting gloriously exhibited along one of the lavish corridors upstairs. “I thought it got lost during some war.”

“It was.” He said, stopping beside her, eye roaming on the canvas.

“Did I remind you of a lost anonymous painting?”

“You reminded me of the Maiden.” And his eye flicked to the left of the painting. Then he dragged his gaze on her, turning his head, and watched her. “Do you know the story?”

“The myth?”

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“I don’t believe in Gods. Or myths.”

“That is strange, coming from a girl who spent so much time building her own.”

She turned her head and looked at him. He was smiling subtly, but it was different this time. There was no poison dripping from the angles of his mouth, but the clearest intrigue.

It stopped her heart for a moment. A sudden cut in the canvas, a crack in the porcelain. And she felt that this stranger was peeking inside, or perhaps she was.

Aemond looked back at the painting and laced his arms behind his back, making the leather of his jacket creak. “They said once there was a land inhabited only by Gods and Monsters. The Maiden was the most beautiful Goddess in the Holy Garden. She grew flowers from her hands, trailing behind her as she walked. But she was unhappy. The Gods only sought her for her gift, used her as a piece of ornament. She was beautiful on the outside, but inside—”

“Lonely and hollow.” she filled in.

“Just like the Stranger.” he said, and they turned at the same time, locking their eyes.

Aemond glanced back at the ominous figure in the painting and said “He was not allowed to enter the Gods world. He lived underground, blowing his mortal winds to call the souls into his realm of death. But then he saw her. He dried her tears through his wind until one day—”

“He took her.” she filled in once more. “He used the wind to tie her hands with the flowery branches she grew and kidnapped her from the Holy Garden.”

“Are you sure kidnapped is the right word?”

“According to the myth? Yes. You might have been a great scholar, but I’m not a goat.”

He chuckled quietly, and the sound made her turn again to watch him.

He held her gaze as amusement left his marbled features, and without taking his eye off her, he tilted his chin towards the painting “Look at her. Look at her face and tell me what you see."

She did so, observing the anguish, the dark trepidation on the Maiden’s face.

“She is frightened.”

“Is she?” he asked, and suddenly he was almost behind her. His breath tickled her ear like the wind on a hot summer day, and her breath hitched once more. “Look into her eyes.” he whispered on her nape “Is it fear to be taken…or desire?”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the painting, and dug her nails into the expensive fabric of her little purse. “Art is not math.” she said with confidence “There is not one undisputable interpretation.” And she turned to face him “So unless you painted that, and I have some doubts, you say she’s keen on being taken. I say she’s frightened.”

Aemond stared at her for a moment with a strange new look on his face, as if someone had just issued a challenge to him. His blue eye was wide, and the little smirk was peeking through his lips. “Do you ever choose a position, golden girl?”

“I think I just did.”

“Allow me to rephrase, then. A less boring position.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he was faster. “Let me show you something a little less ambiguous.”  

"Wow, these are beautiful," she said as they climbed the stairs to the floor above the one where the glorious anonymous painting stood. On the angled wall, a series of photographs were exhibited—portraits, precisely—all in black and white.

"Are we complimenting each other now?" he asked, halting on a step.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment before slightly widening her eyes. "What, these are yours?"

He gave her a simple nod, and she looked back at the portraits.

"My mother put them here. Her way to prove she cares, I guess." He said absent-mindedly, as if conversing about the weather. 

The Lannister girl watched him closely, in search of something that would betray such a cold statement, but there were no cracks, no cuts.

"The great mystery unraveled.” She said forcing a dramatic tone “Aemond Targaryen is a photographer."

"I am not. I don’t do it for a living.”

“Yes, because you don’t need a job to get by.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She glared at him, trying with poor success to stifle a smile.

“It's just an interest." He stated.

"A passion." she dared to suggest.

"I wouldn't call it that. Passion preludes emotion, ardor. Photography is nothing like."

She watched him fold his arms behind his back in a peculiar way, grabbing his forearms with his hands. He had done the same thing earlier, in front of the painting. The gesture caught her attention then, as it did now.

"What is it then?" she asked, trailing her eyes back to his face.

He stared at her for an impossible long time before answering. “Revelation.”

She looked back at the portraits and observed them thoroughly. There were some men caught behind the camera, but the majority were all women. Young and beautiful women.

The portraits were majestic, she considered. He had found a way to toy with light which made these people look like glimpses from an otherworldly dimension, flashes of dreams.

No, not dreams, she thought.

The light was cruel, exposing, cutting. And all the subjects seemed to have been caught in a moment of great distress, flowing almost into a grotesque despair.

Flashes of nightmares.  

The sight made her lips part, her skin shiver with eeriness and something else, something she could not name. The same basic instinct that had pushed her to follow him. These people, made eternal by black and white, were dressed, but their souls utterly naked before the eye.

“I wouldn’t call it revelation…”

“And what would you call it?” he asked, stepping beside her to watch the portrait, not missing her little startle when his elbow brushed against hers.

She took a deep, silent breath and turned her head to look at him. "Intrusion.”

“Hmm.” He mused, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket “Intrusion of which kind?”

He placed the cigarette between his lips only to see her hand snatching it away, but slowly, just like she was used to move, so much that her fingertip brushed his upper lip. “Any kind.” she answered and his eye fell on her rosy lips closing around the filter.

His mouth twitched, as if her light brushing had lit his skin aflame, and he moved unconsciously, bringing the lighter close but pausing, his thumb lingering on the little wheel, and he looked at her, just as she looked at him.  

When he pushed his finger to light the flame, the short metallic sound came through with a strange finality, a curtain dropping after the first act.

She lit the cigarette and took a long drag, glancing at the portraits and then back at him. “Did you fuck these women?” 

“No.” was all he said, hiding a little smirk as he slipped another smoke between his lips. He saw her raising her eyebrows with clear disbelief, so he clarified. “Not all of them.”

“I bet they revealed themselves thoroughly.”

“They were more than keen to do it.”

“And did you?” she countered, tilting her head, lowering her voice so that once again, he found himself leaning towards her, like a moth to a flame. “Did you reveal yourself as well? Did you let them intrude?”

“Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.”

She clicked her tongue and laughed—the very first genuine laugh she could conjure up in the span of hours, or even days. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Yes. And unfortunately for you, it is working.”

She gave him a bemused look at his brazen statement, but she felt strangely exposed under his unblinking stare, a hand ending her ceaseless floating to anchor her against the seabed.

“I want you to come to my place," he said suddenly, his voice kept quiet, almost soft, to the verge of whispering. It wrapped her senses like a soothing lullaby.

“I want to take your picture.”

“Why? To end up on this wall and in your bed like dozens of girls before me?”

“Dozens?” he raised an eyebrow “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

“Hmm” he crooned, cocking his head to one side, a contented expression stretching on his face, much like a cat licking its whiskers. “Envy doesn’t suit a Lannister.”

“Envy?” she repeated, laughing scornfully. “You’re an arrogant brat, has anyone ever told you?”

“Many in fact. So, shall we?”   

“Shall we what?”

“Pity, I thought you had stopped boring me.” He said pocketing his lighter “Stay here playing the doll with those old fogeys, if you like. I’m leaving.”

She had only time to blink and he was gone, leaving her on those steps with the foreign, unsettling longing to follow. Her feet moved on their own, dragging her back to the party with an urgency shaking her bones, pushing her eyes to dart in every corner of the hall, moving amongst the people as if chasing the wind.

“Oh, there you are!” Jason pulled her to him, and she stilled, as she was used to, but everything inside her kept moving. “That Lonmouth smartass came at me screaming like a chicken.” Jason said with cocaine pupils, slurring words after words “as if it’s Dad’s fault that he’s an idiot. Put him in his place, would you? I’m too high, I might stick a fork between his eyes. D’you you want to hear something funny?”

“No, Jason. I don’t.” she replied absently, looking around once more “Listen, did you see Aemond Targaryen?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She said, wriggling herself from his hold, but he was fast to pull her back “Sis, why are you looking for that creep?”  

“Let me go, Jason.”

“Listen to me. First the shit show in Pyke and now Aemond One Eye? Dad would not be happy to know you are—”

“Dad would not be happy to know fucking anything that he has not concocted and told us to do. And I’m tired of it, Jason.” She hastily broke free from his grip, alerting the well-dressed people around them, but she ignored them altogether. “Just this once, you’ll have to play the puppet. I’m done for tonight.” she tugged the pocket square from his jacket and threw it at him. “And wipe your nose, for Gods’ sake. There’s coke on it.”

She wandered inside the huge hall like walking through quicksand, sinking a little more any time another man or woman stopped her to chit chat, to ask her about her father and the bank and the next slot in her father's agenda.

As if she had any clue. As if her father had not dismissed any of her natural vocations  like wrong bills to be fed to the shredder only to make her study economics, only to frame her degree, and then instruct her himself to specialize in the sacred act of parading herself around like a rare stuffed creature.

“Here you are.” A hand slipped around her waist, and she found herself enveloped by two familiar hands. “I’ve looked for you anywhere.”

“Quentin.” She said, looking into the dark glinting eyes of Quentin Martell, slightly wrinkling her nose for the heavy male perfume in which he had apparently dunked his suit.

His eyes scanned her slowly, looking like he wanted to peel her dress off like an orange. “Always outshining anyone else, are you?”

She looked away, stifling an exasperated sigh, all too used to Quentin’s redundant flatteries.

“This party is dead, isn’t it? And rather self-celebratory from the Hightowers. As if they don’t owe their current position to Viserys Targaryen.”

She glanced at him and saw her father talking. It was one of his favorite refrains at breakfast, lunch or dinner. It made no difference to him. Any time was a good time to incense themselves as the best, the wealthiest, the proudest, and hundreds of more superlatives that made the food instantly go rancid in her mouth.

Distractedly, her eyes roamed around, numbing her ears while Quentin kept talking. It was then that she saw him. He had not left.

Holding a glass of some liquor, he seemed to be in deep conversation, or rather on the receiving end of a soliloquy from his grandfather, who was leaning slightly over him, almost talking to his ear.

His eye was absently buried to the floor, one long finger tapped against the glass. A couple of words she could not make from that distance slipped from his mouth, resigned as his whole demeanor.

She thought she was looking into a mirror.

“Honey, are you listening to me?” Quentin asked at some point, tightening the hold on her waist. “Who are you looking at so rapt?”

“No one.” she hurried to say. But Quentin was quicker to follow her gaze before she dropped it.  “Aemond One Eye?” he said on the verge of mockery. “Baby, he is so out of your league.”

She cocked her head and plastered a tight smile on her lips. “And precisely, what do you know about my league?” 

“You know what I mean. How blind can you be not to notice that your brother has been screwing your girlfriend behind your back for months? Oops, sorry, wrong metaphor.”

“Both the Baratheons and the Targaryens have denied it.”

“Sure, sure. Then why the Baratheons were not invited tonight? And why did the one eyed come? He never does. Oh wait, look at that, Aegon’s missing. Not surprising though, didn’t they say Targaryens used to fuck amongst their own in the old times?”

She lowered her gaze, lost in thought, and then turned her head, instantly widening her eyes, shoulders tensing when she saw Aemond looking straight at her, sipping his drink, straightening the cobweb’s thread on which she had been tottering until that moment.

“Baby, are you high again?” Quentin asked her, with a genuine, inquisitive tone.

“What?”

“You’re shivering. Greyjoy told me everything about that night. Said you went batshit crazy on coke. Depraved as he is, it’s actually a good thing that you OD’ed. That creep would have fucked you even that stoned.”

She immediately grabbed his arms, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go.”

“Oh, come on.” He nothing but hold her more tightly. “I know you like to get a little freaky once in a while. I do, too. In fact, why don’t we take a tour upstairs? We could cheer up this drag.”

“No. Quentin, let me go.”

“Come on.” He insisted, pulling her to his chest.

She had to step on his foot to shake him off. “Let me cut straight to the point. I won’t fuck you, Quentin. Not tonight, not even if you were the last man left on this earth.”

He grimaced, spitefully twisting his mouth like any man who's been denied the chance to feel like a man for a few minutes. “I had warned Greyjoy about this. I told him you’re a spoiled cunt. You know what? You should get with that Stark fag. He may fuck your ass, so maybe you’d feel something 'cause I’m sure as hell your cunt is drier than the Red Waste.”

The insults were also part of the play.

After all, the act might not please everyone in the stalls. “Just shrug them off. They’re praises, actually, disguised bitterly for what they cannot have.” her mother said “Besided, a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep.”

When she was younger, each bitter word was a giant finger pointed at her, a gavel sealing the next judgement. Her mother had tried with all her carelessness to teach her how to be exactly that. Careless, a river flowing in its direction no matter the filth that would pollute the waters.

But she was draining, ever since Pyke, perhaps long before that.

She was tired of pretending to be gold while her fingertips seemed to leave behind nothing else but ash.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like to be tagged when I post part II, leave a comment below 🫶

[flowerandblood]

The Man in the Black Crown

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, violence, mention of the murder attempt, trauma, mourning ]

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

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

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

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in her life had she felt such happiness and such relief as when she saw her mother, alive, smiling, standing in her chamber. She dreamt of it in solitude, heartbreakingly trying to come to terms with the fact that she would only see her and convey everything she wanted to tell her in the next life.

Instead, she could burst out crying like a little child, find herself in her arms again, smelling her wonderful, calming scent, her hands stroking her head and her back. For a long moment she couldn't calm down, sobbing loudly, apologising to her for everything, babbling about how scared she was, how much she was suffering, how she was dying every day at the thought of not protecting her.

When she calmed down at last she sat with her on her bed, realising that someone must have led to this miracle, that something had happened that had completely escaped her attention, that there was someone else in the coffin or no one at all, that someone had helped her flee.

"I helped the Prince escape when he was a child. He offered to help me run away if I secured my brother's support for him. When he found out what your father wanted to do to me, he arrived at his call." She said calmly, stroking her head, and she swallowed loudly, remembering that Vhagar's real name was Aemond, that he had taken her on the table a moment ago, her thighs sticky from her moisture and his seed.

All this time he knew her mother was alive.

I gave her poison, after which she just fell asleep.

She's free now.

She stared in disbelief at her mother's lap, realising with a rapidly beating heart that he had never said that he had killed her.

That he had never lied to her.

She felt a wave of heat, a wave of gratitude, of devotion, of tenderness surge through her body. She thought she would do anything for him, that she would never repay him for this miracle that had just embraced her with his arms. She lifted her gaze, recalling with fear her younger brother, the fact that he was officially the heir to the throne.

"What about Loras?" She asked in a trembling voice, her mother stroking her head reassuringly and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"He has seen me, he is in shock. My brother remains with him in his chamber so that he is not alone, but for now he cannot leave. Before the coronation, he will have to give up his rights to the throne in front of everyone, agreeing that you should become Queen instead." She said calmly, and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief, hugging her face to her chest, hiding in her embrace as she had when she was a child.

"…are you willing to do it? Marry him?" She asked uncertainly, and she nodded.

"Yes."

That night she waited impatiently for him, knowing he would come, knowing what she wanted to give him. She surprised him with her directness and initiative, the low groans of his pleasure as her mouth clenched and sucked on his manhood made pleasant shivers run through her, her walls throbbing greedily around nothing.

Both of them were surprised at how quickly she managed to bring him to the edge, his noises were full of desire and vulnerability and when he came in her mouth with a loud sigh of pleasure as she swallowed bravely everything that came out of him, wanting him to be satisfied with her.

When she released him from between her lips with a loud splat and looked up at him from below she noticed that his face looked completely different − he was panting loudly, shuddering, stroking her hair, his healthy eye wide open, his lips parted, his length still twitching, swollen from his fulfilment.

"− you will make a fine Queen −" He whispered with some kind of recognition, and she felt his words deep between her thighs. He pushed her wanting her to lie on her back, clearly planning to spend the whole night with her, but she stopped him with a movement of her hands, tightening them on his shoulders.

"− no − no, we can't −" She whispered pleadingly, her eyebrows arched in pain.

There was nothing she wanted more after seeing her mother whole and healthy than to give herself to him, however, if she was to become his wife, she could not allow him to do so.

He furrowed his brow, shocked, looking at her in disbelief.

"− are you mocking me? − I have no intention of pulling it out of you all night −" He said dryly, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer − she squirmed quietly when she felt him rub his manhood between her thighs, an amused smirk appeared on his face when he felt how wet she was.

"− you fucking want this −" He hummed; she tightened her hands on his tunic, shaking her head.

"− I want this − but the court will think I am your whore − I will never be respected by your side − is it not enough that I am the daughter of a traitor? −" She asked in a trembling voice and saw that he froze, looking at her in shock, his lips tightened into a thin line.

"− I will kill with my own hands anyone who dares to insult my Queen −" He hissed. She raised her hand and stroked his cheek − she saw him hesitate, his gaze softened slightly.

"− I ask this of you as your future wife − let us not spend the night together until our nuptials −" She whispered, stroking his scar with her fingertips − she heard him sigh heavily and curse quietly, furious.

He stood up, tying his breeches, staring at her with a clenched jaw and she raised herself up on her elbows, covering her thighs, looking at him gratefully.

"You're going to finish me off, woman." He said with annoyance, and she swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze. She felt his fingers grasp her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Tomorrow, you will accompany me during my council with the lords. You will stand by my side when I tell them of our decision. Do you understand?" He asked coolly, and she nodded, feeling hot in her heart at the thought that he really wanted this.

He really wanted her to be his wife.

The next day, new servants walked into her chamber, looking at her with trepidation, apparently afraid that if they offended her she would tell everything to the dreaded One-Eyed Prince, who would cut their throats.

In silence they helped her to dress and combed her hair − even though she should be wearing mourning, she put on a light navy blue gown with exposed shoulders and long red sleeves reaching to the ground, her and her future husband's colours.

In accordance with his wishes, she was led into the small council chamber, where lords loyal to him over the years as well as those who had joined him later were seated at the table − she was relieved to see her uncle and her mother among them.

This time, as soon as she spotted her future husband sitting at the head of the table she bowed humbly, causing the conversation to fall silent.

"My King." She said softly and lifted her gaze to him − his sapphire now covered by a black eye patch, his healthy eye looking at her with satisfaction and contentment. He nodded at her.

"Come closer, my Lady." He said in a firm, dry voice, and she headed towards him obediently, surprising most of those gathered by the fact that she stopped beside his chair − Criston Cole moved restlessly, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Conquering a city and regaining the throne is one thing, however, maintaining it and keeping the peace is another. The simplest way to appease the terrified citizens, in my opinion, would be a union between the feuding families, heralding a new beginning. That is why I have made decision to take Lord Walford's daugther as my wife and that she will be crowned with me during our nuptials." He said lowly − an uproar and dissenting voices echoed around her, her heart beat hard in horror as one of the lords stood up and pointed a finger at her.

"This is treacherous blood, my King. It passes from generation to generation, it cannot be trusted. Send her back to the monastery, my daughter would be a more suitable candidate for your wife." He said looking at him with outrage, however her future husband's face remained impassive and indifferent.

"I declare my will, my Lord, not to ask your opinion. Have you supported me only to have me marry your daughter? Will you turn against me if I do not?" He asked coldly, with emphasis, wanting to push him to the wall. The man swallowed loudly, shaking his head.

"No, of course not, my King, however you must not be fooled, she will want to avenge her father and put her younger brother on the throne, she…" He didn't finish as a fiery argument broke out around her − her uncle stood up from his seat, furious, saying that it was thanks to him that they had taken over the city and he didn't wish anyone to speak to his niece in such a way − the other lord said he only did it because he wanted to be King himself.

"Why would I want to avenge my father?" She asked, looking straight into the eyes of the lord who had insulted her earlier − the man fell silent surprised that she had the courage to interrupt the men's discussion and interject.

"Because I believed he ordered my mother to be killed? Because if it wasn't for our King I would have took my own life? Because my father wanted to sell me like a mere whore to whoever would offer more?"

She asked in a trembling voice, a tense silence fell around her.

"I wanted nothing more than his death. Our King can attest that when I realised that my, what I thought at the time, ghost had connections to your cause I offered to help the Prince and do whatever he wanted, if only he would agree to spare my little brother's life. I told him this without knowing who was hiding under the mask."

"You could have done it because you sensed something was coming and wanted to warn your father!" Said one of the men, slamming his fist on the table.

"That's enough." Growled their King, but she wasn't about to leave that comment unanswered.

"If I loved him so much, why didn't I warn him? Why, after discovering the shelter under the bed in my mother's chamber, did I not inform him that the Prince might have taken refuge there, that he had survived?"

Silence answered her − the lords looked at each other uncertainly with grim faces. She heard her future husband sigh heavily, running his hand over his face.

"I appreciate your devotion, my Lords, but my decision is not negotiable. Let us proceed with the details of the coronation so that we can get it over with. I understand your concerns, fear not, you will fill your purses with gold."

Despite the extreme distrust and coldness with which her husband's decision was received, it looked as if his allies must have struggled to accept it, seeing that he was taking it seriously, not wanting to lose out in his eyes, hoping for close and important positions in his future council.

She watched from the sidelines with the ease with which he set them up like pawns on his chessboard, seeing exactly what they wanted, the greed and vanity behind their grand words of allegiance.

He knew that he could not trust them completely, that he had to control them.

Even though he didn't have a mask on his face, he somehow put it on in front of them, not letting any of his emotions or thoughts come to the surface that he didn't want to share with them.

She saw his greedy, thirsty gaze, knew he was dying of rage and irritation, struggling to keep his promise not to go near her since that night.

He craved her and couldn't touch her.

When the day of the coronation finally arrived her maids prepared her bath in the morning, dried and combed her hair, helping her put on her beautiful new black and red gown, a gift from her future husband, the colour of his house.

She felt a kind of pride when she noticed that the shade suited her − her dark hair contrasted with the ruby long sleeves, her hair partly pinned up in a bun at the back of her head, partly loose, flowing down her bare back.

She walked out of the fortress for the first time in weeks, accompanied by guards, and was led to the carriage that would take her, escorted by Criston Cole along with her mother and her brother, to the temple where the nuptial and coronation ceremony was to take place.

"Do you remember what you are supposed to say?" Their mother asked Loras, correcting his robe, also the colours of red and black, proof that he too was from now on relinquishing his father's lineage to his new house.

"Yes." He muttered, looking at her in horror, pale, his large, dark eyes glazed over from tears. "If I say all this, won't they cut my throat?"

She pressed her lips together at his words and reached out with her hand, grasping his fingers, squeezing them, looking at him tenderly.

"No one will hurt you again. I will become the wife of a Prince, and then a King, and you will retain the title of lord and inherit the estate that once belonged to our father. Everything will be as it should be." She said calmly, for the first time sincerely believing that their lives would finally be at peace, that her husband would keep his word.

When they arrived there were crowds of onlookers waiting around and in the temple itself, horrified people not knowing what to think about what had happened, watching them in silence.

Her younger brother was led onto the podium with their mother, much to their consternation − she heard shouts that it was a miracle, that the Queen was dead. Her mother placed a hand on his shoulder as he began to recite what he had been ordered to say.

"I, Larys Walford, as the son of a traitor, renounce my claim to the crown in favour of its rightful heir, Prince Aemond Targaryen, and my sister, his future wife, retaining by their grace the title of Lord." He said in a trembling, childish voice from which she felt a tightening in her throat.

He came downstairs, standing behind her, heading with her to the entrance, where her uncle was waiting for her to lead her inside instead of her father. She grabbed his arm and nodded that she was ready.

When they went inside all eyes were fixed on them, but for some reason she felt no fear or panic. All she looked at was the man who stood in front of the huge altar, behind him the tall windows through which the sun fell, illuminating his pale face, his eye patch, his long, almost white hair.

He stood upright, proud, prepared for this moment for many years, confidence, calmness and determination beaming from him − she saw that he swallowed hard at the sight of her, a barely visible grimace of satisfaction and contentment on his lips, from which she felt heat in her lower abdomen.

He craved not only the crown, but also her.

It was all about to become just his in the eyes of the gods.

Her uncle gave him her hand, which he grasped in his own, looking down at her, his gaze seeming soft to her despite the coldness, her fingers tightening lightly on his skin.

"We are gathered here to unite, bless and anoint these two people entrusting the fate of us all into their hands. Do you, standing here before the face of the gods, wish to join in holy matrimony of your own free will?"

"Yes." They both replied in a confident, clear, calm voice.

"Have either of you, standing here before me, made a commitment to someone else that might stand in the way of this sacred union of marriage?"

"No." Again they both answered, she saw his gaze change with each passing moment, as if he was slowly realising that this was really happening, that they were just becoming one.

"Therefore, I, the envoy and servant of the gods on earth, call upon you to take an oath:

In the face of the gods and all assembled witnesses, I vow that what was empty becomes full, what was broken becomes whole, and what was separated becomes one, now and for all eternity.

They said with difficulty. She felt tears gather in her eyes with each word, her throat tightened, their fingers clenched on their hands − she saw his lower lip tremble slightly.

There was a complete silence around them that made her hear their accelerated breaths perfectly − they let go of each other's hands when the priest ordered them to face him and kneel.

She closed her eyes as he anointed first his forehead and hands with holy oils and then hers, while saying that by the will of the gods they would rule this kingdom.

She heard Ser Criston Cole take a black steel crown, adorned with rubies, from the altar and walk over to her husband, placing it on his head. He went back and took another crown from it, which was in the form of a diadem with ringing ruby beads − when he placed it on her head it would fall on either side on thin strings, connecting to each other at the back.

Her husband stood up, and she rose with him, Criston Cole shouting behind them.

"Long live the King!"

"Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!" His lordship cheered, and behind them the other assembled people began to chant, simple folk who had watched everything from afar.

Loud applause echoed all around them, and she thought that people, like her, were relieved at the thought that the worst was behind them, that perhaps there would be peace at last.

They returned to the fortress on horseback so that all those gathered could see them − she rode a little way behind and heard the people shouting her name, calling her their queen, running after her.

She looked at them with some kind of emotion, remembering how they had thrown flowers at her feet when she returned alone to the keep, thinking that her mother was dead.

They were welcomed in the fortress with a huge feast of dancing and revelry, seated behind a large wooden table, receiving congratulations from the lords and their families along with vows of allegiance, which they accepted with a nod.

She knew they were both dyingly exhausted and dreamed only of rest and respite. Her husband did not ask her to dance, however, she did not mind.

She felt no need to do so, although to her surprise, she was filled with contentment.

She looked at her husband out of the corner of her eye − he was sitting with his profile to her listening to the words of another of the lords, the black crown on his head looked noble.

It seemed to her that he was born to wear it.

When at last they were able to retire to bed, her husband ordered her to go with him to his chamber, so she did so without a word of objection, and her servants followed her.

He watched sitting in a chair as they helped her to take off her gown, trying to remove the diadem from her head first, however, he immediately protested.

"No. The diadem is to stay." He said coldly, in a slow respectful movement pulling the crown off his head, placing it beside him on the table, looking at it thoughtfully.

Her servants walked out when she was finally left in just her nightgown, closing the door behind them − her husband raised his eyes at her, his gaze expressing displeasure.

"Shall I rip it off you?" He asked lowly, so she pulled at the ties of her nightgown and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall lightly to the floor.

She saw her husband-king lick his lower lip involuntarily, seeing her naked body at last in the candlelight, able to admire her shamelessly without having to rely solely on his sense of touch.

He rose slowly from his chair with a creak of wood, approaching her unhurriedly, towering over her. She shuddered as his hands ran gently over her shoulders, up to her neck and cheeks, a pleasant, warm shiver passed through her even though she was cold.

He surprised her when he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, barely rubbing against them without giving her a full kiss. She sighed in delight as she felt his familiar touch and scent, her fingers ran over the soft skin of his cheeks reciprocating his caress.

She moaned quietly as he grabbed her with his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, his lips greedily pressed against hers in a loud kiss as if he were tasting the fruit − they both gasped as the tips of their tongues licked each other tentatively.

"− I'll lick you good down there before I slide it into you − hm? −" He murmured running his nose over her cheek and she felt her insides throbbing hard at his words. She nodded quickly, running her fingers through his hair impatiently, looking up at him pleadingly.

She squealed quietly as he grabbed her hips and lifted her with ease, walking with her towards the royal bed that had once belonged to her father, and his father before that.

She sighed as her warm body collided with the cold sheets, her husband taking her thighs in his hands and spreading them in front of him, looking down at her with slightly parted lips.

"Mmm."

He murmured, and then leaned over her, nuzzling his face into her warmth between her thighs, with shy, tentative movements sliding the tip of his tongue inside her, teasing her deliberately, a moan of pleasure escaping her lips, her body arching backwards as his nose rubbed against her bud.

"− please − please, my husband −" She mumbled out, feeling her whole body burn with desire − for the time he hadn't visited her she had satisfied herself with her own hand, but it wasn't the same − she needed and wanted only him. She heard him hum with satisfaction at her words, watching her reaction with contentment.

"− so impatient − I was thinking only about this listening to those fucking fools −" He muttered between one lick of his tongue and the next, making her body tremble in his hands.

"− about what I'm going to do to my wife tonight −" He breathed out − she moaned loudly, surprised, clasping her hands in his hair as his tongue suddenly burst deep inside her.

He began to eat her like a starving man with a loud click of their mixed moisture, the tip of his tongue rubbing and pressing the spot inside her from which her walls throbbed wonderfully, her hips began to push desperately against his face.

"− my King − right here, yes, please −" She was panting and whimpering with pleasure when she felt the shockingly intense fulfilment shake her body, waves of heat flowing through her one after another − she was writhing in front of him, thinking only of the fact that he was her King and she had just come on his face.

She heard him sigh in contentment, with slow, lazy flicks of his tongue licking off everything that flowed out of her.

She looked at him with misty eyes when she heard him rise up on his knees, wiping his face with the back of his hand, reaching up to clasp of his tunic, staring at her as if he was about to devour her.

"− as your King and husband, I swear to you that you'll fall asleep and wake up with this inside you −" He murmured with a grin as he untied his breeches, releasing his hard, swollen erection, its tip glistening from his own wetness.

She spread her thighs obediently in front of him as he leaned over her, placing one hand at her head, the other guiding the fat head of his cock against her entrance, still throbbing from her fulfillment, and he pushed into her, a moan of delight escaping from their throats.

He slid deep into her with one sure thrust and immediately began to slam into her, panting loudly along with her, imposing an intense, fierce pace, his thighs slapping again and again against her buttocks with the loud click of her juices.

"− oh gods, yes − fuck, I've missed this −" He breathed out, rooting into her with sure, deep thrusts of his hips, sliding into her with ease − she reached her hand up to his eye patch and pulled it off in one sure motion, startling him completely.

He groaned low as she grasped his cheeks in her hands and pulled his face to hers, their lips colliding in a sticky, loud kiss, their bodies hitting each other fast and hard.

"− yes − please, yes, fuck me, my King − I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours −" She mewled meeting each of his thrusts with the bucking of her hips, one of her hands clamped down on his buttock allowing him to pound into her harder. She could feel him twitching all over, close to fulfilment after such a long separation, her insides sucked desperately at his cock, wanting to keep him inside her.

"− gods, stop clenching − stop, oh, fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck −" He muttered before fulfilment shook his body and his hot seed spilled inside her − they were both panting, looking at each other with misty eyes, trying to prolong this sensation with the motions of their sweaty bodies.

She sighed quietly as he leaned in and kissed her deeply, pulsing hard, still moving inside her with involuntary rocking of his hips.

"− you are made for me −" He sighed in relief, his voice filled with calmness, as if stating a fact he had read about in some book.

"− you were born to be mine −"

______

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