#A Letter Of Love Or Something (Submissions) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

holybibly · 2 months

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As much as I love my sugar bunnies, I can't leave you empty-handed before my trip. So enjoy the preview of my new ff for Seonghwa. I love you, my darlings.

𝔙𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔩

Mafia!au Alpha Seonghwa x Omega reader

"I think that you should take a little more time off from work, Hwa. If you go on like this, I'm very much in doubt that you'll be able to tie any Omegas with your knot. Aren't you worried that you're going to leave all those sweet, horny babies needy and unfulfilled, daddy?" Hongjoong soberly chuckled as he turned his amberish feline eyes to the gorgeous dark-haired Alpha beside him. There was a hint of mockery in his seductively purring voice.

"Oh, my sweet Joongie, you're so worried about that, I could think you're desperate to ride on my knot too. But you're working so hard too. Aren't you? When was the last time you tied a nice omega yourself?" Seonghwa said as he walked out of his office, which was located on the top floor of a luxurious, high-class brothel.

It was an exquisite establishment for Seoul's chosen elite, full of the most beautiful and fertile Omegas with luscious, sexy bodies and submissive, soft dispositions. Seonghwa would never settle for anything less than the most beautiful and luxurious.

Pulling a black glove made of soft Iberian leather over his long fingers, Seonghwa was walking down the dark corridor that led to the common room when a tantalising scent hit him in the face. It was barely perceptible—just a soft sensuality—but Seonghwa felt as if the scent had taken over his body, making every cell in it tingle and burn and sending goose bumps running up and down his smooth, golden skin.

The Alpha stopped abruptly, practically bumping into Hongjoong, and let his nose wiggle a little, trying to find out where the delicious scent was coming from. All of his Alpha instincts flare up with a strong curiosity. The blood in his veins becomes more viscous and hotter by the second, and saliva starts to collect in his mouth.

'Shit, Seonghwa, what are you...' Seonghwa doesn't let him finish and abruptly cuts him off in the middle of his sentence.

"Can you smell it, Joong? That aroma..." His voice is hoarse and deep, and there is a slight, velvety purr to be heard in between the letters. Seonghwa almost groans as a puff of air brings a new wave of the thick scent to him. A heavy, rich, almost maddening smell—there is something big in it—something sinful, decadent, depraved, but at the same time fresh, pure, and so innocent.

"What's that, Hwa? What do you feel?" Hongjoong's voice is filled with genuine curiosity. He raises a well-groomed eyebrow in question and sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip to keep the grin from spreading across his demonically handsome features. He takes real pleasure in seeing Seonghwa, who is normally so cold and perfect in every way, turn into an excited puppy at the slightest whiff of an unfamiliar scent.

"We have a new Omega in the brothel, don't we?" Seonghwa's voice drops a few octaves, each sound enveloped in a thick, murky sexuality. His breathing becomes heavy and hot, as if he has a fever. Fuck.

"Oh, that..." Hongjoong nods in understanding and now grins openly, revealing the tips of his pointed fangs. "I think it's the new Omega that Yeosang told me about—the cute little thing has just been hired to work here, Hwa. She's probably still waiting in Yeo's office."

Before Hongjoon could finish his sentence, Seonghwa was already halfway to Yeosang's office, the bare, luscious scent of vanilla wafting through the air and seducing him, and Hwa immediately wanted to know whose scent it was.

Seonghwa quietly opens the heavy, oak door leading to one of his assistants' offices and looks inside to finally see the owner of that intoxicating scent.

"You know, you can just have this omega if you want to.'" Hongjoong whispers as he tries to peek over Seonghwa's shoulder to get a better look at the Omega, the scent of which has made his friend so excited.

"Can you just shut your pretty mouth and stay out of my way, Joong?" Seonghwa hissed back irritably as he rolled his beautiful feline eyes on the other alpha before he focused all his attention on the unknown Omega.

Oh, what a little sugar baby you are. You look just too adorable dressed up like a doll in the fluffy pastel-coloured sweater with the open shoulders, the high socks with the satin bows, and the white lacquered Mary Jane shoes with the little gold buckle. You seem completely out of place in the gloomy atmosphere of the office, but you are seductive all the same. There is an inexplicable eroticism about you, like a fragile butterfly caught in the deadly web of a spider. Which was basically true because Seonghwa was the king of the world's dark side, and you fell right into his hands.

Your hair is long and black and shiny like the silk sheets on his bed; he can't see your whole face from his seat, but the contours of your plump cheeks are seductively soft and pink, and your lips are childishly plump and overly sensual. Seonghwa would even call them kissable, but as far as he's concerned, he'd rather bite them bloody and lick them with his tongue than kiss them.

You're clearly nervous; it's all too easy to tell by the way you fidget restlessly in your seat and the slightly bitter notes in your scent, which fills the entire office like fluffy candy floss, sticking to his tongue and leaving a moist, sweet trail on it. Seonghwa can't help but wonder: What could a candy thing like you be doing in a brothel in search of work?

This is definitely not the kind of place he would have in mind for such a delicate Omega. You might look perfect between his legs, with a diamond collar around your swan-like neck and your sweet, glistening lips curled around his cock, but a brothel...

Only the most desperate and needy Omegas seek work in a brothel. And even then, not all of them get the chance to find a place. It's necessary to comply with too many requirements to be able to be just an object of pleasure for the rich Alphas, Betas, and even other Omegas.

His curiosity is aroused even more, as is his excitement. His hard cock tugs at the fabric of his leather trousers, and the knot at the base begins to press slightly, slowly swelling. Fuck, he's no puppy to be so shamefully turned on by your scent alone, but you smell heavenly and look like an angel, and Seonghwa just wants to spoil you in the most depraved and darkest way, and maybe this desire is too strong for his own good.

Something catches your attention, and you turn your head sideways, allowing Seonghwa to finally get a full view of your angelic face. Involuntarily, a small sigh escapes from his throat, his feline eyes darken, his fangs ache to sink into the soft skin of yours, and thick saliva gathers in his mouth.

You're beautiful, a real little angel from the heavens, an exquisite porcelain doll for his pleasure. With a face like that and a scent of pure innocence and sweetness, you could be a gold mine for a brothel. Seonghwa isn't surprised that Yeosang hired you. If even Seonghwa himself wants you so badly, he has no idea how long the queue for you will be.

"Seonghwa, Mingi wants to talk to you." Hongjoong whispers in a low voice, hands a mobile phone to the dark-haired Alpha, and tries not to draw the attention of the Omega to them. Seonghwa closes the door carefully and takes the mobile phone out of the hands of the other Alpha.

"I'm listening...' Seonghwa glances at the Omega for the last time before walking away. He leaves behind his back the rich scent of vanilla and a sweet, angelic face with sugar-sweet lips. There is no doubt that you will be the object of his wet dreams.

Seonghwa had tossed and turned for hours in his luxurious royal bed, unable to sleep. The black silk of the expensive sheets flowed around his body like a surface of water, cooling the excited heat of his bare skin a little. But it did nothing to help him control his feelings and thoughts.

Even after all these hours, he can still clearly hear every seductively innocent note of your intoxicating scent, and he feels as if the bare, viscous sweetness of the vanilla has soaked into his skin and seeped deep into his bones. He almost chokes on it.

With a heavy sigh, Seonghwa leans back against the soft, fluffy cushions, his dark, feline eyes meeting his own reflection in the mirrored ceiling. Even though Seonghwa was hellishly tired, his body categorically refused to relax; every nerve tingled, and his muscles tensed and trembled as if he were in heat. And it's all because of you.

You're such a sweet, voluptuous omega, with a face like an angel, big innocent eyes that literally beg: "Fuck me, Alpha," and the most sinful lips he's ever seen. God, he just can't seem to get you out of his head.

As soon as he covers his gorgeous eyes, the image of your sweet mouth stretching so beautifully around his thick cock appears in his mind and causes his whole body to react in an instant. Seonghwa can feel how his cock is straining once again; the massive velvet length is getting harder by the second, and drops of pre-cum are starting to appear on the dark pink, swollen head.

The Alpha lazily runs his long fingers over his bare chest, hissing from his hypersensitivity, lust burning like poison under his skin. No other Omega in his life has ever been able to interest him in such a way that Seonghwa becomes hard just at the mere thought of her.

And he doesn't know if he hates it or if it just makes him more horny.

You are the very real Miss Pink Sugar, not at all his type, but still, Seonghwa longs to crumble you up between his teeth like a damn shiny lollipop and to devour you without a trace.

The alpha in him purrs with approval at the thought of that.

As he stares at his reflection in the mirror, Hwa can't help but wonder what you would look like if you were lying in his bed with his cock deep inside of you. Your pretty tiny pussy is stretched so deliciously around his thick knot, and your belly is swollen from the huge amount of cum that he is pouring into you. Fuck. Hwa would have marked every millimeter of your soft skin and would have left behind forever the inflamed marks of his teeth, which would have bloomed like bloody flowers on your body.

Your pretty little brain can't even begin to imagine the horrible, dirty things that he would do to you if you were in his presence right now and how much he would teach you.

And he'll be doing that soon.

For him, there is nothing more pleasurable than to corrupt someone's innocence, to turn divine purity into vice and sin—it is his natural instinct for his inner Alpha, one that has appealed to him since the very beginning of his kind. Hwa has never been a gentle Alpha; he has always been one to take what he wants, and you will be no exception.

To be honest, he didn't know what he would do with you once you had stated his hunger and satisfied his Alpha's dark desire. But that was the least of his worries at the moment.

Seonghwa wants to see your lovely, sweet face contorted in pure bliss as he ties you with his knot, your soft, plump cheeks all flushed with shame and wet with tears, and your beautiful mouth sticky and glistening with his cum.

Damn, you're going to look divine. Seonghwa has no doubt about it.

Hwa growls in irritation, turns over in the bed, throws off the silk sheets that are now only a nuisance to him, and reaches for his phone.

"Seonghwa, is there something wrong?" Yeosang's voice is deep and sultry as he answers his call. Seonghwa lets out a grim chuckle, knowing exactly what the gorgeous Alpha is doing right now.

"Why doesn't that surprise me, Sangie, that you're fucking around instead of concentrating on working? Sometimes I have the feeling that you all are an absolute waste of my time and my money, Sangie." Before Yeosang starts talking again, a muffled groan and rustling can be heard on the other side of the phone.

"I can never deny myself the pleasure; you know me as I am, but why are you calling me at such a late hour?"

At such a late hour? Seonghwa looks absent-mindedly at the screen of the phone. It's almost three o'clock in the morning; yes, really late. He's been spending more time in his fantasies than he would like to.

Fuck, he'll just go crazy if you're not in his bed, but he doesn't mind spreading you out on any available surface.

"Never mind. Hongjoong told me that you've hired a new Omega, right?"

"You mean Y/N, don't you? The doll is so gorgeous; it's not at all clear why she decided to work in a brothel, but let's just say it's our luck. I've already got some plans for her. In my opinion, she could be one of our star girls..." Seonghwa doesn't let him finish and rudely interrupts him.

"Sangie, I want you to bring her to me first. Do you understand me?"

"Oh, what do I see? Someone wants to play with the beautiful Omega, eh? Finally, our Seonghwa will have some time to himself. But I'll do whatever your wish is. Just don't break her, OK? She's real gold."

Seonghwa doesn't answer him, but ends the call and throws the phone down on the bed before she leans back onto the silk sheets.

As usual, Hwa will get what he so desperately wants very easily, he just has to wait a little longer.

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esoteriamaya · 7 months

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Astrology Observations Pt 12 Sensual Connections

Mars in Aries individuals need a four page letter at their doorstep with you stamped right on it. They want you now and they won't take no for an answer. They like to dominate in the bed but if you're their favorite lover they don't you taking one for the team and giving them all you've got ;) Dominatrix in the streets, quietly submissive in the... get it?

Moon in Gemini individuals wants a lover they can intellectually get along with. They can't be too passionate with someone their not mentally equipped with. Its through the mind they can devour the soul, and a telepathic connection makes it a whole lot sweeter. You got that? What they need is for you to speak highly of them and morph your mind with their body, and their mind with yours.. The interlink with the mind, body, and soul is forever lasting with them. Forever tantalizing.. forever speechless.

Venus in Taurus peeps are the LOVERS!!!!!!!!!! What gets them going is physical touch but you obsessing over them to the point that it can break the bed. They need 100 percent of your devotion to carry on this fling, because they do not stay for long. They only want love they can grasp a hold to, something that makes sense. They aren't the type to be an illusive lover, they only want whats real. A perfect atmosphere is all they ask for, and they can and will receive it.

Mercury in Libra , oh baby I just love y'all. Yall have a different type of zeal when it comes to expressing your sensual nature. The physical touch is more than what your minds believe it to be, and you absorb the energies around you and your partner to make the evening more meaningful. Deep inside, you carry a lust so deep that even words cannot fulfill it. Poetic with your wordplay, but your mouth can do a whole lot when given the opportunity... can make a fountain sing with the way you can make your tongue move. If you know what I mean ;)

Moon/Venus individuals need a deep bond. a deeep deeeep bond. The Cuddling in bed, the fondling and playing with each other, the sweet little kisses on the forehead is enough for them to get through the day. They need the sweet laughter, the little dances in the room and just for you to say I love you.. That's all they need. They need you to care.

#astrology thoughts #astrology #astrology theories #tropical astrology #astrology observations #spirituality #astro knowledge #astro observations #astrology signs #Deja’s Astro observations

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yandere-writer-momo · 9 months

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I cut out the sex scene because it bordered on Noncon. This is pure horror, it’s not even meant to be seen as romantic.

Yandere Baki Short Stories: Monster

Yandere Cheater Hanayama x Afab Reader

TW: HORROR, Suicide (fake death), depressing themes, angst, delusion, Yandere behavior,etc

(Your name) blankly stared at the passport in her hands. this was it… She was finally leaving her neglectful husband. She would turn over a new leaf and live her life for herself for once.

No more arranged marriage. No more loneliness. No more sleepless nights from the women he’d bring to his room. (Your name) would finally be at peace.

The wind ran its fingers through her hair and tousled a bit. She wished the comfort was an actual person rather than the icy wind but life didn’t quite work out that way. She was a woman born into a crime family but she had no interest in continuing the legacy her family intended her to.

(Your name) had no desire to be a pawn piece used as a peace treaty amongst the rival family. She wanted love. She wanted to live. (Your name) didn’t want to be the submissive, demure wife of an oyabun who constantly fraternized with other women.

She tried to make it work, she truly did. She tried talking to him whenever she had the chance, she tried to cook for him, organize his schedule, do his paperwork, and she even tried to get him to walk with her in his rose garden, but he’d flat out ignore her. She merely wanted to make their relationship tolerable, she wouldn’t even care if he wanted to continue to see those promiscuous women so long as they were amicable with each other. Yet he hated her because she was the daughter of the rival gang that killed his father.

Hanayama Kaoru was as cold as ice. His heart permanently locked up and unthawable. If (your name) stayed in that manor and went through with the marriage, she had no doubt she’d be miserable with him for the rest of her life… so she did what any sane person would do. She ran.

(Your name) would start a life in a different country with a new name. She would be selfish… faking her death wasn’t even a hard task to do. She simply wrote some depressing diary entries that would bring an angsty teen to shame. She even wrote a suicide letter.

Poor, clumsy (your name) jumped off a cliff and drowned in the murky ocean never to be seen again. It was fool proof.

(Your name) adjusted the sunglasses on her face and continued her journey into the airport. Her small suitcase rolled behind her, the wheels clacked against the brick road.

It was the start of a dream… or so she thought.

Hanayama laid in his bed in thought. Where was she? (Your name) would usually be here around nine in the morning to make sure he was up…

Hanayama sat up in his bed and pushed the woman that was draped across his chest off. His dark eye turned toward the door. Why wasn’t she here?

Hanayama wrapped a robe around his bare body and made his way out of his room. He ignored the grumbles of his latest bed warmer to instead try to figure out where his wife was. Why wasn’t she here?

Hanayama noticed how quiet the manor was and it unnerved him…

Hanayama was shocked to see there was no breakfast made for him in his office and no (your name) in there to greet him… where was she?

Hanayama then paused. Maybe she decided to leave him alone like he asked?

Hanayama sighed and nodded. Yes… that’s what happened. She must have finally decided to listen to him!

And so Hanayama went on to continue his day but the dread in his stomach hadn’t gone away.

His gut knew there was something horribly amiss.

A week had gone by since Hanayama had last seen (your name). His glass of water was no longer full beside him and his desk was unorganized. Hanayama’s meals weren’t made correctly and his schedule was in disarray.

A week without her and Hanayama now realized just how much his wife did… and it bothered him.

Hanayama stood outside the door of her room with a frown. He should talk to her… he needed her help with the paperwork.

“Wife. Are you in there?” Yet there was no response. He felt his hair stand up on his arm as alarm bells loudly rung in his head. She always answered him… she would have ran to him if he came to see her first.

Hanayama slid the door open to her room and was shocked to see how plain it was. This room didn’t look like it belonged to the wife of an oyabun. This room looked like a servant’s. Where were the decorations and the clothes?

Hanayama felt his stomach twist when he noticed just how little she owned and how cold it was in here. Was this why she’d ask for blankets? Why she wanted to go shopping?

Hanayama felt guilt sink into him. He was an awful husband- what was that?

Hanayama began to tremble in fear at the letter on her desk. His hands shakily opened it to read its contents. And not even after the first paragraph, he ran out the door.

She couldn’t have killed herself… she wouldn’t have. She loved being here with him. She loved him. She’d never do that.

Hanayama ignored the shouts of his men as he ran onto the cliff behind the Hanayama compound. His heart drummed in his ears from his scared he was. She was okay… she didn’t actually do it…

But the sandals at the edge of the cliff told Hanayama everything he needed to know.

Hanayama’s hands shook as he picked up the dainty, worn out sandals. Tears gathered in his eyes in realization.

(Your name) jumped off this cliff and it was all his fault…

Hanayama heard his men shout as they paused behind him in shock.

“Send out a search party to find my wife’s body.” Hanayama ordered his men who obeyed. They quickly left him to his own devices.

Hanayama held the sandals close to his chest as the tears began to fall. His wife… his poor wife.

This was all his fault.

(Your name) really loved her life in Hawaii. It was such a beautiful island and the people were so friendly!

(Your name) smiled as she laid in the sun to tan. She wondered if Hanayama was finally happy since she was out of his hair?

She shook her head to get rid of the thought. Why did she care if her neglectful husband was happy? It’s not like he ever cared about her happiness…

Hanayama never went on walks with her and he never ate a single meal with her. Hell, they never consummated their marriage. He went to bed with some other woman on their wedding night just to let her know how he felt about her.

Hanayama probably left for joy when he found that letter. He no longer had to deal with such an awful wife and he was free to do whatever his heart pleased so (your name) should do the same.

(Your name) went back to enjoying her drink. It was better to forget the old life she had, it’s not like Hanayama ever cared about her in the first place.

(Your name)’s funeral was practically empty save for Hanayama and Kizaki. It made Hanayama feel even worse that her own family didn’t even come.

Her body was never found either so her sandals would be buried. It made this whole ordeal even more depressing.

Hanayama had read her diary and was so distraught to find out just how much she cared for him. Of how she had originally really wanted their relationship to work since she didn’t have love at home. But she eventually just wanted to be friends if he didn’t want to ever touch her. To at least be civil with one another if he couldn’t love her.

(Your name) would write about how she had always wanted to go on a date or just a walk in his rose garden. Of how she just wanted to spend time with the husband that hated her. Of how she’d like to start gaze with him and listen to his troubles… he never deserved her.

Hanayama felt like the worse man in the world because she had ended her own life to make him happy. To leave him alone like he wanted her to… but he no longer wanted that.

“They always say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone…” Hanayama whispered as he placed a rose on (your name)’s casket. “I will never touch anyone else ever again. I will atone for my sin of neglecting you.”

Kizaki frowned at how distraught his boss was. (Your name) was a really sweet young woman but he didn’t think Hanayama would be so affected by her death. He’d give him time to move on, Kizaki was sure Hanayama would be back to normal in no time…

Hanayama now slept in (your name)’s old room. It was so cold in there but he felt closer to his wife… like she was here with him.

Hanayama would bury himself into her pillow and inhale her soft scent every night to help him sleep. He missed her so much… he missed his beautiful wife.

Hanayama often dreamt of her smiling at him when she used to bring him breakfast. Of how her face would light up whenever she’d ask about the rose garden… he swore he heard her voice from time to time. (Your name) haunted him.

Sometimes he’d dream that she was still here and she was pregnant with their first child. Vivid images conjured in his mind of her smiling face as the two of them had a picnic together in the rose garden she loved so much. Or maybe even the two of them visiting Hawaii together so she could swim with the dolphins?

Hanayama would never forgive himself for what he destroyed. For how he pushed his wife to do such a horrible thing. Hanayama would punish himself till the day he died for being the reason such a sunny person was snuffed out of existence.

“I miss you so much, (your name). I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

Hanayama apologized to her every night in her room, he just wanted her back… he wanted his wife back so he could make it all better to her.

If she reappeared before him, he’d be the perfect man for her. Hanayama would take her out on dates and have her sit beside him as he did paperwork. He’d sleep beside her and he’d make love to her every night.

Hanayama would be the ideal husband if she was alive. Yet that was all a dream he had… or so he thought.

Half a year had went by and Hanayama looked worse for wear. He had bags under his eyes and his face was a bit gaunt. Kizaki began to be worried sick about Hanayama.

“How about a vacation?” Kizaki offered Hanayama. “You could go to Hawaii?”

Hanayama felt his heart clench at the mention of that island. (Your name) had always wanted to visit there… she wrote about it in her diary.

Kizaki frowned at Hanayama until the large man rose up. “Yes… I think that’s will be nice.”

Hopefully Hanayama pulled himself together on that little trip.

Hanayama felt his heart stop when he arrived to the hotel in Hawaii. There she was… there was (your name)! But how was she alive? Was this some sick twist of fate?

“I can help whosever next-“ (your name) felt her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when he ex husband stood before her. What was he doing here-

She was suddenly pulled over the counter and into his large arms as he latched onto her like a lifeline. His face buried into her hair while his nose greedily inhaled her scent. She was real… she was alive!

(Your name) tried to pull away from him but Hanayama’s grip was inescapable. His whole body trembled in relief. “(Your name)… I’m so happy you’re alive. Let’s go home.”

“I think you’re mistaken-“ (your name) gasped when Hanayama suddenly kissed her. His large lips practically swallowed hers in a hungry kiss. Why was her ex husband so strange? He’s never cared about her before, hell, he’s never kissed her before. So why did he act like they were long lost lovers?

“Let’s go home. I’m going to make everything right this time. I think the boat is still at the dock so this must be destiny...” (Your name) could do little to change the Oyabun’s mind. The giant threw her over his shoulder like a savage as he carried her out of her job at the hotel.

“Hanayama, please let me down-“

“I read your diary every single day since you disappeared. I’m going to make it all right.” Hanayama quietly rambled. “I will live the rest of my life as your one and only husband. There will never be anyone else, if you want I’ll get rid of them.”

“That’s unnecessary-“

“It is necessary.” Hanayama interrupted her with a sigh. “I have to atone for my grave sin of negligence.”

Hanayama set her down on the boat before he gestured to the bewildered crew to take them back to Japan. The silence was so thick, a knife could cut through it.

A few moments went by, the sound of waves and the engine of the boat their only soundtrack until Hanayama’s deep voice spoke up.

“When we get home, we can walk together in the rose garden.” Hanayama engulfed her small hands in his large palms. “We can have another wedding and this time, we can consummate our marriage properly.”

Hanayama sighed dreamily when he brought her hands up to cup his cheeks. “I’ll spoil you this time around. I forgive you for your little runaway attempt but this time I’m never letting you go.”

(Your name) gulped as pure terror swallows her whole. This man was no longer her old husband, this was a man who had gone completely insane with guilt to the point he didn’t realize what reality was… this was a monster.

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

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Deku - Midoriya Izuku

TW: NSFW, dubcon, f!reader, asshole Hero Deku

Just thinking about Deku’s fangirl.

How lucky you felt when he took you home after you’d asked for his autograph in a bar – thinking about the expectations you had, how many times you’d imagined Hero Deku singing sweet praises in your ear as he made sweet love to you oh-so-softly – and thinking about how hard you choked on your spit when you understood just how far away those fantasies were from the truth as he fucks you like you’re shooting a hardcore porn-video.

His hand presses down hard on your face, mushing your head halfway into the white hotel pillow while his other hand fists the band of your skirt to keep you up in a pretty slope as he pounds your puffy cunt only in harsh slaps – hips clapping your ass as he uses your skirt to pull you back to meet the sharp thrusts as though you’re but a means to an end to make him cum.

Oh, but you’d been Deku’s number-one fan for years, and you’d been so giddy and excited as he’d paid for the hotel in the reception, feeling so lucky and honored, unable to fathom how any of it was even happening. Biting your lip with shy eyes blinking sheepishly, thinking of how sweet and gentle he would be in bed – so, so, so surprised when he had you pushed flat against the elevator wall with two of his fingers hooked on your tongue to make you yelp out a moan while his other hand found your cunt and squeezed the mound as though staking a claim.

You don’t really enjoy it when it’s rough – it scares you, to say the least – but this is the number-one hero, and you’re not so confident to protest when you feel you should be grateful that he’s at all touching you – even though it feels like he’s running your stomach through.

Looking over your shoulder, you can spot tattoos you’ve never seen on screen, the tribal kind that you’d expect to see only on gang members and otherwise other types of bad guys you’d not want touching you at all. He’s also wearing chains, the slim silver kind douchebags wear and compare. He’s even got fat rings on his fingers, digging into your skin where he pressures down on your face with his thumb hooked in your cheek to keep you singing mewls for him while he swings into you from behind harder and harder each time – grinning when watching how you grip the sheets in whitened knuckles as your whole body jumps on every impact.

He tips you over after a while, but missionary had never felt so threatening as he immediately locks your throat in a fist – his lips ghosting your parted ones with grunts and hot air, green eyes salaciously enjoying the show of you gasping for breath as he fucks the moans right out of you in harsh and deep strokes hitting you in new and tender places – forcing your toes to curl in the air, thighs hiked on his hips.

His other hand holds the top of your head, blunt nails push smilies into your scalp – and it all just smothers you enough to make you cry as his lips and teeth graze your cheek with a leer. “I like my sluts like this- submissive. Taking it like happy little whores in love with getting dick in their wet cunt.”

It’s not the type of sweet talk you wanted, but still, his low and gravely grunting voice forms a fist in your belly and makes you tighten on the fat shaft that has you speared. He groans at the tightness, biting your cheek as his hips stutter, shooting his load inside you without warning.

You’re in shock. Feeling the sweat between your bodies and the warmth of it inside you. You can only stare blankly up at the hotel ceiling fan and halfway wonder why you’d not thought better of it when he’d booked you into such a cheap and sleazy place.

You hear the popping of the Sharpie, but it doesn’t register. Nor does how he pushes the felt tip of it down in the softness of your tit. He scribbles something – cap held between his lips and teeth as he asks, “Wha’ was’h your name again?”

You mumble it dumbly without asking yourself why as he writes the letters on your skin. You don’t flinch when he pulls his phone from the nightstand and takes a picture with the flash on.

He doesn’t stay for long.

Actually, he doesn't stay at all. He doesn’t even shower before pulling his pants on and leaving with his shirt draped over his shoulder.

You look in the mirror after willing yourself to get up.

Your chest reads Deku, number 47, then your name.

tip-jar: Kofi

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solarisfortuneia · 1 year

Text

— 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧.

✦ info: he's so, so in love with you.

✦ warnings: not proofread.

✦ featuring: jing yuan, gepard landau.

✦ notes: please do know i've done no research i only know bits and pieces of actual game lore these are simply self indulgent and silly Thoughts i'm having about them in the middle of the night <3 (i have no clue what this is i js think it's cute)

— smitten! jing yuan, who thinks of you all day, every day, while doing his official duties, while sparring with yanqing, while speaking with officials, even just before his afternoon nap.

(the strangest of things remind him of you: an oddly shaped rock takes him back to the time when you baked something for him, and the dew shining on a leaf brings with it a recollection of the sparkle in your gaze. it is almost as if you've claimed more than half the space in his head, stubbornly refusing to surrender it into the hands of his daily tasks.

well, he's certainly not complaining.)

— speaking of afternoon naps, smitten! jing yuan, who dreams of you while he dozes in the afternoon. he doesn't remember all of them, but he adores the warm, fuzzy feeling he wakes up with.

— smitten! jing yuan, who names one of his birds after you. he tries not to pick favorites, he really does, but there's just something about the way this little one tilts its head that reminds him so much of you, how can he not like this one the most?

(yanqing once caught him affectionately cooing at the bird with your name. he brings it up every game of starchess they play, hoping to distract the general from stealing another one of his pieces. jing yuan knows what he's doing though, and still ends up stealing a piece or two.)

— smitten! gepard, who writes letters addressed to you every single day while he's away. some he sends, some he keeps. but every single one of them is filled with all the things he thinks of telling you while you're not by his side.

(the ones he keeps are the sappiest, full of things he's too shy to say to you— about how he longs to return to your warm embrace, about how he wants to taste your cooking, about how he wants to lie in your lap while you pet his hair. perhaps one day, he'll find the courage to say them out loud?)

— smitten! gepard, who finds himself murmuring your name, over and over when he's idle.

(sometimes, if there's a tune running through his head, he sings out the syllables of your name, before catching himself in the act. he shakes his head at himself, red dusting his cheeks, but a tiny smile plays at his lips nevertheless.)

— smitten! gepard, who doodles your name (and perhaps a drawing or two) on a spare piece of paper whenever he's lost in thought. he'd never dare do that on official paper work, though, no way, none at all.

(except... one fine day, he ends up drawing one of his infamous sketches in the margins of a very important, incredibly serious, highly official report to the supreme guardian herself.

he only notices at the very last minute, right before submission, much to his mortification and relief. thank the preservation, he thinks as he redoes it, for—well— preserving his dignity.

who knows how much his sister would have teased him if she found out?)

taglist: @ilyuu @ineshapanda @supernova25 @kissedbysilk @vixianne

(bold = unable to be tagged!) please fill in the form in my profile to be added, and send an ask to be removed!

#—💡#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard x you #jing yuan x you #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #jing yuan #honkai star rail #gepard #i'm drowsy rn but this makes sense to me #if it doesn't make sense in the morning #oh well

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cressidagrey · 9 days

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Tear the World Apart

For Eris Week 2024- Day 7 - Free Day

@erisweekofficial

Summary:

Eris’ mate decides to get rid of her father-in-law. Also known as: If Eris Vanserra married a very bloodthirsty Margaery Tyrell.

Warning:

Plotting of Murder, Poisoning, Mention of domestic violence and parental abuse, Beron ends up dead?

(Lovely dividers thanks to @tsunami-of-tears!)

The moment Wisteria Abinac met her future husband…her future father-in-law was a dead male.

Beron Vanserra should have simply known better than to ever have laid a single finger on her mate.

It was an open secret in the Autumn Court, after all, what exactly he did to his lovely wife and his sons. The High Lord was known for his cruelty.

So really…she was doing everybody a favour if she killed him.

Wisteria decided two things during that Masquerade Ball where she first danced with Eris Vanserra and the Mating Bond decided to snap for her: Beron Vanserra was a dead male and Wisteria Abinac was going to marry her mate.

That marrying her mate was going to make her the next Lady of Autumn…well, that was just a happy coincidence. (Her grandmother would be very pleased indeed. This was what Begonia Abinac had always strived for, after all.)

Wisteria wasn’t going to protest that particular title in any way. She had not been named Wisteria for nothing. Wisteria was named after that sweet-smelling vigorously climbing plant: She was rather good at climbing, especially the social kind.

That was what she had been raised to do, hadn’t she? If the bumbling male idiots in her family couldn’t manage it, the females did.

So at that Masquerade ball…it had been the touch of a hand, calloused from sword fighting and one look into a pair of amber eyes and the Mating Bond had decided to snap for her.

It hadn’t snapped for him.

At least, Wisteria didn’t think so, because he spent the rest of that Masquerade Ball utterly ignoring her.

Oh well. That only managed to light a fire under.

Wisteria was going to procure herself the Heir to the Autumn Court as her husband. Even when it was the last thing she did. Thankfully, the situation didn’t turn out to be quite as dire.

Actually…it was laughably easy. Wisteria had expected it to be more difficult.

A few words to her father at dinner one evening of how her older brother should really marry and finally procure an heir to their duchy…Thanks to the cauldron, her father had the High Lord’s Ear. (The fact that her family kept most of the Autumn Court provided with grain, was useful for once.) She knew that he would mention something to the High Lord about finding his eldest son a wife….and once he did…the seeds were sown.

Then, a few words to her grandmother of how cunning and handsome the eldest son of the High Lord was…Wisteria didn’t need to say more to make her intentions clear. Begonia Abinac just patted her hand and congratulated her for setting her sights on such an ambitious target…

And once Wisteria had these two in her corner…well, then she only needed a few other well-placed words to a few other well-placed people and the next letter that fluttered into the Abinac family manor… that was all about how High Lord of Autumn had decided that his eldest son should also really get on with that heir business and that the daughter of one of his most needed allies was going to be just a good pick as any...

The next court occasion brought with it a lovely new dark green dress that fitted beautifully with her dark hair and eyes, a gold tiara woven in her hair that looked like gold encrusted leaves and fat emeralds dripping down her throat…She already looked like the Lady of this Court, even when she wasn’t. Not yet, at least

And once Wisteria had her in…it was even easier.

She knew what the High Lord liked. Wisteria had perfected the mask of a simpering, submissive girl. Nothing that Beron would find threatening in any way. Just about magically powerful enough that he thought she was worth it to give birth to his heir’s heir, but weak enough that he wasn’t worried that she would start a rebellion or anything like that…

A fun plaything. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She did make sure at that ball that she caught the eyes of every available male. Waving a bright red flag in front of them that she was available, from good breeding stock and clearly knew how to behave. She knew that she was playing with fire.

Oh well. Wisteria had always adored flames.

She was counting on the Mating bond-induced jealousy. Expected it in fact.

No other male would be stupid enough to get in the way of a Prince if he did make his interest clear...and it seemed to work. After about an hour of simpering conversation and wrapping a curl of dark hair around her finger…, there he was...the Autumn Prince himself.

He came to stand next to her, a glass of wine in one hand as he leaned casually against the wall. Wisteria took a moment to study him closer. Gods, he was certainly easy enough on the eyes. "Enjoying yourself, Lady Wisteria?" he asked a moment later, his voice casually polite, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

She turned her head to look at him fully, a polite smile on her own lips in return as she met his gaze. "Of course, milord," she said back, her own tone just as polite, even as her own eyes slid down over his body as she spoke. "I always did enjoy a good dance."

Eris chuckled and took a drink of his wine, his eyes watching her with an expression of interest. "You certainly seem used to them," he said, his tone still casual, but there was a slight hint of a question to his words. "You've already shared a dance with half of the available males within the room."

She giggled back, lifting a hand and toying with a strand of her hair. "You exaggerate, Milord," she said back, her voice still casual, keeping her mask of polite innocence on. "I think it's only been one-quarter of the available males in the room."

"Searching for your long-suffering future husband?" he asked her. There was something sharp in these words, but she didn’t let that stop her.

"Oh, I already found him," she gave back drily.

That got him to pause, and she silently noted how his golden eyes flashed with something like surprise at her words. There was a hint of a frown on his lips for just a moment before he smoothed it back out, but he was clearly thinking furiously. "You have?" he asked his tone back to being casually polite. "Who is the lucky male, then?"

She lifted her head a little more and tilted her head to the side with a smile of innocent satisfaction on her lips. "Why, you, of course, milord," she said like it was just the most obvious thing in the world.

There it was again...that flash of surprise in his gaze, his eyes sharpening just a fraction. She wondered if he was going to brush her off as some silly, foolish, simpering female...or if he was going to take the bait...

It...it took all her willpower and hard-won experience to keep that polite, innocent smile on her lips and not smirk in victory as she watched him consider his words, his golden gaze on her face never wavering for a moment...

"...Is that so?" he eventually said, his tone still casual and polite, as if he was discussing the current weather and not her stating that he was already her future husband. "And why, exactly, am I your chosen future husband, Miss Abinac? You don't even know me."

The corner of her lips tugged up, just a fraction, at the question, the first crack in her mask, but he was sharp, his eyes noticing that, of course. "That may be true, Milord," she gave him a smile back. "But I could say the same the other way, too. You know nothing about me either...and yet, you approached me all the same."

"I do know that you are a very good dancer," he said calmly, offering her his hand.

Once more, Wisteria hid a victorious smirk, her own hand placing itself in his, her fingers curling through his. "I do like dancing, Milord," she replied calmly. "And I do pride myself on not trampling on my partner’s toes."

Her mask didn't even slip once as he led her out to the dance floor, the two of them began to dance, and it took every ounce of control in her body not to smile in sheer satisfaction at the feel of the Mating Bond in her chest burning brilliantly, as if to mark the moment as something...momentous.

He proposed 3 days later.

She knew that Eris didn't propose to her because he wanted to. His father ordered him.

A fact that Wisteria knew and thoroughly loathed and which gave her all the more motivation to make sure that she would be the one truly pulling the strings come the day she married him.

Eris may not want to marry her, but he was her mate.

And Wisteria had secured that ruby ring set into gold...well, she could have laughed at how easy it was to get what she wanted. Her entire engagement to the High Lord's son had been as simple as a flutter of her eyelashes and a few choice words.

Actually marrying Eris...well that was another thing entirely.

He seemed utterly uninterested in her. Which stung and made her seethe more than a little if she was being honest with herself. After all, he was her mate...and yet, he gave her nothing. Not a hint of the bond between them...not an inch past polite courtesy and duty.

Granted, he didn’t treat her badly. Wisteria just was certain that there were inanimate objects that got more of his attention than her. Not even to speak of his whole horde of dogs.

Well, at least the dogs liked her, she supposed. Probably helped by the fact that she was not above some well-intentioned bribery and fed them bits of her breakfast.

(Though if she had hoped that maybe once the dogs liked her, Eris would warm up to her…well, that did not come to pass. He was more likely to glare at the dogs than he was to look at her when they played with her.)

It had been nearly three months. And her husband had not given her a single damn thing to work with…

In fact, he hadn't touched her at all. Other than that one kiss at the altar to seal their marriage, that was.

Eris had not shared her bed once. Had never even tried to touch her at all.

How exactly was Wisteria supposed to give him an heir, if he didn’t lay with her?

Her mate was infuriating.

Eris was her mate for Cauldron’s sake...he should want her, should seek her out...so why wasn't he doing that? It was making her furious.

And when Wisteria was furious…she did one thing and one thing only: She plotted.

In this particular case, Wisteria plotted the downfall of her father-in-law.

Beron Vanserra was a brute of a male...and yet, it was laughably easy to figure out how to manipulate and play him. After all, he wanted the same thing all males like him wanted.

He wanted to be flattered and praised, to be told that everything he said was correct and he was doing the right thing. It was all just a matter of careful flattery, of sweet words said at the right moment, and it was all too easy to gain his ear and attention...

Beron Vanserra was not only a dead male, but a stupid one, as well.

And that…that suited Wisteria’s plan just so well.

Just as she had plotted to marry Eris…she plotted to make Eris High Lord.

After all, Beron was doing nothing more than slowly destroying the strength and power of Autumn. He was destroying the lands...he was wasting all the resources that the court had...and he was doing all of it as he drank himself into oblivion on a nightly basis. The whole thing was an excellent opportunity for her to carefully slip a few words into the right ears, to whisper about better ways of doing things...to suggest Eris as a better leader...

And well, if she joined her parents-in-law at their nightly dinner, with a bottle of Apple Cider in tow...a wedding gift from the ancient Duke Hector who sadly died just days after their wedding...that was simply what a good daughter-in-law did, right?!

(And if that meant that she gave the long-suffering Lady of the Court a break from having to soothe some of Beron's...tempers...well, even better. Amara had always been lovely to her after all. And Eris did adore his mother, seemingly the only person who managed to make him show any feelings at all.)

Amara, in turn, had seemed to grow quite fond of Wisteria, taking it upon herself to teach her the way of the court, who to turn to for what…for a girl that hadn’t had a mother since her own had succumbed to illness when she had just been a toddler…it was foreign to have that again. Wisteria’s grandmother had never been particularly maternal. But Amara was.

And just because of that, Wisteria wanted to shield her from Beron’s outbursts and his tempers.

It was a good thing for the Lady of the Autumn Court to catch a break from Beron on some level, and if it helped to strengthen Wisteria's bond with Amara and Eris, well, all the better.

(Or at least, Wisteria told herself that that was the only reason why she enjoyed spending time with Amara.)

Wisteria knew two things: One, in a match of magic, she would utterly lose against any High Lord. And two...Beron was stupid to actually drink that damn apple cider every night.

(Thank god, the late Duke Hector had been gracious enough to give them three whole boxes of it to their wedding…nobody would notice if she started…adding something to the last batch of it…)

Wisteria hadn't been born an Abinac for nothing. Her knowledge of botany was...extensive. Extensive and well-known.

Well known that she tended to the Palace Gardens and even planted medicinal herbs to stock up the infirmary of the Forest House guards…

The knowledge of herbs, plants, and nature in general had certainly helped Wisteria a great deal, in all sorts of different ways. The knowledge of some particularly useful plants and herbs...well, the knowledge had certainly come to good use. After all, it was only sensible to try and learn how to better aid her people...

And it made for some rather handy tools to have at her disposal...should the need for them ever arise.

And if she snipped off a few sprigs of hemlock every day...oh well. Nobody needed to know.

She wasn't stupid enough to only poison the High Lord‘s glass. She would be found out in a heartbeat.

Wisteria poisoned that whole box of Apple Cider.

She was also very careful to build up an immunity to Hemlock for both her and Amara over three months. There was no antidote for Hemlock after all…

Like any good planner, Wisteria played the waiting game, playing the dutiful new wife and daughter-in-law by day, planning and plotting for her husband's coronation by night.

Safety first. Making sure to cover her tracks.

She wasn't stupid enough to take the risk of being found out. The poisoning of the High Lord needed to be done, but her own safety and the safety of Amara needed to be considered first.

And when Eris told her that he would be away for a week or so, tending to Autumn’s army...well...

Wisteria decided that Beron's time had come.

She behaved just like she had done for three months. Following the routine she had established.

Wisteria played her part as perfectly as always, her routine just as precise and on point as it had always been. Just that the drink she poured her father-in-law that night…it was lethal. (For him.)

It was so easy to keep the mask of the dutiful daughter-in-law on as she made sure that Beron's meal for that evening was prepared on time, and she even kept it in place as she followed the long-established ritual of handing Beron his nightly drink afterwards, a kind smile on her lips.

Granted, her own drink was just as hemlock-infused. As was Amara's.

There was to hope that she didn't absolutely fuck this up.

Wisteria was careful, after all. She wasn't taking any chances, not by a long shot. Beron, for a High Lord, was surprisingly stupid in so many ways...

As he took his first drink, she brought her own glass to her lips, not drinking a single drop.

The sudden gasping after breath...the fact that his whole face turned purple...The panicked scrabbling at this face and neck as he tried in vain to get anything, any air at all, into his body...Beron Vanserra...he didn't even manage to take a single step in her direction, or to even reach for the magic...he fell dead before he could even make a move to reach her.

He just fell to the floor, dead before her eyes as his own wife watched on in shocked horror as the life left her husband's eyes, but Wisteria didn't allow herself to look at Amara, keeping her eyes fixed steadily on her father-in-law as his final breath left his body.

And then she started screaming for the guards.

(Really, her acting performance was on par with the Royal Theatre, if she said so herself!)

Her performance was perfect, her screams and sobs of horror were enough to draw a great many guards, several of them coming running into the room quickly, clearly alarmed at the loud sounds, their eyes turning to look at the scene in the room in front of them.

They froze in place for a moment as they took in the sight of the late High Lord on the floor, his face a purplish shade of colour and his dead, unblinking eyes staring up at them, but their attention then turned to the sobbing, hysterical Wisteria, who was in the middle of sobbing and crying as her trembling hands clutched at the fabric of her dress...

And Amara, who just stared, shocked into silence.

Wisteria did feel horrible for traumatising her like that. But it was the best way to make sure that the Lady of Autumn would be seen as innocent.

Amara’s usual gentle and kind demeanour was nowhere to be seen at this moment, her face utterly pale and her dark eyes as wide open as they could go, her hand clutched tight against her chest as she stared down at her dead husband, her mouth moving as she tried to speak, tried to say something, anything...and yet, she was still too shocked to make a single sound beyond a strangled gasp.

The guards that answered Wisteria's screams and came rushing into the room stood there for a moment in shocked and horrified silence, their eyes frozen on the body and the sight of the High Lord dead on the floor, dead by...he was poisoned.

And then, as if on cue, they all as one seemed to realize that Wisteria and Amara were still alive and standing in the middle of the room, and their gazes moved to look at the two females, their eyes taking them in and trying to assess the situation.

She had counted on them thinking that females were weak.

She had been right to count on that. The moment she started stuttering about the apple cider that had been a wedding gift from a dead male...they had found their culprit.

Too bad for the late Duke Hector...but then, the male had hated Beron with a passion, so Wisteria thought that he probably wouldn't feel too bad that she used him as her scapegoat.

Her stuttering and sobbing were enough to confirm the guard's belief that the late High Lord had been poisoned by the apple cider...and not a single one of them thought of any other culprit than the late Duke Hector. After all, he had given the gift, and he was dead.

The perfect crime.

Wisteria was sobbing loudly the entire time the guards were in the room, her expression one of perfect distress and shock as they all discussed the 'crime', and it was only after the guards had picked up Beron's body to take it away and prepare it for the funeral rites, that Amara finally seemed to regain herself.

She turned her head to look at Wisteria, her face still deathly pale and one hand moving to clutch tightly at the younger female's arm. "You're unharmed...?” she whispered, her voice trembling from the shock.

"I'm alright," Wisteria replied shakily, her own voice trembling just as much as she turned her head to look back at her mother-in-law, her eyes red from the sobbing, a very convincing picture. "I'm alright...thank the Mother," she whispered, her voice still shaky as she took a few steps closer to the Lady of Autumn Court and gripped the older woman's hand in hers.

"I am so sorry," Wisteria apologised. She wasn't. Not really.

"It's alright," Amara whispered, her hand squeezing Wisteria's own hand so tightly they felt as if they were crushing her fingers. "You're...you're alright," she repeated again, as if the words were a mantra to comfort herself. Wisteria squeezed Amara's own hand back, her other hand moving up and wrapping around the older female's shoulders, hugging her.’

Poison was found in the glasses of all three and in the bottle. Clearly Duke Hector had wanted them all dead.

The guards had bought it, hook line and sinker. After all, the duke was dead...there was no need for further investigation beyond that, and the belief that the Duke had wanted to poison everyone present during the meal was more than enough for them. They were just so sure of themselves after all, and the case was wrapped up neatly, and nobody was going to bother to investigate further beyond what appeared to be the obvious conclusion.

Her plan…it had gone off without a hitch.

Now to deal with the fallout.

"Let's go sit down," Wisteria told her mother-in-law softly. "Why don't you come stay in Eris and I's rooms tonight?"

Amara shook her head faintly, but it was more of an instinctive, thoughtless action rather than an answer to the suggestion, and after a moment she whispered out a weak, "Please." It was the most vulnerable that Wisteria had ever seen the older female act as they began making their way towards the Heir's room.

She kept an arm around Amara at all times, murmuring gentle reassurances as she led her towards her and Eris' room, doing her best to reassure her mother-in-law as best she could. Amara was in shock, that much was obvious.

She helped Amara sit down on an armchair once they reached the room, one of her own hands moving to take the older female's hand again and holding hers in hers, gently rubbing her thumb across Amara's knuckles in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Just try and take a few deep breaths," she spoke in a gentle, soft murmur, her eyes watching the older woman closely as Amara sat there, all too aware of the fact that it could very easily go downhill if Amara didn't get herself back in control soon. "I'm right here," she reassured. "You're not alone. You'll be alright. Just try and breathe."

Amara obeyed, or at least, she tried, taking in a few shaky, gulping breaths that shook her body as Wisteria continued to speak in a soft, gentle voice, the young, inexperienced Lady of Autumn Court doing her best to help her in-law and maintain her own mask of concern and distress, all too aware that if her mask slipped even a little...if Amara so much as suspected something, her meticulously planned charade could come tumbling down around her.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, Amara finally managed to get herself a bit more together, her own grip on Wisteria's hand loosening and her breathing becoming less shaky and ragged as Wisteria continued to hold the older female's hand and murmur soft assurances to her, taking her time and letting Amara calm down at her own pace.

"I never thought..." Amara said, shaking her head.

"Nobody could have predicted this," Wisteria murmured back, squeezing Amara's hand gently. "It can't have been easy for you," Wisteria told the older woman gently. "Dealing with him, I mean. You're a much better wife than he ever deserved," she continued, squeezing Amara's hand in her own. "You're strong...and good," she continued, her voice soft and gentle, her expression one of sympathy and concern over what she was saying. It was the complete and total truth, after all, which made it all the easier to act like she was feeling bad for the older woman's plight.

Beron had been a brute and an ass...and it had made it so much easier to poison his drink. "All he ever did was hurt and belittle you," Wisteria continued softly. "Nobody deserves to be treated that way, certainly not by one's own husband...especially not one as gentle and kind as you," she said, one of her thumbs rubbing slowly over the top of Amara's knuckles. "All he ever did was hurt and belittle you," Wisteria continued softly. "Nobody deserves to be treated that way, certainly not by one's own husband...especially not one as gentle and kind as you," she said, one of her thumbs rubbing slowly over Amara's knuckles.

She was supposed to be naïve, inexperienced, clueless...yet it seemed she had outplayed them all...and she had won. With her mask in place and Amara starting to pull herself together more with each passing moment, it was starting to look like she had gotten away with her planned crime...

Now...the only thing she needed to do was wait until Eris came home so she could start the second phase of her plans.

"What did you use?" Amara asked her, her voice even.

Wisteria blinked a couple of times, surprised by the blunt question. From her experience, Amara had never asked a question so bluntly before...or a question with such a dark and difficult topic. "Pardon?" she asked, her head tilting to one side as her own fingers continued to gently rub at the top of Amara's knuckles.

"To poison him," Amara clarified, looking directly into Wisteria's own eyes as she squeezed back the younger female's hand in hers. "What did you use?"

Wisteria's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say, her hand tightening around Amara's own as her mind worked desperately to find a believable answer, a lie that sounded plausible. And then, her eyes dropped down to stare at Amara's own hands, and a thought came to her mind.

“I have no idea, what you could possibly mean,” she said carefully. “But it did look like Hemlock poisoning to me.”

Wisteria felt her heart rate quicken in her chest, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm, her eyes lifting up so she could look at Amara again. Amara was looking straight back at her, her own eyes sharp and perceptive, the older female's expression carefully neutral. She could see that she had caught on to something...had perhaps even caught on to the truth. But Wisteria could deny that, she could deny it, and she could play it off.

Amara just huffed.

“Why?” Amara asked her. “Why take that risk?”

Wisteria swallowed hard, her heart racing even faster in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her face calm and neutral, her eyes still fixed on Amara's own.

She couldn't falter, or make any kind of mistake. If Amara decided to pursue this, if she continued to pry...her entire plan could be destroyed, all of her work and planning for nothing.

There was no mistaking the question. Despite her mask, and her neutral expression, there was something in Amara's eyes, something in her tone that made it clear to Wisteria that she knew. Amara had guessed what she had done - and she most likely suspected even more besides.

And now, Wisteria needed to answer her, and she needed to answer in such a way that would make the Lady of Autumn Court stop asking further questions about what had truly happened in the dining room tonight.

“Nobody lays a finger on my family without answering to me,” Wisteria said simply.

***

“Are you sure?” Villard, one of his commanders, asked him quietly.

Eris was standing by the tent doors, one hand bracing himself as he silently stared out over the field in front of him.

Was he sure? No. He was not sure...but he was very much afraid.

But fear, just like any other emotion, was useless to him. He clenched his fingers briefly before he spoke, his voice quiet and controlled. "I have to be sure," he said to the General.He could be afraid. He could be full of dread...but there was no turning back now.

His men, along with the men of the Autumn Court army, were waiting at camp for orders. They were waiting for him to give the orders to march. The entire army was relying on him.

He could not show them any fear. He could not show them any doubt.

And so, he took in a slow, deep breath and tried to force himself to appear as if he was completely confident in what he was about to do...even if he was far from confident. It was a risk. A gamble. He knew that.

But he needed to make it.

He needed to. The clock was ticking.

Ever since three months ago.

Since he had stood in that temple and married his mate and had pretended that she wasn’t that. He pretended that she was the wife his father had forced onto him, that he wasn’t interested in the slightest. Which was a lie. It was the biggest lie of his whole existence.

Pretending that he wasn't interested, pretending he didn't care for her...every day had been getting harder and harder.

These dark brown eyes looked at him, belying shrewd intelligence and he often wondered if she didn’t know much more than she let on.

He closed his eyes briefly and clenched his jaw, a sharp pang of pain shooting through his chest at the memories...but he could not think of that now. He had more important things to focus on.

“Yes,” he answered, grounding out the words. “I am sure.”

Sure to carry out the plan they had made…sure in the military coup he had planned. Sure to show up at the forest house gates with an army in tow and kill his father, take that crown that was his by right through blood.

“But it feels like a mistake.” He admitted, his voice just loud enough for the commander to hear his words. “That I'm leading us all to our deaths.”

His head turned slightly, enough so he caught a glimpse of the expression on Villard’s face while still staring out over the field.

He saw worry, and concern...but he also saw loyalty and determination. Loyalty to him.

"You're overthinking this, General," Villard said, and the firm, quiet tone in his voice caused Eris to turn his head fully and look at him. "You're leading your men into a battle. You're preparing yourself for a war. Any General in your position would feel the same as you do. This is how it's supposed to be. But this coup is our best, our only option. And you've never gone into a fight scared before-" because he had never had anything to fear at all before, "...and you're not going to start now.

"But I-" Eris tried to speak, but his protestation was cut off by Villard’s next words, as blunt and serious as always.

Villard didn't bother to mince his words. Never had. "If you continue to doubt yourself and hesitate, then you're going to get your men killed, General," he said bluntly. "Your army is waiting for you to lead them. You are one of the best Males I have ever served under, and I have faith in you...and they do, too. Do not make me doubt my faith in you."

Villard was right.

"Tomorrow," Eris finally said. "Tomorrow at dawn."

Villard nodded his head once in agreement.

Tomorrow at dawn. Tomorrow, they would be marching. Tomorrow, they would be riding to the Forest House...to confront Beron.

Eris took in a deep, shuddering breath as if he was trying to convince himself that he was really going through with it. He could not back down now. He couldn't second-guess himself anymore. They were doing this, they were actually doing this.

And then...then he felt it.

Felt the whole foundation of Prythian shudder and shake...could feel the magic in the air.

The High Lord's Magic fell onto his shoulders like a ton of bricks.

The reality of what had happened, of what this meant hit him, and for a moment, he didn't breathe.

His father was dead. The power and the magic that came with that fact were now his. That crown that he had dreamed about for so long, that crown that had eluded him for centuries was now sitting on his head.

Eris Vanserra was the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

He tried to breathe, tried to make himself feel steady again. He couldn't falter. Not now.

He clenched his hands briefly, his shoulders rolling back as he tried to adjust to the new, sudden power that he could feel thrumming inside him, the magic flowing through him in a way he hadn't known was possible.

It was both thrilling and terrifying. Thrilling in the power itself...and terrifying for what it now meant.

He had no time to adjust, though, and no time to marvel. They had to ride. They had to get to the forest house and get there now.

"You felt that," Villard spoke beside him, a near imperceptive shake in his voice "Didn't you?"

The question caused Eris to snap back to the situation.

His eyes met Villard’s own for a brief moment, his head moving down in a short, nearly imperceptible nod. “I did,” he spoke, his voice just loud enough for the man next to him to hear.

There was little point in trying to hide the fact that he had just felt the power that came with becoming High Lord. There was little doubt that the whole army had...that the entire forest had just felt that sudden change.

A murmur ran through the army behind them, an ever growing, steady hum of voices and whispers, a murmur that had started the moment the shockwave of magic had raced through the camp.

There could have been no doubt who that earthquake of magic had been. Nor who had just become High Lord as a result of it.

"High Lord," Villard murmured, dropping to his knees before him.

All around them, the entire army was dropping to their knees, the soldiers in the army lowering themselves onto the ground as the murmur of voices became a steady, quiet chant of the title.

High Lord. High Lord. High Lord…

Eris stared out over the camp as his men, his soldiers, knelt before him.

High Lord. High Lord. His mind repeated the words as he swallowed hard.

He felt a little like he was floating. A little like this was all a bad dream, and that any moment he was going to wake up and find it all a lie.

High Lord of the Autumn Court. This was the dream that he had longed for. This was what he had been working for, planning for...and it was here, now.

It was time now. Now. They wouldn't wait until Dawn.

That first action of that High Lord's magic thrumming underneath his skin was to winnow a whole legion of warriors straight to the doorstep of The Forest House. It was a drop in the sudden ocean of power at his disposal…to winnow a group of his most trusted soldiers.

The Wards bend for him with nary a thought.

They and Eris himself appeared at the entryway of the Forest House, standing in front of the imposing building as his eyes immediately shot to the top of the building as if trying to spot a light in a window, or a silhouette behind the window panes of the second floor.

He wondered if she could feel it if she was watching from a window.

He turned and looked at Villard - his General now - and gave a short, sharp nod. The first step in this coup was to secure the Forest House. And then, the rest could happen.

There was no time to linger. No time to look over the house or let the enormity of the situation hit him. They had to move now. Every second counted.

The army rushed forward, the legion splitting up through the doors of the house. They needed to secure every room in the house. Every hallway, every room, every possible place his brothers could be hiding in, preparing for a fight.

Eris stayed behind in the main hallway, staring up at the grand staircase in front of him as his magic thrummed in his veins, waiting for one of his brothers to try and do something stupid.

None did.

It was actually...surprisingly easy.

Servants and staff fell down to their knees as they passed him, as he made his way upstairs...

Hemlock poisoning, one servant had blurted out. The healer are already seeing to…the body. The poison was in the Apple Cider you received as a wedding gift from Duke Hector, High Lord…

Eris tried not to let the easy way in which everything was working out bother him, tried not to let the calm and quiet of the house make him more suspicious...and tried to not think about the easy death his father had ended up having.

Hemlock poisoning.

He clenched his hand into a fist at his side, the only outward sign he let himself show as he headed up the stairs to the second level of the house.

His wife and his mother were sitting in their living room. Having tea. Like they hadn't just witnessed the death of his father not even an hour earlier.

Eris paused in the doorway, a frown on his normally impassive face as he took in his mate and his mother - sitting on opposite couches in the living room with tea between them.

There was a calm air about both of them as if they hadn’t just felt the house shudder from the death of his father, as if they hadn’t sensed the change of High Lord.

A faint sense of bemusement filled him as he watched her move, as Wysteris' dark red dress swished around her legs as it nearly skimmed the floor.

Wisteria's head snapped towards him and she gained her feed. Long brown hair fell down her back, pins straight as usual, a golden crown weaved during the chocolate tresses. Dark brown eyes were mustering him, the dark red velvet gown she wore contrasting sharply with her ivory skin.

And then his wife, his mate, sunk into a picture-perfect curtsy. "High Lord."

She had been beautiful the very first time he had seen her, at that Masquerade Ball. One dance… one dance and he had felt the Mating Bond rippling through him. And at that moment the only thing on his mind had been that he needed to protect her.

He had utterly failed at that.

Because Wisteria Abinac, his mate, had been offered to him by his father on a silver platter as his future wife.

He had tried everything to get out of marrying her. Everything to keep her as far removed from himself as he could. And he had failed. Failed, because fundamentally, Eris was a selfish male. He had told himself that disagreeing too much was just going to result in people giving Wisteria a second look, and so had only groused and complained enough not to have it be completely out of character.

And then he had married her.

Eris had married her. And he had known that if anybody found out that Wisteria was his mate…she was the easiest way straight to him. The easiest pressure point to exploit.

Eris couldn't have that. Not right now. So instead of actually being a proper husband to his mate…he had just started plotting right then and there to finally get rid of his father.

Wisteria didn't look surprised to see him here or to see the army of soldiers that filled the halls behind him. No, when she had turned to look upon him, all he had seen in her eyes was knowledge. She knew exactly why he was here.

"Wife," he answered her, a quiet acknowledgement of her words and her curtsy, his own eyes sweeping over her form. "Are you...well?" he asked her. It wasn’t everything he wanted to ask her. It was so far from what he wanted to do.

What he wanted was to sweep her up in his arms and whisper apologies against her skin, admit everything to her and… He couldn’t do this right now.

"I didn't drink any of the Apple Cider," she answered. "It was a wedding gift from Duke Hector...apparently seasoned with Hemlock. Thank the cauldron that neither Amara nor I drank any of it."

Hearing that his mate and his mother hadn't drunk any of the Cider was pure relief. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and the tension that had been wound tightly in him began to loosen just a little.

"Thank the Cauldron," he murmured quietly, taking a few steps into the room. Behind him, the army was still swarming into the second level of the house. As he moved further into the room, his eyes swept over to his mother, taking in the picture of calm she presented as she sat sipping her tea from the couch.

"Mother," he greeted her, a slight incline of his head to the female. "Are you unharmed?"

The older female nodded at his question, sipping her tea again before she spoke in a calm, measured tone. "I didn't drink any of the Cider either," she told him, and the knowledge that she hadn't had a sip of the Hemlock-spiked drink helped set his mind at ease, at least somewhat. Even when she seemed nearly…absent. At least she was alive. At least she was safe.

Everything else…they could deal with everything else.

It was probably the shock, he reasoned. It was probably…

Eris inhaled a breath, trying to take a moment to steady himself. He needed to be calm, he needed to be emotionless. Which was seemingly impossible, because Wisteria grasped his hand in hers.

"You will need to appear in the Throne Room," she said calmly. "For the proclamation. Let me find you something to wear."

He paused when she grasped his hand, his eyes flickering to her face with a bewildered expression for a moment before he managed to shove that expression away behind his mask again. Wisteria seemed all too calm for the circumstances as if everything going on was a minor event instead of what it really was.

"Throne Room," he confirmed, squeezing his wife's hand back once before releasing it. "Yes, I need clothes."

Wisteria let go of his hand, and he mourned the loss of her touch, as she headed towards the bedrooms, probably to rummage through the clothes in there.

Meanwhile, his mother continued to sit there, sipping her tea like nothing was happening at all.

Eris paused, standing in the middle of the room and staring at her for a few seconds. Something was off...there was something odd about how she was sitting there like she wasn't the least bit bothered by the fact that there was an army in her house and her husband had just died. Did she...did she know what was happening?

His mother raised her eyes up to meet his gaze, a hint of sadness in her eyes to tell him that she did, in fact, know what was happening. Of course, she was sad...and yet, there was a slight sense of understanding as well.

"Go," his mother said, resting her cup on the saucer as she spoke. "Let Wisteria get you ready. Your brothers will soon realise what is going on. You don’t have time to linger here."

Eris’ eyes flickered back to where his mate had disappeared. Wisteria reappeared moments later. She moved efficiently, seemingly uncaring about the fact that an army was in the house, or that her father-in-law was dead. That she had watched him die.

His mother didn't move, didn't even rise from her spot by the couch, continuing to sip her tea as if it was a normal afternoon.

Eris forced himself to turn, his teeth clenching together tightly.

His wife held out the jacket for him to slip into. She had chosen a deep red brocade jacket for him to wear, one edged with golden thread at the wrists and the collars. He was quite certain that he had never seen it before.

Wysteria slipped the coat around his shoulders, pulling the jacket around his form and buttoning it closed. Her touch was grounding, even as he needed to hold himself back. It was the most intimacy he had ever allowed himself to have with his mate.

The brocade was heavy, the cut of the material clearly made for a High Lord. His wife fussed with the jacket for a few moments as he stood and watched her, before she stepped back with a small nod, looking him up and down.

"How do I look?" he asked her, a note of dry humour in his voice even as he spoke the question, even as he allowed a small, sardonic smirk.

He was to go and make his formal proclamation as High Lord, and here he was with his wife fussing over him, straightening his collar, adjusting the way his jacket sat on his shoulders, pulling at the end of his sleeves to adjust the fit. He could almost say the situation was bizarre if it wasn't so damn serious.

Wisteria tilted her head to the side lightly, her lips tilting up in a small smile that damn near took his breath away as she took him in from head to toe, looking him over.

"Like a High Lord," she finally spoke. Wisteria took a step in closer to him, reaching up and tucking a loose piece of hair back into his hairstyle. "Like you were always meant to be."

She took his arm before he could offer it, the perfect Lady at his side.

She was the picture of a perfect wife as she moved to stand at his side, and as he looked down at her, he knew that they would look every bit the High Lord and Lady as they strode through the hallways.

This was where they were both meant to be. This was who they both were, down to their bones.

That proclamation went painlessly.

He had expected something....but nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

Even his brothers behaved. Though that may was thanks to Wisteria’s eyes that were keeping them pinned in place as she sat on the throne beside him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, at his wife, his mate, at the long, pin-straight hair, her spine held straighter than a rod of iron, the elegant arch of her neck and cheekbones. She looked so regal, so composed...She was beautiful.

The dark red velvet sharply contrasted with her skin, with the flowers that grew up in gold thread over her skirt and sleeves...

Flowers. Flowers. Flowers for a female who had been born into the Abinac Family. Known as the Grain Keepers of Autumn. Known as...known for their keen interest in botany. The garden that Wisteria kept...the garden she kept to have medicinal herbs grow, all tucked away in the little glasshouse that had been his wedding present for her…

The one thing he could give her that...that was just a hint of his feelings for her. For this beautiful being that had come into his life when he had least expected it.

But the herbs…the…

She wouldn't have done this…Right?

She wouldn't have. There was no...Just because his father had been poisoned by Hemlock...that wouldn't...

A frown pulled at his lips as he took in the serene expression on his wife's face, the soft smile that was there as she sipped on her drink.

She was calm, composed, and perfect. Just like the Lady of the Court was supposed to be.

Hemlock Poisoning…Hemlock Poisoning in the Apple Cider that had been a wedding present to them…From the Ancient Duke Hector that had ended up succumbing to his fever weeks after their wedding…

That…

Duke Hector had disagreed with his father politically on numerous occasions. But he had been a good male. Too good a male for the treacherous Autumn Court…He wouldn’t have….Eris could simply not imagine that he would attempt an assassination.

But apparently he had.

His mother. His mother knew. She was too calm. Too collected. Too…

His wife was too relaxed. She was too at ease. She had seen his father die in front of her, yet there was barely a flicker of emotions on her face.

But why. Why would...

But that was the question, wasn't it? Why would his wife conspire to kill his father, the High Lord? Only to put him on the throne?

And it had been stupidly dangerous what she had done. Hemlock was fatal. There was no antidote. If she or his mother had drunken even a drop of that Apple Cider…they would have both died.

Why take such a risk?!

That was the question, wasn't it? That was the question that was running through his mind, over and over again.

Why?

Why had Wisteria done this? Why had she poisoned the Apple Cider, knowing that all of them would be drinking it? That she herself had almost drunk from it?

Why.

There was no clear reason, no possible answer that came to mind...unless...

It made him want to get up from her throne, scoop her in his arms, and get her as far away as he could.

Unless this wasn't because of a clear-cut desire for power. Unless this was something more personal, more...driven. Unless there was a deeper motive behind this.

He kept his mouth shut.

Eris waited until the night wore on until the night was late when they retired to their room for the night. They had always slept in separate rooms, a custom that they had followed even when they had shared a bed the night of their wedding.

Tonight, however, he had no intention of following that custom. He was going to find out why his wife had poisoned the cider, why his mother seemed so unsurprised at his father's death, and why everything had been so damn easy for him to become High Lord.

He followed her to her room, and if she was surprised by his act...she didn't show it.

They had never shared a bed. He had never laid a finger on her. There were some lines that even Eris wasn’t willing to cross. Not when she didn't even know that they were mates. Not when...

He threw up a shield, encompassing just the two of them and then grasped her hand tightly, pulling her to him so that she needed to face him.

Her dark eyes widened, the first sign of surprise he had seen on her face in hours. The look of surprise didn't linger for long as a mask of composure slipped back into place, and the calm gaze was back on her features, watching him emotionlessly.

Still, he had to give her credit for managing to school her expression so quickly.

"You killed him."

He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. Wisteria to stare at him wide-eyed, for her to become hysterical, for her to assure him that she hadn’t…

But he hadn’t expected the confirmation. “Yes,” Wisteria said, meeting his eyes, her chin held high. There wasn't even the slightest hint of remorse on her face, not a sliver of guilt anywhere in her features as she confirmed his accusation. “And I would do it again.”

"You poisoned the Apple Cider," he half-snarled at her, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You poisoned it with Hemlock."

She shrugged her shoulders lightly, almost like this was a normal conversation to her.

"I did," she answered his accusation. No excuses, no explanations, just flat confirmation.

Eris gritted his teeth together, his muscles tensing with barely concealed anger as he listened to his wife speak with such a calm tone.

"Why," he bit out in a low, strangled voice. He needed an explanation, a reason, anything that might give him some idea as to why his wife had murdered his father.

She looked him in his eyes again, her gaze unwavering as she stared at him unblinkingly. For a moment, he thought that she wouldn't give him an answer, that she would simply stand there, staring him down in her usual, calm manner.

But she spoke, her voice as emotionless as her expression.

"Because you were too sentimental," she said. "He was bleeding our court dry. He was hurting your mother. He was hurting you."

A shocked breath left him. His hands relaxed slightly, the muscles in his shoulders loosening a little as the rage within him simmered. "What if my mother had drunk that apple cider?" he hissed at Wisteria. “What if you did? You could have killed both of you! There is no antidote to Hemlock.”

"There isn't," Wisteria agreed. "But you can grow an immunity to it."

"Are you telling me that you have been slowly poisoning yourself and my mother for the last 3 months?!?!" He asked incredulously, disbelief and horror colouring his wife. She had knowingly poisoned herself?!

She had...she had slowly been building an immunity to Hemlock.

"You were poisoning yourself" he managed to croak out, disbelief and anger mixed in his tone. "You were poisoning both of you!”

Her lips tugged into the hint of a smirk at his words, a reaction she never showed usually.

"Yes." Her voice was as emotionless as ever as she spoke. She could've been talking about the weather, it was almost eerie. There was no hint of regret for poisoning her and his mother, not a hint of remorse for the way she had planned his father's death. "I fed your mother and me tea spiked with a tiny amount of Hemlock so if we ingested a bigger amount, nothing would happen.”

"Why, in the Mother's name, why would you do that," he managed to half-yell out, his hands clenching into fists again.

"Well, only like that I could fault Duke Hector for it," his wife answered, like the answer was obvious. "He's dead, so nobody will get his head cut off for treason.” She said that, like clearly that was the perfect, reasonable answer.

Eris stared at her, dumbfounded, trying to string together everything she had just told him, trying to make sense in his head.

She had poisoned his father, using a method that only she could survive, and then left a paper trail to frame Duke Hector for the murder. It was...it was brilliantly done.

The level of planning, of patience, it had to have taken her months to plot all this out.

And she had been quicker than him. He wasn't sure if he should be furious at her, or impressed.

It was a perfectly executed, perfectly planned scheme. She had poisoned his father, knowing that she and his mother were the only ones who could drink the poisoned Apple Cider and survive it, and had set up the path so that it ended in Duke Hector being framed.

"Why," he asked her in a strangled tone, his tone strangled with conflicting emotions as he desperately tried to make sense of what had happened. "Why go through all this trouble? Why, in the Mother's name, why go through all this? Why kill my father?"

She just looked at him for a moment. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, mate."

His breath stopped in his throat as he stared at his mate in shock, his eyes widening as she spoke.

"What did you just say?" He asked her, half-expecting her to change her answer, to give him a different response.

Her lips tugged up in a slight, crooked smirk as she looked back at him, her eyes flickering with a hint of...something that he couldn't put his finger on. "You heard me, mate." She stepped in, moving closer towards him, her footsteps silent against the carpet. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, even if it meant killing your father."

"You knew," he croaked out.

Wisteria knew. She had known...since gods only knew when. When he had tried to keep away from her...when he had tried to get out of that arranged marriage…

His back tensed and his muscles clenched as he stared at his wife, every single moment he remembered of the two of them from the last three months running through his mind as he listened to her words.

Wisteria had known. The whole time, she had known that they were mates.

"Since that Masquerade Ball, actually," Wisteria admitted brightly. "I decided that I was going to marry you then."

The words stunned him, the statement stealing the breath from his lungs and causing his muscles to tense with surprise.

She had known.

Since the moment they met…it was…She had planned and plotted out everything since then. And he had had no idea.

"You knew." Eris could only stare at her in wonder.

"I knew I was going to marry you and that I would kill your father," she said with a shrug. "He deserved worse."

"Why," he asked again in a strangled tone, his mind still reeling, trying to process the information that she had given him. "Why, in the cauldron’s name, would you go through all this trouble, all this damn planning, simply because you knew that we were mates?"

***

It had been a long time since she had seen him look so...baffled. She always enjoyed it when she managed to get a reaction out of him, and this was the best one to date.

Wisteria reached forward, resting her hand on his chest, feeling the hard muscle under his shirt, feeling the steady thump of his heart. She could feel the tension in him, the way his muscles were tensed as he stared down at her with an expression that was so deliciously lost.

"I told you, there is nothing that I wouldn't do for you."

Her fingers curled slightly against his shirt, resting atop his beating heart, feeling the steady thumping of his heart against her palm.

"You were too sentimental." She reminded him, staring up into his eyes, into his beautiful, green orbs. "You wanted to spare your father, despite all the suffering he put you through. You wanted to let him live, despite how he had made your and your family's lives a living Hel."

"You were being too damn soft, too nice." She told him with a slight, crooked smirk, pressing her body closer to his, closing the gap between them until their bodies were pressed together. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, feel the way his muscles tensed as he stared back at her. "That is what made me decide to murder that worthless bastard."

"I was going to slice his throat tomorrow," Eris said suddenly, catching the back of her head, making it impossible for her to get out of his grasp. "I was planning a military coup. It would have been perfect. If somebody didn't decided to ruin it for me."

Her lips twisted into a smirk at his words, her dark eyes flashing with a hint of challenge as she looked up at him. She didn't try to struggle or break free, enjoying the feel of his fingers digging into the back of her hair, the warmth of his body as he kept her from escaping.

"Like I said, too sentimental," she drawled at him, her smirk widening when she saw his expression flicker.

"Says the female that said she would do everything for me," Eris disagreed. "Who killed my father because she didn't like the way he talked to me in public."

She arched her eyebrow at his words, her smirk widening yet again when she saw him grit his teeth together in irritation. She leaned in, her body flush with his chest, her nose almost touching his chin as she looked up at him.

"That's because you're mine," she told him fiercely. "You don't think I would kill him for insulting you? For the way he abused both you and your mother?"

Her breath brushed against his chin, her body pressed tight against his, feeling his fingers dig into her scalp as he held her tight.

"What, do you think I'm just going to sit there and let somebody insult my mate?" She asked him in a tone that was barely above a hiss, her eyes narrowing slightly in irritation.

He growled, the low sound echoing through his chest, and she couldn't help but shiver involuntarily in response. The sound he made was deep, primal, possessive, and it made her shiver all the way down to her core.

"I'll kill anybody that ever insults you," she told him in a low tone, the words almost a promise, and she felt his body tense even more in response to her vow.

It was a true statement too. She fully intended to kill anybody that insulted him. Her mate. She would tear apart anybody that put even a single, verbal finger on him.

His fingers tightened yet again against the back of her head, his hold on her almost painful. She didn't try and loosen his grip, but instead, her lips tugged up in a crooked smirk as she angled her chin up to look into his eyes. Her whole body was pressed against his, her skin burning wherever his hard chest pressed against her.

Their faces were only mere inches apart, her breath brushing against his chin, her mouth a hair's breadth away from his. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her body tingling wherever he touched her, wherever his body was pressed against hers.

It was a wonder that her legs didn't give out under her. She was burning, her body practically buzzing with heat, her blood singing with something primal, something almost feral. Everything about him in this moment seemed to overwhelm her, seemed to consume her.

"If you ever, ever do anything as idiotic as dosing yourself and my mother with Hemlock again, I'll kill you," he breathed.

Her breath caught in her throat at the low threat in his voice, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up into his eyes. There was a dark, almost dangerous look in his eyes as he stared down at her, the threat in his voice sending a shiver down her spine, making her breath catch yet again in her throat. It was enough to make it feel as though she were drowning in something almost primal, something that she had never felt before. Her whole body was thrumming, her muscles tense, her blood singing.

"You are my mate." And finally he said the words she had longed to hear from him for months. "You are my mate. The next time you plot to kill anybody, you'll come to me so I can help you hide the body."

Her heart thundered in her chest at his words, the possessiveness in his tone making her head swim, making her body burn as a shiver ran down her spine for a completely different reason.

And for the first time in her life, she actually felt like the world paused for a moment, like time itself had froze around her, as she looked up at her mate and her mind struggled to process the fact.

She had, actually managed to make her mate declare her as his.

Her plan had worked. "Do you understand me, Wisteria Vanserra? You are my wife, my mate, the Lady of this Court. You'll come to your High Lord and you'll tell him all about your homicidal plans."

Her mind was still reeling from his words, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, but she managed to nod in response to his order. Her muscles trembled slightly, her heart practically hammering in her chest.

"Good."

The praise made her breath catch in her throat, her body trembling slightly as she stared up into those beautiful, green eyes of his. Her blood was singing, her body practically trembling with the need to get closer to him, to feel his hands, his body against her own.

And then he kissed her. There was nothing sweet about the way he kissed her. It was teeth and tongue and heat and...

Yes. This was what she wanted, what she had been aching for months to feel. His mouth on hers was like fire, his tongue hot and desperate against hers as they kissed each other. It was like a dam had broken, like all the tension, all the frustration was finally being released through this kiss.

The world melted around them, the world faded into nothing, all her senses, all her focus zeroing in on the feel of him, of the hard planes of his chest against hers, of her own body feeling like it was vibrating, like she was burning up from the inside out. Everything faded away into this burning, beautiful, heat with his hands on her, with his mouth against her's, nothing mattering but the two of them.

A gasp escaped her as she felt his mouth on her throat, his tongue tracing over her, burning a trail down her skin as he spoke against her. She arched her neck instinctively, letting him have better access to her neck, her breath catching as he spoke.

Her fingers reached out, desperate, her hands grabbing at his shoulders, his back, her fingers digging in and curling, grasping at him, trying to pull him even closer to her, trying to feel more of him, more of his hard, muscled chest, more of his hot skin against her's.

She was drowning in him, in the heat that was burning them both, in the fact that he was actually holding her, actually holding her like this, that he was actually her's just as much as she was his. Her mind was practically incoherent, her whole body burning, her blood singing in her veins with a primal, possessive need.

And the look in his eyes as he looked at her...he was beautiful, he was wild, and he was hers. And she would slaughter anybody that got in their way.

She'd tear the world apart for him and with him.

#erisweek2024 #eris x reader #eris x oc #acotar fanfiction #eris fanfic

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aemondsbabe · 9 months

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The Queen

summary: dairy/letters & lingerie kink || alicent stumbles across a secret of yours and is more than happy to make it come true

pairing: modern!alicent x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, pre-established relationship, dom!Alicent, sub!reader, queen honorifics used in the bedroom, lingerie kink, use of a leather crop, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, thigh riding, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.3k

a/n: happy day seven of 12 days of smuff!! i went into a fugue state and wrote 10 pages in 2 hours. the hold that olivia cooke has on me should be studied by science. anyway.

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @olliviacooke

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Alicent’s POV

She was humming, swaying her hips to a new album she’d downloaded earlier that week as she smoothly moved the duster along the wooden surface of your nightstand, careful as she guided it between the lamp and the small potted plant you loved so much. Getting a bit too into the music she was listening to as she tidied up your shared bedroom, though, she accidentally bumped against the growing stack of books on your nightstand.

“Shit!” Alicent hissed as a few went tumbling to the ground. Sighing, she bent down to grab them, half-heartedly cursing you for insisting on buying new books before you’d finished the ones you had.

“Huh?” She wonders outloud, pausing the music on her phone when she sees her name scrawled in your familiar handwriting. Her fingers brush over the soft, leather bound book as she picks it up, her lips pursing as she reads the words “Personal Journal” embossed on the front in fancy gold lettering. Her brown eyes widen and quickly glance around the room, despite the fact that she knows she’s the only one home. Biting her lip, she runs a finger over the spine of your diary, weighing her options. On the one hand, she knew it would be a horrible invasion of your privacy to look but… well, what if it was something important?

She shook her head at the thought. She wasn’t going to be one of those snooping partners! You already told her everything anyway, it’s not like there would be anything in your diary she didn’t already know! You were basically an open book, in fact, it was one of the things she loved most about you – your willingness to be so honest and transparent.

No, she thought, carefully setting the diary back on your bedside table, I’m not going to! I’m simply –

Okay, sue her. She’s only human and her name was right there! She’d make it up to you.

Glancing around one more time, she flipped open the leather-bound book, flipping through it to the page she’d spotted a moment ago. She found it pretty quickly and nervously bit on a nail as her eyes scanned over the page, noticing the date first. It was from only about a week ago. She read on.

I’m not even sure how to bring up the topic, it doesn’t really seem like something you’d just bring up at the dinner table? Like, “Oh, honey, yeah work was great today! Kevin from accounting is finally getting married, I know! Can you believe it? Oh. yeah, one more thing! Can you boss me around in the bedroom like a drill sergeant?” I mean, come on.

What if she isn’t even into it? What if she wants to be the submissive one? I don’t think Alicent’s totally vanilla, I mean, there have been so many sparks of… something. Sometimes she tells me to do something, usually innocuous like making sure the door’s locked before we leave or to get the laundry hamper from the closet but… God, the way she says it makes me shiver. And when she’s talking on the phone to someone at work? That authoritative voice makes me melt.

Sigh. I just need to find the courage to ask.

Alicent finally finished the entry and looked up from your journal, blinking as thoughts raced through her head. After a minute, she closed the notebook and placed it carefully back on your bedside table, just like it was before it fell off the table.

She could barely keep the smirk off her face as she grabbed her purse and keys and shut the front door behind her, a devious, delicious plan quickly forming in her head.

She knew exactly how to make up for her actions.

Reader’s POV

You sigh as you unlock the front door, quickly tossing your keys into the small bowl on the entryway table before kicking off your shoes.

“Babe?” You called, furrowing your brows at how unusually quiet the house was. Alicent’s car was in the driveway and normally she’d be playing music by the time you got home but today… nothing. You’re about to call out again when the sound of heels clicking down the hallway makes you stop in your tracks, your bag falls from your hand as your girlfriend finally appears from around the corner.

“Good day at work?” Alicent asks coolly, tilting her head as she leans against the doorway. Meanwhile, you feel dumbstruck as your eyes scan over her appreciatively, taking in every dip and curve as if you’d never seen any of them before. Your eyes skim over her outfit, a black, lacy bustier perfectly framing her chest, with a matching black thong clinging to her soft hips, fishnet stockings held up by an enticing garter belt, all the way down to black, pointed toe heels. She’d even taken the time to straighten her usually curly hair, smoothing it down into a clean, nearly intimidating style.

She smirked, brown eyes sparkling at your awe-struck expression, smiling when your eyes finally landed on her face; you couldn’t help but swallow when you saw that she was wearing that expensive red lipstick she only brought out for special occasions, the one you love so much.

Her heels click on the wood floors as she strides over to you and it’s only then you realize that she has something in her hand – a black leather crop. The sight of it makes your knees weak.

“I asked you a question, baby,” she says gently, locking eyes with you as she gently cups your cheek with in her hand, “It would be rude not to answer.” There’s a hard edge to her voice that makes you lose what little train of thought you had.

“I… uh,” you stutter, blush rising to your cheeks as you stare helplessly at her, fighting to keep your gaze locked on hers, “W-Work was good, yeah. Same as… as usual.” You finally finish, your chest already heaving as you rub your thighs together, desperate before you even know what’s going on.

“How wonderful,” she smirks and leans in, giving you a sweet kiss like she normally would, but today it has your head spinning, “What do you think of my little surprise?” She asks, though there isn’t really a question in her tone – she already knows your answer.

“I love it,” you breathe, hardly giving her time to finish speaking as you let your gaze wander over her yet again. “What, uhm,” you cough nervously, “What gave you the idea?”

She smiles again, shrugging; you nearly jump out of your skin when she softly runs the leather crop up the inside of your thigh, starting at your knee and stopping tantalizingly close to your core. “Just got the sense that maybe you’d be into it…” She says casually, like you’re talking about the weather, “Was I right?”

All you can do is nod your head, but that’s not good enough, apparently. Her eyes narrow and she wraps a hand around your neck, not too harshly, mostly just sitting it there but it’s enough to make you whimper in the back of your throat, breath catching as her perfectly manicured red nails just barely dig into your delicate skin. “I don’t think that’s the proper way to address me, is it?” She coos, a faux pout to her lips.

“N-No,” you say shakily, your eyes searching hers, “No… ma’am?” You try, inwardly cringing at how your voice squeaks.

She clicks her tongue like a disappointed mother, the sound going straight between your legs, as she fixes you with an intense stare. “Baby, you know how I sometimes call you princess?” She asks, smiling proudly when you eagerly nod, “Well, tell me. Who’s more in charge than a princess?”

Your throat goes dry and you swallow thickly, darting your tongue out to wet your lips before speaking. “T-The queen?” You ask softly, pride feathering out in your chest like the train of a peacock when she smiles and nods again.

“That’s right!” She praises, almost as if she was speaking to a child; perhaps you should be offended at her condescending tone, but, if anything, it just makes your heart beat faster. “The queen. Do you want me to be your queen today, sweet one?” Again, you nod, so she continues. “So, address me properly.”

“Yes, my queen.” You breathe the words, core clenching softly around nothing.

“Very good,” she praises, leaning in and lightly brushing her lips over the pulsepoint on your neck, “Do you want to keep being a good girl for your queen?”

“Yes, your grace, please.” You say with an eager nod, feeling like you’ll explode if she doesn’t touch you, or so something soon.

“Then be good for me and go to the bedroom,” she nods as she speaks, her big brown eyes looking directly into yours, “And strip.” She finishes coolly, leaving you no room to argue.

You nod quickly and practically leap down the hallway, blushing when you hear her giggling behind you. As soon as your feet hit the soft rug in the bedroom, you tug at your clothes, quickly shedding your sweater and work trousers before unclipping your bra and sliding your underwear down your legs, haphazardly shoving everything into the hamper because you just know she’ll say something about the mess if you don’t. Finally, not knowing what else to do, you stand by the bed, arms clasped in front of you.

She doesn’t make you wait long and you bite your lip in anticipation as her heels click slowly down the hallway, smiling shyly when you finally meet her gaze again as she enters the room. Just like you knew she would, her eyes immediately dart to the hamper and her smile widens when she sees your clothes from today resting on top.

“What a good girl I have,” she praises as she saunters over to you, her hips swinging enticingly as she moves. Without another word, she sits on the edge of the bed and gently places the crop down next to her on the bedspread, before she beckons you over with a crook of her finger, “You like your queen’s special surprise for you, huh?” She questions, tilting her head as she peers up at you, her hands resting gently on the curve of your hip.

“Yes,” you nod, your eyes trailing down to her cleavage before you can help yourself and it’s only then that you notice that she’s breathing nearly as hard as you are, a blush extending down her pale neck and chest, “I love it, my queen, so much.” You nearly whisper, dizzy at the thought that she might be enjoying this just as much as you are.

“Don’t you think you should thank me for your surprise, princess?” She asks coolly, smirk widening as she sees a look of realization in your eyes.

“Yeah, yes, please,” you nearly beg, already tempted to sink to your knees.

She smirks at your eagerness, all but laughing when you whine as she pushes herself back further, out of your grasp and into the center of the bed, making enough room for you in front of her. Again, she crooks her finger and you hastily follow after her, kneeling between her fishnet-covered legs. With another smirk, she silently spreads her legs, bending them at the knee enough that the heels of her shoes dig into the bedspread.

Something between a gasp and a whimper escapes your lips as you let your gaze travel down, between her legs, where you’re met with the shocking realization that the black thong she has on is indeed crotchless. Your eyes stay glued to her center, now beautifully framed by two strips of lace fabric; the sight makes you lick your lips without thinking, taking in the way her folds shimmer, even in the low light of the bedroom. Finally, you manage to rip your gaze away and lock eyes with her again, your blush deepening at the hazy look in her eyes as she leans back on her elbows.

“Go on, princess,” she breathes, that familiar, aroused rasp finally present, “Thank your queen.”

You spring into action, wrapping your hands around her soft thighs as you lean in, kneeling between her legs. Your eyes flutter as you look up the length of her body while you press soft, sweet kisses to the inside of her thighs, your eyes widening when you see her lean over and quickly grab the crop.

You jolt as she brings it down, smacking one ass cheek with it, not enough to hurt but enough to leave behind a pleasant little zing. “I don’t believe I asked you to tease me,” she admonishes, a playfulness to her tone still as her other hand brushes into your hair, red nails scratching soothing against your scalp, “Thank me properly.” She commands, guiding your head to exactly where she wants it.

You’re more than happy to obey and you press a kiss to the center of her folds, right on her clit, moaning against her as you feel it twitch against your lips. She lets out a breathy moan as your tongue licks a long, straight line up her center, right down the middle, before your lips gently seal around her bud.

Your eyes flutter closed again as you softly suck at her clit, moaning lowly in your throat at her familiar sweet taste. You move in just the way she likes, kissing and licking over her heat with a practiced ease, pride blooming in your chest with every moan, whine, and sigh of your name. You shake your head against her, attempting to bury your tongue in her twitching core as the tip of your nose teases her clit, your chin dripping with her when you finally pull back.

“Princess, fuck,” she breathes above you, head tilted down so she can watch as you feast on her, “Fuck me, come on.” She orders, giving another sharp little spank to your bum with the crop.

You do as she says, smiling as you flick your tongue over her bud while you glide two fingers through her folds, making sure to get them nice and wet before you slide them carefully into her, relishing the long moan she lets out as you do. You can’t help but whimper as her walls clamp down tightly, pulsing around your fingers as you crook them up in the way you know she loves, your lips sealing softly around her clit again, eyes fluttering as you watch her chest heave.

“Good fucking girl,” she whimpers, accentuating each word of praise with another slap of her crop against you, the pleasant sting you clench around nothing, “Make your queen come, princess, good girl.” She moans, tilting her head back as you redouble your efforts.

Your arm aches as you fuck your fingers into her, keeping them quirked up against that small rough patch within her, but you pay it no mind, focusing only on the hand in your hair and the taste of her in your mouth, your hips canting desperately in the air.

You flick your tongue against her bud once more, in just the right way, and it sends her over the edge with a gasp. You moan into her as the hand in your hair tightens and her walls rhythmically squeeze against your fingers, nearly tight enough to push them out. You move steadily, bringing her through her high as you have so many times before, only stopping when she finally goes lax against you.

You press kisses against her thighs and hips as she comes down, breathing heavily above you. Eventually, the hand in your hair tightens once more, and you sigh happily as she pulls you up.

“You did so good,” she praises softly, her voice breathy as she presses her lips against yours; she moans softly as your tongue licks into her mouth before she pulls away to trail kisses down your neck, “So good for your queen, my sweet princess.” You sigh happily, eyes fluttering shut as you straddle her, one of her legs between yours.

Your eyes shoot open as she bends her leg, pressing her fishnet covered thigh firmly against your center with a knowing smirk. “Goodness,” she gasps, her beautiful brown eyes widening once she feels how wet you are against her, “I think you deserve a reward too, for treating your queen so well.”

“Please, holy shit,” you gasp, your hips already moving on her leg, the pattern of her stockings adding a delicious friction, “P-Please, your grace.” You quickly correct yourself when she brings her crop down once more, making your back arch.

“Good girl,” she whispers, mouthing at your neck. She lets the crop fall to the bed again as she cups your ass with both hands, guiding your hips as you move against her, “Take what you need, princess, you earned it.” She breathes, smirking as you shudder above her.

You nod mindlessly, swallowing thickly as you already feel the knot in your stomach tightening dangerously, each drag of your clit over her stockinged thigh sends shockwaves up your spine. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier as you get closer and she smiles happily, bouncing her thigh against your wet core in the way she knows drives you insane.

“My beautiful little princess,” she whispers, red lips ghosting over your chest, “Behaving so well for her queen.”

You fall apart once her lips seal around one of your nipples, sparks of pleasure bursting behind your eyelids as she carefully sucks the sensitive bud into her mouth, gently teasing at it with her teeth. Your body tenses up as your walls clench again and again, your fingers grabbing at the sheets as you gasp her name.

Finally, your eyes flutter open as your high subsides. Thankfully, you have just enough presence of mind to roll to the side, cuddling against her as your chest heaves.

“Holy shit,” you breathe through a small laugh, your face flushed as your eyes meet hers.

“So, you liked it?” She asks, a shy lilt to her voice now that both of you have had the chance to come down.

“Liked it?” You question, staring at her wide-eyed, “I… I loved it. That was incredible.” You breathe, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder, “Where on earth did all that come from?”

She giggles softly, a guilty look appearing on her face. “Promise you won’t be too upset with me?” She asks softly.

“Of course,” your reply is instant as you card your fingers through her soft hair, “Just tell me.”

“I was cleaning a few days ago, when I had that day off,” she explains, swallowing as you nod along, “And I… may have accidentally knocked your diary off the table and then got curious when I saw my name and… yeah.” She finishes, teeth biting at her lower lip.

Your face reddens a bit, instantly knowing which entry she must’ve seen, but you merely shake your head, about to tell her not to worry about it when she starts speaking again.

“I do feel really bad about it,” she sighs, continuing quickly, “I know it’s a breach of trust but I saw my name and then… I’ll make it up to you, I pr – !”

She gasps as you cut her off with a sweet kiss, shaking your head dismissively, “Consider it made up.”

“You aren’t mad?” She asks hesitantly.

“Mad?” You echo, laughing softly, “My sexy girlfriend bought ridiculously hot lingerie, and a riding crop, just to surprise me and fucked me to within an inch of my life and I’m supposed to be mad at her over a little diary?” Both of you dissolve into a fit of giggles as you finally finish, nuzzling happily against each other, “I think not.” You quip, smirking as your eyes search hers.

“Okay, yeah,” she says with a small eye roll, “I am pretty great, huh?”

“And oh so humble,” you laugh, pressing kisses over the curve of her shoulder before leaning back to smirk at her, “Your majesty.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel

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e-m-p-error · 7 months

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@a-hazbin-spider (:<

Ostello Type Bingo

[ Ostello ]

"Can't say I'm not interested, Sugar." The badger winks playfully at the other before offering a hand out, palm up, for Angel to take, "Dunno what Val'll think, but... I have a few ideas on how t'placate 'im."

#submission #A Letter Of Love Or Something (Submissions)#I Love You Oh So Madly But I Don’t Stand A Ghost Of A Chance With You (σѕтєℓℓσ)#(Ostello and Angel Dust - A-Hazbin-Spider)

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inknopewetrust · 3 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭 [Part One]

Summary: When the longevity of sin is threatened by the factions of a feuding family on the brink of war, a choice must be made to protect the secrets of a heart torn in two. [ser erryk cargyll x targaryen!fem!reader] [wc: 10.7k]

Warnings: minors dni (18+ only), smut, angst, mentions of death/war, themes consistent with show, spoilers for the show (season 3).

quick links: masterlist | this is a love letter, albeit a sad one. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. @zaldritzosrose for banner source.

There is no duty without sacrifice, nor reward without submission. In a world as cruel as this, you often pondered in wilted daydreams of a world at peace.

As golden springs and chilled autumns once brought virtue and good fortune, the hallowed corridors of Dragonstone in the middle of a long, bleak war brought nothing but a faded memory of the past.

The halls whimpered with the martyrs it kept.

And the phantoms snickered at those in wait and the sacrifices one makes for the duty of their house bears scars on those left in their tormented wake.

Night fell with a deep, dark shadow lingering above. A hand gripping the castle as the maids scrubbed the blood from the chamber floor of the Queen.

He was dead.

And you felt a piece of you die with him.

“Sister,” Rhaenyra spoke but her voice was distant.

In an echo chamber of your mind, the noises funneled around you. A heavy weight of air pressed upon you as your hand picked at the wooden edges of the chair beside the fire.

“Leave us,” the Queen spoke to her guard and Elinda quietly.

The door shut behind her and in careful steps, she could see your eyes trained heavily on the spot now covered in a yellow rug. Toys remained from her young boys which struck the shell of her own heart with a fury.

Death lingered in Rhaenyra’s chambers and there was never a moment to mourn. A war roars on the mainland in her name; people perish in acts of heightened emotions and sacrifice puddles even the strongest of soldiers.

“Sister,” she cleared her throat. “To what—“

“When Harwin died,” your voice was hoarse from a weary day, “did you mourn the man you loved?”

Rhaenyra halted behind the settee. Her hands settled to trace its carvings.

“I beg your pardon?” She inquired.

You were lost in a haze of self destruction. Lost within yourself with a haphazard will to move on. Hours had passed, mere hours, and those on the council that sit around a painted table forget the tragedies that have befallen a great house in a matter of weeks.

You mumbled incoherently and Rhaenyra furrowed her brows. She seldom saw you blink in the light of the fire; the waterline of your eyes pooled with tears. One slipped down the cheek closest to her.

She had watched you absent in your own mind as dirt filled the grave in the early morn. It should not have come as a startle that those feelings remained.

“I fear I do not know what to do with myself,” you whispered. “I-I d-do not know what to do.”

“What for, sister?” Rhaenyra approached as she would her smallest child. “You needn’t do anything at this moment.”

She took a seat on the cushion and reached for your hand. It barely brushed your own before something snapped. A arrow shooting from its bow, breaking your stupor and sending you out of your seat.

You removed yourself from the chair and stepped away from her. Your hands shook as your lip trembled.

The death that grieves in isolation swells. Ribbons of torment become suffocating, choking until awoken with a shake.

“I do not wish to be alone,” you all but wailed. “I’ve been alone for so long, so long…”

“Do you speak of sleep? Or, or marriage?” Rhaenyra drew confused. You had been adamant for years, threatening your life and title to remain a spinster the history books would forget.

The Virgin Princess, she imagined the books may speak of.

You let out a weak, strangled laugh at her. Eyes cutting and red, she felt the tremors of Harwin’s pain bubble inside of her. It made her uncomfortable in her skin.

“I loved him, Rhaenyra.”

For the first time, you saw your sister truly look at you.

And she did not see her elder sister.

She did not see the girl, simply two name days older, who was fond of reading and politics.

She could not see the girl who would beckon Rhaenyra to braid her hair while recalling stories of Old Valyria and the conquests of their ancestors.

She did not see a now grown woman who sought independence; someone who tried to subvert the traditions of a name such as the one you shared.

Rhaenyra saw a widow.

She spoke your name softly and you shook your head at her.

“I loved Erryk. I loved him so.”

Rhaenyra let your confession sit.

“I followed you to Dragonstone,” you spat. “I left the only world I’d ever known to remain in your court because you’re my sister, Rhaenyra. But this place,” your eyes trailed along the vaulted ceilings and the wet stones. “This place has done nothing but bring us suffering.”

“Sister,” Rhaenyra sat forward. “We all make sacrifices—“

“No!” Your voice raised as tears fell consistently. “We are weak, Rhaenyra! This would not have happened if we had been prepared!”

“You speak as though his choice was my fault.”

You let silence fall. Diverting your eyes away from Rhaenyra, she felt a grip on her heart go numb. You believed it to be her fault.

“My grief,” you closed your eyes to darkness. “My grief pokes holes in the agony of my life. It heaves within me for a purpose that is not there and I do not know what to do with myself because of it. He is gone. He’s gone, Rhaenyra. I loved him and he’s gone.”

“Is that why you have never agreed to take a lord husband?”

You nodded your head and sank down on her bed.

“Did you truly love Harwin Strong?” You asked, following it with an awkward chuckle. “I find it to be quite amusable that we two daughters loved men in the cloak.”

Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I did.”

“And when he died, did you grieve him as I do Erryk?”

“I did.”

“But you have a memory of him; pieces of him always with you.”

She never spoke aloud the paternity of her sons. Rhaenyra was not daft in knowing people knew, but even to you, her dear sister, she never spoke of it.

Rhaenyra did not shy away from having Harwin keep a long distance between their children. She had seen you and Harwin get along well in the presence of her children and often wondered what the world would be like had she been able to marry him in place of Laenor.

Everyone would have ended up in a much happier place, she believed.

“I do," she whispered against the dead of night. "I do, yes."

"And I will never have that," you stressed. Gaze more frantic than before. You shook your head at the thought. "I never would but I still wanted something to be mine. For me to hold and love and cherish but there is nothing I can do now but sit and ponder the "what ifs." But at war, I am not meant to dwell on them."

"Yet here you are, asking about them anyway."

That dreaded silence fell between you once more. It did not escape her that the lives of innocents were at stake while this war met on the steps of each great house. Her son, Helena's son, good men, and kind women were killed for nothing more than fodder.

It was moot; the tragedy of errors.

“I loved him,” your repeated. “I loved him dearly.”

"Tell me," she tried to offer a tight-lipped smile. "How did it begin?"

"Oh, Rhaenyra," you bemoaned. Sniffing and trying not to focus hard on the spot where he fell on his sword. "I do not-"

"But I would like to hear it," she got up and joined you at your side. Rhaenyra took one of your hands in hers. "I do not wish to hear all the details, however."

You envisioned him in your memory. His eyes, smile. How in the shadows of your chambers he was a different man than he one who served your father, your sister.

He was magnetic and quiet.

Erryk was a lover and a fighter.

You laughed and she smiled. "There was something about men in the cloak..."

"I would have to agree," she said. Her eyes gleamed with a memory of Harwin. She loved him. "Dutiful men indeed."

"It felt so scandalous... but he served me."

"In more ways than one," Rhaenyra blushed and you knocked her shoulder with the back of your hand. She had given birth to five children and still remained a form of pious when broaching the subject.

Your tears still fell but Rhaenyra felt the joy of love bloom.

“I was simply jesting,” she started but you gave her a cutting, mischievous glacé.

"Did you not say you wished not to hear of it? Do you want me to tell you all the details? He was quite good, you know? A very fine fuck indeed."

"Oh Gods!" Rhaenyra laughed loudly and for once, you forgot the pain. "Please, spare me of it!"

“He was b-“

“Please!” She spoke your name in a shriek. “I do not wish to think of you in that way!”

"You truly did not know of it?" You questioned her in a striking bewilderment. You never thought yourself to be shroud in secrecy but surely someone had to have noticed your folly in his presence.

He was your father's, then her own, sworn sword.

"I had my suspicions on occasion," Rhaenyra admitted. "It was Harwin who first spoke of it. I did what I could to protect you. It was not long after the wedding. Harwin said he had crossed paths with him," she smiled sheepishly, "though he was not sure of which twin at the time."

Rhaenyra heard a small intake of breath from you. You squeezed her hand.

"But it happened more than once. The happenstance was too peculiar to not think of it in that way, sister. But Harwin was the one to believe it was Erryk. After a while it became easier to tell them apart and he appeared sure."

"I truly did not think it that hard."

Rhaenyra gave you glance of disbelief yet you had been serious.

"Laenor favored him, as did Harwin. That is why I knew he could be trusted. Not only as a fine Kingsguard but with my sister's heart as well."

"Rhaenyra," you sighed in kindness. A tear from your eyes dropped onto your intertwined hands.

"Harwin spoke of his candor. How devoted he was. Yet he broke an oath for the sake of his honor."

"As we all do."

Rhaenyra hummed and thought of her own indiscretions for the sake of love. How Daemon had taken her to the Silk Streets at the same time you were discovering womanhood with one of the Kingsguards. A peculiar life; one caged and riddled with power.

"I would have married him... had he wished to break his oath," you admitted to her and the sheen in your eyes returned. Kingsguard were only released from their duty in death. "But the Gods had other plans it appears."

"I do not doubt it," she replied in turn. "Do you think father knew of it?"

You shrugged your shoulders in indifference. "I fear the Hightower's may have. Even more so now. It takes much to strike a Dragon so deeply. Surely their motives were amplified when he deserted their cause."

Rhaenyra nodded, looking at the children's toys on the rug. She wanted to find the good in the gloom.

"Tell me of him. Tell me of the Ser Erryk I did not know."

“Rhaenyra…”

“Please,” she nearly begged. “Let us find a happiness. As you spoke there had been nothing but pain. There is a part of you that I do not know of and I wish to know now.”

You were not sure when to begin.

The first time you met? The first time you spoke? Those times were trivial and basic. She did not want to hear of your scandals in detail but you could start at the night where it changed. Where womanhood came to you in a way you were not expecting and the wine settled too deep in your bones.

You should have known it was doomed to fail because on that same night, a man died at Rhaenyra’s wedding feast.

But you were too wrapped up in Erryk’s arms to notice that evil lurked in the Red Keep.

The wedding of Rhaenyra and Laenor was no small affair.

It was said that an entire week was to be planned full of tourney's, feasting, and ending in the penultimate betrothal of your sister to your cousin, Laenor, who had all but been absent for the entirety of both your childhoods.

He knew nothing of her but appeared kind.

As the drums beat and the violins soared in the great hall, the two-to-be-wed danced a traditional Targaryen dance that entranced the scope of the room before the guests who dreamed of dancing on the same floor as the heir to the throne joined them.

You sat at the table as Alicent conversed with her uncle in the corner and Daemon squandered his late wife's relative with the pad of his thumb. You downed your goblet of wine as Gerold Royce backed away in embarrassment and Daemon smirked in victory.

“Do you not feel sorrow for your late lady wife?” You asked Daemon who’s look always reminded you of being hunted.

“We were not fond of each other. So, no, I do not.”

"You are a cunt, Daemon," you cut. Your father made a noise of objection and Lord Hand Lyonel Strong choked on his wine.

Daemon laughed. He spared you a glance before turning it back to where Rhaenyra was dancing.

You knew of her infatuation with your uncle. Her eyes kept darting to the table as if no one would see.

Viserys muttered your name in dissatisfaction.

"Brother," Daemon snickered, "it is fine. The Princess was just expressing her admiration for me."

You scoffed as a squire refilled the goblet to the brim. The wine spilled over and the young man went to make apologies but you brushed him off with the wave of your hand.

The wine was gone faster than it had taken to refill it.

"The ire may lay elsewhere I inquire," Daemon gave a smoldering squint of his eyes. "Tell me, good niece, how it feels to be second in a tourney where you have always been first? Seeing the heir of the throne marry before you?"

"You overstep, Uncle," you cut.

"But I am a cunt, remember?"

You sat back in your seat as the air around you became uncomfortable and suffocating. Alicent returned with a strained greeting to which she received nothing in return from you.

It perturbed you that a girl, years your junior, had become your stepmother.

The squire returned to fill your cup but nearly spilled it over your hand as it covered the top of the goblet.

"Squire," Daemon's playful voice was etched with a sinful glee. "I do not believe the Princess needs any. She needs something a bit more sturdy to lift her spirits." He motioned with his pointer finger up to the sky lewdly. “A good fuck would do you well.”

"Daemon," your father spoke and Alicent looked away in a rose-colored blush.

"All in good fun, Brother," Daemon defended as he said your name in a question. The squire escaped quickly from the table; the music changed in the room and the dancers from noble houses joined at a more jubilant pace.

Lord Lyonel eyed the floor as his son, Harwin, danced with Rhaenyra.

Daemon leaned into Lyonel's personal space with a quiet voice.

"Have you been to the Silk Streets, Princess?"

"Daemon!" Viserys ordered loudly. His voice caught the attention of the Velaryon's at the end of the table. "I will not have such talk at this table on this day! It is my daughter's wedding!"

"Of co–"

"It's alright, Father," you turned to him as the weakened look on his worn face became more present. "I believe the eve has gotten the best of me."

Rising from your seat, Viserys objected and Alicent latched herself to your hand.

You felt an evil burn your skin.

"You mustn't go," she pleaded on your father's behalf. "It has only just begun."

"I assure you tomorrow will be a much better day," you told her and wiggled your arm out of her grasp.

Viserys sighed in defeat. He scoured the room for Ser Criston to escort you to your chambers but you had not allowed him the chance to speak. You turned away and stepped down from the risen floor and towards the exit to the left of the Iron Throne. In his sight, Ser Erryk caught his attention.

He could only tell the difference because his helmet had been removed.

"Ser Erryk!" Viserys barked.

Ser Erryk had been a Kingsguard for near three years with his brother, Ser Arryk, alongside him. They had been nothing short of loyal to Viserys in the time since their joining.

"Your Grace," Erryk stopped before the King as he turned around and pointed to his eldest daughter's escape from the Throne Room.

"The Princess wishes to retire," Erryk turned his head to watch you disappear beyond the archway. "Please escort and stand watch until Ser Thorne can return to his station outside of the quarters.”

"Yes, Your Grace."

Erryk did his duty and followed obediently after you. Daemon remained laughing quietly as the reminders of you were left. Wine on the table, a plate untouched of food grew cold as the night wore thin.

You traced your hand along the stones of the hallways of the Red Keep. Ancient and sturdy, the ancestors who crafted these corridors knew not of the stories they would tell; how much each turn of the stone would witness as the years passed and the shadows became ingrained in its pattern.

The wine you had been drinking began to catch up with you.

It had been not more than three cups and you felt flushed and warm. Still with your senses, you felt angry and jolly at the same time.

Yet the frustrations of your family still lingered heavier. You felt the steam roll from your shoulders, loosening itself into tendrils of anger as the sounds of jubilance became faint and the halls became darker and filled with the candlelight of night.

You continued to walk in slow steps as the weight of tiredness fell upon you.

Sounds of armor approaching caught your ears, nonetheless.

You breached the foyer of the grand staircase and turned to rest against the stones. Hands grasping the corners behind your back, you looked down the golden hallway to the armored guard approaching.

"Ser Erryk," you acknowledged as the light illuminated his features before you.

You felt the danger dissipate from your body.

"Princess," he spoke. His accent was notable among those who rallied between common-folk and high-born in the Crownlands.

In the years he and his brother Arryk had served the crown, your paths have crossed. They both presented a fine and reputable record of loyalty and devotion to the cause.

They were good men. A rarity, in the world as you lived it.

But Erryk had always captured your attention more than his brother had. Taller and more attentive to your sister and yourself, he had always caught your eye. You wasted countless minutes of your life simply looking at the knight in hopes that he would look back.

You had memorized his face in a matter of seconds.

"May I ask why you are following after me in such a haste?"

"Your Grace has asked me to escort you, Princess," he continued his approach without explicit permission.

As he came into a closer view, you took stock of the man. A strong face with determined eyes; lips plump and shoulders square yet fitted by the silver of his armor. He had a mole on the left side of his cheek above his lip.

He was beautiful. You were not sure you had ever seen a man with such refined beauty before he had joined the Kingsguard some three years ago. In the times his eyes caught yours in the midst of the chaos of your house, your opinion did not change.

You felt your heartbeat pulse faster.

There was something alluring about his eyes. So focused and intent on the subject upon whom he was speaking to, the unwavering devotion of his trade ever present beyond the armor he wore.

"I see," you muttered. "And what of Ser Thorne? He sees to be my escort often."

"Occupied, Princess. It is a busy evening for the family."

Erryk used your title in a way the others did not. He held it in such high regard, you felt.

You hummed and turned back toward the direction in which you were headed originally. The stairs loomed in the darkness like a warship approaching its moor. The wine that had settled let a small chuckle escape your lips.

"I do wish there were magic in these walls, Ser Erryk. Then I may simply float into bed and there would be no need to leave the nice party."

Erryk was not sure how to respond. He knew you not to be a silly woman. The eldest of Viserys' daughters had always appeared to him to be attentive and near motherly in the wake of Queen Aemma's death.

In the times he had spoken to you, you never feigned such girlish impulse before. It was new. And it surprised him.

Therefore, Erryk took his own leap of difference.

"Princess," he caught your attention and in the light, he wished he had never taken the oath.

Your eyes gleamed with such delight; pupils blown wide from what he deduced to be the wine of the evening and lips plush and slightly parted. The bodice of your gown fit every curve and plush part of your skin in an entrancing way that sent his mind to the places he neglected to attend to.

He knew of what the men in the Kingsguard did. He listened to the conquests of his brothers, both blood and by sword, while he refined himself to his oath.

But his heart nearly stopped at the sight of you. It had never happened before.

He felt ashamed for feeling such a way. For him to imagine what it would be to feel your skin above and below your skirts, listening to the soft sounds of content as he let his lips draw new patterns on your collarbones.

You were a Princess. He should not have such thoughts.

"If I may speak plainly?" Erryk asked you and you nodded for him to continue. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

"Dragons exist in this world. I do not see why magic could not exist as well. There are whispers of such people amongst the townsfolk. Though, I cannot say their rumors are true.”

The sides of your lips began to quirk up into a smile. "Yes. I suppose you are right about that."

You smiled at him and he could not look away. The sides of your eyes creased in delight in regard to the silliest of items: a childish want to be lifted into bed because your feet were too tired.

It was not often that a naive nature still remained in adults.

"Do you not wish to return to the celebration?" You queried. “I saw even Ser Harold tap his feet at the music.”

"I have a duty to you, Princess. The celebration will not miss me."

Erryk did not miss nor question the way your eyes flicked between his lips and his own eyes. He could not resist the urge to do the same to you.

You wet your lips with your tongue in a small jut. Your top teeth tug the bottom lip in before releasing it gently. Attention falling to the chest of his armor before you blinked in a rapid succession and he felt your body radiate a warm sensation.

You pulled the back of your hand to your cheeks to sense the heat.

“My,” you said breathlessly. “I seem to have let the wine get the best of me.” Sheepishly looking down, your gaze returned to him with doe-like admiration.

He felt the blood rushing. Erryk swallowed his nerves.

“It does happen, Princess.”

Your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage—you felt as though it were going to explode.

His eyes were piercing you. Dim in the light of the hall, you could barely decipher where he was truly looking but you felt the stare. You could have felt it a million miles away.

“Ser Erryk—“

Gustily, he cut you off. “Erryk, Princess. You may call me Erryk in confidence.”

It was your turn to swallow the nerves that built up in your throat. You observed him again and in the way he stood. An arm limp on his side while the other held onto his sword tightly.

There was no fear, nothing helpless within you.

Your curiosity painted what his hands looked like under the white gloves. How strong and handsome they must be to match the face of the man. You wondered how they’d feel pressed against you; holding you in ways no woman should wonder.

The feel of them on your breasts, the way they’d play differently than your own in the dead of night.

You released a staggered breath from your nose and he caught the shake that emitted from your chest.

“Erryk,” you clarified your previous mistake. "Please use my title sparingly, then. I wish to be informal when able."

"Of course," and he tried your name on his lips for the first time.

For the first time, you felt at ease.

"I've never asked, but do you enjoy the Kingsguard? After all that is asked of you, your brother, and those in the cloak?"

"It is a honor," he stopped himself short of using your title. "I cannot envision a life outside of it."

To be one of the seven to protect the family was the most profound honor. Only the finest of knights were bestowed the honor.

"I suppose you do get to sleep in the most grand of castles," you quipped.

"And you? Do you like being the daughter of a King?"

Erryk observed the way you pondered deeply. Even if he spent every waking minute with a family of high stature and of the utmost importance, he would never truly understand the perils that came with great privilege.

"Would it be silly if I said no?"

"No," he shook his head. "There are many who wish to be you, however."

"I do not envy them," your gaze saddened at the prospect.

"What is not to be envious about?"

"Freedom... or the lack-thereof it."

The wine was making you feel all sorts of ways that evening.

"Freedom," he reiterated. "That may be more rewarding than both of our positions, Princess."

You narrowed your eyes at him to which he returned with a sly, small smirk and his own look was playful. Erryk was subverting your expectations beyond a reasonable doubt.

Your heart leapt at the idea that he was dallying with you.

You were both young and engaging in a fools errand.

Down the corridor from which you originally came, footsteps began to heighten. You could barely make out the silhouettes of more guards making rounds.

"I wish to retire to my room, Ser Erryk," you called out loudly enough for those to hear.

In an instant, a wall had gone up between the two of you and the wine was drained from your body. Erryk offered his arm in the way a Lord would as you conquered the steps one by one.

The guards surpassed you by changing their route and following down another corridor as the two of you made it to the middle landing of the grand steps.

"Oh," you feigned in their absence.

"There was nothing improper of our conversation, Princess," Erryk reassured you.

Everything and the Gods were improper for a high-born lady–even one unmarried and passed over as an option of heir.

"I know," you replied, feeling the cold metal of his armor simmer the heat of your palms.

You continued up the stairs with him and did not let go once the journey was complete.

"Do you see me a spinster, Ser Erryk?" You asked him and once more, he found himself a loss for words in your presence. No other high-born lady would give conversation so willingly. Yet you always had in your short meetings together.

“Spinster?”

“I am a few years beyond my sister. I am unwed and untethered. Not ideal for a husband to seek, no matter if my father is the King.”

"I do not believe it appr–"

"I really do not mind," your face concentrated on the passage of doors and miscellaneous objects littering the living quarter hallways. "You are not a stranger."

"Nor am I a friend," he felt the need to clarify.

"Then what are you?"

You stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to look at him. The skirt of the dress twirled and scuffed his hand. His fingers twitched to grab onto it.

"I am a sworn member of the Kingsguard, Princess. I have a duty to your name, to the crown."

"And such forsakes you from being a friend?"

Lust.

"Do you wish me to be your friend?" He asked boldly.

In the same moment, a rumble of thunder roared through the sky. The open courtyard that found itself in the center of the wing of the keep whirled with a ruinous swirl.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing voiced itself into words.

“I do not believe that would be appropriate.” You completed his previous sentence.

The earthy thunder echoed in the sky.

"What would be appropriate?" Erryk tested the waters.

He sensed the colors of his white cloak becoming sullied by his own greed. He took a step forward as the rain began to spill from the clouds above.

"My young sister is to be married," you cautioned. "Before I am to be and I–"

"I cannot take a wif–"

"No," you shook your head and sighed. "I do not wish to marry."

"Princess."

"I do not want to be the wife of a Lord twice my age. I want to make my own choices."

Erryk saw the determination in your eyes. He and Arryk had the same as they left home and declared themselves to be willing trainees for the Kingsguard. They gave everything to live a life of stewardship.

"The guards spoke of your abstention," Erryk admitted. "How you abdicated your inheritance and now Princess Rhaenyra is heir to the throne."

"I am clear of the understanding that you cannot take a wife, nor bear any children. I do not seek that either."

Erryk breathed in deeply. "What do you ask of me, Princess?"

Your observances were flicks of nervous ticks. The way your gaze was scattered across the hall; shades of gray became wet with rain and the fires that lit the way began to waver.

"I fear I ask something the Gods deny me."

Freedom.

The two of you stared at one another for seconds before you turned away and returned walking in a wade of self-destruction.

As the rain poured heavy, chaos erupted in the Great Hall as it did in the quarters above. Erryk looked to the sky through the pillars of stone to listen for a sign.

The Gods rumbled in fury.

But Gods be damned.

The clang of his armor filled your ears faster than the force of his hand encircling around your bicep and spinning you around without much warning. His other hand grasped the bottom of your jaw, filling the space of your cheek and brought his lips impatiently to your own.

You could not hear the rain when time ceased to move.

Erryk's hand let go of your bicep and wrung an arm around your back to meet the top of your dress' bodice. His fingers gripped the back of it and you could feel the fabric of his gloves itching against your skin.

The giddiness of the anxiety that had formed with you made your hands shake. They found purchase on his chest plate. Erryk's thumb caressed your chin and then exchanged its position to the back of your head.

You broke the kiss in breathlessness before he brought his lips to yours again.

Your body buzzed without thinking.

There was no returning to the therebefore.

Not a year into Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor did she give birth to her first son, Jacaerys, who appeared more like a common boy than a Targaryen.

In the following years, another boy was born with the same complexion and you questioned it not as she had come to you nine months prior and declared her third pregnancy happily.

It was an unkempt secret.

It was also one that you were fortunate not to share.

Ten years to the date of the wedding, both your and Rhaenyra's lives were inexplicably changed. Your father's condition worsened to where it was a battle to walk from bed to door. Alicent's ascent into her own form of motherhood rivaled Rhaenyra's as you kept your distance the best you could.

Alicent made efforts to get to know you better as an adult but you saw what she was. She was a devil disguised as a saint.

She was younger and tried yet to replace what your mother left vacant inside of you. You ignored her with what snide nature the Gods had granted you as you had gotten older.

It was your solitude that kept you sane as the keep grew louder.

That, and the life you kept in the shadows. Though, your nephews did bring a smile to your face.

"Jace!" You shouted with a laugh as the boy stumbled in the courtyard. His wooden sword went tumbling out of his hands after one strike from his brother, Lucerys.

They were so little and innocent.

"You must hold onto it if you want to be a great knight!"

"I was!" His little voice argued back as he went to pick up the word and Lucerys lifted his fist in victory.

Ser Harwin Strong stood on the sidelines of their small battle circle as you took a seat on the bottom step not far from their escapade. The yard was full of workers and knights, both those of the Kingsguard and City Watch.

"Not strong enough, My Prince," Harwin gave him a stern glare that sent Jace into a rigid stance wanting to prove his worth.

The boy was ten yet he wished to be a knight at that very moment.

"You must listen to your Aunt if you want to be a good knight," Harwin pointed at you to which you shook your head, scoffing at his words. "She has fought many a battle; can swing a sword as furious as an axe!"

Harwin laughed as you rolled your eyes.

You could see why Rhaenyra loved him. Why she would risk her entire being to bear his children in absence of Laenor's.

"You lie!" Lucerys accused him.

Harwin knelt down beside Lucerys. "I jest, My Prince. But you should know," he leaned his face closer to his sons, "your brother has a weakness..."

Harwin's voice went quiet and Jace put his arms up in defeat. You went to stand but as you gathered your skirt in your hand and went to push upwards, a hand was presented to you.

You looked up nearly blinded by the sunlight that peaked through the clouds and was met with Erryk's face.

He too had changed over the years.

His hair long was reminiscent of the Targaryen tradition of not cutting it so long as they remained the winner in battle. A beard now flocked his face in full but his heart remained the same.

"Princess," he mumbled as you took his hand, lifting yourself from the stair.

It had been two days since your last meeting but for both your hearts, the beat had not changed since the first night.

"Ser Erryk," you greeted. Lost in yourself, you neglected to drop his hand. "Thank you."

"I bring news. Princess Rhaenyra has begun her labors," he alerted you. “She has asked for your presence.”

You looked to Harwin and the boys, the prior already staring in your direction, eying Erryk with inspection. You dropped his hand in an instant.

"That is wonderful news," you replied with a kind smile. Erryk scanned your face for a sign of dejection at the admission. You noticed he had been doing that as of late and it irked you.

Harwin approached in heavy, quick steps.

"Ser Erryk," he greeted with a nod. "Are you to train with the boys today? Ser Cris–"

"I would not call this training," you clarified. The boys were but 10 and 6. "Play fighting may be more applicable."

"I came to tell the Princess that Princess Rhaenyra has begun her labors, Ser Harwin."

Erryk watched as Harwin's eyes contorted in a way he knew nothing of. A sliver of hope, joy, he was not sure. But it changed the way he felt inside.

"May the Gods grant the Princess good will," Harwin declared.

"Yes indeed," you added. Harwin glanced between the two of you as Erryk's eye-line focused on Jace and Luke putzing in the dirt.

“The Princes’ are most excited to meet their sibling. They have talked of nothing else for the past few days.”

“Speaking the truth, Ser Harwin,” you chuckled. “I pray it not be another boy for her sake. I do not know if she can handle such behaviors.”

Lucerys began to hit the ground with his stick in hard, deliberate strokes.

"I should distract the Princes then," he spoke lowly. "Thank you, Ser Erryk."

"Lord Commander," Erryk bid Harwin farewell as he walked back to the boys. Jace was occupied hitting the wooden sword on his feet and Lucerys came running towards the two of you.

"Ser Erryk!" The boy called jubilantly. "I took down my brother!"

"Oh?" Erryk responded in kind. "A very fierce battle ensued, I am sure."

"Yes! And I will do it again!" Luke smiled at him and it made your heart grow three sizes. “I wish to be a fine knight as you are, as Ser Harwin is.”

“One day, My Prince.”

"Luke," you looked down at the boy to which he put his small hand in yours. "I think it is time to choose an egg for the babe.”

The small boy's eyes lit up like a holiday. "Do you think so!?"

"I do," you squeezed his tiny fingers. "Go to your brother. Tell Ser Harwin that he must take you and then return you to your chambers once the egg has been collected."

Luke hugged at your leg tightly before running off to his brother with a screech.

"Take me to my sister," you told Erryk. "I must be with her."

"Of course, Princess."

Every corner of the keep was filled with spectators as the news of Rhaenyra's labors filtered through the castle. Erryk walked steadfast on your heels as your pace became more quick with noises of her strain making itself known.

"Gods," you said exasperated by her shouting.

"It will be alright," Erryk reassured quietly.

“I am inclined to say you have never seen a labor.”

“No,” he said quietly as you passed a guard walking in the opposite direction. “I have not had the privilege.”

“Far from a privilege, Erryk. It is gruesome.”

As her labor chambers came closer with your steps, the fewer guards and people were permitted in the hall.

"The Septa's once told us that boys were never easy. I fear this one will be a repeat of before."

"A boy?"

Without thinking, you replied: "the genes are far too strong."

But Erryk knew what you meant because in the corridors behind the walls of the keep, Harwin and Erryk had crossed paths in their escapes on more than one occasion.

He spoke your name and pulled at your arm to come to a stop outside of her chamber door. You could practically feel her pain emitting from the wood.

There were no guards standing watch outside of the door which you knew was the fault of the Queen.

"All will end well. Rhaenyra will see it to be true. Your sister is a hearty woman."

You nodded at him. "I know it to be so."

And you planted a quick kiss on his lips.

"Come find me tonight," you pleaded. "I wish to see you."

"I will do my best, Princess," Erryk glanced down the hall before cupping the back of your head and kissing you tenderly. "I will do my best."

"Oh," you gasped. The breath had been taken from your lungs as your airway cast a shudder. One of your arms around his shoulders, hand snaking itself to cradle the nape of his neck under his hair while the other hand danced along the side of his face and its thumb traced the line of his lower lip as a set of trembling pants melted together to make a seamless one.

Erryk's hands, worn and calloused from a day's work, trailed the sides of your body and traced the curve of your hips to your thighs. His grip wavered between the harshness you had craved for and his gentle mask.

“These days,” he grunted, teeth clenched tightly together as his jaw flexed with concentration, “have been unforgiving, Princess.”

It had taken him five days to find time with you after the birth of Prince Joffrey.

And so much had changed in those five days.

You lifted yourself up in a rhythmic careen as your heart began to pound against your chest. His eyes seldom left your face. Erryk watched for every bated breath and each staggered exhale while his hands helped guide your hips in genteel rolls.

Between your legs, the feel of his cock was slick and hot. Entering in and out, in and out as he helped try to ease the burn of your thighs working toward elation.

Your hand fell from his face down to his arms. A ghostly light dusting to meet his right hand that had been assisting your movements.

Loosely bringing his hand to your mouth, Erryk’s lips parted as you covered all his fingers with your own except the middle, and brought it to your lips. You kissed the pad of his finger gently.

As you kissed his finger, you lifted yourself from his cock to the tip. He waited for the cool air to hit but it never came as you sank back down and opened your mouth with a mewl as he filled you again.

At that moment, you took his middle finger into your mouth and wet it with your tongue.

He could not speak. For his words were lost in the warmth of your cunt and mouth as your tongue swirled around his digit with a wanton pant. Erryk let his head fall to your chest; lips lingering on the skin of your breasts with nipples taught and pert beckoning to him.

Erryk’s other hand loosened from your hip and grasped your left breast. He palmed the skin before squeezing and letting his palm run over the nipple. You sucked on his finger a bit harder at the sensation.

The hairs from his beard scratched your skin in an insatiable pattern. It was familiar in an exact moment where the past was no more and the future was everclear.

You wanted it memorized. You wanted it traced upon your body.

He tilted his head lower to latch onto your nipple before letting go with an audible “pop” against the lewd sounds of the room. It was morning but the whispered breaths of lovers and the sound of their coitus woke with the rising sun.

You released his finger from between your lips and he lifted his head. His eyes met yours and they glimmered with the same refractions of light one gets as the sun peaks between curtains.

His heart was as large as the sea.

“Lay down,” you wet your lips and held his hand no different than before.

Erryk used his free hand to keep you steady as he laid back on the bed. He bent his knees and planted his feet against the duvet to give you leverage.

“As the Princess commands.”

You bit back a smile. The butterflies in your stomach never ceased to exist.

With your hand eclipsed with his own, you guided his now wet finger down to your clit and he needed no further instructions. The pressure of his finger felt like a lightning bolt shooting through thunder. You gasped as your legs quivered in delight.

And then you smiled fully. Erryk smiled in return and Gods, did you feel the world open up before you.

You placed a hand on his chest before leaning down to kiss his lips still quirked upwards in a sheltered grin. The ministrations of your pleasure not stopped at the joy.

Erryk laid back against the ends of the pillows and watched you lift yourself back up, hand grasping his wrist of the hand to your clit, and began to move faster. He could not help but become entranced in the way his cock disappeared in your core. Your tightness aching for him as it became more slick every passing second.

You breathed in deeply. A hitch in your timber sent his eyes back to yours and you rolled your body deeply—feigning coy in the smoked out candlelight. He could not his gaze roaming the way your breasts moved with every bounce.

The sun was rising behind you.

Enchanting or entrancing, he was captivated as always by his royal woman.

With his hand on your hip, he raised it to trace your spine and felt your muscles begin to shake. Bumps on your skin from his touch made him groan.

You faltered and leant forward. Hands now planted beside his face, your eyes met his own and Erryk gave a small nod. He removed his finger from your clit and ran both hands up your back as you laid your weight on him.

He held you tightly and began to move his hips at an aching pace. Your eyes closed as you hummed in content. Erryk let his face fall beside yours, mouth beside your ear.

"Is this alright, my darling?" he barely whispered and you smiled, he could feel it.

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes."

He laid a kiss on your earlobe in response. With your eyes closed, you could feel bursting colors inside of you. You imagined them swirling behind you eyelids in intertwined wisps of reds and pinks. Yellows of happiness adjoined with the blues of bliss.

In the years you laid together, Erryk was not one to speak loudly nor much during those times. He admired you in its absence. Watching and waiting with bated breath of what pleasure would bring you and he to follow.

It was when he held you close that he felt the oaths he sinned against were foolish.

The touch of a woman, the touch of you, brought him a fantasy he'd never thought of chasing.

You inhaled deeply, legs shaking as he worked you to your orgasm with precision. You turned your head to capture his lips with yours; swallowing his groans when you utilized the last bits of your strength to move your hips at his actions.

Crying out as your body jolts, your right hand snaked itself into the hair that fell on the side of his face.

"Gods," you whimpered. There was little more you could do to hang on.

Erryk's low grunts matched his thrusts the faster they came.

He gripped the back of your thigh and brought your leg upwards, changing his angle. Your shoulders tensed at your growing inability to hold on. A string was snapping inside of you, waiting for it all to be enough.

And at once, it became enough.

You tilted your head upwards with a high-pitched gasp; the sound elongating the second he felt your muscles tighten around his dick and loosen a second later with a fury. He continued to thrust through your tremors. The jerking of your body erupting his own orgasm and with three thrusts, his breath became staggered and wanton.

Against his chin, you rested your forehead uncomfortably to gather yourself. A droplet of sweat beaded from your breasts pressed against his chest and to his skin.

As he recovered his own breathing, a hand of his own rubbed careless lines on your back. Erryk could feel the pulse of blood rushing to your center. He took his hand away from your back and brought it to your face to turn it to him.

Your breath was hot against him as he was certain his own was against yours.

"I apologize," his voice had grown ragged. He spoke softly yet you could hear the hoarseness of his throat. "For not fulfilling your request."

"Come find me tonight," you pleaded. "I wish to see you."

"No," you brushed back hairs from his face. "It warrants no apology."

Erryk sighed deeply. You moved a finger to trace the edges of his beard lightly. He looked at you with a furrowed brow. You pressed a finger to the worrying crease.

"What worries you, my love?"

He appeared hesitant to speak freely in that moment. The comfort of guilt had been eating at him as of late. Act that soiled his cloak in sin, he had forsaken his duty to chase what he had denied himself for so long.

It was the evening chatter amongst the Kingsguard as they sat for supper that churned in his stomach.

"I do not worry," he answered. You did not believe him.

"Your face tells different story, Erryk."

"Do you regret this arrangement, Princess?"

You stopped your movements and locked eyes with him. Just as your heartbeat had started to slow, it picked up again at a rapid pace.

"I– " you paused to find your words. "Where might have gotten that impression?"

"No impression," he clarified. "It was simply Princess Rhaenyra's children–"

At the mention of your sister, you lifted your hips and removed him from you with a shallow shudder before rolling to your side and sitting upright in search of your dressing gown.

"I do not wish to speak of my sister while I lay with you," you informed him. It had never been a subject discussed in the decade of knowing one another. "That is the last person I wish to think of."

"I do not mean it in that way."

"Then in what way do you mean?" You gathered the gown from the floor and put it on in rapid movements.

"It is no secret that the King continues to search for a Lord Husband befitting of your status," Erryk spoke as he sat in the bed you shared. "I never imagined–"

"What?" You drew defensive immediately.

Something deeper lingered inside of you. He knew nothing of the matter.

"When I swore the oath of the Kingsguard I did not imagine being the one who stands in the way of the King's desires."

"He does not know, Erryk. I stand in his way. I refuse the proposals."

"Because you love me."

"Yes!" You exclaimed. "I told you that I wished to carve my own life with what little power I do have of it. This," you stuck both hands outward to him, "is that power."

"And if he were to find out, my fate would be far more severe than being exiled to my homelands."

Ser Harwin left yesterday morning at the instruction of the King.

Rhaenyra would not see anyone in her quarters for hours.

You did not question his comment.

"Have you found someone else to warm your bed?" You asked an impossible question. Erryk let the sigh of disbelief pass his lips.

"I would not inflict such pain on you. Do you truly question my devotion? After what I risk to love you?"

A piece of you constricted with the knowledge you held. How this was likely your last morning together for some time and you were leading it to a deep crevice of spite.

"You question my own devotion for what cause?" You countered. "I do not regret this. I will never so long as I live because we chose to do this, together."

Erryk moved off the bed and slipped on his trousers and linen shirt with the ties undone.

"I do not ask out of a want to be removed from my circumstance."

"Then why ask it?"

"Do you never feel guilt? Of allowing me to besmirch your honor–"

"Please," you begged him and sat on the settee that was littered with books of old. "I do not wish to hear it."

You did feel some guilt. Guilt of a secret that had been eating away at you for a day.

The troubles of life had long settled itself within the walls of your chamber. These conversations had been occurring more often as of late and you knew not the cause but had a rousing suspicion that his honor, duty to the crown levied a darkening cloud over his consciousness.

The culpability of a sin unforgettable to his stature buried him. Now having witnessed the removal of the Lord Commander, and Hand of the King, for the consequences of lust weighed like torture.

A dam of large proportions was meant to break in the keep.

The blood of Rhaenyra's childbirth was still being washed from the halls and with it, the stones cracked under pressure.

Erryk picked up the pieces of his armor from the floor and laid them before himself on the bed. Ingrained in his mind, he assembled each piece to the best of his ability before moving toward you as the birds began to chirp outside of your windows.

The cool breeze of autumn filtered in through the curtains.

It was then he saw the wetness of your cheeks. A silent cry had formed in his wake and he had not seen it. He had given no time for care; he feared your needs were not satisfied.

Before he could stumble out words, you coughed out the admission.

"Rhaenyra is leaving for Dragonstone on the morrow."

Oh.

"She asked for my council... to go with her."

Erryk felt a terrible wall grow in front of him.

"I do not wish to leave you."

"Are you to go with her?" He asked.

A part of him knew the impossible task. He and his brother were inseparable. Being twins, perhaps it was expected of him to be close as thieves but the bonds of a sister had tethered two souls closer than even he could ponder.

He would die for his brother, as you would your sister.

"Yes," you cried. A sob escaped your lips and you let your head fall into your hands.

Erryk tossed his armor back onto the bed, kneeling before you and wrapping his arms around you as his heart stung.

"It is not my place to beg you to stay," he admitted. "You must do as your future Queen commands of you." Spoken like a knight.

"What if my leaving is the last that I will see of you?' You questioned. You lifted your head and cupped his face. "I love you, Erryk. I do not regret my actions."

"And I you," and instead of Princess, he said your name soothingly. "I speak in fear. You speak of what little you have, but with what I do have, my body and soul are yours to keep."

"I do not think I can bear being parted for long. I will not take a husband, I will not take another lover," you declared.

You made your sentiments known. He was not going to question it again.

"Nor I," he agreed. "Nor I."

You pulled your lips to his own.

"I wanted to tell you," you wept, “but I could not find you. I wished not for this to be our parting ways. I do not want to you to remember me this way."

"In what way?" He hummed with a strained, sorrowed smile. "You are as beautiful as the day we met. If this is to be our last moments together, my only regret is not holding you longer."

You let out a wet, sad laugh.

"We will find each other again," he reassured you. His blue eyes shining in the golden glow of morning as the sun blessed the skies in a red and pink dream.

"I swear it, by the old Gods and the new."

You rubbed your thumb across his cheek to catch a tear most of the Kingsguard would never admit to falling in the presence of their lovers. You nodded at him.

"I love you," you whispered.

You wouldn't see him for another six years.

The gates of King's Landing were tall and colored in an ugly terracotta.

You peered out the slim slivers the grated windows of the caravan allowed as it trudged the rocky roads along the shoreline of the city. Glimpses of a cooling fall air, the sun was shielding itself behind clouds with every inching second that wheels churned closer to the keep.

"Surely the city cannot have changed that much since our departure, good sister," Daemon's words were shrouded in a snicker. His eyes are always cutting and looking for a battle.

Eyes tearing themselves away from the outside, you looked at Daemon as he studied you.

"It has changed greatly, Uncle," you retorted. "Perhaps if you had spent more time canvasing it during the light of day you would be able to say the same."

Daemon's lips lifted themselves into a sly, cunning smirk as Rhaenyra shook her head.

"Must we bicker as such? Play civil for only a day and then we shall return home. Might we find some excitement beyond the boor?"

When Daemon became Rhaenyra's husband after Laenor passed, you wished your dragon would swallow you whole.

Rhaenyra said you were being dramatic.

"Vaemond is a peddler," you reassured her, taking her hand in yours and peering back outside of the slits. "Your sons have little to fear."

In the years that have passed over Westeros, every soul had been changed by the tenants of the Red Keep and those who watch over them like vultures at a feast. Rhaenyra's ascendance to Viserys' heir should not have been a catalyst for the pain suffered by those in their watch but yet it could not help itself.

Your fingertips ghosted the wooden edges of the carriage as the latches of the gates began to swing outwards and opening themselves up to you once more.

Rhaenyra understood that her sons had nothing to fret regarding their futures. Viserys had turned a blind eye for years and the sentiment would not change so long as he remained on the throne for the years to come.

She squeezed your tender fingers with her own.

Daemon's eyes wandered from the trusted hands of two sisters to his wife's face.

"I do wonder," Daemon cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. His sheathed sword knocked the golden accents of the interior. "If there is something of worry for you, good sister."

Rhaenyra's face twitched. A challenge, he imagined.

"I've heard that the Queen has been looking to secure a marriage match for her children."

"Daemon, you forget yourself," Rhaenyra spoke. Your eyes were lost in the courtyard that began to form around you.

"She has evaded such for years," Daemon defended. "I know of no other high-born lady, a princess, who is beyond marrying age and still remains relevant. Alicent is playing chess against an enemy that stays hidden on a cliff."

"Why is the concern so pressing?" Rhaenyra questioned, her eyes narrowing as her hand gripped yours tighter.

"You said it yourself, if Vaemond has the will to bring into question Jace and Luc, then the family will fall into a pit before being able to hoist itself up again. A match may not be out of the question to cease the concerns of other houses who question our ability to rule."

"No." Rhaenyra shook her head. "My father-"

"Knows nothing. The green bitch does his bidding. We all know about it."

The wheels of the carriage struck a bump causing the three of you to lean in one direction before falling back. The sounds of Kingsguard and City Watch members clambering for the arrival of such a caravan began to make themselves known.

"Where do you hear such secrets, Daemon?" You tired of hearing your life being planned without your consent. You narrowed your eyes at the blonde man. "I am near twenty years elder of her children. I am far too old to be the wife of–," there was a part of you that could hardly speak it.

And Daemon chuckled at the prospect.

But then again, he was older than both you and Rhaenyra.

It may have been the proper way of great households, but it was one that you detested. You had seen what marriage had done to your sister, your family, and closest friends. So many lost to what they had known for the sake of alliances and duty.

The memories of your trysts lay present in your mind. He was there.

A piece of Rhaenyra and your mother's stubbornness had harbored itself into you for the last sixteen years when womanhood had finally made sense to you.

There had been a glint in Rhaenyra's eyes at one time and you'd be dammed if you let your family take that from you as well.

"Besides," you diverted. "Father has tried many fine men of great houses to force my hand and yet," you lifted a hand void of jewelry besides a golden dragon that slithered up ornately on your pointer finger.

"Trying times call for trying actions."

You needn't respond to Daemon for him to understand the conversation had ceased. Rhaenyra put pressure on your hand once more before removing it and placing her own back on her belly that grew another child of her and Daemon's.

Outside the caravan of black banners and red sigils, the scattered sounds of court disappeared behind walls rattled with the hooves of the steeds. The carriage came to a rough stop and Rhaenyra gave you a stressed smile.

There was no fond greeting for those who escaped to Dragonstone six years ago.

"I sense the welcome is not as it once was," you whispered to her. Her brows furrowed as she had not paid any mind to the sounds and sights beyond her small party. A sinking feeling landed at the pit of your stomach.

The clatter of tools and wooden planks stopped as the caller announced the members to descend the steps.

And as you thought, the welcome was as the keep had become: vacant of the reverence it once had.

Each member of the Targaryen's who had been nothing short of exiled for their own safety waltzed into the pit of a raging green beast with a poor reception on behalf of the crown the heir expected. It spoke plainly of the disagreeable nature floating between two sides.

With a creak, the doors to the Keep's entrance opened and one soul, Lord Caswell, looked ridden with worry which struck a chord within Daemon, Rhaenyra, and yourself. He approached the heir with a solemn face before bowing.

"Welcome home, Princess."

"Lord Caswell," Rhaenyra responded in kind. His eyes bounced between each of you. He hadn't welcomed any of you to the keep in six years time.

It was as though a century had passed in a second.

"The King is anxious for your return," he continued. "He spoke of nothing but for these past two days. As well as to see his grandchildren, so grown and presentable." Lord Caswell nodded at them.

"Take us to him, if you please, Lord Caswell. It has been a weary journey," Rhaenyra began to walk off as he stuttered.

"Surely you would like to rest first, Princess? I will have your things taken to the visiting quarters."

"Visiting quarters?" Rhaenyra questioned, stopping in her tracks. Daemon was on her heels and her eldest son, Jace, halted with the rest of the children beside you.

Your eyes danced around the courtyard in a silly hope to find a pair.

'Of course he would not be there,' you scolded yourself.

You wondered if you had changed since your last meeting. Would he be able to recognize the woman you had become in the desolate castle?

"The Queen has taken residence in your former quarters, Princess."

Rhaenyra paused before speaking with an understanding that while here on the business of securing her son's legacy, her bygone friend has seized more than just your father.

But as you took in the surroundings you envisioned a world differently than the one that presented itself to you now. One of freedom and without greed; no one playing a long game of power and where lives were not seen as pawns, but as people.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath. She held her hand to her stomach and rubbed a thumb across it gently as the overcoat she wore buried the chill with everything she had lost inside. She glanced at you as your eyes looked everywhere but hers and followed as they met every Kingsguard in the court.

She saw the light dim in the slightest.

"Lord Caswell," She spoke clearly, "take us to my father please."

Seldom would have prepared you for the state your father was in.

Forced with an eternity of pain, Viserys was a shell of himself in the bed he laid. Each minute he suffered in the stillness of the Milk of the Poppy and it guided him only to lead him astray; every swing of an ax, a sword in the courtyard, would bleed the remnants of happiness that lingered in his dusty room.

He barely recognized you as you held his hand.

It struck your soul when he mistook you for your dead mother.

"Aemma," he croaked as though it took all his strength to talk."

Rhaenyra stilled beside you. You put on a brave face.

"No, father," you reminded him of you. "We are all here now."

He repeated your name brokenly.

"Sister," Rhaenyra approached you with her own son, Viserys by name, on her hip.

You had resigned yourself to inspect the dusty model of King's Landing that had once been a prized possession of the man who could not will himself to stand. The disease had overtaken his body to the point of immobility.

Viserys groaned in pain in his bed.

It was a sound you wished not to hear once more.

"Why don't you find your nephews and reintroduce them to the Keep?" She proposed. Her attitude was emitting more positivity than it should.

"I am sure they have already made their way," you took a finger and swiped it through the dust.

"And they could do well with a guide," she pressed.

You sighed, taking a glimpse behind you and surveying your father as he hid behind the curtains of his bed and cooed at Rhaenrya's other son, Aegon.

"He will be alright, sister."

"I do not share the same confidence, Rhaenyra."

She bounced Viserys on her hip. The boy played innocently with her hair without worry of the world evolving around him.

It was turning sour.

"Go to them," Rhaenyra ordered. "I would start at the training ground... you know how my boys are."

You heard the sound of swords before you saw them.

For once Daemon had been right about the Red Keep: it truly hadn’t changed from your time spent away. The same people found themselves completing the same mundane tasks each and every day until the Father called them home.

At the top of the long steps, you took in the sights you had missed.

It smelled of shit and metal. The people were loud and crowding around a scene of two men sparring along the edges of the yard. In your vision, Jace and Luke were fumbling through the materials they reminisced of as young children.

A chunk taken out of the stone, the wooden swords still available to train with.

You leaned against the barrister of brick. Below, just out of sight, two knights sparred in their time away from the king. Their fierceness caught the eyes of the two Targaryen boys who were in awe of the sights around them.

“Look,” Jace put his arm around his brother and pointed to Erryk and Arryk’s valiant efforts.

The eldest was in awe of such gallantry.

“It is just as we remembered, isn’t it?”

Luke watched as everyone stared at them unabashedly.

“They have always been valiant fighters,” Jace continued. “I remember Ser Erryk helping us adjust our stances. We were all but six and ten.”

"That was not Ser Arryk?"

Jace laughed. "Ser Erryk was the one to help you after I pushed you into that pile of horse shit when you were four. He gave the best advice about watching your opponents."

“And what good did that bring you?” Luke jested and received a slap on the head. He caught you monitoring them from above on the landing of the steps.

“It seems motherly is untrusting of us on our own,” he told Jace who clocked you watching before the sounds of metal swords clanging caught your attention.

“She will not object to us,” Jace picked at the swords on the cart. “She let us hit each other with these same sticks when I was not yet ten. I do not think our Aunt minds if we explore our old home.”

“I do not think she cares about us at all,” Luke spoke of you as he watched the two brothers push one another backwards.

They let up with a shake of their hands and if he could tell them apart, he would say Arryk looked up at you and paused.

“Brother,” Arryk called to Erryk as the latter went to reestablish his footing.

“What?” Erryk heaved in a tired breath. “Again, Arryk. We do not have much time.”

“Brother,” Arryk now insisted and pointed his sword upwards to the tops of the steps.

When he turned around, it was as though all life paused around him. Two worlds gone completely still because for the first time in six years, you and Erryk had finally converged to one place.

It took his breath away.

A/N: I lied! I made this into 2 parts because it was getting far too long. Next part will cover the reunion, more smut, and of course the remaining bits of Erryk’s story.

As always, thank you for reading. Comments and reblogs, as well as likes, are greatly appreciated. I loved that this character has captured our hearts so much. There truly are no small roles.

#ser erryk cargyll x reader #erryk cargyll x reader #erryk cargyll x you #hotd #house of the dragon #erryk cargyll #ser erryk cargyll #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #hotd s2 #house of the dragon s2

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