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sl-ut · 17 days ago

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of fire and ice

guys don’t @ me ikkk this is similar to princess of the north but i wanted to write for cregan again and im literally obsessed with cregan x targ!reader so either suck it up and enjoy or keep scrolling plsss

pairing: cregan stark x fem!velaryon!poc!reader

description: sent to secure the loyalty of the north, the only daughter of queen rhaenyra is surprised to find such a warm welcome from the lord of winterfell.

warnings: no smut but steamy in parts, swearing, alcohol consumption, treason lol, angst, familial conflict, off-screen character death, grieving, slight description (silver hair, purple eyes, darker complexion than her brothers (yes this reader is biracial what about it)), sort of canon divergent but i tried my best to make it clear what point in the dance we’re talking about at each point

words: 6.8K

date posted: 13/04/25

Cregan had awoken earlier than usual that morning, and he had noticed the shifting of the winds. He had not known it yet, but there was a dragon looming above the clouds, only a few hours south of Winterfell and going completely undetectable to the untrained eye. Something was amiss, that much he knew, but he was entirely unaware of what sort of chaos was about to be brought into his life.

An ache of uncertainty settled in his bones when his guards stormed his halls, fear distinct in their eyes and nothing but the word dragon falling from their lips. The crowd that had formed to petition their lord had fled the hall in a hurry, each and every one of those northerners running in fear and excitement, for very few of them were old enough to recall the last time a dragon had flown so far north during the visit of King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne more than half a century ago.

None even made way for their liege lord in their eagerness, forcing him to follow the crowd with his own anticipation and unease—the news of the king’s death had arrived only days before, along with the ascension of his eldest son Aegon to the throne. He was not naive enough to believe that this transition would pass without backlash or conflict; Rhaenyra had been named Princess of Dragonstone three years before Cregan had even been born, and his father had willingly bent the knee to her and had hoped for House Stark to one day stand among her most trusted allies. While Cregan had no intentions of breaking his father’s oath, which had become his own, with the news of Aegon’s coronation he had hoped to receive some sort of correspondence from the princess to alert him of how to proceed in such circumstances, though he certainly had not expected a dragonrider to carry this message.

He could not be certain that the dragon had even been sent by Rhaenyra. While her own household had in fact claimed ownership over five dragons of their own, not including those who were riderless, but all four of King Viserys’ children with Alicent Hightower had dragons of their own as well. Perhaps this was not a message from Rhaenyra, but instead one of Aegon’s dragons sent to have him bend the knee.

The late-summer sun was high in the sky when he set foot into the courtyard, his eyes burning from the light as he pointed his gaze to the heavens and scanned the grey-blue clouds for a glimpse of the dragon in question. The crowd was silent, breaths held in suspense as they found no sign of a dragon for several moments before a sharp cry pierced the air and the large shadow of a winged creature appeared before the sun.

The beast itself brought only awe to the crowd of northerners below as it drew closer, circling the castle time and time again and growing nearer with every flap of its wings. The dragon was glimmering white in colour, her scales glittering in the sunlight as her mighty talons settled into the ground, sending shocks through the earth as she lowered her gaze to the open gates of Winterfell.

Cregan’s horse was ready before he could command, guards parting the crowd as their liege lord rode out to meet the mighty she-dragon where she sat, waiting His heart thumped in his chest as he grew nearer, the dragon’s eyes of emerald green narrowing on the approaching figure and her chest rumbling with a protective growl. At the very least, he was thankful that it had not been the fearsome Vhagar that had come to them, for he’d heard nothing about her rider save for his sheer ferocity and ill-temper and with a dragon of that size Prince Aemond could decimate the entirety of the north in a matter of minutes if he wished. From the size of this dragon, damage could be done, yes, but surely one of greater size would have been sent if true harm was to be intended.

His horse came to a halt a short distance away, clearly nervous in the face of such a beast, and he was not yet close enough to discern who this rider was; Neither Rhaenyra nor Aegon would risk making the flight themselves, and the beast certainly did not fit the description of any of the ferocious war-mongers he’d heard of such as Vhagar, Meleys, or Caraxes, and the mounts of Princess Helaena and Prince Daeron were both famously regarded for their glittering blue hides. He dismounted his horse, taking long strides to close the distance between himself and the dragon.

“Lord Stark,” the rider called out, melodious and powerful as it cut through the wind. The dragon lowered its head, finally giving him a clear view of her rider in all of her glory, “I bring a message from my mother, Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen.”

The princess was a renowned beauty, the image of her Valyrian heritage. The realm had taken to the rumours of Rhaenyra’s infidelity with ease, each of her boys born during her marriage with Ser Laenor tainted with clear evidence of their heritage, while her only daughter bore the very same traits that Queen Rhaenyra had long been praised for, save for her complexion, which was several shades darker than any of her siblings. No one in the realm questioned her heritage for her parentage was just as clear as it was for her brothers.

“Princess,” he lowered himself in a curt bow, his eyes drawn to her features despite being face-to-face with her dragon, “I was expecting a messenger from Her Grace. Winterfell welcomes you and honours its oath.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark. The Queen will remember your loyalty to her.”

The princess dismounted her dragon with ease, sliding down the smooth flesh of her wings until her feet met with the hard earth, quickly beginning to freeze solid with the coming of winter. As she drew nearer, Cregan was able to take in the complexity of her features, the roundness of her premature features now blooming into the sharpness of womanhood, her violet eyes still holding the gentle innocence of a maiden princess while holding the fury and power of a dragonrider. Her silver curls were tucked away into an intricate braid, though some pieces around her face had fallen loose due to the strong northern winds that her dragon had carried her through. She reached into one of the bell-shaped sleeves of her overcoat, revealing a small roll of parchment closed tightly with a black seal stamped with the three headed dragon of House Targaryen and extending it to him.

He lingered for a moment as their gloved fingertips met, eyes finding hers once more and finding a flicker of surprise over her stoic features as she finally took in his own features at such a close proximity.

He cracked the seal and unrolled the message, eyes tracing over the regal handwriting, a message written in the queen’s own hand. He read over every word with care, the weight of the queen’s request settling over him–the realm was at war, or at least, it was about to be, and his loyalty was not enough. Most of the realm would rather see Aegon on the throne, shirking their oaths and bending the knee to the Greens, leaving Rhaenyra with remotely no forces behind her save for the Velaryon fleet, which was no help when it came to battle, as the Greens had no interest in meeting them in naval battles, and her dragons, none of which would be any match against Vhagar and her rider. Rhaenyra needed more than his honour now, she needed soldiers, and many more than he was able to offer.

He grunted, nodding as he rolled the parchment up once again and slid it into the breast pocket of his overcoat, “It would seem there is much to discuss, princess. Perhaps we may do so over supper, if you wish to join me. I will have a room prepared for you so you may bathe and rest. I imagine you need it after a long journey, and I’ll arrange something for your dragon to eat.”

The princess nodded, the tension in her shoulders relaxing slightly at the offer as she glanced back at her dragon, “Vesia prefers cattle, but anything will do. She is not likely to stay put for long, she has never experienced the cold and will seek out somewhere warm to rest, so I apologize for any ruckus she may create among your people.”

“There is a hot spring not far from the castle, the earth around it runs warm and the air is humid, and I’m certain we can spare some cattle during your stay,” Cregan nodded, chuckling to himself, “And you must forgive my people for any unwanted attention you and her may receive. It’s been nearly seventy years since a dragon has flown this far north.”

She smirked, reaching back to lay her palm flat to Vesia’s snout, “It might do her some good to attract some attention. She is still young, and often gets overlooked in favour of older and larger dragons, save for myself. Perhaps now she will be honoured for what she is…”

“Beautiful,” he finished for her, though his tone carried a cadence that might have been taken for affection, had the princess met his gaze.

“Precisely,” she nodded, “I know she will prove to be fearsome in battle when the time comes.”

“Aye,” Cregan agreed, “as would you, princess. Though I hope it does not come to that.”

“As do I, but my uncle has usurped my mother’s throne, and his brother rides the largest dragon in the world. We will need every dragonrider we can find if we hope to win this war.”

This war would end in fire and blood, bringing about chaos like no other war that Westeros had ever seen. Dragons had fought dragons in the past, yes, but never so many all at once. The princess was more than aware of her odds of surviving the war, but she was a dragonrider through and through, just as the generations that came before her had been, and she would not shirk from her duty when the time for battle came. This was a trait that Cregan quickly came to admire in the princess over that very first evening when she joined him for supper, and the three others that followed. Cregan’s closest friends and advisors, especially his half-sister Sara, had taken note of the fact that their liege lord had grown increasingly affectionate over the Targaryen princess, even through his statue-eque facade. He seemed to take great consideration of her opinion, entertaining her thoughts for various issues brought to him during his public audiences as if she were his lady. He’d yet to make a decision over her mother’s request for soldiers, and many even speculated that he was postponing for as long as he could in order to have more time in the princess’s presence.

The princess had been brought two gowns of the warmest wool the North had to offer. She had brought her own, of course, but had severely underestimated her tolerance for the bitter cold that inhabited Winterfell, regardless of the fact that it was still summer. The cold was more of an ache, a chill that settled into her bones like a disease, only thwarted by hot baths, layers of fur, a raging fire, and the company of the Lord of Winterfell. She, too, had been quite taken with him, her skin burning under his gentle and honourable touches, often lingering but never enough to be taken as anything more than respectable between a lord and a visiting princess (though, every servant and soldier in Winterfell were eagerly indulging in any chance to gossip about the budding courtship between Lord Cregan and the dragon riding princess).

The sun had fallen onto the horizon, only a small sliver maintaining the faintest of daylight over the whole of the North when Cregan received the raven. He’d sat with the message enclosed in his fist for more than an hour, staring into the flames in the hearth as he mulled over the message that had been given to him to pass on. He had never met Prince Lucerys, and had hardly heard his name more than a handful of times, and yet his heart felt heavy with the weight of the news of his death–even more so when he pictured the princess’s face when he was forced to break the news to her.

She’d been very vocal about how close she had been with her brothers, but especially Lucerys. She was the second-born child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, born less than a year after her elder brother Jacaerys, who had been her best friend throughout their entire childhood. However, once they were old enough to understand the rumours that had been spread about her brothers’ legitimacy, she had noticed a shift in her relationship with the eldest of her brothers; where there had once been a childish connection between them based entirely out of sibling love and childish ignorance had somehow become a loathing, jealousy sparked through Jace’s feelings on the matter. He was second in line for the throne, how could anyone be so dismissive of him over his younger sister–there came a point when no one bothered to pretend the moment that his back was turned, aside from his mother and grandfather. Jace never made it out to be her fault, but he also couldn’t find it within himself to separate his anger at these people and at his mother for causing this, and the jealousy that he felt for his sister; he was the heir to the throne, he would someday be king and was among the most privileged young men in the Seven Kingdoms, and yet his younger sister was the one who had everything that he had ever wanted. Following this shift in their relationship, the princess turned her attention to her younger brother Lucerys, who had always been eager to impress his sister and was often noted to have been rather protective over her, despite the fact that he was younger and smaller than she was.

The path to her chambers felt longer than ever, and Cregan was glad that he at least had the cover of night to avoid any diversions from bringing her the news–and no one would catch him making the trek to the princess’s room, where they would be alone together.

When he reached her chambers, he raised his fist, hesitating for a moment as he prepared himself to face the princess, who he already found himself struggling to find words around, only to have to deliver the gravest of news. Just as his fist met the wood-panelled door, a soft voice called his name from down the dark corridor, drawing his attention to the figure that approached.

“Princess,” he sighed, “what are you doing out of bed so late?”

A small smirk appeared on the princess’s lips, “I’m more curious as to why you’ve found yourself coming to my chambers so late, my lord.”

His eyes ran over her figure, only a simple fur-lined robe layered over her thin nightgown, silver curls loose around her face in places where they had fallen out of her braid, which was much simpler than the usual Valyrian style that he had previously seen her wear.

“I need to speak with you, princess,” he spoke, hoping to not display too much concern in his tone, “there’s been a raven from the queen.”

Her brow furrowed, though it seemed she had yet to catch onto the danger in the cadence of his voice, “What is it? Is she demanding I return to Dragonstone to be locked away again? Come, Lord Stark, tell me of my mother’s wrath and desire to control my every move.”

He followed her into the room, pressing the door closed behind him as she crossed the room, turning to offer him a cup of wine, which he denied with a wave of his hand.

“So tell me, what command has my mother sent to me now? Is she angry with me for taking so long?”

“Princess,” he said, “this news is…of grave matters.”

She paused, finally meeting his gaze in the fire-lit room, “What’s happened. You’re making me nervous, Lord Cregan.”

He did not recall when the words slipped past his lips or the manner in which he delivered them. In fact, he truly would not have been certain that he’d even said them if it hadn’t been for the cracking of the princess’s facade, the slow expression of disbelief dawning on her face before she stumbled forward, collapsing to the floor just before she could reach the large bed in the middle of the room.

The first whimper that sounded from her throat was pitiful, but the second escaped as a quiet scream. Cregan could do nothing but watch as her body, usually appearing so confident and regal, quivered and shook as she now appeared only vulnerable and afraid, betraying just how young she truly was, no matter how much she tried to appear older. War was a gruesome thing, something that no one should be forced to know, let alone anyone so young.

Her body wracked with sobs, fingers curling into the cold stone floor beneath her in a weak attempt to regain her strength, to ground herself, to bring herself out of this grief. Cregan stepped forward, one of his broad palms settling onto her shoulder in an awkward attempt to bring her comfort. Honour and propriety bound him to keeping his distance, despite the fact that there was nothing he wanted more than to take her into his arms and hold her until her grief passed.

She flinched under his touch, but did not shrink away. She pushed herself onto her knees, straightening her spine as she wiped at her cheeks to clean them of her tears.

“Lord Stark,” she croaked, “Forgive me, I seemed to have forgotten myself. Thank you for bringing me this news.”

“There is nothing to forgive, princess,” he shook his head, reaching out to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. “This is betrayal, treachery. A throne is nothing in comparison to this loss.”

Her wide, teary eyes watched him carefully, scanning over his face as a shuddered breath fell from her lips, parted and swollen from crying. The roaring flames in the fireplace sent a warm glow across her skin, akin to only the finest of melted bronze. Her fingers trailed up to graze over the back of his hand and it settled to cup her cheek. Then, she kissed him.

Her lips had disappeared as soon as they were there, and Cregan’s burned with the slightest taste of her kiss. He paused, eyes closed as he tried to savour the feeling of her lips in case he were to never feel them again, though that did not seem to be the case.

She kissed him again, cautiously scooching closer as if she were waiting for him to stop her, though she found little resistance from him as she raised her own hand and cupped the back of his neck. He finally began to reciprocate, lips moulding with hers effortlessly as his spare hand pressed against her lower back. He finally broke away when he felt her robe fall from her shoulders as she reached up to unlace the front of her nightgown.

He caught her hands before she could reveal herself to him any further, pulling away from her kiss slowly.

“Princess–”

“I want you, Cregan,” she whispered, a small whine leaving her throat as he dodged her attempt to kiss him again.

“I won’t dishonour you, princess,” he denied, “I am not your husband.”

“Then make me your wife,” she pleaded, “I cannot return there knowing that he won’t ever be waiting for me. I care for you, Cregan, and you offer my mother the strongest alliance possible.”

He stared down at her, uncertainty clear in his stare, “This is grief speaking, I cannot hold you to anything–”

“It is not,” she spoke sternly, “do not deny me this. I know you have longed for me just as I have for you.”

He gulped, “I do care for you, princess–”

“Then arrange it,” she pleaded, “a small ceremony, in accordance with your gods. No feasts, no celebrations, just you and I.”

Cregan sighed, his mind whirling, begging him to deny her of this request. This was treason, to marry the queen’s daughter without her permission, and he would not even have time to run things by his advisors for more than a moment before the deed was done. His heart, however, aching as he stared upon her grief-stricken features, still appearing as the most beautiful woman to have ever lived, urged him to take her into his arms and make her his wife. Cregan Stark had always been regarded as one of the wisest men in the Seven Kingdoms, despite his youth, burdened by his inheritance and the weight of his duties.

But for once in his life, Cregan Stark listened to his heart, and by the end of the very next day, he had taken the princess to wife beneath the ancient heart tree in the godswood.

His wife mourned for some time, but Cregan was thankful that he could now offer her the comfort she desired without the shame of dishonouring her. In the weeks to come, he was by her side whenever he could, tending to her needs while also helping her come to familiarize her with her duties as the new Lady Stark.

Then, of course, came the issue of alerting her mother of their union. Cregan had hoped to have been the one to write to the queen, firstly to pledge his men to her cause, and then to admit his wrongdoing of marrying her daughter without permission, but his wife demanded that she would be the one to do it. He wasn’t sure if she was hoping to soften the blow or if her adamancy was out of her innate desire to take her duties as seriously as possible. For that, he could not begrudge her, for he had the very same shackle to his duties. Though, he’s unsure if he was more or less glad to have been denied this task once he was able to read the queen’s response.

Cregan was certain that he was able to feel her rage through the parchment, writing appearing messy and smudged in places, cursing her daughter for her actions and reminding her of what crimes they had committed. Untrustworthy, unreliable, undutiful, the queen had called her, all of which he knew to be a complete lie.

“She has always been more stern with me than with my brothers,” his wife told him as he read over the letter, “I’m not sure if it is moreso caused by our similarities or–” She caught herself before she spoke the truth of her brother’s parentage into the world, but she knows that he understands fully, “I do not hold it against them. They are my brothers, but sometimes I wonder if my mother does not worry for me as she would for them.”

Cregan listened to her as she paced back and forth in front of him, eyes lingering on the final sentence of the letter, Your Queen commands you to return to Dragonstone at once.

“Will you go?” He asked, though he already knew the answer. He had yet to meet someone so bound by duty as himself, and yet he could already see that his wife was preparing herself to return to her ancestral home upon the command. She may have taken on the role of Lady Stark, but she was still a princess of the realm first and foremost.

“Not for long,” she crouched to kneel on the fur rug before the tufted chair he had been seated in. Her nimble fingers traced over the curve of his knee through his breeches, eyes locking on his own over the piece of parchment, “forgive me, husband. I do not wish to shirk my duties to you and to the North, but she will never relent until I return.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my love,” his thumb smoothed over her cheek affectionately, “though I cannot say I am happy about it.”

“I will be on dragonback,” she murmured, nuzzling into his palm, “so long as my mother does not lock me away for disobeying her, I could only be a few days.”

“She wouldn’t dare, you’re the Lady of Winterfell now,” he dropped the parchment on the small table next to him, reaching down to pull his wife to her feet and then into his lap, “besides, I would rather not have to declare war on the queen for keeping my wife from me.”

“War,” she snorted, “I am hardly a suitable prize for such drastic measures.”

“I disagree,” he hummed, hands smoothing over her curves through her wool gown, “I would fight a thousand men to have you back in my arms.”

“Unfortunately for you,” she mused, bumping his nose with her own, “it’s not a man you’d be facing. My mother has the fury and strength of a thousand warlords when she needs it.”

“I do not doubt it. You are your mother’s daughter, after all,” Cregan laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, “just promise that you will return to me.”

Her eyes squinted at him curiously, admiring the subtle crack in his usually firm demeanor that she only ever saw when they were alone together, “Nothing could keep me from you, my love. Nothing.”

It seemed that there was one thing truly capable of keeping the princess from her newly-wedded husband—war.

When she had arrived back on Dragonstone, it seemed that all Seven Hells had broken loose. She had little time to spend with her brothers, mourning the loss of Lucerys together, before she’d been pulled aside by her mother, who had used more than a few colourful words to express her rage towards her daughter for her unlawful actions.

“I have done you a favour so great it could never be repaid, mother. My husband loves me, and I, him. If you wish to keep us apart, you’ll have to have me executed for my crime.”

Rhaenyra could not stay too angry for too long, for every time she looked at her daughter, she saw the very image of herself only twenty-odd years earlier. She suddenly understood her father’s frustrations with her, but at the very least her own daughter had not ventured to brothels and alehouses to toss away her maidenhead, she’d done it out of love and duty. Permission or not, Rhaenyra now had the unwavering loyalty of the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, and she had nobody to thank but her daughter.

The princess had been shocked to learn what had happened in her absence. She fully understood that Lucerys would not be the last to lose his life in this war, but the news of Jaehaerys’s murder and mutilation was devastating to her. She’d never met the boy, even the last time that they had been in King’s Landing before her grandsire had passed, but she and Helaena had been girls together. Feuds and hatred had never tainted their relationship with one another, only distance and time. Since then, Daemon had fled to Harrenhal, where he refused to answer any of Rhaenyra’s ravens, meanwhile many had flocked to support Aegon’s claim after the brutal murder of his son was claimed to have been an attack orchestrated by his elder sister. There was no denying the devastation that would be caused by the war; Rhaenys and Meleys had met Sunfyre and Vhagar in battle, bringing destruction to Rook’s Rest and resulting in the death of Meleys and her rider, as well as the mutilation of both Aegon and Sunfyre. Aemond was now responsible for the death of two members of the Blacks and their dragons, and rumours have circulated about his involvement in what had happened to Sunfyre as well. Additionally, he’d done nothing but rally the smallfolk in favour of Rhaenyra through his cruelty once he had taken over as Prince Regent, and Vhagar had been spotted patrolling the Black Water Bay on multiple occasions, which only meant one thing for the princess; it was no longer safe to travel such a distance over enemy territory by dragonback, nor could she return to Winterfell by procession, so she could not tell how long it would be before she was back in her husband’s arms.

They exchanged letters as often as they could, each expressing their desire to be with one another once again. They had not known each other for very long, but the princess had never felt such a connection with anyone else–save for her dragon, of course. She felt a mixture of worry and excitement when she received a raven from her husband claiming that he and his men were prepared to leave Winterfell and begin the long march south, but it would still be a month at least before his camp would be close enough for her to fly out to meet him, so she would need to put up with staying in Dragonstone under her mother’s supervision.

The tides seemed to be turning as the queen came across three new dragonriders, all of whom were of Targaryen blood but were all so poor that there were no annals to say exactly how long ago or who beyond stories told to them by their mothers. Jacaerys was especially bothered by this, and turned even more aggressive towards his younger sister; the thin veil that he felt separated himself from the truth behind his legitimacy was the fact that he was able to claim and ride a dragon, and now that veil had been stripped away and he was forced to face the bitter truth. The princess did her best to ignore his comments or blatant ignorance of her opinions, keeping thoughts of her husband at the forefront and counting down the days until she could see him once again.

The sun had fallen low on the horizon when the raven came, and the princess had clambered onto the back of her dragon less than an hour later. Cregan Stark had arrived at Harrenhal, his men setting up camp and conjoining with the men of the Riverlands that had gathered under Daemon’s authority and bent the knee to Rhaenyra. The princess could not waste any more time, urging Vesia to fly as fast as possible as she took to the sky, glad for the she-dragon’s ability to camouflage into the clouds of the late evening for extra protection, allowing her to take the most direct path to Harrenhal.

Vesia let out a roar as Harrenhal came into view, responding to the curious and cautionary calls of Caraxes and Syrax as she circled around the castle, dropping closer and closer to the ground with every swoop of her wings. The princess’s feet hit the rubble-covered earth just outside of the castle, patting Vesia on the snout as the small white dragon scurried over to reunite with Syrax, who had birthed the clutch of eggs she’d hatched from; the pair had always been very close with one another, mother and daughter–a complete opposite of the relationship between their riders.

She wasted little time scaling down the uneven stone steps until she reached the site of encampment. She paid little mind to the men who stopped in surprise as she brushed passed, purple hues scanning each shield and banner that she passed in search of the direwolf sigil she so longed to see. Her husband had, of course, found himself set up furthest from the castle, having been the most recent to have arrived.

Once she finally passed through the threshold of Stark banners, she found the men falling into deeper bows than the others, all greeting her with her proper title, as their lady, for the others had only known her to be the daughter of the queen.

She stopped before a small group of greybeards sitting around a small fire, “Lord Stark, can you tell me where he is?”

They all seemed taken aback for a moment, before one of them rose to his feet and eagerly led his lady through the encampment to one of the largest tents in the centre of the Stark army. She thanked the man earnestly, wasting no time in ignoring the guards and pushing through the white flaps of the tent and finding herself in the midst of a council meeting, where Lord Cregan Stark appeared in among a group of men stood over a map of the Seven Kingdoms on one side of the table, the queen and her husband on the other.

Rhaenyra raised a brow at the sudden appearance of her daughter. She had not bothered to write in advance, nor had she made any attempt to alert the queen of her arrival in favour of seeking out her husband. She should have known better than to expect her mother to avoid speaking with Lord Stark as soon as she could, though she was surprised to have found him wholly intact.

“Daughter,” the queen greeted, concern weighing in her tone, “is something wrong?”

The princess finally tore her eyes away from her husband, who seemed to be at a loss for words at the sight of his wife after months apart, “There is. My husband arrived here and nobody thought to tell for a week.”

Rhaenyra sighed at her daughter’s sternness while Daemon rolled his eyes. He had always admired his stepdaughter’s fiery attitude, much like her mother’s and his own, but she was still a young woman who had a tendency to use it when it least benefited him.

“Forgive us, but you may have forgotten that there is a war to be fought,” Daemon drawled, “and you will remember yourself when you speak to the queen, especially since you and your husband wed without her permission and are therefore guilty of treason.”

“Leave us,” Rhaenyra scoffed, ignoring her husband’s own attitude as she waited for the men to exit the tent, “A raven was sent. Late, I admit, but Daemon is right. We cannot afford to waste a moment.”

“And yet you keep your council in the dark,” the princess said, bitterly, “forgive me for thinking that perhaps this was an act of punishment. I have disobeyed you once in my life, but instead of upset and chaos, I have brought you the loyalty of the North and two thousand fighting men.”

“And in doing so you have overlooks centuries of tradition, denied us of our rights and authority–”

“Us?” The princess interrupted her stepfather, “you have no authority over me, Daemon. You are not the king, and you are not my father. My mother can punish me however she may wish, but I am a married woman now and you have no authority over me.”

Daemon scowled at the girl, but she did not miss the flash of amusement across her mother’s face and the tug at the corner of her husband’s lips. He pushed himself off of the table that he’d been leaning against and strutted off, narrowly missing her shoulder with his own. The princess turned her attention back to her mother, who flickered her own violet gaze between her daughter and the man she’d taken to husband. Rhaenyra wanted to be angry, more than anything, but she could not fault her daughter for doing the same thing that she had only years earlier when she had wed Daemon, especially considering that she had brought much more to the table with her marriage to Cregan Stark than she would have with anyone else who might have asked for her hand.

“You have done well, my sweet,” The queen stepped forward, taking her daughter’s hand in her own while cupping her cheek with the other, then glancing over her shoulder at the Northerner, “I expect you will adequately care for my daughter, Lord Stark.”

“I will, Your Grace.” The man smiled softly, “I would hope that you might come to Winterfell once this fighting is through. I have no desire to keep your daughter from you.”

Rhaenyra smiled softly, turning back to her daughter to press a gentle kiss to her forehead before she brushed past her, exiting the tent and leaving her daughter to stand face-to-face with her husband for the first time in months.

“Husband,” she began, feeling somewhat awkward at what to say to him; they truly did not know each other for that long, and the average betrothal typically lasted several weeks rather than a few hours. “How have yo–oh!”

Cregan rushed at her the moment that her mother was out of ear shot, sweeping him into his arms and holding her snugly to his chest. She nuzzled into his neck, finding nothing but comfort and relief at the warmth of his chest through his many layers of wool and leather and fur.

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured into his neck, the hair that had grown across his cheeks and jaw tickling her own skin as she trailed kisses across his chin until she reached his lips. He kissed her back eagerly, large hands rising to cup her jaw and hold her in place as she melted impossibly closer to him.

“I could not survive another moment without you,” he whispered back, pressing his forehead to her own, “I am sorry I did not send for you sooner. The queen kept me busy with meetings this entire time.”

“Leave it to my mother,” the princess sneered, though she could not find it within herself, “do not worry yourself with anything my mother or her husband may have said. Their opinions are of no consequence any further.”

“I have no intention of changing my mind now. I see no other choice but to endure her wrath until we gift to her grandchildren to fawn over.”

She hummed, “I think there is some business to attend to if we are to ever give her any.”

“I agree,” he smirked, “starting with a bath–you stink of dragon.”

She drove her fist into his chest roughly, glaring up at him as his fingers began to untie her cloak from around her neck, slowly backing her through the white curtain that lead to a small and practical bedroom set up, though certainly more extravagant than those afforded to the greybeards fighting for him. He threw her onto the makeshift goosefeather bed, not wasting a moment as he worked her out of her riding gear, pausing to admire her bare figure as she sunk into the warm furs.

“You are the most divine creature to walk this earth,” he grumbled, his thick fingers curling around her thighs and pressed them back until she was completely exposed to him. She trembled in anticipation, watching him impatiently while his own heated gaze was directed solely at her core, glistening in the flickering candlelight, “I will never be away from you for so long again, I swear it.”

She shuddered as his fingers teased through her folds, grinning to himself at how easily she fell open to him, any thoughts in her head slurring together as she easily succumbed to his touch, soft sighs and wanton moans filled the tent.

Perhaps he did not mind the smell of dragon as much as he had let on, or perhaps he was simply too desperate for his wife to wait while a bath was prepared for them to share, and none dared to reenter the tent that evening as none of them would even question what was taking place inside.

#x reader #reader insert #imagines #hotd cregan #house of the dragon fanfiction #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x y/n

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kckt88 · 8 months ago

Text

A Dragon's Heart.

Summary:

Viserra Targaryen's marriage to Borros Baratheon was nothing more than a duty, a strategic alliance forged to prevent the dragons from dancing.

Yet the wife did her duty and bore her husband a son.

Borros was ecstatic that he finally had a son, and if he noticed that the boy looked nothing like him then he didn’t comment on it, for how could he when it could be argued that Rhaegar simply favoured his silver haired mother in looks and did not bear an entirely coincidental resemblance to the Lord Commander of the City Watch.

Warning(s): Angst, Arranged/Unwanted Marriage, Swearing, Family Drama, Dragons, Infidelity, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut, Kissing, Fingering, P in V, Breeding Kink, Attempted Blackmail, Conspiracy.

AEMOND x O.C

Word Count: 11K

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Viserra soared high above Blackwater Bay, the wind whipping through her hair as she rode atop Vermithor. Her two-year-old son, Rhaegar, was securely strapped into the saddle in front of her, his delighted squeals mingling with the dragon's powerful roars.

The colossal dragon cut through the clouds with ease, the sun glinting off his bronze scales, creating a dazzling display against the blue sky.

As they approached the Red Keep, Viserra's keen eyes caught sight of a carriage emerging from the Kingswood. The Baratheon banner, with its distinctive crowned stag on a gold background, was proudly displayed.

A groan of frustration escaped her lips; her husband, Borros Baratheon, was arriving earlier than expected. She had hoped for a few more days of freedom before he made his presence known at the Red Keep.

Directing Vermithor with a firm tug on the reins, she guided the dragon to land near Vhagar’s nesting spot. The ancient dragon, let out a huff of annoyance as Vermithor’s landing shook the ground.

Viserra couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the grumpy dragon being disturbed from her slumber.

Detaching herself and Rhaegar from the saddle, she slid down Vermithor's side with practiced ease, landing gracefully on the ground.

Rhaegar, still giggling with excitement from the flight, clung to her as she made her way over to the waiting guards. They bowed respectfully before escorting her and her son back to the Red Keep.

Viserra sank into the warm bath in her chambers, letting the soothing water wash away the smell of dragon. The sounds of Rhaegar's giggles floated through the air, bringing a smile to her face.

Her son was playing with his dragon hatchling, Karnax, who was growing rapidly. Soon, Karnax would need to be moved to the Dragonpit to join the other dragons.

A transition that Rhaegar was vehemently opposed too, as every attempt to move Karnax had so far had been met with stubborn refusals and tantrums from the young prince, and bursts of flame from Karnax who would not be parted from his bonded rider.

As she finished bathing and began to dress, Viserra heard a methodical tapping on the wall. Recognizing the signal, she excused her maids, who curtsied and left the room.

After making sure the door was locked, she went over to the portrait on the wall and gave it a push. The hidden door swung open, revealing Aemond emerging from the secret passageway.

Without hesitation, Viserra flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Rhaegar, noticing Aemond, beamed with excitement. "Kepa!" he shrieked, running towards him with outstretched arms (Father).

Aemond scooped Rhaegar up from the floor, holding him close. "Byka zaldrīzes," he murmured affectionately (Little dragon).

Aemond set Rhaegar down gently and turned to Viserra, his expression serious. "I see Lord Borros will be arriving earlier than anticipated," he said, his voice low and measured.

Viserra nodded sadly, her heart sinking. She had hoped for a few more precious days with Aemond before her husband's unwelcome presence disrupted their world.

Her marriage to Borros was nothing more than a duty, a strategic alliance forged to prevent war, with no love to bind them. She understood why Borros had come; his recent letters had made it clear. He wanted another child. They had one son, but another was needed to secure their lineage.

"He’s been writing to me-" Viserra said quietly, her eyes downcast. "He wants me to give him another child. One son is not enough for him."

Aemond's jaw tightened. "He comes here for that-"

"Yes," she replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. "He often complains about me living in the Red Keep instead of Storm's End. I remind him that as heir to the Iron Throne, I need to learn how to rule. He usually relents, believing he will one day be King Consort. But this visit-he will use it as an opportunity to paw at me at every given chance." The thought made her stomach churn.

Aemond reached out, taking her hands in his. "Issa jorrāelagon-” (My love).

Viserra looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of determination and sorrow. "-Nyke dōrī jeldan syt bisa. Nyke jaelagon ao, mērī ao” (I never wished for this; I want you, only you).

Aemond pulled Viserra into a tight embrace, holding her close as she clenched her hands in the material of his golden cloak.

“Ao jāhor va moriot emagon issa” whispered Aemond (You will always have me).

“Nyke vēdros bisa” muttered Viserra, pressing her cheek against the cold material of Aemonds armour (I hate this).

“So do I” said Aemond softly.

Viserra stood with Rhaegar in her arms, waiting as Borros’ carriage came to a halt. The door swung open, and Borros stepped out, his presence as commanding as ever.

"Wife!" he bellowed, marching forward with heavy strides. He grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a rough kiss on her cheek.

"My Lord," she greeted him with a forced smile, her tone cordial yet distant.

Rhaegar looked up at Borros with wide eyes, startled by the man's booming voice. Before he could react, Borros snatched him from Viserra's grasp, lifting him high into the air. Rhaegar cried out in surprise, his small hands flailing.

"Look at my handsome, sturdy son!" Borros declared proudly, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "He will make a fine King one day!"

Rhaegar struggled against Borros's grip, his cries growing more desperate. Viserra's heart ached at the sight, and she glanced around, catching sight of Aemond hovering nearby.

His hand was wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, his eye dark with barely restrained fury as he watched Borros manhandle Rhaegar.

Discreetly, Viserra shook her head at Aemond, signalling him to stand down. She then stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Husband, Rhaegar is not used to such-enthusiasm. Let me take him."

Borros looked at Rhaegar, who continued to struggle, and with a huff of irritation, he handed the boy back to Viserra. "Very well, take him. But he must grow accustomed to it."

Viserra held Rhaegar close, soothing him with gentle words. She met Aemond's gaze one last time, their silent understanding passing between them. Borros, oblivious to the tension, demanded, "You and the boy will accompany me. There is much to discuss."

With a final look at Aemond, Viserra nodded and followed Borros inside the Red Keep, Rhaegar still clinging to her.

Viserra stood in the guest chambers of the Red Keep, her son Rhaegar playing quietly at her feet with his wooden toys. Borros paced before her, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the stone floor.

"Wife, we must discuss the matter of another child," Borros began, his tone brooking no argument. "Rhaegar is a fine boy, but as the first born, he belongs to the throne. We need another son to inherit Storm's End."

Viserra took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Could one of your daughters' sons be named heir instead?"

Borros stopped his pacing and turned to face her, his expression stern. "None of my daughters are currently wed, a matter which I plan to discuss with the Queen. By birthing me a healthy son you have proved that you are fertile. There is no reason why you cannot give me more sons."

She nodded slightly, knowing that he would not be swayed. "Very well, my Lord."

Borros's gaze softened just a fraction "I will call upon you tonight, and I expect you to come."

Viserra's heart sank, but she kept her face impassive. "I will provide you with another son,"

Borros nodded, satisfied with her response. "Good. We must secure the future of House Baratheon and House Targaryen of course-"

As he turned to leave, Viserra glanced down at Rhaegar, who looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

She forced a smile for his sake, though her heart ached, she had begged her mother not to follow through on the betrothal, but her hands were tied.

The support of Storms End had been crucial in squashing the war before it truly began and Viserra had no choice but to marry Borros.

On the morning of her wedding she had shed many tears, praying to the gods that her intended would be struck down with some sudden illness that would mean the wedding would be rearranged or even cancelled, but alas the gods stayed silent, and Borros remained hale and healthy.

Her only semblance of solace was the fact that she had allowed Aemond to fuck her before the ceremony, his cock had felt glorious as he pounded inside her with a series of deep penetrating thrusts, his fingers gently caressing her pearl as she peaked calling his name.

It gave her a sense of twisted satisfaction that she did not clean herself and as she wed her husband, she could still feel Aemonds seed staining her small clothes.

Even as she spoke the vows, she had positioned herself in such a way that her gaze never left Aemond’s, and she could imagine that it was him she was pledging herself to and not Borros Baratheon.

The celebration after the wedding had been somewhat bearable given the ample supply of wine, which Borros indulged in, and of course discreetly slipping a little something into his cup also helped.

So much so that he found himself unable to perform his husbandly duties and after he had passed out on the bed, Viserra detangled herself from him and spent the night being fucked into the mattress by Aemond.

She had lost count of the amount of times that he had made her come using his mouth, fingers and cock, he was ravenous and unrestrained that night and she was more than happy to indulge him.

After she had returned to her chambers, Borros was snoring and drooling in his sleep, she had cut herself and wiped blood on the sheets, as proof of her lost innocence.

Climbing back into the bed, she laid as far away from Borros as she could, not wanting him to touch her, and in the morning, he had woken groggy but easily convinced that he had done his duty, especially when he saw the blood.

Throughout the day he was clapped on the back and offered wishes of congratulations on his wedding and successful bedding and Viserra was forced to endure the laughing innuendos from the Lords who had lingered after the celebrations.

Luckily, she didn’t have to endure many of Borros’ attempts to bed her as not too long after the wedding she discovered that she was with child, which was no surprise given how many times Aemond would spill his seed inside her.

The realm rejoiced when the news was announced, even more so when she entered the birthing bed eight moons later and delivered a son.

Rhaegar, her sweet little dragon. He was perfect, with his silver hair and amethyst eyes, the very image of his father.

Borros was ecstatic now that he finally had a son, and if he noticed that the boy looked nothing like him then he didn’t comment on it, for how could he when it could be argued that Rhaegar simply favoured his mother and grandmother the Queen in looks.

Nevertheless, the Iron Throne had its future heir in Rhaegar and now Borros was demanding one for Storms End, and Viserra would do her duty as before and provide her husband with another heir.

Aemond paced angrily around his chambers, his movements agitated and relentless. His brother, Aegon, lounged on a chair nearby, watching with a mix of amusement and annoyance.

"Sit down, brother," Aegon said, his voice slurred slightly from the wine. "Your constant pacing is making me sick."

Aemond shot him a withering look. "It's the amount of wine that you've poured down your throat that's making you sick."

Aegon laughed, a deep, carefree sound that echoed in the chamber. "True enough." He lifted a cup and offered it to Aemond. "Join me, then brother. It might do you some good."

Aemond hesitated, his jaw clenched with barely contained fury. But then, with a sudden, decisive movement, he snatched the cup from Aegon's hand and downed the contents in one go.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You’ve never been much of a drinker. What's wrong?"

Aemond's face twisted with anger. "Borros is in the Red Keep. He has demanded that Viserra provide him with another son."

Aegon scoffed. "Not like the first one is his anyway."

Aemond's glare could have melted steel. "Watch your tongue."

Aegon shrugged, unfazed. "Come now, Aemond. We both know Rhaegar is your son, not his."

"Keep your mouth shut," Aemond hissed, stepping closer to his brother, his eye blazing.

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender. "Calm down. I promise to keep it quiet."

Aemond narrowed his eyes. "How do you know, anyway?"

Aegon chuckled. "I'm not the idiot everyone thinks I am. I see how you look at Viserra, and Rhaegar-he looks nothing like Borros. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

Aemond clenched his fists, his mind racing with the implications of his brother's words. They had always been careful, always discreet. But the truth was clear to anyone who looked closely enough.

"She deserves better," Aemond muttered, more to himself than to Aegon as he traced the scar on his palm.

Aegon nodded, surprisingly sober. "She does. But this is the game we play, brother. We all have our roles."

Aemond sank into a chair, his anger momentarily spent. He looked at his brother, seeing the truth in his words. "What do I do, Aegon?"

Aegon poured another cup of wine and handed it to Aemond. "You play your part. You protect Viserra and Rhaegar as best you can, fuck another son into her and pray that Borros has a painful yet rather unfortunate accident in the near future”

“Don’t tempt me-” muttered Aemond.

Suddenly Aemond and Aegon's conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Viserra, who stepped through the secret passageway.

She paused, surprised to see Aegon but quickly recovered, greeting him warmly. "Aegon, I didn't expect to see you here."

Aegon grinned, raising his cup in a mock salute. "Viserra, always a pleasure."

Aemond immediately moved to her side, concern etched on his face. "Are you ok?" he asked, pulling her into a tight embrace.

He pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling her familiar scent, a mixture of lavender and something uniquely hers.

Viserra nodded, holding him close. "Yes, I'm fine."

Aegon watched the tender exchange with a slight smile before standing up. "I think that's my cue to leave. I'll see you both later." He winked at Aemond and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as they were alone, Aemond pulled back slightly to look into Viserra's eyes. "Did Borros have his way with you?" His voice was laced with concern and barely restrained anger.

Viserra shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "He tried, but he found himself unable to perform. Sleep has claimed him."

Aemond let out a sigh of relief, his tension visibly easing. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks. "Thank the gods."

“Hopefully what I slipped into his wine will last the night”.

“Here’s hoping” replied Aemond.

Viserra's expression grew serious, her eyes searching his. "-I refuse to lay with that man, and I will not bear his children. If he’s so insistent on me providing him with another son, then I will do it on my terms, I want you to give me another babe”

“Viserra-” whispered Aemond.

“I want your seed to take root inside me again”

“Hmmm” rasped Aemond.

“Please raqiarzy. I need you” whispered Viserra, as she untied and removed her robe (Beloved).

Aemond's breath hitched as he caught sight of her nipples through the fabric, and he quickly nodded. “Yes”

Viserra held her breath as Aemond took hold of her, his hands traveling up and down her body, slowly, like he was memorising every inch of her.

“If I get between your legs tonight then I am going to make you fucking beg for it, issa dōna and I’ll only fill you up when you’ve been a good girl-” (My sweet).

Viserra shuddered at the way the muscles in his forearms flexed as his hands explored her body, dipping under the cotton shift she wore.

“Aemond, that feels so good-don’t stop” groaned Viserra, as his hand inched higher.

“Fuck, Viserra-” growled Aemond. His lips continued their journey as he took hold of the shift and pulled it over her head, exposing her naked body.

As soon as she was bared too him, Aemond bent his head down and began sucking on one rosy nipple, then the other.

Her hands were now in his long silver hair, pressing his mouth deeper into her chest and her head fell back on a groan.

“Aemond, you need to touch me-” whimpered Viserra.

“Not yet-let me play some more”

Viserra let her hands travel down to lift up his shirt. He broke away from his feast on her breasts for just a second to let her take it off.

The feeling of his skin against hers only added to her want. He continued his assault on her nipples, and it was driving her fucking insane.

His tongue flicked out across her nipple and she mewled at the contact, her core tensing in anticipation of what was to come.

Needing any kind of relief, Viserra pressed herself against him so she could find some sort of friction to help with the ache in her core.

This seemed to snap something inside of him, because Aemond had hauled her off the floor and then carried her to bed, her legs around his waist.

After he placed her on is bed, Aemond pressed a quick kiss to her lips before he paused to untie his breeches and pull them off.

He then crawled back on the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

“So fucking good” mumbled Aemond against her lips as he pulled her hips flush against his.

Slowly, one of his hands started to make its way down her body and she held her breath when she felt his finger start to inch inside of her stretching her out, readying her for more.

“So, fucking wet,” He mumbled against her. “-If you’re good, I’ll let you come like this-” whispered Aemond hotly. “I’ll let you come around my fingers before I give you my cock.”

Then he added a second finger inside of her heat and crooked his fingers in just the way he knew how to.

“Oh shit-“ Viserra panted out, clinging onto his shoulders.

“That’s it-” groaned Aemond as he slowly moved his fingers inside her.

“Fuck, Aemond-” whined Viserra, she was so turned on that she could already feel her peak approaching.

“I know your close-I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Let go-come for me”

“Yes-yes. Right there” moaned Viserra as the heat shot across her abdomen and she exploded.

“I want to play a little game with you” whispered Aemond against her ear, his fingers still stroking her pearl lightly and she bit her lip, only able to nod as her answer came out softly.

“Yes” whispered Viserra against his lips, and before she knew it, Aemond had picked her up around the waist, sat her on top of him and was pressing his cock against her entrance with a feral look in his eye as he watched himself pressed against her folds.

“I fucking love watching myself inch inside of you-” he told her in a low tone, the hand at her back sliding down to grip her arse and then she felt the head of his cock at her entrance.

“Aemond-" Viserra managed to pant out, gripping at his shoulders as he entered her from below.

Out of all the positions they had tried since their relationship began, this was one of his favourites.

Viserra loved it for her own reasons, she loved feeling close to him and loved the look of wonder on his face as he watched her breasts bounce up and down— she knew how much it turned him on, even more so after she had birthed Rhaegar and her tits were swollen with milk.

Aemond loved nothing more than sucking on her nipples, tasting her mothers milk as he sheathed his cock inside her.

Another groan erupted from her when Aemond finally moved his hips, pushing into her.

Viserra felt a fist in her long hair and her face was brought so close to his that their noses were touching.

"Do you feel that?" panted Aemond against her lips and flexed his hips into her again, the tip of his cock reaching that place inside of her that could make her explode if the right pressure was applied.

“Y-Yes”

"I'll give you all of me," whispered Aemond, a small grin on his lips as his forehead rested against hers as he continued to press into her with his cock. "If you can be good girl for me and not move an inch, I’ll let you have it-I’ll put another babe inside of you” He grinned wickedly at her. “But let's see how much self-control you really have, first"

And then without giving any warning, he rocked into her so painstakingly slowly that she felt her legs start to shake involuntarily.

"Don't you dare fucking move" said Aemond against her lips as his grip tightened on her arse cheek and the one in her hair kept her pressed tightly against him. “I’ll let you come when you’ve kept still for me.”

Viserra managed to keep her hips still, but only just. He was turning her on too much for this torture to last long.

He raised a finger and traced her bottom lip, and then the top before pressing his finger inside her mouth. She never broke her gaze as she licked his finger before sucking it deep into the wet heat of her mouth.

“Fuck”

But then Aemond reached out and pinched one of her nipples.

“Oh, Aemond-”

“Shall I keep playing with your nipples, or are you aching for me to touch you somewhere else?” groaned Aemond pinching her other nipple.

Viserra wanted his mouth on her skin, not just on her breasts. She wanted to move.

She needed more.

Putting everything out of her thoughts, instead, she ran one hand down her stomach and rubbed her pearl slowly as she looked him directly in the eye and bit her lip.

“I want you here” whispered Viserra, smiling as she heard the feral sound that was almost like a growl erupt from the back of his throat.

He leaned forward and ran his tongue along her throat, revelling in the musky scent and taste of her.

“You’re fucking unbelievable-” rasped Aemond flexing his hips again into her and making her groan loudly again.

Keeping eye contact and merely tracing down her body with his hand until it met hers, the seam of her slit was then encircled by his fingers and his cock was hard as steel inside of her.

“Don’t look away from me, I want to watch your face when you move on my cock.” He told her as his lips grazed along her jawline.

His hips moved into her again, stretching her out and hitting the place she needed him.

“Oh, shit-“ panted Viserra breathlessly against him.

“Right there, Viserra. That’s where you want it, isn’t it?” His cock kept pushing to the back of her, making her legs quake with the effort to keep her body still.

She wanted to beg him for more and have him moaning her name as he came deep inside of her. She wanted all of that.

But she could only have it if she was his good girl-she had to obey, first.

Aemond’s fingers began to focus on her pearl.

As soon as his digits made contact with her slick, hard nub, Viserra moaned and tightened her thighs around his waist.

“Stay still, or this will only take longer” growled Aemond roughly against her ear and his free hand grabbed at her hip, squeezing her to keep her still for him.

Viserra instinctively tried to raise her hips again, but he held her down and squeezed them to keep her in place.

Then he bit her over her pulse point. Hard. She cried out and Aemond rumbled in approval at how loud she screamed for him.

“Such a good fucking girl.” His tongue licked where he had just bitten down. “You always make the sweetest sounds for me-”

Aemond loved biting her, he always had.

Viserra moaned at the continuous touch of his fingers on her pearl and Aemond moaned with her, feeling her muscles squeeze and release around his cock as she tried to keep herself calm and controlled for him.

Aemond growled as he took her mouth in a rough kiss.

Opening to him, she savoured the feel of his tongue against hers.

“Be the fucking death of me” Aemond panted against her and his hips flexed in and out of hers so slowly that he was shaking himself with the effort to not just fuck her hard.

“Aemond, please” begged Viserra.

“Shhh-can you take a little more for me?” asked Aemond as he grabbed her hair and pulled it.

“I-I’ll try-” was all that she could say as she tried to keep her hips from rocking.

“That’s my good girl-” He rocked his own hips right into her, making them both hiss. “So, fucking tight-all mine”

“I need more” whimpered Viserra

Moving back up to her face, Aemond took her lips against his roughly as he finally thrust his hard, long cock right into her.

“That enough for you, sweetheart?” asked Aemond as he brought her hips back into his again, causing her eyes to roll into the back of her head.

“Yes-more-” breathed Viserra, her nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of him filling her.

Growling, Aemond quickly moved their positions so that Viserra was laid underneath him.

“Need to fuck you like this” mumbled Aemond into her hair before looking down at her as she clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist.

As his pace picked up, she gripped his shoulders for dear life and moved with him, never taking her eyes from his.

“Keep going,” She panted against him. “Just like that-just like that”

“You like that?”

“Yes-yes Aemond” replied Viserra.

“I fucking love you-I love you so much” moaned Aemond, every thrust of his hips was forcing her further towards the headboard.

“Come for me, Aemond-fill me up-Oh, God!”

“Gonna come right where you need it – Right there – fuck! – Fucking going to love seeing you round with my child-“ He rotated his hips as he spoke, his forehead against hers.

Viserra scrawled her nails down Aemond’s back hard enough to leave marks making him growl in approval and fuck her harder into the mattress.

“Mark me fucking harder” ordered Aemond as Viserra scored her nails down his back again.

“A-Aemond”

“So, fucking good for me-Oh, shit-yes-” moaned Aemond, his hips crashing into hers, babbling to himself and hitting all the right spots for her.

“Aemond I’m close-let me come, please-“ begged Viserra. She was so close, just a little more and she would be there.

“Making me come-give you another babe” said Aemond against her lips as his thrusts started to become erratic.

“Aemond, yes-yes, give me another babe”

“FUCK!” roared Aemond, the heat spreading across his abdomen as he exploded, spilling rope after rope of seed inside her.

“Oh shit – Aemond!” shouted Viserra as she clutched Aemond’s shoulders to ride the wave of pleasure that coursed through her body.

Aemond collapsed on top of her, and Viserra hugged his body tight.

“You are mine. Do you hear that?” whispered Aemond against her into her ear. “Everything about you.”

“Yours Aemond. Always yours”

Aemond and Viserra lay together in the afterglow, their bodies intertwined. Aemond's hand rested gently on Viserra's stomach, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on her skin.

"I wonder if my seed has already taken root," he mused aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Viserra giggled, the sound light and musical. "It's a bit soon to tell"

He smirked, his hand continuing its tender exploration. "I think I put it a good bit of effort there”

Viserra laughed, a playful glint in her eyes. "Yes-you did"

“I wish we could stay this way forever”

“So do I” replied Viserra quietly.

Soon, Aemond fell asleep, his breathing steady and peaceful. Viserra watched him for a moment, her heart swelling with love, but reality soon re-surfaced and she knew that she had to get back to her husband.

Gently, she pressed a kiss to Aemond's lips, a silent promise of her return. She slipped out of bed, gathering her nightdress and robe, putting them back on.

With one last lingering look at Aemond, she made her way back through the secret passageway and into the chambers Borros was occupying during his stay.

The room was dark, and Borros was still sleeping soundly. She climbed into bed next to him, moving with practiced ease.

As she settled, Borros mumbled in his sleep and draped an arm over her. The weight of it felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the tender embrace she had left behind.

Carefully, she picked up his arm and moved it off her, shuffling to the edge of the bed. She lay there, staring into the darkness, the feeling of Aemonds seed sticky between her thighs.

Aemond stood at the gatehouse of King’s Landing, his imposing figure clad in black armour and a sweeping gold cloak, his hand curled around the hilt of his sword.

The clinking of metal and the soft rustling of his cloak were the only sounds that accompanied him as he observed the comings and goings of people through the city gates.

Carriages rolled by with lords and ladies, their attendants following behind on horseback, while smallfolk ambled along on foot, their faces a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

The distant roar of Vhagar reached his ears. His old dragon’s roar was a reminder of the weight he carried, a silent acknowledgment of his own unrest.

Becoming the Commander of the City Watch had never been something Aemond envisioned for himself, yet here he was, having accepted the post granted to him by Rhaenyra.

The position had been a necessary concession, a way to atone for his part in the attempted repudiation of the Iron Throne.

Four years had passed since Rhaenyra had taken her place as Queen, and while they had made some measure of peace, true unity remained elusive.

His thoughts turned to his family’s current situation. His mother roamed the Red Keep freely, enjoying the gardens and the Sept as she pleased.

Aegon indulged in his vices, drinking and whoring his way through the Streets of Silk, living his life as he wanted.

Helaena found solace in motherhood, embracing her role with quiet grace, collecting her bugs and flying through the skies with Dreamfyre as often as she wanted.

Daeron was currently residing on Driftmark with Jacaerys and Baela, enjoying his freedom, away from the constraints of Oldtown and thriving with Tessarion.

His grandsire Otto and Criston Cole had been amongst those executed for treason and his Uncle Gwayne only visited the Red Keep occasionally.

Aemond caught sight of Lucerys walking arm in arm with Rhaena, as they laughed along with one another, the two of them would soon be married so no doubt this was some courting nonsense.

Aemond felt a surge of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, he never imagined he would ever want to take a woman to wife.

He knew as a second son he would have no choice but to marry, but actually having that desire to tie himself to someone for the rest of his life was foreign to him.

Until he saw Viserra again.

Rhaenyra and her mix of strong bastards and true borns had descended upon the Red Keep to defend Jace’s status as heir to Driftmark.

He’d not seen his half-sister’s oldest child since he’d lost his eye after claiming Vhagar, he could still remember her attempts to press a torn shred of her nightgown against his maimed face and her anguished pleas for help.

Ever since he was a child, he always thought her beautiful but when she stepped into the training yard alongside her dark haired brothers, he was sure his heart had stopped.

Her long silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight, cascading down her back with an ethereal grace. Her light amethyst eyes, that seemed to sparkle in the sun made his cock stir.

All through the petition he couldn’t stop himself from imagining all the ways in which he would please her, he wanted to feel her lips against his, he wanted to caress her soft pale skin and he wanted to hear the pretty noises she would make as he sheathed his cock inside her.

He’d been hard as a rock, his cock throbbing with desperate need, and soon as the petition was over, he’d excused himself and returned to his chambers, unlacing his breeches to take himself in hand and sate his desire by fucking his fist.

At the meal, she had chosen to sit next to him, her proximity and the scent of her on the air made the arousal stir within him once again, even more so when she offered him a cup of wine and their fingers briefly touched as he took it from her, throughout the meal they kept exchanging curious looks, her cheeks tinged pink when their gaze connected.

After his final tribute, he had stormed through the corridors of the Red Keep only to find himself standing in front of her chambers, he was about to knock when she opened the door, they exchanged no words as she slowly stepped back and allowed him entry.

As soon as the door was closed, he was on her.

Never had he felt such desire before, he’d been with the madame Sylvi when he was thirteen, he did not enjoy a single second of it and vowed never to return.

It was just after his sixteenth name day that he grew more curious about matters of sex.

He wouldn’t break his vow and return to the brothel, and he didn’t want to mess around with the maids, so he decided on taking a few older widowed noble ladies into his bed, and he was grateful for the experience as they taught him the importance of a woman’s pleasure.

When he took Viserra to bed for the first time, he remembered everything he’d learnt and he took Viserra’s maidenhead that night, and all those pretty noises he imagined her making became a reality.

He spent ample time devouring her cunny as he teased her fold with his fingers, delighting in the way she whimpered his name as she peaked, he placed his cock at her entrance and eased in slowly, not wanting to cause her any pain, but when she squirmed impatiently and moved her hips against his, begging him so sweetly to fuck her harder he lost it.

He knew before he even spilled his seed that he wanted her to be his wife, that previously foreign desire had roared to life inside him and he couldn’t ignore it.

He wanted to ask for her hand in marriage, his mother and grandsire would try to contest it, but his mind was made up, Viserra had returned to Dragonstone the next day and Aemond decided he was going to ask the King.

But before he could even form the words in his mouth, the King was dead, and his drunken wastrel of a brother was crowned instead of Rhaenyra.

The next time he saw Viserra was at Storms End, he was supposed to choose one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters to wed to secure an alliance, and even though the thought turned his stomach he had to lock his true heart’s desire away and do his duty.

But she was angry with him, as she believed the words he whispered to her as he took her maidenhead were false, that he had used her for his own pleasure and she out manoeuvred him and offered herself to Borros who happily accepted.

He had been furious, and when she had been offered a room for the night to wait out the weather, he had demanded the same, then he went to her and they argued fiercely, hurling insults at one another until the passion erupted between them and he spent the night fucking her into the mattress.

With Storms End firmly under Rhaenyra’s yoke, his brother’s reign as King was over, but his own affair with Viserra continued.

He couldn’t let her go, even on the morning of her wedding he fucked her, and it gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that his seed was still dripping from her as she said her vows.

There was the expectation that she would do her duty an provide an heir for Borros, and not too long after the wedding she announced that she was with child.

Willingly siring a child on another man’s wife wasn’t something Aemond ever thought he’d do, but it was what they both wanted, and it would ensure that Borros left her alone.

When she was almost eight moons into her pregnancy, they went to Dragonstone under the cover of night and spoke the words to one another as they used dragon glass to cut their lips, painting each other’s foreheads with the symbols of fire and blood, the identical cuts to their palms, their blood mixing together as one as they pressed their palms together, reciting the ancient words of their forebears.

She might be with wife of Borros Baratheon in the eyes of the seven, but in the traditions of old Valyria she was his.

They day she birthed their son he had wanted so desperately to be by her side, but men were not allowed in the birthing room.

Borros had sequestered himself far away in another part of the Red Keep, drinking wine whilst he waited to hear news of the babe once it was born.

Aemond had remained stationed outside the room with Daemon, who of course knew about Viserra and Aemond’s relationship but chose to say nothing because he would have no harm come to his daughter.

After she had given birth, and the Maester’s had done what they needed to do with regards to things called the after birth and some other stuff Aemond did not need to hear about, there was a moment where he was allowed into the room.

Rhaenyra had commanded that there be no immediate announcement, so there was time for Aemond to meet his child.

She had just birthed their babe and Viserra had never looked more beautiful, Aemond was in awe of her as he approached the bed, in her arms there was a little silver haired babe.

“A son-” muttered Viserra as she held out the tiny bundle.

Aemond sobbed openly as he took his son in his arms. Then Viserra blessed him with the greatest gift in the world when she allowed him to name their son.

“Rhaegar” whispered Aemond as he pressed a gentle kiss to his sons forehead.

Of course, news of Rhaegar’s birth would soon spread, but Aemond was grateful for that moment given to him by Rhaenyra and Daemon, and aside from Viserra he was one of the first that got to hold his son and one of the first to look into those little amethyst eyes.

Deep down he knew that what they were doing was wrong, but he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t want to.

As Lucerys and Rhaena disappeared from sight, the jealousy lingered. Why did those bastard strong boys get to openly marry for love, when he and Viserra were the only ones made to sacrifice their true heart’s desire for the sake of an alliance.

It wasn’t fair.

The thought of Borros, that portly, illiterate swine, being married to his beloved Viserra, filled him with disgust.

He hoped that his seed would soon take root, as the confirmation of another child would mean that prattling pig would scurry back to Storms End and carry on with whatever took his fancy, which was usually a woman, as his taste for mistresses was no secret.

People would look at Viserra with sympathetic eyes, but she gave no shit for her husband’s indulgences, as they often kept him occupied.

But until there was confirmation of another child, here he was in the Red Keep, boasting to all who would listen about the night he spent with his lady wife which he was certain would result in another child.

Aegon's suggestion about Borros suffering an unfortunate accident flickered through his mind, a dark idea that was becoming more and more tempting as time passed.

“I’ve told you before that what your doing is dangerous” warned Rhaenyra.

“Do you not remember how I begged and pleaded with you not to make me marry Borros? I admitted to my love for Aemond, that surely a marriage between us would have better served our family’s interests-” said Viserra, her voice tight with emotion.

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, her royal composure slipping just a fraction. “-I do remember. But you must understand, I did not want to be labelled an oath breaker. The marriage to Borros was a strategic move, necessary to prevent the Greens from securing an alliance with Storm’s End.”

Viserra’s eyes narrowed, her frustration boiling over. “A hasty offer made in desperation! There was no binding agreement between me and Borros—. You, as Queen, could have found any number of reasons to avoid the marriage. But no, you forced me into it just as your father did to you”.

Rhaenyra’s face flushed with anger. “That is not fair, Viserra.”

“Isn’t it?” Viserra scoffed. “Wouldn’t things have been much easier if Viserys had allowed you to marry Daemon or even Ser Harwin? But instead, he demanded that you marry Laenor-to make up for him choosing to marry Alicent instead of Laena, and look how that turned out.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with hurt. “You have no right to judge me. I made mistakes, yes, but—”

Viserra cut her off, her voice rising. “And you have no right to judge me for my choices. You had an affair and birthed bastards. That’s different, you say, but it always is when it comes to you.”

“That’s not the same,” Rhaenyra retorted, her voice rising in defence. “Laenor was aware of my involvement with Harwin. He himself had intimacies with others. Borros has no idea of your involvement with Aemond.”

“You yourself have been complicit in covering up my involvement with Aemond, just as my father has-so don’t lecture me” said Viserra.

“I would not see you harmed for it-you’re my daughter. But you need to be careful” replied Rhaenyra.

Viserra’s expression softened slightly, but her resolve remained firm. “I’m trapped mother-I’m married to a man I do not want”.

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, the weight of her daughter’s words sinking in. “I did what I thought was best for the realm”.

Viserra’s anger surged, her face flushed as she struggled to control her rising emotion. “The realm,” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. “It’s always about what’s best for the realm! Jace got to marry Baela, Luke is soon to marry Rhaena. Why is it that I am the only one who had to sacrifice my own heart’s desire for the sake of the realm? It’s not fair!”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened with a mix of guilt and sympathy. She reached out to her daughter, her own heart aching at the sight of Viserra’s distress. “Viserra, please-I know it’s been hard.”

Viserra wiped at her tears, her voice pleading. “Mother, there must be something you can do. Surely there’s a way to fix this. I can’t bear the thought of being stuck in this marriage when my heart is with Aemond.”

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her face etched with sadness. “I wish I could offer you a solution, but there is no grounds for an annulment. As far as everyone is concerned, the marriage has been consummated and you have borne a son. Rhaegar is officially the son of Borros Baratheon. It doesn’t matter that he is really Aemond’s—what matters is how it appears to the realm.”

Viserra’s shoulders slumped, the weight of her mother’s words hitting her like a physical blow. “So, there’s nothing we can do?”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her own eyes filled with tears. “No, Viserra. The marriage is a matter of public record, and any attempt to dispute it would be disastrous. The realm sees Rhaegar as Borros’ son, and there’s no way to change that without causing further chaos.”

Viserra’s tears fell freely now, her voice a mere whisper. “I just wanted to be with Aemond. To have the life I dreamed of, not this-this cage.”

Rhaenyra embraced her daughter, her own heart breaking at the sight of Viserra’s pain. “I’m so sorry, my love. I wish I could undo everything and give you the happiness you deserve. I truly do.”

Viserra clung to her mother, the tears continuing to flow as she whispered through her sobs. “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one paying the price?”

Rhaenyra stroked Viserra’s hair gently, her own tears mingling with those of her daughter. “Because sometimes, the sacrifices we make for the realm come at the highest personal cost. I never meant for it to be like this for you, but I know that doesn’t make it any easier.”

In the dimly lit chamber of Maester Gerardys, Viserra sat on the edge of a cushioned chair, her expression a mix of apprehension and hope.

The maester, a man of great experience and gentle demeanour, went about his examination with practiced ease.

“Very well, Princess,” Maester Gerardys said, adjusting his spectacles. “Let’s start with some questions to assess your condition. How long has it been since your last monthly bleeding?”

Viserra took a deep breath before answering, “It has been over two moons.”

Gerardys nodded thoughtfully. “Have you experienced any tenderness in your breasts?”

“Yes,” Viserra confirmed.

The Maester’s face broke into a reassuring smile as he finished his examination. “Based on your symptoms and the examination, I can confirm that you are with child again.”

Viserra’s eyes brightened with a mixture of joy and nervousness. She nodded, absorbing the news. “Thank you, Maester Gerardys.”

“As you’ve already given birth before,” Gerardys continued, “you are familiar with what to expect. Nonetheless, I advise you to take things easy. Ensure you maintain a good balance of fruit and meat in your diet. It is important for both your well-being and the health of the child, but you also need to be more mindful of pregnancy related sickness”

Viserra thanked him once more before leaving his chambers, her mind already drifting to the prospect of sharing the news with her family.

As she walked down the corridor towards Helaena’s chambers, her steps were light, her heart buoyant with the news.

When she entered Helaena’s room, a warm scene greeted her: Rhaegar was playing happily with Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor.

The children’s laughter filled the room, creating a pleasant backdrop to the unfolding moment.

Helaena looked up from where she was sitting, a serene smile on her face. “Viserra, is everything alright?”

Viserra’s smile widened as she approached, her eyes sparkling with the joy of her news. “Yes, everything is wonderful. I’m expecting another child.”

Helaena’s face lit up with genuine happiness. “That is wonderful news! Congratulations”

“Thank you” replied Viserra

However, Helaena took Viserra’s hand, her expression grew more serious. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Stags attack if threatened”

Viserra squeezed Helaena’s hand gratefully. “I’ll keep that in mind”

“The dragon grows restless-” muttered Helaena wistfully.

Viserra turned to Rhaegar, who was still engrossed in his play. “It’s time to go, my little one.”

Rhaegar looked up, his face lighting up as he bid farewell to the other children. “Bye-bye, Jaehaerys! Bye-bye, Jaehaera! and Bye-bye, Maelor!”

Viserra lifted him gently into her arms, feeling the familiar weight of him against her chest.

As she carried him out of the room, her heart swelled with affection for her son and the little dragon currently growing inside her.

The grand hall was abuzz with excitement as Borros Baratheon boomed with loud, boisterous cheer.

The announcement of Viserra’s second pregnancy had stirred a flurry of congratulations and celebrations among the lords and ladies.

Borros, unable to contain his delight, put his arm around Viserra’s shoulders, pulling her close in a gesture that bordered on possessive.

“Another child!” Borros declared, his voice carrying over the crowd. “I’m sure this next one will be another boy. My wife is a fertile woman-I shall see you always round with my child-”

Viserra recoiled slightly, her face flushed with discomfort. She reached down to grasp Rhaegar’s hand tightly, her fingers entwining with his.

As the crowd continued to congratulate Borros, the atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by a cutting voice.

“Let’s hope this one actually favours our father more than the last,” came a sharp, disdainful tone.

Viserra turned to see Borros’ daughter’s hovering by the entrance, their expressions twisted with barely concealed disdain.

Cassandra and Floris' lips curled into sneers as they took in Viserra’s presence. She greeted them politely, though their unspoken contempt was not lost on her.

As Borros enthusiastically accepted congratulations from passing lords and ladies, he reached for Rhaegar, who had been standing shyly by his mother’s side. “Come here, Rhaegar. Greet your sisters.”

Rhaegar squirmed in Borros’s grasp; his small face flushed with unease.

As Borros tried to force the boy into a more social posture, Rhaegar began to cry. The sight of his distress only seemed to provoke Borros’s irritation further.

“ENOUGH-” bellowed Borros.

“No-No-Nooooo” wailed Rhaegar.

“Husband-please, he doesn’t want to” urged Viserra as she tried to intervene, ignoring the looks of disdain from Cassandra and Floris.

“Nonsense, the boy will do as he is-”

“-What’s going on here?” asked Aemond as he appeared in the doorway, his eye narrowing as he watched Borros’ rough handling of Rhaegar.

“I’m merely celebrating the good news that my wife is with child again-but as usual my son is being a spoilt brat-” said Borros, with an air of annoyance.

He put Rhaegar down, who immediately ran to Aemond, wrapping his tiny arms around his father’s legs.

Aemond looked down at his son, his heart aching with a protective instinct.

Though he wished he could offer more comfort in public, he settled for gently stroking Rhaegar’s hair, trying to soothe him.

Floris, her cheeks tinged pink, greeted Aemond shyly. “My Prince,” she murmured, her tone softer than her earlier disdain.

Aemond responded with a brief, polite nod, his attention returning to Rhaegar’s tear-streaked face.

“Remarkable isn’t it-how much Rhaegar looks like Prince Aemond,” said Cassandra, ignoring Floris who shook her head slightly.

“Most Targaryen’s favour each other in looks” replied Viserra.

“Remind me again where your brother got their dark hair from?”

“Princess Rhaenys’ mother was a Baratheon, no doubt they inherited it from her” said Viserra.

“Yeah right” muttered Cassandra lowly as she folded her arms over her chest.

Sensing the tension in the air, Aemond quickly lifted Rhaegar into his arms “-Perhaps I should escort Princess Viserra and the young Prince to their chambers,” Aemond suggested, his voice firm but considerate.

Borros waved his hand dismissively. “Very well-I shall you at dinner wife”

“Yes, husband” replied Viserra as she followed Aemond out of the hall, her gaze lingering on Cassandra who was now talking to her father.

Once Aemond had escorted Viserra and Rhaegar back to her chambers, he carefully set Rhaegar down on the soft rug in front of the fire.

The boy, now calm began to play with a se of small wooden dragons.

Aemond turned his attention to Viserra, his heart aching with concern for her.

He crossed the room with purposeful strides and drew her into his arms. The comforting weight of his embrace enveloped her, and he gently stroked her stomach, his touch tender and reassuring.

“Forgive me for not coming sooner,” Aemond murmured, his voice low and earnest. “I was waylaid by news of thieves causing trouble in the city”

Viserra buried her face into Aemond’s gold cloak, drawing solace from the familiar scent of him. “It’s alright,” she whispered, her voice muffled but warm.

Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly as he thought of the earlier encounter. “I did not like seeing Borros’ hands on you or the way he was treating Rhaegar”.

Viserra’s arms tightened around him as she leaned into his embrace. “Now that I’m with child again, he’ll likely return to Storm’s End. He may be less inclined to remain here if he feels secure in the continuation of his line.”

Aemond nodded, holding her closer, his hope mingling with the weariness in his voice. “I hope that is true. I wish for you to be free from his grasp for as long as possible”

“So do I” replied Viserra as she closed her eyes.

Viserra sat at the table, her posture stiff and her fingers barely touching the food on her plate.

The grand dining hall was filled with the sounds of conversation and clinking cutlery as the guests enjoyed their meal.

Borros sat beside her, a heavy hand resting possessively on her arm. Despite the festive atmosphere, Viserra’s mind was clouded with unease.

Rhaenyra, seated across from her, noticed Viserra’s discomfort and leaned in with concern. “Are you alright, Viserra? You seem unwell.”

Viserra forced a faint smile, though her eyes betrayed her discomfort. “The child I carry unsettles my stomach”.

Rhaenyra nodded sympathetically. “I remember that feeling well. When I was pregnant with you, my stomach was very delicate. Only lemon cakes dipped in meat gravy seemed to agree with me.”

“Quite a combination Your Grace” laughed Borros.

“A dragons tastes are known to be capricious my Lord” replied Rhaenyra.

As the meal continued, Viserra’s gaze wandered around the table. She noticed Floris’s eyes firmly fixed on Aemond, who was deeply engaged in conversation with Aegon.

Helaena stared intently at her fork, muttering about how "The beast will devour-"

Lucerys and Rhaena giggled quietly, their mirth a stark contrast to the tension Viserra felt.

Daemon held Rhaenyra’s hand, whispering something into her ear, and Alicent was engrossed in conversation with Cassandra.

Viserra, trying to maintain her composure, leaned towards Borros and spoke discreetly. “Will you be returning to Storm’s End soon?”

Borros’s face lit up with a satisfied smile. “Yes, but I wish for you to accompany me. Now that you’re expecting my second child, it’s only right that the child be raised where he will one day rule.”

Viserra’s eyes widened in surprise. “But surely, I need not come so soon. There’s no immediate need for me to leave the Red Keep.”

Borros’s expression hardened. “You have been away from my side for far too long. It will also do Rhaegar some good to experience life outside of Kings Landing”

Viserra’s gaze shifted to Aemond, who was staring intently at Borros, his hand gripping the fork with visible tension.

“I also have high hopes that the Queen will grant my request for Floris to marry Prince Aemond” said Borros.

“W-What?” asked Viserra, her heart pounding in her chest as looked over at Floris who was smiling.

“As I said my Lord, the decision lies with Aemond” said Rhaenyra, her gaze flickering to Viserra who had gone very pale.

“I do hope you consent to the match Aemond-the Lady Floris is a good choice” said Alicent happily.

“Yes it would be nice to see the Prince with a wife of his own” said Cassandra smirking as she took a sip of wine.

“W-Well I-I-” muttered Aemond awkwardly.

Floris’s expression was hopeful as she took Aemond’s hand and said, “I will be a good wife to you my Prince and provide you with as many children as you desire”

The words were like a blade to Viserra’s heart. Her vision blurred as nausea overwhelmed her.

Before she could stop herself, she leaned over the table and vomited, the contents of her stomach splattering across the fine linens.

Panic and embarrassment surged through her as she looked around, the room now filled with shocked gasps and murmurs.

Ignoring Rhaenyra’s frantic calls and the concerned looks of the others, Viserra stumbled to her feet and fled the dining room.

Viserra fled through the corridors of the Red Keep, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls as her breath came in ragged gasps.

She burst into her chambers; the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind her. Without hesitation, she flung herself onto the bed, the soft fabric doing nothing to cushion the weight of her despair.

Viserra buried her face in the pillows, her sobs wracking her body. The thought of Aemond marrying Floris was a knife twisting in her heart, a cruel mockery of her dreams.

She felt suffocated by the expectations and the secret she could no longer bear to keep.

The idea of being taken to Storm’s End gnawed at her with a relentless ache. The Red Keep was her home.

It was where she had made memories, where Rhaegar had been born where he had learned to walk and talk.

She couldn’t bear the thought of uprooting her life, of moving to a place where she would be miserable.

It would also mean tearing Rhaegar away from Aemond, who had been a steadfast presence in their lives.

Viserra’s tears soaked the pillows as she clutched them tightly. The weight of the lies, the secrecy, and the constant deception felt insurmountable.

Her heart ached with the realization that she had become a mere piece in a game she had never chosen to play. The facade she maintained was crumbling, the strain of it all too much to bear.

The soft click of the secret entrance behind the portrait barely disturbed the silence in Viserra's chamber.

The portrait swung open with a muted creak, and Aemond slipped through the hidden passageway.

Seeing Viserra crumpled on the bed, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her sobs, his heart clenched in response.

Aemond approached the bed and sat down gently on the edge, his movements deliberate and tender.

Without a word, he reached out and enfolded her in his arms. His hand moved soothingly up and down her back, the touch a silent promise of his unwavering support.

“Shh, Viserra,” he whispered softly, his voice a calming balm to her frayed nerves. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Viserra’s sobs gradually quieted as she leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his presence. She clung to him, her tears slowing as she felt the strength and steadiness of his touch.

“I will not marry Floris,” Aemond murmured, his voice filled with a deep, resolute certainty. “There is no one else who will ever compare to you. You have my heart, Viserra. Always.”

Viserra’s breath hitched, her heart aching with the intensity of his declaration. She tilted her head slightly to look up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears.

“You have mine” whispered Viserra.

“I will never forget the vows we spoke to one another on Dragonstone,” he said softly. “The dragon glass, our blood joined together as one, the cuts on our palms. Our night beneath the stars, making love as husband and wife in the ways of old Valyria.”

Aemond’s fingers traced gentle patterns on her back, his touch conveying the depth of his emotions.

The memories of that night, the sacred promises they had made, the bond they had forged, were all rekindled in his words.

The night had been a testament to their love, a moment of unity and passion that had forever intertwined their fates.

Viserra felt the weight of his words and the sincerity behind them. Her tears had slowed to a soft, steady stream as she absorbed the reassurance in his voice.

In his embrace, Viserra found a moment of peace, a respite from the chaos that had threatened to overwhelm her.

The gentle rhythm of Aemond’s breathing, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, provided a soothing counterpoint to the storm of emotions that had consumed her.

Aemond returned to his chambers with a heavy heart, the weight of his earlier conversation with Viserra still pressing upon him.

He was eager for solitude, for a moment to collect his thoughts away from the pressures and expectations of the court.

But as he opened the door to his chamber, he was met with an unexpected sight.

Floris was lounging in his bed, her form draped casually beneath the sheets.

“What are you doing here?” Aemond demanded, his voice sharp and commanding.

Floris stretched languorously, her expression a mix of amusement and defiance. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she purred, her voice smooth and inviting.

Aemond’s irritation flared. “Get out,” he ordered.

Unperturbed, Floris slowly rose from the bed, revealing her naked body. Aemond quickly averted his gaze, his jaw tightening.

“I’ve wanted you ever since you came to Storm’s End seeking a marriage, when you had us all line up-I knew you were going to choose me” Floris said, her voice a sultry whisper as she moved closer to him.

Aemond’s face hardened. “That was then. This is now. Things have changed” he said with a steely resolve.

Floris’ eyes glinted with a mixture of challenge and seduction. “Are you not tempted by me?”

“No,” Aemond replied, his tone clipped.

Floris stepped closer; her gaze fixed on his. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not tempted.”

Aemond turned to meet her gaze, but before he could respond, Floris closed the distance between them and kissed him.

The touch of her lips was insistent, but Aemond’s reaction was immediate. He pushed her away, his expression a mix of frustration and anger.

“I said get out,” he repeated, his voice firm and unyielding.

Floris stumbled slightly, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and indignation.

Aemond grabbed her gown from where it lay discarded on the floor and threw it at her, the fabric landing with a soft thud at her feet.

“Get dressed and leave my chambers,” he ordered with steely determination.

Floris, visibly shaken but maintaining her composure, quickly dressed.

As she was about to leave, she shot Aemond a venomous look. “I know about your involvement with Viserra,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. “Perhaps you should consider that while you’re turning me away.”

“How?” asked Aemond.

“Oh please-I’m not blind. You can’t keep your eye off her, and your always hovering around one another” replied Floris as she came closer.

“That doesn’t mean anything” snapped Aemond.

“Of course it does, not to mention Rhaegar is identical to you, he has your sharp features-” said Floris as she reached out and ran her fingers along his chin.

“What do you want in return for your silence?” Aemond demanded, his voice low and tense as he moved away.

Floris, her demeanour cool and calculated, met his gaze with a hint of amusement. “What makes you think I intend to keep it quiet?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “If you were going to tell your father, you would have done so already. You clearly have some intention of using this information to get something you want.”

Floris smiled, a sly, predatory smile. “You’re correct.”

“So, what do you want?” asked Aemond.

“I want you” replied Floris.

Aemond scoffed, clearly irritated. “I’m not interested.”

Floris’ eyes narrowed, but her tone remained steady. “In exchange for my silence, you will agree to the marriage.”

Aemond’s face hardened. “I refuse.”

Floris raised an eyebrow. “Then let me warn you. If my father finds out about Viserra’s affair and the fact that Rhaegar isn’t his son but yours, what do you think will happen to them? Not even the Queen could save her whore of a daughter and her bastard grandson.”

Aemond’s rage erupted. He seized Floris by the throat and slammed her against the wall, his grip vice-like. “You dare threaten my wife and son?”

Floris’s eyes widened in shock. “Wife?” she managed to croak out, her voice strained.

“Yes,” Aemond said, his eyes burning with intensity. “Viserra is my wife in the ways of old Valyria.”

Floris laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “And yet my point still stands. You either agree to marry me or I will tell my father everything.”

“Why would you want to marry a man who’s heart belongs to another” snarled Aemond.

“I’m not interested in your heart-” muttered Floris her gaze shamelessly moving over Aemond’s form.

“I wouldn’t touch you, not even for all the gold in the Iron Bank” said Aemond.

“If you want me to keep my mouth shut you will” replied Floris.

"I'm not interested and I never will be, why would you bind yourself to me-"

"You are a Prince, by our marriage I would be a Princess-" said Floris.

"Seven give me strength-this isn't some dreamy fantasy straight from the pages of a novel, where you think that if we get married then I'll some how fall in love with you and everything will all be sunshine and rainbows" snapped Aemond.

"That's not-"

"-Of course it is. Get it through your head. I don't want you and I never will. I don't know how many more times I have to say it before you listen" retorted Aemond.

"I-I w-will-t-tell" stammered Floris.

Aemond’s expression twisted into a dark smile as he leaned in close, his cheek brushing against hers.

“If you breathe a word of my involvement with Viserra to anyone-” he whispered, his voice a deadly promise, “-I will kill you and I will have Vhagar burn Storms End to the ground,”

Floris shivered under his threat, her eyes wide with fear and realization. She nodded quickly, her bravado faltering under the weight of his ominous vow.

Aemond released her, stepping back and letting her stumble away from him. “Leave,” he commanded coldly. “And remember what I’ve said.”

Floris, her composure shattered, turned and fled the room, leaving Aemond alone with the echoes of his promise and the grim determination to protect his family at any cost.

The next morning, Aemond found himself pacing in the shadows of a secluded corridor in the Red Keep, waiting for the one man he could confide in.

Daemon eventually strode into view, his usual swagger tempered with a slight tilt of curiosity.

"Out with it, nephew. You didn’t ask me to meet you here for pleasantries."

Aemond took a deep breath before he began. "Floris knows about Viserra and me. She knows Rhaegar is my son and she tried to blackmail me into marrying her in exchange for her silence."

Daemon’s eyes darkened slightly, his hand twitching toward the hilt of Dark Sister. "Go on."

"I refused and I did threaten her. But I don’t trust her to keep her silence. If Floris tells her father-" Aemond’s voice wavered, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Daemon was silent for a moment, thinking, his expression hard and unreadable. "-We can’t risk that," he said, his tone decisive. "I will not have Viserra’s name tarnished, or Rhaegar being declared illegitimate. And I won’t stand by and watch my daughter suffer any longer."

Aemond’s eye flashed with surprise at Daemon’s words. It was rare for his uncle to speak so openly about his affections.

"I regret ever letting her marry Borros," Daemon continued, a note of bitterness in his voice. "I knew she didn’t want it. I knew she loved you, not him. I allowed it for the sake of alliances, but no more. I want my daughter to be happy, and that won’t happen as long as she’s shackled to that fat oaf." He paused, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps it’s time Viserra’s marriage to Borros Baratheon comes to an end."

Aemond frowned, his gaze sharp as he considered the implications. "I thought there was no way to annul the marriage."

Daemon let out a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming. "Annulled? Perhaps not. But there are other ways to rid oneself of an unwanted spouse."

The meaning behind Daemon’s words sank in quickly. Aemond’s lips parted in realization. "You’re not suggesting—"

Daemon held up a hand, silencing him. "I’m not going to soil my own hands with it. But rest assured, Borros won’t trouble Viserra for much longer." His voice was calm, almost casual, as though discussing the weather. "Leave it to me. I’ll handle it."

Aemond, though still conflicted, nodded slowly. "And what am I to do in the meantime?"

"Make sure you’re seen," Daemon replied smoothly. "Tend to your duties. Be where you’re supposed to be and let no one have reason to suspect anything unusual”.

Aemond hesitated, his concern for Viserra momentarily overtaking his thirst for vengeance. "Are you sure this is the only way?"

Daemon’s smile was all teeth, a glint of menace in his eyes. "I told you, nephew. I won’t watch my daughter waste away in misery any longer. Borros Baratheon has outlived his usefulness."

With that, Daemon turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him as he made his way down the corridor, leaving Aemond standing in quiet contemplation.

Aemond clenched his jaw. For the first time, he felt both hope and unease twisting in his gut. Borros’ days were numbered.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #kcktfics

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pjomakesyourkidsgay · 2 months ago

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. . . piper mclean

˖°𓇼 gf!piper who gets help from her aphrodite siblings to freshen up and dress nicely for your little date. gf!piper who asks the demeter kids for a favor (a.k.a asking for the freshest strawberries and directions for the prettiest part of the forest). gf!piper brings you to a secluded area of camp half-blood and prepares a little picnic. gf!piper who is get a little tired of lying around and pulls you to explore a little bit. gf!piper who, alternately, is convinced by her mom to bring you somewhere more romantic, say... europe. gf!piper whose plane tickets are funded by her richy rich dad. gf!piper who (a little reluctantly) uses her charmspeak powers to secure a cute little european cottage to spend the day in with you. gf!piper who's new to this whole 'girlfriend' thing and doesn't want to lose you ever. gf!piper who's a little bit clingy. gf!piper who looks into katoptris every night, hoping to see you in her future all happy and giddy and in love. gf!piper who sings for you softly as she strokes your hair while you guys lie on the picnic mat, staring at the shapes the clouds form. gf!piper who ends up staring at you quite a lot. gf!piper who's not a delicate woman at all but gets all shy and giggly at the mere mention of your name. gf!piper who talks about you so much to her siblings that you're so well-known in the aphrodite cabin (that and your very constant visits). gf!piper who lets you braid her hair with flowers while she in turn makes you flower crowns. gf!piper who tells you cherokee legends as you lie next to her before falling asleep. gf!piper who educates you about native culture while you tell her about yours. gf!piper who teaches you french. gf!piper who's quite protective with you and always feels the need to be there. gf!piper who works up the strength to actively look for her mother and ask for advice with what she has to do for you...

"piper i'm gonna fall!" you laugh, her hands gently covering your eyes as you, true enough, trip on a tree root and almost fall face first into the ground if not for her catching you by the waist.

what a huge fail for her because as your eyes snap open with slight panic, they also land on the checkered picnic mat spread out only a few feet ahead, ruining the surprise she'd been leading you towards for the past ten minutes.

"well then."

"aww, pipes!" you coo, picking yourself up and shoving a fresh strawberry into your mouth. "i didn't take you as a cottagecore sapphic."

she rolls her eyes, with a smile to assure you that it was meant to be playful. she plops down beside you, shifting a little in the white dress she'd adorn to match with you. "it was my siblings' idea. you probably deduced that from my outfit alone."

"yes. that perfume isn't yours, either."

her eyebrows raise at that observation, sniffing her wrist instinctually. you were right, of course - she'd borrowed the sweeter, heavier scent from drew rather than gone out in all he naturalness. "how'd you notice?"

"your shampoo's more floral, of course," your face contorts in confusion at the absurd inquiry. "not sure why you'd want to cover up with perfume around me, i like your shampoo scent."

oh, the things you say that make piper's heart thump wildly. as a child of aphrodite, she should be the one with that ability, not the other way 'round. piper helps you with spreading out the dessert in the basket, laughing when the two of you discover that the apple pie had been smushed under everything else.

the morning transitions into afternoon, and soon the day turns sticky. groaning on her spot on the floor, piper sits back up and looks at you through squinted eyes. "can we get out of here?"

she barely allows you the chance to reply when she leaps to her feet, forgetting her sandals, and pulls you to her own, half-dragging you as she runs off into a more shaded area of the forest. you hope that she's keeping track of her twists and turns, because it's already a blur in your mind and you're not hoping for a night lost in the woods.

though, with the girl by your side, it might not be so bad.

the run essentially clears the haziness formed in your mind by the sun, the sweat that had popped of your pores completely gone from the wind that hits your bodies as you fly through the trees.

it's only until you reach the center of a grove, perfectly shaded but still allowing light to pass through the leaves. so much flowers grew that you could barely name half of them. piper pulls you to the middle, tucks away the strands of hair clinging to your face, and grins.

"very secluded, eh?"

"you're not going to murder me, are you?" you giggle, hooking your index finger around hers.

soft brown eyes stare deeply into your own, her face nearing yours so slowly it's almost painful. piper can smell the strawberries in your breath, can seethe adoration hidden behind those dilated pupils. she places a tender hand on your cheek and is abut to kiss you in this perfect, fantastical scenery when a perfectly white dove coos loudly and lands on her head, startling both of you.

"oh my gods," she runs a hand down herface in annoyance, turning to the woman the dove becomes. "mom, there's a right time to visit me!"

"so sorry dear, i wanted to check in on you."

piper glares at her mother. "can you please go away?"

her plea goes unignored by the goddess, who instead turns to scrutinize both you and piper. she hums in approval at the matching dresses, hums in disappointment at the evident lack of jewelry, and narrows her eyes at the dirt coating piper's feet. "you should've let me pick your little date outfit. white is cute out here, but is it appropriate? it dirties so easily, you know."

"mom!" piper whines. "go awaaaay."

with a final glance at your awkward stance, aphrodite shrugs. "we're talking when you get back to your cabin, of course." she turns back into a dove and flies away.

piper watches her go, making sure that she really is gone rather than just hiding in the branches. she faces you again. "i'm so sorry about that."

"it's okay..." you mutter, feeling that the vibe was now ruined even though you had really, really wanted to kiss her.

but it seems as if piper had sensed your thoughts, or perhaps was thinking the same thing, because she takes a step closer to you and cradles your face once more. "now, where were we?" she says, right before pressing her soft lips against yours.

dividers by: @thecutestgrotto and @seulzitos

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windvexer · 4 months ago

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Linking tarot cards by making them markers in a map

This is post 2 in a series. Read the first one here.

If linking cards is like explaining how energy flows between cards, one problem is that tarot cards are pretty abstract.

What the hell is Wheel of Fortune that it impacts how energy flows around it?

One tarot exercise I invented for myself some years ago was to act as if each tarot card was a piece of a map which defined a specific location, like this:

The goal is not to assign random locations, but to really think about the vibes of a card.

Such an intensely creative exercise - translating abstract concepts into traversable terrain - is something I believe also develops and stretches the "linking" muscles themselves.

Maybe to you, 8/Pentacles isn't a quiet old forest, but a busy port city. Perhaps it changes from deck to deck. That's all excellent.

Just like we can envision how water flows between a lake, clouds, and a mountain, if we assign a type of location to each tarot card then envisioning the flow between them may be much easier.

Pretend there is a road winding through each card, linking them together. What is the experience of the traveler?

Let's never mind exactly what our question is. Let's imagine you're a traveler who left a protected village and finds yourself on windy hills. The wind is forceful, driving you at your back and pushing you towards a gorge.

When you get to the gorge, there's a bridge you have to cross. But the driving winds speak of storms on the horizon, and the bridge swings and shudders in the wind.

The link between the windy hills and the gorge is one of forcefulness that reduces rest and creates risk.

Ace/Swords: Forcefulness, severity, sometimes destruction, but often heralding change

7/Swords: Transition, leaving a bad situation

Link: Because of the dangerous intensity of the Ace, the upcoming transition feels forced and rushed. Due to the risk of destruction, it feels there is no turning back.

Let's swap out some cards and see how our link changes.

Now we take out the windy hills and travel directly from the village to the gorge.

Strength: Security, empowerment, and conviction. The vibes of this card are calm, protective, and assertive.

7/Swords: Transition, leaving a bad situation.

Link: Because of the empowered security of the village, the upcoming transition feels calm and stable. It's being undertaken for a good purpose, not out of desperation.

5/Wands: Conflict, fighting, tension; but also releasing stress, finding treasures, and camaraderie.

7/Swords: Transition, leaving a bad situation.

Link: The traveler was engaging in conflict to try and achieve something, but now they're choosing to move on. The traveler isn't being driven away, nor are they bold and empowered. But he is motivated to get out of there.

Each time, the link describes the transition between two cards. What is the experience walking on the road that leads from one to the other?

#tarot

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jellyfishoreo1206 · 2 months ago

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Artwork belongs to @neal-illustrator

Notes: This was partially inspired by The Island of Sea Women by Lisa Lee, a historical fiction depicting the history of the haenyeo (women divers) of Jeju Island during World War Two. A very good read, 10/10 would recommend! Considering of making this a small series :3

Context: (Name) comes from a lineage where all the women in her family are sent out at the age of 18 to live on a island far from the mainland for 15 years to learn to nurture and sharpen their skills for survival. When it is time for them to come home, they can either 1) be married off or 2) choose their own path of life. (Name) has been on the island for a total of 13 years, she is 31 years old.

---

Pain. That is all he could feel.

Gods very much can't die–only fade away–but in his mind, Poseidon very much guesses this is how dying would feel. Every breath he took, every twitch, every splash of salt water against his open wounds—pain exploded throughout his nerves. Wave after wave, it didn't stop.

The sound of waves crashed against the rock he was left upon as the splash of the salted water sprayed upon his limp body, his trident not far from him—covered in his own ichor.

Stabbed by his own weapon and left to wallow in his humiliation and broken pride. His defeat was surely spreading rapidly across the realms, no doubt would he be faced with murmurs and jabs from those atop Olympus. Especially from his brother Zeus. He can already hear his annoying laugh from above.

Damn that Odysseus.

He strained to sit himself up, heaving painfully as his wounds pulsed and throb with protest. Ichor gushed from his wounds, covering the rocky surface with even more of the shimmering liquid.

In the many years he has lived, Poseidon never thought it was possible for a mortal to touch or better yet harm a god. Though, he never really tested this theory, did he? The only reason why mortals never dared to upset the gods was what the consequences may have been for them.

But what was he to do with this mortal? Anything he does to his island or family, the more does he risk the man hunting him down and stabbing him repeatedly. Scared, of a fucking mortal. He weakly scoffs, immediately regretting it when his lungs and throat flared with pain, a cough threatening to wrack through his wounded body.

He watches as the stormy clouds were slowing beginning to float away, transitioning from the almost black grey to pure white, rays of light peaking through and shining unto the glittering ocean. A drastic difference from what it was minutes ago.

A sudden thought crosses his mind, swirling, processing, and finally settling as he continues to watch the sky–blue eyes tracing the clouds various outlines.

With a deep breath, he closes his eyes, willing his body to cooperate.

They wouldn't notice his absence for a bit, right?

---

Some believe living in isolation for long periods of time would drive even the strongest of warriors to insanity. And for most cases, that may be true. But that's not the case for your lineage.

Your head breaches the surface of the water, air rushing out of your lungs, making a short yet sharp whistling sound for all around to hear. Oxygen rushes back into your lungs, filling them with much needed air. Today has been another successful day of harvesting, swimming towards your small boat with what you caught flailing in your hands, attempting to escape.

Octopuses are quite tricky to catch to say, since you need to knock them out quickly before they rush away. Though it seems you didn't correctly knock this one out–no matter–with a swift hit from the hilt of your curved hook like tool, the octopus stopped it's flailing. Limp, but not dead.

You should hurry before it wakes.

Crawling into the boat, you place what you have caught in the wicker basket attached to the side of the boat–part of it submerged in the water that way whatever you caught stays alive–tightly securing the lid with a complicated knot before grabbing the paddles that were tied down to the floor of the cramped boat. Your goggles and equipment was unceremoniously thrown down in place of the paddles. That should be enough food for the next 3 days, you think, beginning to row back towards the island's shore.

Though, it would be a good idea to start preserving of what you caught, that way you're not over harvesting whenever you go out into the ocean... But you couldn't help yourself, constantly drawn to the water whenever the ocean called out to you, everytime you jumped into the water and are embraced by the soft pressure, marvelling at the beauty that lays hidden beneath the surface.

"The ocean is better than any mother," Recalling what your grandmother has once told you, "-for it will be here until the day you enter the fields of Asphodel, as it shall provide for you and comfort you, long after your own mother has passed on."

...

Longing filled your heart.

How much longer will it be till you see your family again? Thirteen long years it has been since you said your tearful goodbyes, yet everyday you still felt the absolute longing to be with your family once more.

To laugh without a care in the world with your siblings as you prank yet another one of the clueless villagers, collecting little pieces of small beauty alongside the sandy shore with your best of friends, enjoying the comfortable silences you have with your father as you both watched the sun rise over the horizon, teasing and chattering with your mother as you both roamed the halls late at night, and listening to the stories your grandmother told you whenever you were restless on certain nights.

...oh how you miss them..

Just two more years (name), two more years and you'll be home, you chided, shaking your head to rid of such negative feelings.

The feeling of the boat beaching onto the wet sand breaks you out of your thoughts, hurriedly detaching the wicker basket from the boat and tying it to your back before further pulling the boat ashore.

Well, time to get this day started, yeah?

---

It wasn't often that Poseidon reverted to this form of his, since he didn't really have no need to–but he forgot how calming it felt to be in this form, it's such a drastic change from how he usually felt in his physical form. Though that's not the reason why he reverted to this choice.

The agonizing pain he felt earlier was being soothed by the surrounding water, calming the nerves and instead replacing it will dull throbs. A temporarily balm to his wounds and pride. And with a small bit of shame on his part, admittedly a way of hiding from all the prying eyes of the realms.

He looks across his domain, watching as a school of fish passed by whilst being chased by a pod of dolphins. He turns his attention to his hands, familiarizing himself with his now transparent form, turning his hands and arms in different directions.

He has taken on a more watery body, his silhouette clearly outlined with a faint glow of white, but otherwise he was still solid.

How many millenia has it been?

Well, might as well become acquainted once more...

#poseidon epic the musical #epic the musical #not lore accurate #poseidon x reader #poseidon epic the musical x reader #neal illustrator's poseidon #could you tell I'm feral for him #like GAWD DAMN NEAL #he's a beautiful man #a very beautiful beautiful man #i need to smooch him

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nymphia-tarot · 8 months ago

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September Tarot [#PAC] 💋

1 ---------------------> 2 ------------------> 3

Paid readings here ($2.99)

❤️ meditate on the pics and pick whichever one calls to you the most. you might feel drawn to more than one pile, which means you may have messages in other piles for you as well! if you don't feel particularly drawn to any pile, the messages in this reading might not be intended for you. since this is a general reading, take what resonates! ❤️

💋 Pile 1:

For my dear pile 1s, this September is all about manifesting your plans and taking action after deliberating and only planning for a long time! You might be really in tune with your more fiery and active side, and your passions will be ignited to the fullest. You can do anything you put your mind to during this time. You might've been in dire financial situations and/or thrown out of balance before this coming month, and maybe you weren't thinking clearly.

This month is also a time of healing and all your worries and fears will get better. You will have a clearer head and be able to carefully plan out your goals and what's best for you. I'm also seeing that this is a time where your creative spirit will be at peak. You might come out mentally stronger and sharper than before, you won't let people mess with you and your judgement can be extremely discerning.

💋 Pile 2:

Your life might've gone through a major upheaval before this coming September. You might've had a spiritual growth arc/inner cleansing before transitioning to the next month, like shedding old baggage and maybe there was some sort of loss involved in your life prior to this. Perhaps some sort of trauma related to a parental (mostly a maternal) figure in your life. This September is all about clarity of mind and adapting to the aftermath of some inevitable upheaval/change in life. You have to make some cutthroat decisions for yourself and prioritise the more perceptive and rational side of your mind, letting go of emotions which no longer serve you in moving forward. You have to first mentally pave the way forward for yourself.

However, be warned... don't be too harsh on yourself and become overly cutthroat in order to speed up the process or else you might be burnt out sooner than you realise. You should learn to be gentle with yourself during this time or else you might be burdening yourself with pent up frustrations over time. I'm also seeing the opportunity for travel or pursuing some sort of goal in some other place (new job, new school, new city, etc).

💋 Pile 3:

Sneakiness and fake people... be warned. A lot of you guys tend to be the more nurturing and giving type. You're extremely generous emotionally and also abundant and fulfilled at the moment. Perhaps you're surrounded by love and blessings from life or others and are generally quite content with what you have. However, you may also have a tendency to create a sort of bubble or safe haven around you that you may forget to step out of because you're too used to that comfort zone. Your abundance and happiness may have attracted a lot of nasty/jealous people too.

There may be people who try to take advantage of you and/or undermine you. They might think they can take anything for you and even feel justified in doing so. Your relationship with them might be uncertain/clouded, like you find it unclear or confusing where you stand in truth. They may act like they're chill and nice in front of you or even gaslight you to try to manipulate you. Be careful to not stay too complacent in something that doesn't seem like it serves you anymore just because of a false sense of security. Ground yourself and stay firm. People may try to stab you in the back but remember that you're strong and can't let them just walk over you.

#tarot #tarot reading #pac reading #pac tarot #intuitive #future tarot #pac #paid tarot readings #paid readings #paid tarot #general tarot reading #september #september tarot #monthly tarot reading

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halfetirosie · 1 year ago

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♡ An Edmond-Post for the struggling fanfic writers ♡

(NOTE: This post will be LONG. I tried to be thorough and include evidence.)

I feel an AGGRESSIVE MORAL OBLIGATION to make this post because of the writing homies that want to write Edmond into their fics, but feel like they don't know enough about him.

My recent Character-Ask post for Edmond might help you guys a little, but I think you could use more information.

The NU: Carnival Lore Spreadsheet (Google Sheets)

This isn't an Edmond-exclusive resource, but still helpful.

If you don't spend any time on the subreddit, you may not have seen this, but this is a fan-made lore spreadsheet contains information the game's world and each of the characters. It hasn't been updated for a little over 3 months, so it's a bit outdated, but it is teeming with practical information that can help familiarize you with characters' backgrounds and such.

(Quick note for Edmond's "Power" category-- although he is unfamiliar with actually using magic, in Frozen Echoes/Tranquil Cloud Edmond intimacy rooms, we discover that Edmond has recently started to practice magic (particularly Light/healing magic).)

2. The current Edmond Era (the most recent Ed Dynamic)

Many people seem to be intimidated by the prospect of writing Edmond because he's a "tsundere." However, to borrow the words from my Character Ask post, "that’s only out of habit (and shyness), rather an actual reflection of his desires." In other words, Ed's inner workings probably look something like this:

It also is noteworthy that, when Eiden initiates sexual activity, Edmond willingly goes along with him. By that I mean, he might scold Eiden a lot and say something to the effect of, "You are a pervert!" but he doesn't actually tell Eiden to stop what he's doing when they're starting out. And while it doesn't happen as often in recent rooms, the habitual "Stop♡" and "No♡" Edmond might say are very clearly insincere, considering his tone of voice (as well as his physical reactions).

And during the rare occasions where Ed does tell Eiden something like "Stop," Eiden will stop; but then Ed will look disappointed, so Eiden will ask him if he wants to continue, and Edmond will say yes. Here's an example of this type of exchange from Sweet Aroma R2:

There have also been times when [we can infer], at the beginning of H-activities, Eiden doesn't have as clear of a read on Edmond's opinion; in which case, he will verbally search for confirmation on whether he can do more. The most accessible example of this is Ed's SR R3:

Here is another example, from Tranquil Cloud R5:

While Eiden is still the one that initiates sexy activity (14/16 of the Ed H scenes), Edmond willingly goes along immediately. That is the crux of the typical Edmond dynamic: Edmond also has strong desires, but is usually too embarrassed to admit them, so he needs an understanding partner that will guide him along until he feels secure enough [and/or horny enough] to admit his wants.

Edmond is in a bit of a transition period right now. He's starting to be much more active in his H-activities with Eiden. He also might "blame" Eiden for his own desires, but he's beginning to own up to his feelings, too. From Tranquil Cloud R2:

3. Edmond Anatomy & Kinks

One word: SENSITIVE. Edmond is HELLA SENSITIVE.

(I'd argue he's even more sensitive than Olivine, but idk if you could consider that a definitive fact or not.)

If there's an area that can be considered a relatively common erogenous zone, it's most likely an erogenous zone on Edmond. Here's the one's that have been canonically confirmed or STRONGLY suggested:

Mouth - Edmond's mouth is very sensitive. When he kisses for the first time in Sweet Aroma, Eiden coaxes him into admitting which specific parts of his mouth are most sensitive; roof of his mouth, tongue, sides. Edmond likes kissing a LOT, and has initiated kisses himself at least 3 times (Elite Instructor R5, Flaming Secret R5, Tranquil Cloud R5)

Ears - Ed has a strong reaction in Tranquil Cloud R2 (Eiden blowing on his ear helps send him over the edge to finally cum)

Neck - Eiden kisses his neck and Ed has a verbal reaction in Tranquil Cloud R5

Nipples - Best example is in Sweet Aroma R2 (he can cum from nipple-play alone); also featured in Spring Chaos R2 and Elite Instructor R2

Hands - Many rooms include Suggestive Hand-Holding™ but White Lover R2 includes significant hand-play

Stomach/Waist - White Lover R2 includes Eiden caressing Ed's stomach, and in Tranquil Cloud R2 Ed has a strong reaction to Eiden tightening his hold on his waist

Ass - In Elite Instructor R2 Edmond gets spanked and he is VERY into it

Penis - *obvious answer is obvious*

Anus - Has cum from anal-play alone multiple times (including fingering and rimming). It isn't explicitly stated, but I'm pretty sure Edmond's anus is more sensitive than his penis

Additional canon sexual preferences:

A Little Pain - As is famously known, Edmond enjoys a little pain during sex

Praise & Dirty Talk - Gets very embarrassed by it (and will usually scold Eiden) but he has strong positive reactions to it

Roleplay + Dom/Sub Undertones - We see it in SR R5; once Ed is convinced to try it out he gets extremely aroused and feels more comfortable engaging in *mild* dirty-talk himself. It's also sorta-kinda in Elite Instructor R2, but only a little bit on Eiden's part (calling Ed "sensei")

Kissing - I mentioned it before, but I must emphasize it again; EDMOND LOVES KISSING

Overstimulation - Most Ed intimacy rooms include some element of this

Semi-Public Sexy Stuff? - Depending on if you count sex-in-a-carriage, this happens in 7-8/16 intimacy rooms. Idk if this is necessarily Ed's personal kink, but Ed isn't exactly opposed to it as long as Eiden is being careful. He does appear to get excited when Edmond says something like "don't be too loud, or someone will come and see you like this!" From Elite Instructor R2:

Light Bondage - Only seen is Elite Instructor R2, but he seems to like it:

4. Some Ao3 reading recommendation that you can use for Edmond-specific inspiration/references

As a passionate Edmond-Lover, here are some works of fanfic that I think do a particularly good job of writing Ed-relationships. Obviously (by the nature of fanfic) many of them take a lot of liberties, but when I was reading these stories, I didn't need to suspend my disbelief at all. The way Edmond acts in these stories feels very in-character to me.

(NOTE: All of these recommendations are NSFW where Edmond bottoms. Be sure to read their tags!)

Literally everything luster_candy has written (6 works at the time I'm posting this) - just be aware all of it is Eiden/Edmond.

Reprieve, Release by kkuro (~11k words) - Eiden/Edmond, one of the best (if not the best) BDSM-heavy Ed fics. Only note is, because this was written in 2022, Ed acts a bit more stiff/repressed in the beginning than he would now. In-character for Early Era Edmond tho.

A Helpful Hand by dracula (orphan_account) (~4.3k words) - Olivine/Edmond, Olivine tops (a rarity) and Ed is cursed with a V. Don't worry, Olivine-Lovers, he isn't a hella OOC sadist or ultra-masculine dom. XD Just very sweet and very horny, and Edmond is ruthlessly subjected to his brand of horny nonsense.

Do You Know Where the Wild Things Go by no birdstofly (~8k words) - Yakumo/Edmond, idk if it's OOC for Yakumo but it's in-character for Current Era slightly-more-honest Edmond.

The Knight's Discipline by RiyeRose (~3k words) - Restricted to Ao3 members, Kuya/Edmond. I subscribe to the belief that Ed would put up with Kuya if he were horny enough, which is why I don't consider this OOC. I think this fic has the perfect amount of BDSM that Ed would realistically enjoy.

Fanfic where Edmond tops is honestly very hard to come across. That's understandable, because for Edmond to top, there would have to be extremely special circumstances, and it would have to be written carefully in order to not seem too OOC. The best example of an Top-Emond fic I've been able to find is this:

Hidden Guidance by Okami01 (~1.9k words) - Edmond/Olivine, Edmond shyly admits he wants to try topping Olivine, and Oli is obviously down for it. (Let's be honest here; out of everyone, if Edmond were ever to top anyone, it would 100% be Olivine)

♡I hope people found this helpful!!!♡

I know reading this giant post was like reading an essay, but hopefully it was worth the time and effort I put into it!

If anyone has extra inquires, or if other Edmond-Lovers want to chime in with extra information I might've missed, feel free to put them in the comments!

#nu carnival #nu: carnival #nu carnival edmond #i had to revisit many intimacy rooms which is why this took a while #Edmond is love Edmond is life

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vastedge330 · 7 months ago

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#Azure cloud migration #Microsoft Azure migration #cloud migration services #VastEdge Azure services #seamless Azure migration #cloud infrastructure migration #Azure scalability #cloud security #zero downtime migration #Azure transition

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bardic-tales · 2 months ago

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2.28.25

Bianca's Ashen Rebirth ability was inspired by a caterpillar emerging from a chrysalis as a beautiful butterfly. It is supposed to symbolize death and renewal.

Read more about this ability below.

Content Warning: death, destruction, existential crisis, fire, fragility, loss, mortality, pain, rebirth, regeneration, sacrifice, self-destruction, transformation, trauma, and vulnerability

Ashen Rebirth is an ability that embodies Bianca’s connection to the delicate balance between death and rebirth, which is what she symbolizes. When mortal danger brings her to the brink of death, her body instinctively responds with a burst of ethereal, phoenix-like flames. As her form is consumed by fire, she is reduced to a cloud of shimmering, otherworldly ashes.

These ashes aren’t mere remnants of a broken body. They are the very essence of her spirit, laced with protective magic and dispersed to nearby secure locations. It is here the ashes will patiently await the long process of renewal. Like a butterfly trapped within the confines of a chrysalis, Bianca’s soul rests within the ashes, as it draws ambient energy to fuel her regeneration. Her rebirth is a slow and intimate journey. Each step rebuilds her draconic phoenix hybrid form from the inside out.

As the weeks stretch into months, Bianca’s essence is reshaped in stages, each moment of rebirth refining her abilities and reinforcing her indomitable will. Though the cycle is grueling and fraught with vulnerability, once complete, Bianca emerges from the ashes like a celestial being unfurling its wings for the first time.

The majestic transformation of her draconic phoenix hybrid form represents the culmination of her resilience. It’s an intricate dance of celestial light and demonic fire. However, the toll of such a rebirth is not without consequence. While her new form grants her unparalleled power, there is a weakness to it. When she transitions back to her humanoid state, she is left drained, fragile, and vulnerable for a brief period.

Ashen Rebirth is a reminder that even in her most powerful state, Bianca’s journey is one of constant change. Her journey shows every triumph demands sacrifice and every transformation comes with its own risks.

#headcanon: fwc: ff #oc: bianca moore: ff #fwc #fantasy worlds collide #headcanon: abilities / skills #bardic-tales #bardic tales #cd: headcanons #cd: abilities / powers / weaknesses #tw: gif #passion project: fantasy worlds collide

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teyamskxawng · 2 years ago

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Rite of Passage

Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

The rundown: You and Lo'ak mutually agree to paint each other for your coming of age ceremony. Although you're both growing older, some things never change.

Warnings: language, Reader and Lo'ak being painfully oblivious, Reader swearing up and down that she hates Lo’ak’s hands but she really loves them, just lots of fluff and stupidity, characters are aged up

WC: 5.5k

A/N: This was my attempt at writing a light-hearted lil fic that I don’t feel obligated to stretch out into a series. It's basically word vomit idrk how I feel about it, but anyways!! Another one for the Lo’ak lovers (me) lol <333

The highly anticipated season had finally come around once again—the annual, collective moment in which the entire Omaticaya clan came together to celebrate the time-honored induction of their youth into the world of adulthood. Over the course of several grueling months, the young Na'vi had been put through their paces, overcoming demanding rites of passage and thus earning their coveted standing within the tribe.

The lively and uproarious ceremony was more than just a celebration. It signified a crucial stepping stone in the journey toward becoming accomplished members of the Na'vi society. And this year, Lo’ak found himself among those transitioning from childhood into adulthood, moving one step closer to joining the ranks of his higher-ups.

He’d finally be treated like an adult, he’d finally get to exercise free will outside of his parents' strict and demanding orders. He’d get to celebrate with all of his warrior friends and probably consume way more drinks than he should, but that was all part of the adventure. He’d be a free man, and he couldn’t fucking wait.

But as thrilling as the entire experience was panning out to be, there was this nagging sensation at the back of his mind—something that clouded his thoughts like a veil of unease.

It was customary for each young Na’vi to be adorned with intricate body paint before attending the celebration—a powerful symbol that represented their transformation from childhood into adulthood. It was akin to casting off one’s previous life and stepping into a new, mature version of themselves.

Each unique design would act as a shroud, allowing the individual to leave behind their former innocence and emerge reborn, strong and prepared for all of life’s challenges.

While most of his peers had already secured mentors, close friends, or even lovers to skillfully adorn their bodies with intricately painted designs for the ceremony weeks before its commencement, Lo’ak had nothing. Despite all his accomplishments thus far, he’d yet to find someone to help him present himself in a manner conducive to the age-old tradition. Which was a big problem.

Lo’ak had been struggling with the idea of asking you to paint him for the upcoming ceremony for weeks on end. It was something that weighed heavily on his mind, but he just couldn’t figure out how to approach such a delicate yet meaningful conversation with you. Embarrassingly, he found himself losing sleep over it all, tossing and turning in his hammock, replaying scenarios in his head, trying to find the right words that didn't seem to exist.

You and Lo’ak shared practically every experience and milestone throughout your lives together. You went through the same rites of passage as Lo’ak to be welcomed into the tribe as warriors. Given your close bond, it was natural that Lo’ak would want to be the one to paint you for the ceremony as well. Unfortunately, just as with asking you, he stumbled when it came to bringing up the actual topic. It was going beyond the casual interaction of friends—this was a formal event, steeped in tradition and significance. The whole situation left him feeling overwhelmed with stress and anxiety.

But still, Lo’ak understood the weight of the tradition: it was all about deep connections and honoring those who had played an essential role in your life. Last year, he recalled watching Kiri as she painted Neteyam for his coming-of-age ceremony. As per tradition, this year Neteyam painted Kiri, a symbol of their familial bond and reciprocal support. It made sense, but at the same time, there went two of his potential options. Tuk was way too young to know what she was doing, and it’d just be straight-up embarrassing to have to ask either of his parents to do it for him. That would defeat the purpose of the entire ceremony; he was supposed to be an adult now, no longer reliant on his parents.

There was no doubt in Lo’ak’s mind that you’d be the perfect partner for the adornment process. You weren’t just a passing acquaintance; you were one of Lo’ak’s closest friends. Your friendship was strong enough to withstand the toughest storms. But still, Lo'ak couldn't shake the feeling that asking to paint each other would somehow cross a line between friendship and something much more intimate. It’d be embarrassing. And what if you had chosen someone else already? What if it was some other guy? Lo’ak’s stomach dropped at the thought.

And now, as the day of the ceremony had arrived, Lo’ak found that he still hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask you about the painting ritual. His anxiety mounted as time slipped through his fingers like sand. He was so screwed.

As you approached the Sully family’s tent, the faint sound of metal slicing through the air caught your attention. A knot of unease tightened in your chest as you hesitantly pulled back the tent’s entrance, revealing Lo’ak sitting alone in the dimly lit space. He was cross-legged on the ground, wholly engrossed in spinning his dagger in circles on the floor, his quick fingers directing its every move. As used to his stupidly reckless behavior as you were from years of friendship, your eyes still narrowed at the sight. You swore he was two seconds away from slicing his finger off and bleeding out right there in front of you before the ceremony even began.

So much for his adulthood.

Lo’ak’s ears twitched, and his trance-like concentration suddenly broke as he sensed your presence, his focused expression softening as he turned his gaze to meet yours. Momentarily distracted from his dagger, he rose to greet you, meeting your eyes with a look of genuine confusion.

Lo’ak eyed you up and down before stating matter-of-factly, “You’re not painted for the ceremony yet?” He didn’t phrase it like a question—more like an observation. And that was a little unfair, because it wasn’t like he was dressed in his body paint either.

Feeling a tad defensive, you retorted, “Neither are you,” as you made your way deeper into the heart of the tent. As much as his words had sparked annoyance in you, a secret wave of relief washed over you as you realized that Lo’ak wasn’t ready for the ceremony either. That could mean good news: maybe he hadn’t found a partner for the painting ritual yet.

There was still hope.

For days, you’d been meaning to ask Lo’ak about the whole rite of passage painting thing, but every time an opportunity presented itself, you’d back out like a little bitch. You honestly didn’t even know why you hesitated. It shouldn’t have been difficult to approach him about it. Lo’ak had always been your closest friend—you’d trained together, learned to tame your ikran together, and even completed your Uniltaron one after the other. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d agree to be your partner for the significant culmination of everything you’d accomplished together. It was just that the entire ordeal of getting someone—a good friend or otherwise—to meticulously rub paint all over your body felt so… affectionate. You and Lo’ak weren’t affectionate. Just thinking about it made you feel like there was a cascade of woodsprites flurrying around in your stomach.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of those persistent thoughts, when Lo’ak’s voice invaded your musings.

“Yeah, I don’t know who’s gonna paint me. Haven’t had time to ask anyone yet,” he said nonchalantly while reaching down to retrieve and re-stow his dagger.

He was avoiding eye contact, his yellow eyes aimlessly darting around the tent. You found it hard not to roll your eyes at him because it was so obvious he was lying about being too busy. You’d literally just caught him goofing around with an entire weapon moments ago. However, it didn’t really come as a shock that Lo’ak hadn’t approached anyone about it yet. Social graces weren’t his strong suit, and mustering up the courage to ask anyone to play such a role in his rite of passage couldn’t have been easy for him.

But still. Either way, you made up your mind; it was clear that things needed to move forward somehow. Regardless of the situation and awkward challenges it presented, you couldn’t sit idly by anymore; both of you were running out of time, and it’d be stupid to continue dancing around the matter at hand.

Resolutely, you decided it was best just to be upfront about it and get the whole thing settled once and for all—for both of your sakes and for the sake of friendship. Maybe it wouldn’t be as awkward as it seemed.

“Okay. I’ll do you, and then you can do me,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips without any real finesse. It was as if the sooner you could get those words out, the sooner you could escape the oncoming wave of embarrassment threatening to wash over you.

However, Lo’ak’s reaction caught you off guard.

His eyes widened in surprise and his eyebrows shot upward as he averted his gaze from yours. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his attention inexplicably drawn to an unremarkable spot on the ground near your feet. You scrunched your face up in confusion as you tried to make sense of his bizarre reaction. It wasn’t until you gave yourself a moment to process and then reprocess the words that had spilled from your lips, that you realized how they might have sounded to Lo’ak’s stupid teenage boy brain.

Trying to push away your own mortification and distract the both of you from the burning color that you were sure was spreading across your face, you acted on instinct, reaching over and smacking Lo’ak upside the back of his head. It was a necessary move to kill the dreadful silence that engulfed the tent.

“Ow! The fuck?” Lo’ak screeched, nursing the spot where you struck him as if he had genuinely been injured. He had always been overly dramatic.

“Just sit down,” you told him, trying your best to maintain a casual demeanor.

Despite the twinge of awkwardness still lingering in the air between both of you, you firmly gripped Lo’ak’s arm and pulled him back down into a sitting position on the floor. With Lo’ak seated and somewhat calmer now—even if he was still rubbing at the supposed wound on his head—you made your way deeper into the tent to rummage for the supplies needed for the body paint.

Jake and Neytiri were always well-prepared, making sure they had an ample supply of materials for when the time came to don their traditional war paint. Thanks to the countless hours you spent with the Sully children, navigating their tent was like second nature to you, and locating the necessary items was a breeze.

With a mortar and pestle full of bright white pigment in one hand and a bowl of water in the other, you re-approached Lo’ak, who was sitting patiently, waiting for your return. As you stood there, you studied Lo’ak’s face and allowed your gaze to wander down his frame, trying to visualize the patterns and symbols that’d complement his warrior spirit. Eventually, feeling inspired, you took your place in front of him.

Making yourself comfortable, you positioned yourself on your knees, making use of the extra bit of height, before you reached for the mortar and pestle and meticulously ground the white pigment into a fine powder. You drizzled in a small amount of water to create a smooth paste that would soon adorn Lo’ak’s face and body.

As you mixed the paste, your thoughts began to wander. Despite your focus on the task at hand, you couldn’t ignore Lo’ak’s piercing gaze. It seemed to bore right through you.

It still baffled you just how much Lo’ak had grown in such a short amount of time—it seemed almost sudden. For as long as you could remember, you and Lo’ak had been virtually the same height. There was even a brief period during your early childhood when you stood a bit taller than him, and you never let him forget it, teasing him about it every chance you got. But now? Things were so different.

It was like Lo’ak had shot up overnight. Not only was he growing taller by the day, but he was growing stronger as well. There was no denying the obvious changes in his physique. And it wasn’t like you were trying to notice the changes. It was impossible not to see the way his arms had filled out, the way his shoulders had broadened, the way in which even the slightest movement would cause the muscles in his stomach to ripple.

Just like they were at that very moment, as Lo’ak nervously shifted under your intense scrutiny, self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest.

Right, because you were definitely staring at him. You mentally chided yourself for letting your focus wander so far off course.

Swallowing hard, you turned your focus back to the task at hand. As you stirred the paint, pouring all your effort into getting the consistency just right, you tried to ignore the fact that the once-casual atmosphere between you and Lo’ak was now laced with an undeniable undercurrent of tension.

Out of nowhere, Lo’ak abruptly asked, “Is it gonna be cold?” His question caught your attention, and in a way, you were grateful for the sudden interruption. Your mind had been racing with thoughts of how you’d manage to paint any area below Lo’ak’s shoulders. But you decided to cross that bridge when you reached it.

“You tell me,” you quipped in response, placing the mortar filled with paint on the ground beside you. You dipped each of the fingers on your left hand into the paint, discovering that it was indeed really cold. You did the same with your right hand before lifting both sets of paint-covered fingers toward Lo’ak’s waiting face, wondering how the hell you were supposed to begin.

Truthfully, you hadn’t come up with any elaborate painting patterns or designs in preparation for the moment, which was somewhat concerning. The entire ceremony was meant to be personal and special, something that required contemplation and reflection for at least a few days before actually starting the painting process. Yet there you were, just 30 minutes away from the start of the ceremony, and not a single thought in your brain.

Despite your lack of planning, Lo’ak was calmly sitting right in front of you with his full trust placed squarely in your hands. So, without any further hesitation or delay, you decided to just dive in and let inspiration (and the trust of Eywa) guide your hands.

Taking a deep breath, you gently pressed your fingers to the edges of Lo’ak’s eyebrows before slowly trailing them across his forehead and then swooping them down along the bridge of his nose. You tried very hard not to laugh at the way Lo’ak flinched from the sensation of the cold paint touching his skin.

Momentarily, you took a step back to assess your progress and decided that it didn’t look half bad. The realization fueled your enthusiasm enough to continue painting. Coating your fingers in the paint once more, you continued to glide them confidently over the smooth contours of Lo’ak’s cheeks in swift strokes.

As you neared completion, you observed that all that remained unpainted on his face were his lips. They looked strangely bare. You weren’t really sure whether they were supposed to be painted or not. But the idea of touching Lo’ak’s lips, even just with your fingers, caused your heart to pound erratically within your chest. It was so bad that you were contemplating just backing out and moving on to the next part.

But just when you were about to give up and move on, unintentionally, your eyes met Lo’ak’s. It seemed as though he was reading your mind; he knew exactly what you were thinking as he studied you intently. There was no turning back; he had already noticed your hesitation.

Trying to maintain focus on the art and not let yourself become overwhelmed by how close you were seated across from Lo’ak proved challenging. You could practically feel the soft warmth of his exhaled breaths as they caressed your face. It made your spine tingle and caused goosebumps to rise across your arms.

“Close your mouth,” you ordered firmly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the air. He obeyed, immediately pressing his lips together with exaggerated swiftness. With a soft smile, you slowly raised both of your hands to his mouth. You gently placed two painted fingers on his mouth and traced them down his lips. From there, your fingers continued their journey along the curve of his jawline.

Taking another dip in the paint, you allowed your gaze to wander across the entirety of Lo’ak’s unpainted body. With your internal pep talk in place, you decided to just dive in. Maybe if you did it casually enough, everything would be fine. You softly nudged Lo’ak’s crossed arms apart with the backs of your hands. Your fingertips began their descent from the sides of his neck and moved deliberately across the broad expanse of his shoulders.

Silently reassuring yourself that it was nothing more than your overactive imagination when Lo’ak ever-so-slightly shivered under your touch, you diligently tried to make things move along as quickly as possible. Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you adorned his shoulders with bold, white swirls that seemed to dance and move on their own.

Gradually moving further along his muscular form, you traced delicate lines that wrapped around each sculpted bulge of his biceps and along the contours of his forearms.

As your focus moved even lower, you took note of your favorite part of his body: Lo’ak’s uniquely impressive four-fingered hands. Upon reaching each digit one at a time, you spread long white lines down their length with seemingly natural precision. You let your instincts take over as you continued to create patterns and shapes on his skin, fully immersed in the fluidity of your motions.

You decided to save his chest for the very end, knowing just how awkward that part of the process was going to be—and truth be told, you really wanted to delay the moment for as long as possible. The silence within the tent was almost deafening, and you couldn’t help but send a silent prayer to Eywa, hoping with all your might that your hands would remain steady and not betray your mounting anxiety.

Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you hesitantly approached Lo’ak’s chest. You were doing everything in your power to avoid making eye contact and ignore how tense his entire body was. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves, you quickly drew a series of intricate loops across each of his pectorals and then traced symmetrical lines down the center of his chest. Those lines continued, gracefully curving around the sides of his ribcage.

With every passing moment, it felt like the two of you were collectively holding your breath, neither wanting to break the fragile bubble of silence that had formed around you.

Concerned for both your well-being and your sanity, you decided it’d be best to wrap up that part of the painting process as quickly as possible. It wasn’t until then that you finally allowed yourself to exhale. You exchanged an awkward glance with Lo’ak, silently affirming the palpable tension surrounding you.

“Okay. I’m done,” you announced, gently sliding the container of paint toward Lo’ak. You dipped your fingers into the nearby bowl of water, absentmindedly scrubbing away traces of the drying paint, which turned the water a cloudy shade of white. Your words acted like an instant wake-up call, abruptly jolting Lo’ak back to reality from his trance.

His focus had been so intense while you painted patterns across his chest that he inadvertently stopped breathing altogether. The sudden, sharp inhale that followed the sound of your voice served as evidence of that fact. That realization was enough to make you lose your own composure—just a tad.

You made a half-assed attempt at suppressing the grin that threatened to break past your lips, so you weren’t really surprised when Lo’ak extended his arm and slowly began to tug the bowl of paint toward him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The seemingly innocent yet still very suspicious act instantly put you on high alert. All you could do was watch in horror as Lo’ak suddenly immersed his entire hand into the paint. Your eyes widened in fear as he slowly lifted his paint-covered hand and began to edge closer to you, moving the dripping monstrosity in the direction of your face.

“Wait. Lo’ak, wait!” you warned, frantically shaking your head in an attempt to dissuade him from what you already knew would be an outrageously idiotic plan.

A glob of paint dripped from his saturated hand onto the floor between the two of you. You warily watched its continued pooling descent, leaving a bright splatter of paint on the ground that Neytiri would definitely kill you both for making.

“Just trust me, y/n,” Lo’ak insisted, the stupid grin on his face somehow both charming and alarming at the same time. It was more of the latter. You absolutely didn’t trust him.

“Lo’ak. Don’t you dare...” you began, your voice wavering and your ears flattening against your skull in weary anticipation.

But Lo’ak was undeterred by your protests. They only motivated him further. Barely giving you enough time to shut your eyes and mouth, he guided his entire paint-coated hand onto your face. The combination of the cold paint and the warmth from his hand sent shivers down your spine. Instinctively, you pressed your hands on the ground beside you, every fiber of your being screaming for you to get up and run. Far, far away from him.

However, Lo’ak wasn’t about to let that happen so easily. Somehow anticipating your attempt to recoil away from him, he brought up his other hand to secure the back of your head, making sure that you weren’t going anywhere. You sputtered loudly at the sensation of being literally smothered, and of course, nothing on Pandora could’ve stopped Lo’ak from laughing uproariously at your suffering.

“Stop moving! You’re gonna ruin it,” Lo’ak tried to sternly warn you while unsuccessfully stifling his laughter. He clearly found it all very amusing.

You couldn’t fucking breathe. You tried to communicate as much to Lo’ak, but you were sure your words sounded like nothing more than a strangled garble of sounds.

Eventually, Lo’ak seemed to take pity on you and lifted his paint-covered hand away from your face. You instantly gasped for air, finally unencumbered by his prolonged attempt at suffocating you to death. However, your relief was short-lived as you tasted the bitter, acrid flavor of paint on your tongue.

“You got it in my mouth, dumbass!” You complained with a groan, making sure not to swallow anything. Your disdainful tone only seemed to delight Lo’ak further.

“No one told you to eat it,” Lo’ak retorted with a dismissive snort. He was walking that thin line between playful banter and genuine ire. You could seriously kill him.

You narrowed your eyes at the little shit in front of you and desperately tried to rid yourself of the unpleasant taste by frantically licking at your arm. You probably looked completely unhinged, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Lo’ak made a face at your display, crinkling his nose in disgust.

Left with no other option, you did what any sane person who was minutes away from being welcomed into adulthood would do—stick your now paint-covered and saliva-slicked arm out toward Lo’ak’s incredulous face. His shock and horror at the development were priceless.

Lo’ak barely had time to react as you swiftly thrust your arm toward him, but his lightning-fast reflexes won out in the end. Always one step ahead, Lo’ak knew you and all of your little tricks too well. It was like he could read your mind. In the blink of an eye, he was already crossing half of the tent in a mad dash. He backed away from you with his hands raised defensively in front of him, like someone facing an untamed beast.

“Chill…we don’t have to do this,” Lo’ak cautiously pleaded with a slow shake of his head, his tone dripping in a mix of seriousness and amusement.

But you were undeterred. “Yes we do,” you deadpanned determinedly and slowly continued advancing on Lo’ak, coercing him to move toward the back of the tent. Your eyes never left his, maintaining a fierce stare as the situation continued to escalate.

Without warning, you lunged at him like a predator going for its prey, stretching your arm out in eager anticipation. It was so close—just inches away from Lo’ak’s face—but he was quick to react once more. He grabbed hold of your biceps with an iron grip, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You couldn’t help but hiss at him in frustration, feeling utterly defeated by the massive strength disparity between the two of you.

Lo’ak’s eyes locked onto yours for a split second before focusing on another target: your mouth. His expression changed from one of caution to sheer amusement as he caught sight of something peculiar—and apparently hilarious—about the sight.

His grin stretched ear to ear, nearly swallowing his entire face, as he blurted out, “Oh shit. Your entire tongue is white!”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and your eyes immediately widened with alarm. Because it definitely couldn’t be safe to consume paint. There could’ve been poison coursing through your veins at that very moment, making every passing second one closer to your tragic demise, all thanks to Lo’ak and his stupid hand.

But despite your mounting panic, Lo'ak remained utterly unfazed. He obviously found the situation amusing, as evidenced by the way he wasn’t even trying to suppress his unbridled laughter.

“One night,” you vowed through gritted teeth, “I swear I’m going to sneak into your tent and cut every single braid off of your head in your sleep.” The more you thought about it, the more serious the idea became in your mind.

Lo’ak merely tilted his head, and an annoyingly attractive grin stretched across his face. “Oh, yeah?” He taunted, vehemently nodding his head along with what he knew was just another one of your faux threats. “And then what are you gonna do?”

As he spoke, Lo’ak tightened his grip on your arms—a bittersweet reminder that he was well aware you weren’t going to do shit to him in his sleep.

You eyed the unpainted underside of Lo’ak’s forearm, which rested directly in front of your face, and a childishly impulsive urge overwhelmed you. Without giving it much thought, you leaned in and licked a long, wet, white stripe along the length of his arm. The unexpected action elicited a shrieked “Bro!” from Lo’ak, who could only blink at the sight of your tongue, still pressed to his now-slobbery arm, in disbelief. You reveled in his reaction to your sudden move, despite how immature it might’ve been. He deserved it, and you had no regrets.

However, as fate would have it, the impromptu moment coincided precisely with the return of the entire Sully family to their home as they prepared for the upcoming ceremony. Jake and Neytiri led the way in, followed closely by Neteyam, Kiri, and Tuk. All of them. The five family members entered the tent one by one, each grinding to a halt as they caught sight of you and Lo’ak’s odd exchange in the far corner.

A few beats passed as everyone’s eyes darted back and forth between you two. The silence was palpable, and the tension continued to rise like an invisible fog that filled every corner of the tent. It finally dawned on you that it'd probably be a good idea to remove your tongue from Lo’ak’s arm.

Taking matters into your own hands—or, more accurately, your tongue—you gingerly began to distance yourself from Lo’ak. You took a cautious step sideways, followed by another one, making sure there was a healthy amount of space between you both. You hoped that would somewhat defuse the situation while also giving off the impression that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired—though it was clear you weren’t fooling anyone present.

The awkwardness still hung heavily in the air as each second felt like an eternity passing by. You could only imagine what thoughts and judgments must be running through everyone’s minds.

The silence in the tent was so profound that you could probably make out the gentle sound of a leaf falling from a tree outside if you really tried. The quiet was unsettling. It made your fingers itch. You found yourself tucking your hair behind your ears, trying to find some purpose for your idle hands instead of having them dangle awkwardly at your sides.

Opposite you, Kiri tried to conceal her knowing grin behind one of her hands. As to what she knew that you didn’t, you were utterly clueless. Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel unnerved by her expression. Similarly, Neteyam chewing on the inside of his cheek in an uncharacteristic effort to maintain his composure did little to alleviate your discomfort.

It wasn’t long before Tuk broke the silence with a question, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “Is that a handprint on your face?” she innocently asked, pointing a tiny finger at what was definitely a handprint on your face.

Five sets of curious yellow eyes darted back and forth between your face, Lo’ak’s conspicuously stained white hand, and the matching white handprint wrapped entirely around your arm. Feeling their collective gaze upon you, you decided that you weren’t even going to try to talk your way out of the situation. “Yeah. It is.”

Without missing a beat, Neytiri swiftly turned her attention towards her youngest son as she hissed out his name: “Lo’ak.”

And thank Eywa for that. At least somebody had your back.

Lo’ak’s voice tended to reach an almost comical high-pitched tone whenever he was aware that he had done something wrong, and this occasion proved to be no exception. He glanced over at you with equal parts guilt and defensiveness in his wide eyes.

“It looks cool, though!” He insisted, trying to justify his actions. He waved his hand close to your face, as if the gesture held the power to magnify his point and erase any doubt you might have had. You squinted at the offending white hand hovering in front of your face before hastily swatting it away as if it were an annoying little bug.

Lo’ak grinned in delight at your visibly pissed-off demeanor, which only seemed to fuel his determination to get under your skin. He appeared to forget all about the looming presence of his entire family as he defiantly stuck his hand back in front of your face. And you were not about to let that happen again. You were probably going to have nightmares about his hand. Pivoting toward Lo’ak, you shoved him away from you, probably a little harder than necessary, judging by the way he stumbled a few steps to the side from the force of it all. But he was laughing as he re-straightened, not at all deterred by your outward hostility.

It was mostly feigned, anyway.

Neytiri watched the exchange between you two with amused exasperation, her eyes twinkling despite her best efforts to remain stern. She let out a soft ‘tsk’ as she shook her head, unable to fully suppress the tiny smile that crept onto her face. She reached down to gently grasp Tuk’s hand before leading the child further into the tent.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly struggling to maintain what little patience he had left. Jake would always throw that foreign word around whenever you and Lo’ak were together, but you still had no idea what it actually meant. “Just—finish up, alright?” He threw an exasperated look toward you and Lo’ak. “No more shenanigans. We’re leaving in ten.”

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak mumbled, his expression a mixture of mischief and feigned seriousness. He waited until Jake and the rest of his family were out of earshot before turning back to you.

“It looks cool,” he said again, his face breaking into a genuine, broad smile as he stepped back to take in the masterpiece he had just created. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the intricate design of his handprint that adorned your face. Giving himself a little nod of satisfaction, he crouched down to pick up the paint once more, eager to continue where he had left off.

You couldn’t see your own face, of course. But secretly, you had to agree that it probably did look kind of cool. You’d never openly admit that to him, though. There was no need to inflate his ego any further. Still, deep down, you knew you'd be proudly sporting your best friend's four-fingered handprint at the coming-of-age ceremony that evening. To you, it symbolized the unbreakable bond you both shared.

From his seated position on the floor, Lo’ak’s eyes rose to your face, a single brow raising in amused confusion at your idle form. Dismissing his reaction with a shake of your head, you couldn't prevent the warm smile from stretching across your lips as you settled back down in front of Lo'ak.

end

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