#a court of flames and sorrow

[acourtoffaeandfanfic]

A Court of Flames and Sorrow || Eris Vanserra

Synopsis: Lynette Vesper. Daughter of Winter and Night. Lover of a problematic red head who used to be engaged to her best friend.

Last Update: 8/21/2022

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[stxrvel]

the cliff (1)

hi guys! this is the first azriel fic i post here. i mainly do marvel but i just couln't stop thinking about this so i decided to take it forward. i hope you guys like this! see u next time <;33

summary: you never thought that the road to your mate could bring so much suffering… pairing: azriel x f!reader words: +4k warnings: briefly descriptions of torture, bad words, descriptions of sorrow¿?, angst but a happy ending, i think. also, English is not my first language and i actually read acotar in another language, so sorry for any mistakes! and also!! i haven't read a court of silver flames, so probably the facts around cassian and nesta's bond and feyre's pregnancy aren't accurate, sorry for that!

part 2: the house

part 3: the court

part 4: the routine

You were sure that the decisions you had made shouldn't have led you to that place. With your limp legs dragging against the grass, the wet feel of the mud drying coldly on your skin with each gale, increasing the chills that ran through your body, not only because of the dread and fear you had for your life, but because of the scorching frost on the top of that cliff.

There was something magical about wishing upon a shooting star. You knew it, your parents were living proof that it worked. They had met just after your mother had wished upon a dying star. Mates. And they promised you it would be the same for you. You hoped it would be the same for you when, encouraged by your same parents, you wandered Prythian in search of meeting the other end of the bond that you knew connected you to someone beyond, in search of a connection greater than you could ever understand.

You firmly believed in that magic one night, in the midst of the lonely and almost desolate journey from end to end, when lying watching the night sky you saw it pass by. A helpless shooting star.

You made your wish with your heart in your hand, closing your eyes and whispering as if it were a prayer. Maybe it was. You didn't know if that was what had gone wrong.

All you knew was that, the next day, your journey was over.

You hadn't finished waking up when you found yourself being dragged across the ground of the Day Court, right at the border it shared with the Night Court, from the hands of Ilyrian soldiers who wouldn't listen to your shouted words. Or simply preferred to ignore them.

You weren't sure how much you had screamed at them, even as they took you in the most savage way possible and furrowed you through the wind, the cold gusts of the Nightmare Court piercing your skin. But it had to have been a good while, because the next time you were above ground your throat was so dry you could barely breathe.

You didn't know what was going on, not even when days later, after feeding yourself with only mush and water, you met the first person willing to tell you something and not turn his face away from you. It was a man, Ilyrian too, with gigantic black wings that covered almost all the light in the small room where you were held captive. His constant presence invoked darkness.

He never introduced himself. He would only ask “who sent you?”, waiting for a sane answer from you, one that you couldn't give because every time you tried to say something that was not remotely like what he wanted to hear, he would move two fingers of his left hand and two more soldiers would enter the room and grab you roughly by the arms, pulling you closer to a barrel with water that was in the corner of the room. That was the water you usually drank, and it was never as cold as when they entered the room.

Needless to say, after a couple of days, you couldn't even go near the water anymore.

It could've been a couple of days, weeks or months… you weren't sure anymore. Time had become an insignificant concept compared to your desire for freedom. You had explained countless times to the Ilyrian the reasons why they had found you wandering near the Court, but that wasn't enough. Not even when you told him that they could confirm it with your family in the Summer Court. No excuse was good enough, the Ilyrian seemed to simply want to find a culprit, whatever he had to do, whoever he had to point the finger at.

And then, one day, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Another lone shooting star, which you barely caught through the bars the room had for windows. The memory of your parents flooded your memory, a dark cloud settling over you and drowning out any sense of calm you were able to collect after the ilyrians left. Through tears and sobs you begged the star for a way out, hoping its magic was powerful enough to fight the savage soldiers.

The next day more ilyrians than usual appeared, but they did not enter the room. Not after the High Lord of the Night Court did so first.

And you thought the star had heard you.

“She didn't say anything?”

His dismissive, indifferent tone almost made you shudder on the icy floor, but you didn't let that take away your hope, kneeling in front of him with dried tears and dirt on your face. With your hands clasped in front of you, as if he were a deity personified, you begged him to listen to you, but you had to watch him send you a disinterested glance before he turned in the direction of the entrance.

“Take her away.”

You didn't know why you had expected the high lord to intercede on your behalf, knowing the stories that brimmed through the Courts in Prythian. Your parents had warned you. They encouraged you to pursue the bond on your chest, but begged you to go no further than Court Day if the bond demanded it. They made you promise to return, and that they would then seek a way to find your mate if he or she was beyond the Night Court. You should've heeded, of course you did. When you saw the cold, emotionless eyes of the high lord's face, you regretted every decision you had made.

Even though you knew it shouldn't have been that way, because you had never done anything wrong. You had never tried to harm someone. Maybe that made it harder. Wondering every night why. Why did you deserve to go through that? What evil was it that you were paying for?

There was something magical about wishing on a shooting star, but that magic wasn't guarded for you.

-

Azriel had been spending sleepless nights for weeks now, without explanation. Things were quiet in Velaris, even in the Court of Nightmares. But when he entered the darkness of his room at night, when he tried to close his eyes with his wings spread across the bed, a knot stirred in his chest. Tears would well up behind his eyes and a sadness would engulf him from head to toe. It was so overwhelming that there were few nights when Azriel could contain the feelings and despair of his shadows.

He tried not to let that deficiency interrupt his work, but it was difficult when his eyes would close at the table during breakfast, or in the middle of the room when Rhys talked about the weekly goals. Several times his friends would start asking questions, but it was easy for Azriel to say he had trouble sleeping because that was never an uncommon occurrence over the course of his long life.

It was once Rhys told him that he had told Madja about his problem and she had sent him some herbs that it all started to get weirder.

Yes, Azriel was able to fall asleep. But every night he had strange dreams. Dreams of a life that was not his own. Memories of someone else he didn't even know. Another woman's life, somewhere Azriel could barely remember when he woke up, with more people who must have been close to her, but not to him, who shared her day to day life, who celebrated together with her, who were happy. Azriel didn't wake up much better in the mornings than when he spent the whole night without sleep.

Now he not only had to deal with the heaviness of lack of sleep, but with the questions. He could never think they were random dreams because he heard the same laughter every time, the same voice, the same place. He felt the same tranquility before waking up.

Azriel believed Madja would be his source of answers then.

“Your mate is looking for you,” the old woman answered him, one sunny day in Velaris when he chased her through her tent hoping she would answer his one question. That stopped him abruptly on his feet, his body from the abdomen upward leaning forward a bit from the suddenness of the movement.

“Mate?”

Madja barely hissed in response, a sound of affirmation that would haunt Azriel for several days afterward.

“How is that possible?”

“What?”

Madja was turning her back to him, her small body hunched over as she inspected the medicinal plants she kept for sale. Azriel watched them along with her, his mind moving through the threads of thoughts, between every memory of his dreams and every memory…of her.

“How can she do that?”

Azriel heard Madja sigh and the sound of metal followed as she dropped the gray watering can she had kept for years into place. Azriel could still remember the first time it had been seen, shiny and pompous in the Velaris sunlight. Madja's brown eyes roamed over his face and Azriel hadn't felt this way since the time when Rhys's mom had looked at him with loving motherly eyes.

“Don't ask me how the bond works, Shadowsinger. The Cauldron knows how it does things.”

Azriel could sleep less after that. Madja had left him with more questions than answers. And, on that note, Azriel began to fly over Velaris more often. For some reason, he felt she was close. The bond hadn't snapped into place yet, but he knew that the time was near when that would happen. He didn't even know if it had snapped for her yet, all he knew was that he had a mate over there, too far away from him, and too scared for him to stand idly by.

Eventually, Azriel had to talk to Rhysand. Rhys, his high lord, his best friend, his brother. Probably the only person in the Inner Circle who could fully understand how he felt at those moments. Because Azriel felt he was going to lose his mind if he didn't find his mate and end whatever suffering she was going through. The uncertainty was eating him alive and the hours of hopelessness and fear that were going on inside him, around that emptiness in his chest, did not ease things at all. If he felt this way from the comfort of his home, he didn't want to imagine what she was going through.

Rhysand agreed to allow him more outings to enlarge the perimeter of his search, but the passing days proved his effort fruitless.

“Everything okay, brother?”

Cassian had met his mate. Nesta, Feyre's sister. Azriel was very happy for him, very happy that his brothers had found their life mates and that he could realize the good they brought into their lives. But there was a huge shadow that haunted him, beyond the darkness he carried with him, and it had much to do with the guilt of not being able to find and deliver his mate from suffering. He no longer knew how much time had passed. His shadows stirred restlessly every day, with every memory, with every gale.

Azriel sighed when he felt Cassian's hand on his left shoulder, as they both stood watching Velaris from the top of a mountain.

“I don't know what to do anymore, Cassian,” Azriel let out, his shoulders slumping under the pressure and stress.

He usually didn't talk about the subject of his mate with his brothers, not as often as someone would think to be so close. It was something Azriel held close to his heart and wanted to resolve on his own, but so many failures were beginning to weigh him down.

Cassian patted his shoulder and then gave it a squeeze, trying to silently comfort him, though he knew that would do little to soothe the clamor in his soul. Because, though the bond hadn't snapped for Azriel, he could well believe that he had had it tugging at his chest in an unfamiliar direction for months now. Even if he didn't feel the bond, the mere acknowledgement of its existence was agony, especially when it didn't help him find his mate.

Cassian sighed beside him, letting a few seconds pass in silence before speaking again, his gaze fixed on Velaris' expanse and his heart shrinking at the visible suffering on his brother's face.

“Rhysand is traveling to the camp, will you accompany us?”

Azriel lately had little desire for anything other than touring Velaris and the surrounding area of the Court of Nightmares looking for his mate, but this time he decided to accept. For some reason, Azriel decided to accompany them.

The Night had been feuding with the Summer for a couple of years. Tarquin and Rhysand… were not on the best of terms. The last time Feyre had traveled to the Summer, pregnant with Nyx, Tarquin and his army had held her captive because of a misunderstanding in the information they had obtained from the Spring Court and the Mortal Lands. Rhysand almost destroyed the entire Summer Court with his bare hands if not for Cassian and Azriel, who were able to broker a deal between the two as mediators. It was a very tense time at the beginning.

Mind you, Rhysand did not leave without letting Tarquin know that it would be years before they would return to the same trade, diplomatic and friendly relations as before, if they could ever speak of forgiveness. Azriel remembered how the only person from the Night Court who could cross Tarquin's lands, for a time, was Mor. They were all warned and the meetings of the high lords were suspended, at least with respect to attendance.

For that reason, Rhysand became extremely wary of anyone connected with the Summer Court and for him, being the high lord, it was not too much work to know who wandered near his lands. They had already captured a handful of Summer Court spies in recent years and held them captive in camp with the Ilyrian soldiers.

Of course, the Night Court was much more careful with their spying, having Shadowsinger himself on their side. Azriel had visited the Summer Court a couple of times by stealth, handing Rhysand reports and any strategic breakthroughs he could decipher.

There was one, however, that they could not foresee. Someone Azriel never knew was coming out of the Summer Court. It had been a couple of years since then and it seemed the Ilyrians had been unable to break the spy's stone will.

“Are you going all the way to the mountain?” Rhysand had stopped in front of Azriel as soon as his feet touched the grassy ground, a few feet from the entrance to the camp. His eyes flicked briefly to the bustle behind his high lord, his shoulders tensing unconsciously as he took slow steps towards Rhysand with his hands in the pockets of his tunic and his wings tucked neatly behind his back. Cassian landed behind him, kicking up a layer of wet grass and mud that soiled his boots.

“Argh.”

“I think I'll be at a distance this time.”

Rhysand nodded, with no intention of convincing Azriel to accompany him to give the imprisoned spies of the Summer a death scare.

“I hope the screams are worth this mudslinging,” Cassian spoke up, moving closer to his two friends, forming a small circle. Rhysand barely gave him a glance before turning on his heels and beginning to make his way to the entrance of the camp, where some of the soldiers were clustered to see the high lord. “You're going to be in the bay?”

“Yes,” Azriel walked alongside Cassian, scowling at the entrance through which Rhysand had just crossed, the Ilyrian soldiers freezing in front of their high lord. “I'll watch from afar. Right now I don't have the stomach for anything.”

“I understand, brother,” Cassian squeezed his shoulder again amicably, sending him a tight-lipped look. Cassian was quite good with words, despite many labeling him as insensitive for being Ilyrian, but he knew Azriel well enough to know when he wanted to talk about something and when he preferred not to. “See you then.”

Cassian followed in Rhysand's footsteps, approaching in long strides, while Azriel paused watching his companions disappear into the distance.

Sighing, the knot in his chest tightened. It was so strange to have a void that could feel so many things. Azriel often wondered how it was possible that he still didn't feel the bond, when his emotions had expanded out of his head and there was no longer a feeling he didn't sense inside his bones.

Flapping his wings to take flight, Azriel set off towards the bay, close to the cliff where Rhysand planned to take the Summer Court spies. He was a few yards away, close enough to make out figures, but not too far away that he couldn't hear the screams.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, damp despite the early rising sun, his shadows began to stir around him, restless. They must've sensed his nervousness, the anxiety that ran through his chest like electric currents to his fingertips, causing him to spasm and break out in a cold sweat. Azriel could barely see them moving around him, separating from his body and stirring on the ground just a few centimeters before turning back.

At the top of the cliff he could already make out the figures of Rhysand and Cassian, walking menacingly towards the inmates, leaving them no choice but to keep walking backwards until they fell into the void, where Cassian would then land them, one by one. Azriel could hear them if he wanted to, but his mind and his shadows kept him a bit distracted.

He barely made out the first screams and the sound of Cassian's wings when his shadows began to whisper, much more restless.

Close.

Close.

Help.

Fear.

Help.

Azriel raised his head and his eyes stopped just short of Rhysand's figure in front of about three spies. At that moment, Azriel's shadows took off, moving at great speed across the grass and stones, with the Shadowsinger unable to do anything to stop them, though he tried. His confused gaze swept over the small figures on the cliff, with such speed that his head was beginning to ache, but he couldn't recognize anything.

He was about to fly in the direction his shadows had gone, when a strange, overwhelming sensation, somewhere between irrational fear and deep sadness, sent his back to the ground moving across his chest, as one of the figures slipped and fell into the void. Azriel felt all the air stolen from his lungs, opening his mouth to try to catch his breath, as those sensations coursed through his entire body and settled in his chest, taking strong root as if they belonged there. They were so overwhelming that they caused him physical pain. The ache he must've been feeling for months.

The bond.

The few remaining shadows beside him whispered endlessly.

Help.

Help.

Help.

Azriel raised his head, breathing hard. He felt his chest split open, as if with great force they were breaking his sternum to pull out his heart. It was such an overwhelming and painful sensation that, but for his strong will, he would surely have lost consciousness.

Help.

Help.

Mate.

Mate.

Azriel thought afterwards that he had never moved so fast or with such force as that moment, when he realized what was happening. The adrenaline that coursed through his body, even feeling electric currents run through him from head to toe from the precise moment he felt the bond, didn't allow him to think too much about how the air hurt his eyes because he already knew exactly where he had to go. He had spent so much time flying without direction, walking the wrong paths and searching in empty places. At that moment, when he had a reason and a direction, Azriel couldn't think of anything else. He didn't want to.

He could only look at the figure falling off the cliff from the moment he raised his head. He could only head blindly towards it. The overwhelming fear that threw him backwards was the fear she felt as under her feet she felt the void, her hands moving forward trying to hold on to something that would allow her to live.

Azriel felt like he was about to die with her.

He met Cassian halfway from afar, who seemed to be about to fly in her direction to catch her when he ran into his friend, but Azriel moved too quickly and with anticipation without losing sight of his mate. The chill that ran through his body could've paralyzed him with fear, but how could he stand by and do nothing when his mate was falling to her undisputed death.

He thought he heard Rhysand's scream. Surely it was so, but in his mind there hovered only the thought that he must reach her, he must get there in time. Her hands were outstretched and Azriel stretched out his hands, hoping that would help him move faster.

Mind blank, Azriel felt like he had just pulled his head out of the water, his chest opening in an unfamiliar thrill as his body felt the warmth of his mate's body crashing against him and his arms wrapped around her in a promise to never let go again. His wings wrapped around her immediately after his arms, impacting a few seconds later against the muddy ground.

He was too close to not catch her. The thought left him breathless.

For a moment, he only heard his and her labored breathing, with the whistling of the wind through the trees and the movement of the water of a stream a few feet away. For a moment, Azriel went completely blank. Whether he was there or dreaming, he didn't know.

His hands clamped tightly around her arms, encircling her entire back, feeling the reality of what had happened sink in on him bit by bit. Fear gripped him once more then, considering that there was a chance he hadn't been there to stop that. To prevent it.

He didn't want to move. Still adrenaline coursed through his body and he was so alert that he could clearly hear the voices of his friends in the distance. Seconds later, when he heard their wings, he finally moved.

Azriel met your eyes and with that look alone he knew you had felt the bond as well.

“I'm sorry,” was all Azriel could think of, his eyes crystallizing, voice breaking. “I'm so sorry.”

You were transfixed. Azriel felt you looking at him with fear and that motivated him to move away from your body, but you gripped his arms tightly to hold him in place.

Azriel felt a great heaviness in his chest as he examined your face and what he saw did not please him at all. Guilt swelled on his shoulders, a great weight that ascended with each passing second and he could hardly imagine all that you had had to go through in that camp. You were right under his nose and he couldn't find you. What kind of a partner was he to let all that happen?

When he heard the footsteps of his friends, his shoulders tensed. But it didn't go unnoticed the way you also became aware of their presence and let go of his arms, rushing to hug yourself as you moved to sit behind Azriel. scared. Still breathing rapidly, Azriel sent a warning look. Cassian and Rhysand stopped a short distance away, noticing the obvious hostility emanating from their friend's body, but Rhysand just stopped for a second.

“Azriel, what the fuck?”

Rhysand was so angry that he seemed to have a little red tinge over his face. Good, he was angry, maybe then Azriel wouldn't feel so bad about breaking his face.

“Rhys,” Cassian frowned, quickly picking up on the tense and hostile atmosphere around him. He grabbed the arm of his high lord, who jerked angrily and turned his gaze back to the Shadowsinger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you aware of what you just fucking did?”

“Rhysand,” Cassian stopped his high lord, raising his voice and holding his arm tightly this time.

Rhysand turned to look at him with a frown and it seemed that, through his mind, Cassian spoke to him. The next time Rhysand looked back at him, his expression was unclenching, but Azriel stood stone-faced in front of you, his hands clasped at his sides and ready to face anything.

“No way,” was all Rhysand muttered, moving to run his hands through his hair.

Azriel felt one of your hands on his back, his senses splitting in half to try and attend to you as he kept an eye on his brothers on the other side. He moved his head to look at you, your frightened expression trying to hide you from Cassian's curious eyes.

“Is this real?”

Azriel felt his heart crumple. Tears welled behind his eyes and burning hurted the back of his throat. He wanted to say so many things, apologize for a million other things, but in that moment he only responded, moving to squeeze your hand:

“It's real.”

[laurorne]

༊*·˚ HE MADE A SLAVE OF ME | daemon targaryen x targtower!reader, minor aegon ii targaryen x twin wife!reader

summary: confined to the sullen walls of the red keep, there isn’t far you’re afforded to wander. entertained only by the people you silently watch, you find excitement in the visit of your older sister and uncle. though the latter is far more appealing to spend the night with, and more willing.

warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest (uncle x niece), porn with minimal plot, p in v, rough sex, slapping, degradation, masochism, blood play?, praise kink, breath play/choking, breeding kink, a lil’ stomach bulge, cheating on both halves, swearing, inaccurate high valyian (i tried?), weird pure bloodline shit, fiending for that valyrian d, hightowerphobic daemon, bastardphobic reader

word count: 3.5k

a/n: daemon is so ugly but he’s so hot it’s so bad. okay, i can’t see daemon as a rough lover except maybe with a cunty targtower so this was the only way i could bring myself to write this 😭 (this was my inspo for this entire fic, bless tiktok editors 🙏🏼🙏🏼)

As a daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, you'd found that most people bent to your will regarding requests. The lords would bend over twice fold if it meant a chance at earning your hand, and the girls at court dared not step a foot before you in the case you'd remove them from your entourage of highborn ladies.

With eyes so doe-like and lips like honey, one would mistake you for just that, a doe, not the dragon draped beneath green silk that shifted like flames in a hearth.

That's how you'd created yourself. How you'd curated each step and each titter of laughter, every slow blink at every lord and all those tight lipped smiles at ladies of court who came too close to your family.

People at court had said that you were the best half of your twin brother, that he had taken all the bad traits so you could shine as the darling of the realm. Poor, sweet Aegon. Ever the scapegoat and always the perpetrator.

So as you sit across from your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, you find yourself rather... without.

He sits beside your half-sister. A beautiful glow on her skin as she laughs along with something your father had said. She's stunning, Valyrian in every sense of the word. With her pale hair and aquiline nose, you can see why she was adored.

Other than the Realm's utter Delight, dinner is less than… familial.

Everyone can clearly see the divide between both sides of House Targaryen. The Hightowers sat to the right of the King, the mix of Targaryen and brown-haired Velaryon to his left. You find no warmth in this arrangement, other than false pretenses of civility and feigned love for each other, the entire affair is only for show of the poor old King.

Though there is an affair that consumes your thoughts, a tryst that would no doubt end messily. So you opt to speak with your family, with a spare glance thrown his way just to divulge yourself after all these years of self-control.

-

Daemon understands the weight of your gaze on him. Even from across the table he can feel the way your eyes trace his features, the way you're devouring him without lifting your fork or grinding your teeth or even touching him. Your supposed indifference to the sides that the house of the dragons has taken makes his fingers twitch around his goblet. You're speaking with Baela and Rhaena as if you've sat beside them in court for years, doting on their new dresses and telling them snippets of what they've missed at the Red Keep.

Jacaerys' gaze is flittering over to your figure every couple of seconds, eyes dipping to your dangerously low neckline of your green dress, every time you laugh and your chest heaves he looks away like a wide-eyed virgin. Red at the ears as he scolds Lucerys for holding a fork wrong, Daemon guesses, with the way the older boy points to another utensil.

And your family, gods.

Your twin brother, Aegon, is attempting to drink away his sorrows but you're always quick to scoop the cup out of his grasp and palm it off to a servant. The fool simply allows you, resigning to watch everyone speak as you have him by the balls practically. And to still have him fawning over you, his pretty little twin-wife, is absurdity.

Aemond is glaring daggers at Rhaenyra's boys and Helaena is off in an entire world of her own.

When he looks back to you and finds those lilac-coloured iris' already poised on him, his jaw clenches and he takes another pass at his Dornish wine. The way your hair falls in pure white curls around your face and frames the heavy gorget necklace that adorns your neck, inlaid with moonstone and rubies that look eerily similar to the ones from the Conquerors crown. Spoiled Hightower brat.

Daemon is far from naïve. He's been apart of how many wars?

He's a seasoned veteran to these types of women, to their greedy plans and treacherous thoughts.

Though... that colouring that she has, so clearly a staple of House Targaryen, he's not so convinced that he's entirely immune. He's sure that his nephew is beyond stupid to not have made you a mother sooner. With tits like that and eyes so sweet? He'd have you swollen with babe two moons after your last birth.

He watches the way you lick a droplet of wine from the corner of your mouth, watches the way your eyes flicker from Jacaerys to him, and he can see it then. Something so wanton in your gaze.

Perhaps paying a visit to his dear, sweet niece tonight would not be such a bad thought.

You arch up into the touch —his touch— as shivers run along the length of your spine. His hand smooths over the swell of your breast in response, easing your ache as you squirm for more. It travels over the fat of it until his fingers pinch roughly at your nipple. A stuttering breath punches its way from your throat as he stares down at your face.

“So eager, aren’t we?” He admires the way your lips part, the way your eyes dance back into focus and meet his heated gaze. The way you seek out the eye contact. Want to know he’s watching the show you’re putting on.

Just as you’re forming the vowels on the tip of your tongue, he’s grabbing a fistful of your thigh and pushing his hips impossibly closer to yours. It makes you shudder, makes you want all the more. But there is no give to his press, he’s seated far too deeply inside you to move any further in. He’s pulling his hips back just the smallest fraction before he starts inching back in, heavy and hot and oh-so deep it burns.

Your tongue swipes over your lips, your hand moving to clutch onto the arm that props him up above you. The thickly corded muscle makes holding onto him all the easier, makes your cunt flutter and your chest heave and your eyes water. He’s so large, far different from your husband, this pure-blooded Valyrian —this man— he’s encompassing your body and stuffing you all at the same time, filling, holding and folding you how he wants.

You move to weave your fingers into the loose strands of his hair but the hand that was cradling your thigh is quick to grasp your wrist, tugging the appendage away as he begins dragging his hips back. “Where did all your words go, dōna riña?” (sweet girl)

You swallow thickly, fingers balling up as he oh-so slowly pulls out til’ just the tip rests in you. It’s agonising, having been so full not even moments ago, you feel empty. It’s involuntary, the way your hips lift towards him, cunt greedily taking him as you stifle the way your breath hitches. His thighs tense up as he groans, fingers tightening around your wrist as his hips rock forwards just the tiniest bit.

“Daemon, please.” It’s breathy, spoken from someplace in your chest that you feel with every inch of your body. “I want you.”

Your eyes only just catch the tic in his jaw as he drops your wrist, immediately grabbing a fistful of your tit and pushing back into you. Hips meeting flush as he glares down at you. The grip he’s got on your fit fucking hurts, but you’d be damned if it doesn’t set all your nerves on fire.

“Ilībio,” He all but snarls. (whore)

You don’t even register the next thrust before he’s pulling out again. He leans forward, large hand coming to press down onto your throat. His fingers curl around your neck —encompassing it entirely as he presses down onto you— using you for leverage as he fucks into you.

You moan, mouth falling open as he uses your body and paws at your tit messily. You can feel the flesh spill from between his fingers, feel the sensitive peak rubbing against his rough palm.

It’s driving you insane.

The hand leaves your tit, moving to the next and grabbing on just as roughly. He hits a particularly forceful thrust that has you jolting up the bed, back arching up as you whine. Your legs curl around his hips, thighs bouncing with each stroke, making a distinct slapping as he fucks you into the plush sheets of your bed. You roll your pelvis to the rhythm he sets, it’s practised, timed and purely filth.

“You belong in the,” He pauses as he sneers down at you, watching his cock sink deep into your tight little cunt. “Street of Silk.”

You can only sigh out a breath as his hand clamps down on your throat, your air coming in short bursts only when he pulls out to thrust back in.

“Your husband mustn’t have fucked you well enough.” He thrusts violently on husband, heavy cock bullying its way back into you as your cunt clenches.

His words are driving you closer to the edge, making you feel all the slicker as he fucks you, uses you like he’s your husband. Like you belong to him. Like you’re the sister he married in the ways of Old Valyria —in the ways of your house— in blood and fire.

The thick drag of his dick brings you back from your cock drunk haze, his words ringing in your brain as he watches your lashes flutter.

“Tight like a Lyseni virgin,” He buries himself into you until oxygen evades you entirely, all his weight resting on your throat as he leans in, licking a stripe up your throat and biting at your pulse point. “Wet like a pillow house whore.”

You writhe beneath him, fingers curling into the thickly corded forearm that presses you down into the bed, he teasingly slows to a stop only to rocks forwards. Watching your eyes turn hazy as your hips twitch up onto him. Jerkily grinding onto him as you struggle to take a breath.

“Struggling to breathe and you still want me to fill you, tala.” He smiles down at you, lifting a hand from your throat to caress the bone of your cheek. “So desperate for it.”

Oh, how badly you want to spit an insult at him. How badly you want to punch him and pull on his hair and suck marks into the muscled line of his shoulder.

He lifts the heel of his palm slightly, just when the edge of your vision was beginning to cloud. A quick respite of air before he’s pressing a bruising kiss to your pouty lips. Teeth digging into your bottom lip as he fully cups the side of your face. Tongue pressing into your mouth intrusively as he overwhelms you. Full of cock, his tongue, and being pinned to the bed by the entire weight of him.

The red hot coil in your stomach is cooling quickly, fading away into nothing as he devours you in the most deliciously possessive kiss you’ve ever had. His thumb presses roughly into the bone of your cheek as he thrusts gently into you. There’s a bloom of pain in your lip as he begins pulling away, teeth biting your bottom lip as he lifts himself back up. Blood smears your pearly white teeth, and you can taste it on your tongue.

Your chest heaves as you grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his face back down so you can kiss him roughly. You practically consume him with this kiss, wanting and needy as you fight to gain control. He pants out a chuckle, thumb pulling on your chin as he licks over the cut and your teeth. Your fingers tangle in his white strands and you give a sharp tug, the rasp that escapes him sends a needy throb through your cunt. But you take his unfocus as a chance to lick into his mouth, cunt throbbing as his lower half folds you over, sinking into you so deeply it makes your hips twitch and writhe in pain.

You fight against the pain, neck aching as you crane up against his weight, biting his lip harshly until you feel the break of his skin between your teeth. Blood mixing in your mouths as he pants into your mouth, thumb hooking into the corner of your mouth as he looks down at you with something akin to satisfaction.

“Smile, tala.” (niece)

You breath in shallowly, greedily taking in air that you neglected yourself of.

“Uh-uh,” He squeezes your cheeks together, until your lips pout and he presses down onto your jaw hard. “Smile.”

And you do, lips pulling up as best they can with his fingers holding your jaws apart. He lets his fingers loosen so he can watch your teeth peak out from beneath your abused and bloody lips. You can guess that you both look the same, blood staining your teeth a burning carmine. The colour of House Targaryen.

“Good girl.” His voice is condescending as he pats your cheek roughly, pushing himself back up, and sitting back on his knees as he stares down at you through wispy strands of platinum hair. Dick sitting heavy inside you, fill to the point of it being a bit hard to breathe. Your sheets reeks of sweat and sex, and the iron tang of blood sits in the air and on your tongues.

His hands smooth over your thighs, thumb running along a pink scar nestled closely to your knee.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tits on full display while you look up at him through those pretty lashes, admiring the scars that mar the pale skin of his torso and the blood the runs a rivulet down his chin. “What are yo-“

He unwraps your legs from his waist, grabbing at the back of your thighs and pushing them towards you. You whine at the sudden movement, the blunt tip of him nudging against what the deepest parts of you. Pressing you in half with ease until he can hold your legs against his chest with one arm. The other coming to rest against the soft spot of your stomach as he hovers over you.

“Fucking an heir into you,” He presses a quick kiss to your calf before he’s snapping his hip forward and pressing down on your stomach. And that’s when you feel him. You let out a breathy moan as he fucks you, with your back arched toward him as you let him take you.

Like a virgin during her bedding ceremony.

His fingers leave pale prints in your skin as he grips onto the meat of your thighs so tightly. His thighs slapping against the backs of your legs while he fucks his length into you. With his arm wound tightly around your knees, there’s no way you can move or adjust or even move with him, you’re practically in his lap as he uses your hipbone for leverage.

Choked-out pants and whiny breaths are the only noise you can make as the hand that was holding your legs together drifts to your soaked pussy. Thumb slipping through until he bumps into your clit —he can tell by the way your tits heave and your cunt clenches impossibly tighter— and he can’t help but snicker as he presses down onto the poor thing. Hands used for more than just sword fighting, skilled in pleasing wives long gone that were no doubtingly three times older than you, are so deliciously textured.

“Hightower votrītsos nȳmagon wal morghūljagon.” Your maternal house is spat with hatred, he punctuates it with thrusts that grow more violent as he claims you. (hightower cunt calls men to die.)

“Iksā kempa isse nyke, issi ao daor, kepa?” You heave the sentence, attempting to speak without falter as he continues his selfish pleasure seeking manhandling. (you are heavy in me, are you not uncle?)

He grunts, nose scrunching up for a moment as a strand of hair dangles between his eyes. Silver locks messy. His thumb flicks over your clit again —a full-bodies shudder follows— so he can stare intently at your bouncing tits without the chatter.

“Aōha Valyrio Eglie jorrāelagon mirre.” (your High Valyrian needs work)

You admire the way his hair falls to his shoulders, undone from its hairstyle tonight at dinner, the slope of his shoulders to the plains of his front. A battlefield of cut muscle and scars that create ridges and valleys. Your eyes dart up as his nails cut into the skin of your calf, his lip curls up as his eyes finally drift from the harsh jerk of your pliable body beneath him, to your lilac eyes.

His eyes are dark, ringed by what little purple you can see in the darkness of your lonely chambers. The way he looks down at you, the look of curiosity, of lust, of hatred, it burns in your throat and makes your thighs quiver as he just stares.

You could nearly compare it to the way Aegon admires his cups, the way he drinks in every hitch of your breath, the way he huffs your scent, the stutter in his hips at every flutter of your cunt around him.

(Akin to Aegon’s lust for Dornish import wine, he drinks you in and savours the way your body begs for the extra inch.)

Your fingers tangle up in the silken sheets of your bed as you stutter, stomach quivering as he keeps his hips in motion, brining you oh-so close to your peak. Though it’s barely enough, used to the drunken fumble of your twin, you need a rougher edge, a little more pain. He’d just need a push.

“Iksā iā buzdari naejot kasta orvorta. Hae se dārys.” (you are a slave to green cunt. like the king)

He hums, brows pinching together as his thrusts grow sloppy and unpractised, like the green boy your husband had been on your wedding day.

“Kostilus ziry ūndan mirros hae bisa,” He circles your clit roughly, pad of his thumb rubbing deliciously against your slick cunt. “gōvilagon aōha muña grēza.” (perhaps he saw something like this, beneath your mothers dress.)

You let out a strangled moan, hips rocking up to meet his every thrust. The coil in your stomach is tightening and heating and making your thighs twitch and tense, and he doesn’t seem to take the movement kindly. The rhythm stutters when he forces one of your legs to his side as he surges forward to capture your mouth in a crushing kiss. Your other leg is caught over his shoulder as he moves in and it stretches muscles you hadn’t know existed in your legs as he bullies his way deeper and deeper, like he owns you, like your his to ruin.

“I would have loved taking your maidenhead.” He breaths the word into your mouth as the cuts on your lips open anew, smearing blood across your mouths, cheeks and noses. The kiss he pulls you into next is careless and messy, all knocking teeth and hot breathes.

“I- I’m,” He cuts you off by wrapping his hand back around your throat, pinning you down as his nose buries itself in the hair on the side of your head.

A blinding heat curls in your stomach and your cunt flutters around the abusive cock he fucks you with. The one leg that wasn’t pinned between you both is quick to pull his hips flush to you as you moan wantonly, though it’s smothered by his hand. Chest heaving and pale baby hairs sticking to your forehead as your lashes flutter closed. Taking the last few cants of Daemon’s hips as he finishes inside you, spilling deep inside you with heavy panting accompanied by a groan.

Everything is all warm, floating in your soft bed as the heavy man above you lets his weight onto you fully. Cock keeping you stuffed with his seed.

The hand on your throat drifts to your hair —you gulp down air as you feel an ache begin to form— deft fingers stroking at the loose strands behind your ear as he breathes in the perfume oil of the Dragons Breath flowers you'd chosen for tonight.

“I may take you to wife, with a cunt like that.” He murmurs, fingers tightening around those stray strands of hair as he lifts his face to meet yours. Pupils blown wide as he rolls his hips to nestle nicely between yours. That leg wedged between you both falling loose, and landing on the bed softly.

Oh?

That sentence shouldn't have made you so giddy, nor should it make a delighted grin pull across your bruised lips.

A plan well curated is always fruitful.

TAGS: @avalyaaa

[surielstea]

Give ‘em a show

Based on this request.

Pairing: High Lord!Eris x High Lady!Reader

Summary: The autumn court celebrates the equinox with a great rite of their own, what happens when the High Lord finds out Reader left the Forest House in search for him?

Warnings: Smut | minors dni | p in v | reader and Eris are both aroused by a higher power (?) | breeding kink | riding | public sex (on throne) | dirty talk | praise | cream pie | multi-orgasm

A/N: Sorry this took me forever, but I’m really happy with how it turned out so I hope you guys enjoy! 🧡🧡

6.2k words

It was the most festive day of the year in autumn, the equinox. When both night and day are perfectly divided and everything feels at peace. We called it Mabon. The peak of nature's abundance.

The holiday usually entailed freshly harvested crops and feasts to satisfy an entire continent. People gathered to the crop fields and pray, whether it be for good fortune or the wealth of the earth it didn't matter. They honored the soil beneath their feet as much as any other living thing. Similar to Calanmai in the spring there are bonfires in every direction, dancing surrounding the pits.

This was also the day high Fae reinforced the wards around their homes, seeing it as a new beginning.

Some prefer to stay at home and pray to the gods of fire, knelt by the flames that warmed them, having a simple meal of bread and grain. I, however, did not. During the day I'd plant fresh herbs and seeds, placing them in the richest of soils then saying a soft prayer until they began to grow. My harvesting powers have always been my favorite, being able to merely look at a seed and turn it into a blooming flower in the blink of an eye would forever be my favorite party trick.

During the night of Mabon however, I indulged myself in the finest of whiskeys and got drunk as all hel, claiming it was a tradition and a night of commemoration.

"All done?" Eris asked as I came back into the Forest House, my knees covered in dirt from kneeling in the gardens.

"All done." I gave him a small smile and he mirrored it while taking my wide-brimmed sun hat from my head.

"As cute as you look, you need to go change." He hands me the hat and I blink up at him confused. "Or have you forgotten your duties as High Lady?" He arched a manicured brow and I rolled my eyes.

My traditions would be different this year. It was Eris' first year as High Lord, meaning he'd have to put on a show to make sure everyone knew just how powerful he was. Whatever that meant. This also means my job was no longer getting drunk off my face but rather waiting alone in our bedroom where we'd consummate in order to release the power of the High Lord and grace the land with it, allowing harvests and crops to grow until the next Mabon.

"High Lady or not, I'd like to spend my night in a pub with my friends, not some stuffy room with your advisors." I scowl and a smirk tugs at his lips as I drape my hands around his neck.

"A lady of her people." He hums and my grin widens.

"Does that mean you'll let me have my holiday?" I bat my lashes at him.

"I can't," He sighs.

"Eris," I whine. "You're high lord now, fuck me in front of the rest of them for all I care just let me enjoy myself." I plead and he gives me a sorrowful gaze.

"It'll only be a few hours, you'll survive." He placed his hands on my waist and I narrowed my eyes at him.

"But what if you find some other girl on your way to me? I don't like the idea of you roaming this court half naked for just anyone to see, Eris," I dramatically fall into his chest, he tightens his hold on me as if I'm actually going to fall.

"Trust me, all I'll want is you," He guides me back upright so I can stand on my own. "Now go get dressed." His hold on me loosens and I give him the nastiest scowl I can muster.

"Fine, but only because I love you." I excuse as I place the floppy hat atop his head, I think the pink bow brought out his eyes.

"Love you too," He smiles sloppily as I leave his hold, the sun hat remaining on his head as I move away from him, his hand coming down to pat me on the ass, as if encouraging a faster rate, making me toss a glare back at him.

In between now and the beginning of Mabon's night festivities I passed the late afternoon stuck in a meeting room, which was as boring as I thought it was going to be. I spent the entire time drawing the high lord in front of me, making sure to match the glint in his golden eyes to his crown, pure regality as he sat in front of Advisors that used to be in his father's corner.

It's been past an hour, the sun reaching the horizon had told me so, I could already smell the scent of smoke from the bonfires and I knew my time was being wasted. "My lady, are you listening?" I snap to attention, clutching my sketchbook from beneath the table and looking at the male who had snapped his fingers at me, earning a low grumble from Eris as a warning.

"Yes," I answer on instinct.

"Really?" Eris leans forward, muscular forearms resting against the wooden table.

"Mhm." I nod with slightly tinged cheeks, I could never lie to Eris, something about the mating bond, or rather just him, in general, had me somehow giving myself away.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you Fawn?" He narrows his gaze on me and it takes everything in my power to not give in, tell him that every word since greetings has gone in one ear and out the other. All this information was useless anyway, old rules that Beron followed. Not Eris. I don't understand why my mate entertained these old males.

"You know what?" A bright grin spreads over my features as I stand, my chair pushing back against the floor as everyone looks up at me.

"All of you may take an early holiday, enjoy the night, and spend time with your families." I dismiss and they blink up at me.

"Really?" One of them babbles.

"Yeah, really?" The high lord glared at me and my grin widened.

"Really." I nod.

"With all due respect, you're not one to be giving orders around here." The eldest of them scoffed and my smile faltered, I had never expected to hear that in my own court.

"She's your high lady and you will do as she says. Now go before I change my mind." He shoos the male away. Eris may not have liked me cutting the meeting short but he wasn't going to tolerate any discourtesy against me, it may have been wrong to use it to my advantage but all I wanted to do at the moment was curl up by the fire with a freshly poured glass of wine. Second best to getting hammered at the pubs like I would've been doing this time last year.

"You heard him, go." I make hands that send them away and they all scramble off, shuffling out the door with a haste I haven't seen in a while. I smile softly as the last male disappears.

"You are a cruel female." Eris leans back into his seat at the head of the table. I grab my sketchbook and walk down the long stretch of the meeting hall until I'm right beside him.

"Cruel? Or smart?" I tilt my head as I hoist myself up onto the table in front of him.

"Show me what you were drawing that entire time." He places a ringed finger on the top of my pencil and I flip to the page of his half-shaded figure, flipping around to show the male his unfinished portrait. A satisfied grin spreads over his lips as he sees that he is the subject, but he shouldn't be surprised because he is always the subject.

"Is this whole book me?" He flicks through the pages and I pull back before he can see all the drawings of him I sketched from memory on a particularly desperate night when he was gone on a mission.

"Don't be so full of yourself, I wasn't going to draw any of those old males." I roll my eyes and he chuckles. "Plus I was listening, I could draw you with my eyes closed," I confess and he raises a brow, his lopsided smirk making me feel warm inside. "Now can you please just get this celebration over with then come back to me?" I place the sketchbook beside me and look back at him.

"And what will you do while I'm gone?" He places his hands on my hips, a soft look in his eyes.

"Lots of drinking." I shrug, taking hold of his crown and making it crooked atop his head.

"You're quite the drunk." He grumbles and I chuckle.

"I'm a tavern keeper's daughter, what more do you expect?" I grin innocently and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"Alright, come with me," He slips his hand into mine and guides me out of the meeting room.

I intertwine our fingers, occasionally bumping into him, the comparison of his steady figure, walking with only solid steps and articulated movements contrasted to my bounding, my arm brushing his with every step. It was a silent kind of intimacy, our dynamic.

"This my cell for the night?" I ask as we stop in front of our bedroom, a grand suite that seems more like an apartment.

"Don't act like I'm locking you up," He sighs, crossing his arms.

"You're right, I could easily sneak out," I taunt and he narrows his eyes on me.

"I'm not going to put guards outside these doors, however, if I learn that you've left I will find you," He says, his tone shifting from playful to menacing all in one sentence. "And depending on where you are, I might just fuck you in front of all of them," His words sink to my core, it wasn't much of a warning if it was my idea to begin with.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," I smirk up at him, mirroring his.

"I'll be back for you, soon," He promises, free hand coming to my jaw, the other still preoccupied with mine. His thumb rubbed over my jaw, pressing with a pressure that told me he didn't want to see this room empty when he returned.

"I'll be waiting," I sigh, leaning into his hand. He frowns.

"I'm sorry Fawn, but I doubt I'll be able to control myself with you so near," He shifts back to his usual self, the compassionate one.

"I understand, it's okay," I mumble, even if this was the last place I wanted to be during the holidays. He leans down and presses a yearning kiss onto my lips, the kind full of promise of what was to come later tonight.

He pulls away with a reluctance I immediately recognized. Whatever power that was going to consume him tonight was already forming, I could feel it through the bond like someone on his side of the tether was sparking embers.

"Don't leave this room." He warned one last time and all I could do was nod and then watch him leave.

I had never wanted to leave a room more in my entire life.

Eris forgot to put his shields up on his side of the bond and it was driving me fucking mad. I could feel the power of him, flowing through the very floorboards beneath my feet. His arousal was immense, or perhaps it was mine— I wasn't sure. Maybe being High Lady had its own effects, maybe it made the mated female just as willing to consummate with the High Lord. The intense heat running up and down my spine reminded me of when Eris and I had accepted the mating bond, The Frenzy that took over both of us full throttle, I had managed that because he had been so near at the time, it had only lasted a few moments before he was touching where I needed him most but this, with him so far, gods this was unbearable.

I looked out the window like an animal eagerly waiting for their owner to return, but I couldn't see anything beyond the maple trees, only the smoke of the bonfires and all that promised with it.

I leaned my forehead against the cold window, it relieved me for only a split second before the heat of my body returned.

It started less than an hour ago, bloomed right at my core, and has only grown since. It would reach my head soon and I don't know what I'd do at that point. I had already put the fire in the hearth out but it felt as if I was the furnace and embers were still popping against my bare skin that mistook me for kindling.

I had practically stripped to my socks, but even my undergarments had been too much to bear. I wore a silk slip with a lace trim that was lighter than a feather and softer than anything I had ever felt before but on my burning skin, it felt like a winter coat.

If the window was cold then outside must've been colder, autumn air sweeping over the continent and beckoning at my very window, who was I to keep it out?

I pushed the window open with a grunt in agony, the sweet feeling of the light breeze kissing against my skin practically made me crumble in relief.

I latch the window all the way open and lean my head out the sill, the sound of music and cheering in the distance suddenly became so prominent but it was hard to hear anything over the blood rushing to my ears, dizziness consuming me as I grip the ledge of the window, something buried deep inside of me yearned for him in the direction of the music, and now that my head was out the window my body seemed to think I was teasing it, what it wanted so much closer now that the line to the outside world was crossed, the feeling so intense I thought I might start coughing up blood.

I grunt, attempting to talk myself through the pain, telling myself repeatedly that I've endured worse, that I was stronger this, that Eris would be back any moment now and— and oh gods, Eris. It was a mistake to let him cross my mind because all of a sudden he consumed every thought I could conjure, my mind in his hands and he was gripping it, not willing to let go.

I decided I didn't give a fuck if Eris was mad if I left the house, the pain I was enduring was horrific and the only way to relieve it was to disobey exactly what he ordered me to do. Don't leave this room. I slipped out the window with gasps of pain, landing on the soft grass. I was just grateful to be located on the first floor, close enough to the ground to jump from without shattering the bones in my legs.

Hounds rush up towards me before I can even take my first step.

They looked as if they were about to bark, to alert their owner that I had left the house but they saw my desperation, hel, they probably smelt it.

Rivin, the eldest of the shadow hounds rushed up to me first, staring up at me with a cock of his head, clearly concerned for my well-being. "Can you take me to Eris?" I murmur, praying the dog can understand me, I bring my hand to his snout and he chuffs, licks the palm of my hand then takes off running towards the sounds of the music.

I tried to stay as close as I could to the dog, he had taken the route through trees and behind stands, which I was grateful for since it kept me out of sight, however, it made it a lot easier to lose him amongst the trees. But he always came trotting back after a minute without him in my sights.

Eventually, the dog stopped in his tracks, his front paws prancing at the floor and communicating that he had finished his job. I creased my brows and looked around my surroundings but before I could talk to the dog again he ran off with the rest of his pack, back towards the house.

I had only just realized that whatever heat that was suffocating me in the Forest House had dissipated, still lingering below the surface but no longer unbearable.

I huffed, unsure what to do in the middle of the forest with a feeding wretchedness in the pit of my stomach.

I decided on heading towards where the largest plume of smoke was coming from, I had seen the set up of Mabon hundreds of times and knew this was the way to the throne, knew Eris must be sat upon it.

I hadn't explored Mabon much during previous years, I was always a barmaid for my father's pub, it had gotten crazy business during the week of Mabon so he needed any help he could get, funnily enough, that's how I met Eris.

I shake my head at the memory, thinking about Eris was almost painful, it felt like something was being carved out of me every moment I was without him.

I seethed a string of curses as I continued my trudge through the trees, staying in the shadows and avoiding the eyes of any drunk wanderers. I doubted they'd recognize me as their high lady anyway, Eris was the only one who ever saw me outside of my gowns and robes, this lacy slip was practically lingerie compared to the heavy dresses I often wore.

Lucky for me it had blended in with the other girls perfectly, in fact, I had seemed more covered up than most. Once I had made it out into the open area I spotted Eris immediately. On the throne, as expected, his legs spread wide and I wanted nothing more than to put myself between them.

He was shirtless, forest green paint smeared onto his body in tribal patterns of lines and dots, but he was glistening in sweat, drops running down the side of his face, through the grove of his abdomen. I didn’t want to think about who had the honor of putting that paint into those very groves, I only wanted to think about being the one to wash it off.

Heat pooled in my stomach as his eyes found mine from across the way, my body went rigid as he trekked his gaze down it, then so slowly back up, taking in every bare inch as well as every clothed part of me, like he was wondering just how perfect I looked underneath.

My knees shook as he lifted his hand and with two fingers waved me over. Waves of heat wash over me at every step I take closer, the power that radiated off of him left me defenseless, and the pain I had experienced earlier subsided entirely in favor of morphing into arousal.

Once I reach the dais I curtsy with a playful smile. "I thought I asked you to stay inside?" He purred, his voice rougher than usual, making my legs tremble.

"I missed you," I shrug, attempting to keep my composure but he opened his side of the bond entirely as soon as I was done speaking and my knees buckled. So, much, power.

It surged at my fingertips, blazed down my spine, and coiled in my abdomen. I couldn't imagine how Eris felt if I was only receiving an influence of it.

"C'mere," He lifts his hips, readjusting them in his ornate throne and I almost choke on my own tongue. He was going to push me over that dangerous edge and he didn't even need to say anything to do it.

I take the steps up the dais and I realize the silence in the crowd save for the music, people were watching, and couldn't keep their eyes off of the two of us. The offering between High Lord and Lady, the melding bond between us so clear on a night like this that any outsider could see that golden tether just as well as he or I could.

"On my lap, Fawn," He glances down to his thigh and I swallow thickly. "Oh, don't tell me you've become shy all of the sudden?" He smirks at the idea. I had told him I was willing to let him fuck me in front of all these people— still was, and yet sitting on his lap was the line to the path that I wasn't sure I could come back from.

My coaxing arousal won the battle and I took my final steps toward him, closing that distance, his hand came to the back of my thigh and I nearly melted at his touch, my body quivering in reaction because gods, if I had felt like a kindling fire earlier then he was a fucking inferno.

His fingers singed with flames but I felt none of the added heat as I took my place on his lap, straddling over his thigh and wrapping my arms around the nape of his neck, pulling him so close I wish I could've melted right into him, slotted myself into each of his grooves and stayed there, impossible to clean, impossible to get rid of.

My lips came to his neck without any forethought, I didn’t have control over my own mind, it was entirely consumed by him, his intoxicating scent of cinnamon, clove, and now an undertone of something different, something just as mouth-watering as the way his hands felt on my bare skin.

I fought the thoughts that told me to rip my dress off and decided to put my hands to better use and rub them down his chest, pressing my palm into his abdomen as I continued kissing his neck. I sucked and licked and nipped without caution, I didn't care if others were watching, he had never been more powerful than he was in this moment, both over others physically and over me mentally.

The domination running through his veins was attractive, so damned powerful and yet he knew how to control it, to conceal it beneath his skin rather than flaunt it, and he shared a fraction of it with me, a simple kernel of it was enough to send me spiraling.

"What are you doing? Dance," Eris spits at his subjects and they immediately do as he says, the music picking up in a crescendo of rushed notes to meet his demand.

I smiled against his shoulder at how much authority he held, my hips involuntarily winding over his thigh and I let out a soft, pleasurable sound. He grunts in return.

"If you keep making those sounds we're not going to make it back to our bedroom," He warns lowly beside my ear and I rut my hips again at the perfect sound.

"I don't know what's wrong— fuck," I'm cut off by my soft moan, his muscled thigh providing just the right amount of friction against my clit. "I don't know what's wrong with me, but I need you to fuck me now," I plead and I sense a sudden change in his demeanor.

"Now?" He hums and I can hear the smirk in his voice. Damned bastard. "In front of all these people?" He intones and I nod helplessly.

"However you want me, wherever, just— gods do it now," I beg, continuing to wind my hips over his thigh.

His foxlike smirk doesn't falter as his hands grip my hips, halting my needy movements only to guide me down onto his thigh himself, my core aching as he does so. I cry out at the feeling, it shouldn't have felt this good, it's never been this intense, even when our mating bond clicked I hadn't been so consumed by his fire that was so dangerously out of control and feeding into my own.

"I need you inside of me," I murmur, coming to the conclusion that this torment will not subside until he finds release inside of me, the mother herself was impelling us to consummate, to breed, and I was more than willing to oblige for her.

"Eris," I grip at his shoulder, paint smearing onto my hands, soiling my nightgown. But I didn't care, any piece of him spreading onto me felt like it was a gift from the gods, and I needed more. "Please, fill me," I beg into the warmth of his neck.

"You want me to come inside you? Want these people to watch while I give you an heir?" He taunts, his words ghosting against the shell of my ear. I reply with a pitiful whimper, unsure what to retort with because he was right. I didn't care who was watching, as long as they knew I was his and he was mine.

"Yes," I pant, my hand coming to the back of his neck. "That's exactly what I want," I plead, the rutting of my hips not slowing for a moment. "Show them I'm yours,"

My words seemed to push him over that fine line and he had obeyed. His rough hands grip my waist, pulling me over his hips so I was no longer straddling his thigh but rather angled just above his cock that was strained in his pants, the confinement so tight it almost seemed painful.

“Yeah?” He hummed and I nodded helplessly. “You want everyone to hear just how pretty your moans are when you’re sitting on my cock?” He asked and I whimpered, feeling powerless under his stare. Whatever heat that had been affecting me tonight had doubled over with his arousing words.

“I can’t be gentle with you right now,” He gritted through clenched teeth, the tip of his nose drawing a line up the side of my throat. “Can’t, control myself right now,” He murmured in warning and I smiled at the idea of having an effect on him as much as he did on me.

“I don’t want control,” I sigh against the side of his neck. “I need you now controlled or not, so please, Eris fuck me,” I begged and with one last kiss to my neck he obliged.

With an expert hand, he tore my underwear right from my hips, pulling the lace off like it was nothing. My heat was now left bare but it didn’t stop me from grinding down onto his bulge. I was staining his pants with my slick, dripping down onto him and he groaned as my wetness seeped through the material.

“Fuck, you’re drenched,” He admired and I nodded with purely innocent eyes, the kind that silently pleaded for him to fill me until he was satiated.

All I felt was hunger, and I could tell by the way flames alighted in his gaze that he felt it too.

Quickly, he removed his leathers and his cock springs up, smacking against my soaked folds, my pussy leaking over his length. The heat between us must’ve been record-breaking, I felt like a candle burning all too fast, making a mess of wax that he was too slow to clean.

The moment I felt his tip prod at my entrance my nails dug into his shoulder. I still didn’t know what it was that was wrong with me, I had never experienced an ache quite like this, the kind that only he could patch over.

“Please,” I cry, my cunt weeping as I crave for him to sink his length into me. “Show them how good you fuck me,” I mewl and perhaps it was the taboo factor of it all, how thrilling it was to have an audience while I rode him, but that had been his breaking point before he gripped the tops of my thighs and pushed me down onto his length.

My breath catches in my throat as I stretch around him, around every inch of him. He was so very large, and on any other night he’d need to fuck me with his fingers first, make sure I was ready for his member without the pain, but tonight we are both so needy that any foreplay was thrown out the window the moment I left our bedroom.

The pain was disguised as pleasure as he helped guide me lower onto him, it hadn’t been unbearable since I was slick with a natural lubricant, my arousal dripping down my thighs and onto his, as I took him deeper and deeper.

I swore he met places he’s never touched before, and fuck was it more than anything I had ever wanted.

This feeling was the god ecstasy prayed to, and I was blessed by it.

“That’s it, just like that, fuck yourself on my cock Fawn,” He encourages and I gasp out my moan, finally reaching his base, pressing against it with mine.

“Your court is watching, give ‘em a show for me,” He purrs, and so I do exactly that.

I begin to lift on his length, my knees buckling at the action but I ignore the pain and favor it for the pleasure as I drop down onto him, wielding gravity as my weapon. He lets out a low grunt and I do it again, continuing the action over and over again, bouncing on his cock just like he asked.

“Fuck, so good for me,” He praised, his eyes blazing with an untamable fire. “Such a good girl,” He sighs, his head craning back, leaning into his golden throne as his hands slip beneath my nightgown.

He didn’t take the dress off, because there were simply just some things he refused to let anyone else see, and though I was getting off on having an audience he wasn’t going to let everyone else get off on it too. He grips my hips tightly from beneath the slip, his callouses scraping against my soft skin, burning it with an unyielding pain, the kind that brings pleasure with it.

His cock seemed just as hot as I continued to fuck myself on it, the vein on the underside pulsing so feverishly I could feel it. The head of him pressed right into that sweet spot and it was a miracle I hadn’t come yet, gods he was going to send me over that edge any second now.

My lips connect with his, and he responds to the familiar feeling on instinct, his tongue slipping beneath my lips and tasting every fraction of me he can get his mouth on.

I moan onto his tongue every time he presses that deep spot inside of me, my noises only adding to the sound of skin slapping and the lewd sound of my pussy taking every inch of him. Our own music drowned out the symphony playing for the others.

“Eris, I can’t,” I pant against his lips. “I’m gonna come,” I warn and he smirks.

“So soon?” He taunts and I nod pitifully, continuing to rut my hips over his.

“Please, it hurts,” I whine, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. And it did hurt, it hurt to not be granted that release I craved so desperately.

“Go ahead, make a mess all over my lap,” He allows and I would’ve wept at the words if my orgasm hadn’t consumed me first.

It felt like pure fire, setting me aflame and impossible to control. It was the kind of climax that lingered for hours on end, the kind that left my legs jolting and my eyes struggling to open. I let out a loud moan, so loud that if the dancing fae hadn’t known what had been happening, they did now. “You did so well baby,” He hums as I slowly come down from my high but I don’t have the strength to lift off his cock, and I definitely didn’t have the willpower to continue my movements. My thighs were burning and I hadn’t noticed until my climax settled.

“You done?” He coos and I nod, but the tone of his voice tells me it is him who is nowhere near finished with me, his member still hard inside of me evidence of that.

He didn’t warn me before he winnowed us back to the Forest House, the same position except he was no longer sitting on the throne but rather our bed.

I whine, falling limp against his shoulder. “I can’t take anymore, Eris,” I sigh and he shakes his head.

“Oh, no baby you said you wanted an heir and I’m going to give one to you.” He flipped us over so I was splayed out on my back, sinking into the mattress with my legs hooked around him.

“Eris I’m not on a tonic— fuck,” I try but he felt so much deeper in this position.

“Does it feel like I care?” He sighs into my hair and I shake my head no. “That’s right, now be a good girl and stay true to your word,” He demanded and I swallowed thickly, nodding while he lifted one of my legs up to hook on his shoulder, spreading my legs wide as I clamped down onto him.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pretty pussy, squeezing me so tight,” He grunted and I lost all cohesive thoughts, strings of moans escaped me as he rolled his hips down onto mine, his full balls slapping against my folds as his pace quickened.

“More,” I plead.

“Yeah? You want me to fill you don’t you?” He says and I was quick to show my agreement by squeezing around him tighter. “You just can’t wait to have my babes, isn’t that right?” He grunted into the shell of my ear and I nodded with a hum of restless accord. “Your tits are gonna be so fucking swollen,” He sighs and I clench around him at his dirty words. “You like that?” He kisses up my neck.

“Mhm, want your seed in me, Eris,” I whine and he twitches, a sign he’s nearing his climax.

I was hungry for his warm release, ached for it to fill my every crevice, let it seep into my womb.

I met his thrusts with my own sudden desire, sending my hips down onto him while he drove his cock right into that spongy bundle of nerves.

“I’m close,” He grunts.

“Me too,” I whimper, my legs locking up as my orgasm races to meet me.

My hands go into his hair and I pull at his short locks as my second climax finds me and I’m squeezing around him tighter than ever before. My walls flutter around him, and my pussy twitched as he continues his fast pace. He groans at the intense convulsions around him and suddenly his release is spurring out into me, kissing my cervix as he does so, his seed shooting out on a straight path to my womb.

“Fuck,” He sighed while guiding my leg down from his shoulder, and with a few more languid, slow strokes of his cock he finishes, slipping from my heat and falling down onto the bed beside me, both of us out of breath and settling over the action we had just committed to.

I clench my thighs shut, keeping his warm seed nestled inside of me. “Good?” I ask and he flips onto his side, arm slinging over my sweat-slicked body, pulling me into him.

“So good.” He presses kisses to the top of my head and I flip around to face him, my eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“I think I like this High Lord stuff,” I say, my hand coming to his cheek and he chuckles, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.

“I think so too,” He whispered against my mouth, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up,” He sat up, pulling me with him and I groaned. “You can sleep after, I promise, Fawn,” He said with a gentle tone that rivaled his earlier rough grunts.

“Eris please, just lay with me for a few more minutes,” I huff stubbornly and he shakes his head, hauling me from the bed and taking me to the connected bathroom.

“I’ll lay by you all night after I clean you up. Sound like a deal?” He says, settling me down onto the cold counter that sent shivers up my spine and I lazily nodded, looking up at him. He grins and leans closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“I love you,” He whispers and I match his smile.

“Love you too, Eris.” I look up at him with only honesty in my gaze. “Now hurry up, I’m tired,” I grumbled and he chuckled.

“Alright, alright.” He shakes his head in disbelief, wetting a cloth with warm water before beginning to clean me up, treating me with utter tenderness after he gave me the two best orgasms of my life. This male was going to be the death of me, and I was going to love every moment of it until that day.

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[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels! Here is the next chappy hehe, goodness me, I am so glad that we all enjoyed the last chapter haha! What a ride this has been honestly, you all crack me up ahaha <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 99: To Set The Future Sway 

Aemond Targaryen had been ten years old when he lost his eye.

That year he had been gifted new tomes from his grandfather Otto, and his mother had lemon tarts freshly made for him as a treat, the boy too shy to tell her that they were not in fact his favourite, but yours.

He had snuck down to the dragon pit that day with you to eat them, watching as Syrax’s golden scales glimmered in the flames of the pit, large glimmering dragon purring and growling in the darkness.

It had been a great challenge for a child so young to be put through such a horrific and traumatic experience as having ones eye taken. What was more, the actions of his family afterwards, and the dealings of their response thereafter did naught but rub salt in the proverbial wound. 

Neither adult had reacted in a way that helped Aemond. In fact, it only served to prove as a further detriment to him, and his view of the world.

But more than that, watching you, his only companion at such a formative age, stand alongside his attackers, bastards, and declare for them instead of him had hardened something inside of the young Prince. Made it curdle and fester, calcifying rapidly as the spite that had grown within him became malignant. 

You had protected them. Them. They who had mocked and teased him for years, them and his brother; who stood idly beside him, having not come to his defence out of the fear and wrath of their father.

His view of the world, of people, of his family and what little friends he had, had been inexplicably scarred that evening, much like his face. He walked with more careful steps, more angry movements, and had grown into a bitter and spiteful man, only aided by his mothers disdain and words of encouragement in his ears. 

But Aemond had not let his disability strike him down, he had simply grown himself around it. He trained harder, for longer, making a promise to himself that he would never be bested like that again, never be struck down without striking first. 

And to never hold back.

Where others would look at him in fear, he would play to it, own it, make himself a man to not be trifled with. A man his brother even feared at times, not that he could fear him any longer. A man that women would whisper about in court, and the men would avert their eyes from. 

He needed it that way. 

To feel safe.

After the many years of your separation, being dragged to Dragonstone without even a chance to say goodbye, seeing Aemond again in the Red Keep had struck many chords within your chest. 

Grief. Sorrow. Anger. Rage. Remorse. Guilt. 

Fear. 

But as you looked into his seeing, and unseeing eye in this moment, you felt none of those things. 

Instead, you felt something entirely different. 

Shock. Disbelief. Pride. Adoration.

Love.

The Conquerors Crown that sat snugly against Aemond’s head, did not look at all heavy where it had on Aegon’s. It seemed as though it was an extension of Aemond. An extension of his every being, a manifestation of the man he had built himself to be.

The smooth Valyrian steel did not make his long silver locks stick up in different ways, his tendrils were still held in place, held by the braids you had encouraged him to wear.

Aemond’s violet and sapphire gaze had not left your face once since seating himself upon the Iron Throne, nor when you had placed the Conquerors Crown atop his head. The King’s fingertips had brushed the skin of your cheek, smearing the wetness that had landed there. 

The blood that had landed there. 

But Aemond was not unmarred by the killing of his brother. He too wore the red substance on his face and robes, the lightest of arterial spray that has streaked up his face diagonally, in the motion that his sword had cut through the flesh and bone of Aegon’s neck.

The small specks of blood on his cheeks were drying rapidly from the heat of his face, oxidising and growing darker, small cracks and flakes appearing in the smattering.

And yet despite this, despite the fact that you most certainly should have felt some sort of horror and disgust towards him, you could not, and your heart had fluttered in your chest as you looked at your husband in triumph. 

In hunger. 

He had done this for you.

A final show of his devotion and love.

Your head turned to look down the steps of the Iron Throne, gaze skimming over a distressed Alicent Hightower, who sat hunched over her eldest son crying, whilst Otto and Ser Cole stood nearby. And then your gaze shifted, over to the Lords and Maester who looked at both scenes before them with uncertainty. Fear.

Turning back to face your husband, you called out loudly into the chambers.

“King Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name, Son of King Viserys the First, King of the Stormland’s, Westerland’s and the Reach, Ruler of Oldtown, The Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, King of the People of Kings Landing, and Protector of His Realms.”

The Small Council muttered amongst themselves as you looked out at the room beside him. All Lords, guards and knights bent the knee, bowing their head down towards their new crowned King. Even Ser Otto Hightower bowed, but Alicent looked up at her son in disbelief.

You turned back to your husband, hungrily watching him, a wave of warmth flooding you. 

He had done this for you. 

He had killed Aegon for you. 

Aemond was King.

Your husband.

“My King.” You breathed quietly, eyes roaming his face hungrily.

Sensing your intentions, Aemond’s voice boomed into the chambers.

"Clear the room.” He commanded, voice crisp and clear, and all men obeyed.

Alicent however, did not, and had to be dragged from the corpse of her eldest, sobbing into her fathers arms as she muttered prayers to the Seven through hiccups, and curses at the two of you.

The chambers were emptied, bar you and Aemond, and the corpse of the once King that still lay, untouched on the stone floors before the throne. Your eyes cast backwards to look at the body, a sick smile spreading across your lips, before you looked back at your husband, who devoured you with his lone eye.

Your core clenched, watching him intensely as heat settled into your gut. 

He had killed Aegon for you. Before everyone. Before his mother. 

His last sibling. 

And for you. 

All for you. 

Your Aemond.

Aemond pulled you forward with his hand, and you climbed up onto the throne in his lap, knees pressed against the leather of his cloak below you. Your fingers raced to untie his breeches, neither of you daring to break the eye contact you held.

His length was hard and heavy in your palm as you pulled it out of its confines, tip already leaking heavily with precum.

Killing his brother had aroused him. 

Being crowned had aroused him. 

The violence of it all, the triumph, the ending of years of suffering and mocking making way to a new time of power and strength. Autonomy. Each aspect of it had made him throb in his breeches before he had even sat on the throne. 

You pumped him in your hand quickly, a breathy sigh falling from his lips as his large palms skated up your thighs warmly, calluses scratching your soft skin, before they dived beneath your skirts, feeling your already drenched folds.

It had aroused you too.

Aemond smirked up at you, cheek twitching as two digits rubbed through your folds slickly, “All this for killing my brother?”

You sighed, squirming in his lap, pleasure sparking up through your gut, "All for you.” You breathed.

A finger pushed through your folds and into your core, hooking upwards to rub against the spongey spot Aemond could find within seconds, “So wet for your King.” He purred, shifting his hips upwards as you gave him a particularly hard squeeze.

The words caused a shiver to race down your spine, your hips lifting, Aemond pulling his finger from inside of you as you lined him up with your sopping entrance. Your uncle watched your face, a hand coming to bush against your cheek, the blood upon it drying and beginning to flake as you sunk down onto his length with a sigh.

Aemond groaned loudly in the chambers as pleasure shot through you, Aemond’s cock reaching deeper with the angle, brushing against your fluttering walls, the stretch of him sparking delicious pain through you.

Slowly but surely you began to ride him, hands atop his shoulders as you looked at him. Despite him sitting and you on his lap, he was still taller than you, but your faces were levelled as you ground down on his length, his head dipping, feeling your wetness begin to pool in his lap.

The throne room was filled with the sound of your wet heat and the moans and groans that came from the both of you as you fucked yourself atop him. Rewarding him for his actions. Rewarding yourself for getting him to do so. Desperate to reach your peak as adrenaline still coursed through you.

“My King.” You whined, eyes closing momentarily as you threw your head back, sensitive bud brushing against the soaked material of his breeches.

Aemond groaned loudly, hands coming to grab the flesh of your ass as he guide you down onto him harder and faster, “Say it again.” He groaned, eye on your face.

“My King.” The head of his cock bullied the deepest part of you, every single inch of him brushing against your most sensitive places as you felt him in your stomach, your release beginning to climb within you rapidly.

Aemond fucked up into you harder, feeling your walls begin to tighten, hips lifting slightly on the seat of the Iron Throne, your fingers digging into his shoulder for purchase.

“My sweet, Lady wife.” He purred, rushing forward to capture your lips with his. 

It was messy, and rushed, full of passion, and devotion and love. He nipped your lips and you whimpered into his mouth, one hand skating up to brush against the skin of his neck, pulling him closer.

The change in angle shifted, and Aemond’s length beat into the spongey spot within you, the pressure rippling up through your body as you reached your peak suddenly.

You cried out loudly, writhing atop his lap as he fucked you through it, hips clapping up into yours.

“My Queen.” He grunted, rutting into you viciously and prolonging your release. Aemond thrusted a few times more before he tumbled over the edge with you, hot ropes of his seed filling your walls as you clenched around him.

“Fuck.”

You breathed heavily, warmth flooding your limbs as you slumped against him, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he gently rocked you back and forth atop him, riding out his peak for as long as possible. 

As you stilled atop him, core still gripping his length tightly, you felt the adrenaline begin to simmer, your body and mind rapidly tiring from the weight of it all.

You pulled your face away from his chest and looked up at your husband. 

Your King.

King.

Your fingers brushed against his pale cheek, where the lightest dusting of freckles that had faded with time were still there, only now, they were covered with a dusting of blood. Your eyes raised higher, and you looked to the crown that sat as it was meant to be atop his head. 

He was so handsome. So beautiful. And yours.

Always yours. 

From the training yard, to the passageways, to the library, and the kitchen, and the garden, Aemond Targaryen had always been yours. And would be yours forever more.

Fire and blood, as the Gods had made it so. 

You would burn together.

Your chest swelled with warmth, looking at the deeper flecks of lilac that sat in his iris whilst his mouth was slightly parted, breathing shallowly as he watched you. You leant forward, pressing a kiss to each cheek, feather light as it were, his body shivering beneath you, and then atop his seeing eyelid, feeling the long white lashes tickle your lips.

Then, to his scar, kissing a pathway to travel up the length of it gently, careful to not hurt him. You had felt him tense beneath you when you did it, but the more you pressed a kiss to the length of the healed wound, the more and more he relaxed.

Finally, you pressed your lips to his own.

“You were made to be King.” You purred as you kissed him, hand cupping the side of his cheek as he leant into it. He hummed deeply, chest vibrating against yours as his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass.

Desperate to show him the warmth that you felt for him, you kissed sweetly at his mouth, soft quick ones that left him chasing after you for more, “I love you.” You cooed, hoping that he felt your thanks.

Your praise. 

Your adoration.

His lips parted against yours as he smiled, and you pulled back, bare inches to see it, warmth creeping back into your core. 

The King leant forward to kiss you, his lips breaking the tenderness for a moment to breath into your own, “And you, my Queen.”

Your walls tightened around him, arousal sparking back inside of you. Aemond tilted his hips up slowly, grinding into you with purpose, and you felt him begin to harden again.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[fan-goddess]

The decay of marital flesh

Authors Note: This has taken months to complete, and I am so happy that people have taken time to ask me about this and have wanted to have a part two of my original oneshot that I didn’t know would get so popular. So here’s the depressive thing that took me months to compete cause I needed to be in an angsty mood to write. Here’s my blood and angst

Summary: A part two of this piece here. This is the depressing version of it and the other happy part will be linked to this part here.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of f oral, self harm, blood, kinslaying, cheating on partner (I’ve probably no doubt missed warnings so if you see any you think I should add then let me know!)

Taglist: @ietss, @papichulo120627, @rorawinters, @introverbatim, @alicentswife, @brie-annwyl, @victoriagaunt, @kyla44, @pax-2735, @omgbcat @bellameshipper, @coolsiaisaqueenstuff, @snh96, @devils-blackrose, @blue-serendipity, @dahlias-and-marigolds, @glame, @jennifer0305, @humanpurposes, @valeskafics, @aemondwhoresworld @leiakim99

Whenever you slept, somehow the weight of the letter always found a way to haunt you. Whenever your hand managed to sweep under and made direct contact with the paper, it practically burned to the touch with no explanation how.

Klarissa had soon became one of your trusted, friends? She would come into your chambers to place your food in the morn and look at you intently and with questions she herself knew would remain unanswered. You never spoke to her again of the contents of the original letter, nor did she ever thankfully attempt to ever bring it up. It was thing about her you found yourself grateful for.

Though it seemed Klarissas silence on the topic may soon be broken. As recently, more letters, similar to the original, were beginning to make themselves known to you.

Though this time, you cannot bring yourself to read them. You can only stare at them while they burn into nothing in your fireplace. You can only watch as whatever words and meaning they once possessed become ash and soot. Maybe they were letters asking for forgiveness? Or asking for a conference where he begged for you to not spill his blood just as you instructed him that you would? Either way, you held firm belief that nothing of that sort would be happening.

Not while Aemond continued to breathe, and to live.

Aemond does not believe that you are reading any of his letters any more. The maid who had given to you his first letter, whose eyes once held fear of his position, now hold only sympathy and sadness. She doesn’t need to say what he had been fearing. It’s written plain and clearly all over her face.

Still, he can’t help but wish to cry at the realisation, even though he knew it would happen some time or later. An act he does not even think he’s done since he was robbed of his eye. Yet his sudden loss of you, the one person who he should have protected and been with, brings to him more emotion throughout his entire body than he’s felt in his entire life. Even when his sorrow begins to spread through out him, throughout his soul, the tears do not fall. He cannot dare let them. He cannot appear weak in front of the court. He cannot dare appear to be weak in front of you.

His chambers seem all too empty when he enters them. The bed appears stiff and uninviting. The books appear meaningless and empty. Even the fire seems too cold. Even when he begins edging closer and closer to the flames until he’s practically face to face with them.

“Aemond, what are you doing?!” His mothers frantic voice breaks him from his trance before he could fully put his arm in the fire. Only hearing the sudden frantic sound of his mother’s voice does he begin feeling the heat of the flames against his skin. It’s an addictive feeling, as for the first time in months he feels alive. It feels like your fiery touch is caressing him again.

“It does not matter mother… why are you here?” Aemond curtly says, begrudgingly stepping away from the flames to look at her with a soulless eye.

“Aemond, my son, I’m afraid that the court are beginning to talk. They question your marriage, they question your-“

“I do not care about what the people question mother!” Aemond shouts. Raw emotion and anger overflowing from his skin in waves as he stalks to his mother and grips her arms roughly in emphasis of his frustration. He can feel his unkempt nails digging into her arms, and he can even see the slight fear that slowly envelopes her. Yet still, he does not relent on his hold of her, even when she tries to escape from him. “The people do not know how it is I have suffered! How much my wife has suffered! I will not have those insufferable cunts dictating things about my own marriage!”

His nails unknowingly leave small dents in his mother’s arms. His nails which have grown long from neglect begin to draw into her skin so deeply that even with the clothing between the two, he nearly manages draws blood. It’s not even until she begins to wince and voice her pain does Aemond notice what he’s doing to her. What he’s doing to his own mother.

“M-mother I-“

“Save it Aemond. I know you are mourning in your own way. I know that your wife is mourning. She is mourning my son because it was you who betrayed the scared vows the two of you spoke together, and insisted that you drew blood for. It is well within her right to burst down these doors and draw that same blood from you with her own blade. I will not let you drag that girl down with you my son, just because you wish to cling to a long rotted away life that you yourself threw away, all for a fucking bastard wet nurse belonging to house strong!”

Aemond does not move when his mother shouts as him. He does not even blink when his mother’s passionate anger leaves small spit trails on his face. For everything she just said is true. It was him who broke the scared marital bond between him and you. For that, he should suffer no less than a thousand cuts.

Aemonds single eye goes back to the fire where he had sat earlier, and goes to sit there once more. Once again, he does not truly feel the heat it should be providing him. He adds a couple loose logs in the fire, prodding them around slightly with an iron poker.

Aemond drops it though when a log jolts suddenly and startles him, and hisses when the red hot poker makes contact with his upper thigh, burning him. Though he cannot deny the slight satisfaction it brings him to feel the pain flare through his clothes. So he strips himself till he is only in his underclothes, and he does it again, and again. Hissing under his breath each time it makes contact with the pale skin. Maybe this is how he will get closer to you? How he will successfully manage to feel the pain that you felt when you had to push the physical manifestation of his betrayal curse you? He knows it is unlike anything he could ever truly experience, but he has to try. For you, and for the baby he will never meet.

When you begin burning the next letter in the fire, adjusting it slightly with the poker hanging on the side of the fireplace, you can hear an unknown person entering the room with an audible creak coming from the direction of the door. Klarissa had slyly mentioned a few days previous how it was like that due to your infrequent comings and goings. If you didn’t know her name and respect her slightly, you probably would’ve had her relocated immediately for such cheek.

“I think my brother takes great time and thought into writing those letters princess.” A distinctive voice and nickname causes a rare smile to form, still looking at the fire before you.

“Good. Then maybe he’ll learn to be sorry and he’ll learn what my pain was like.” Your voice is surprisingly cold, even with such a warm smile on your lips. It even surprises yourself slightly.

“Well, as much as I do appreciate your determination for damning my brother, I don’t think he’ll share that same sentiment. Do you even read them? Or do you just immediately condemn them to ash? Because I’d hate to think some poor soul like my mother writes a letter to you only to have it thrown to the flames…”

“I’m not that overcome with anger, my prince. I do look at the handwriting of the letters before I, as you so plainly put it, condemn them to ash.” It’s almost annoying how easy it is for Aegon to make you smile. He’s become the light to shine you through your dark ages. A friend amongst the snakes and the thorns that weave and poison the court, looking only in ways to further their power.

“How many times have I told you sweet princess to call me Aegon? I think after everything we’ve done and been through together, we’d have been properly acquainted with each others company. As much as my little brother utterly detests the very idea of it.” Aegon now sits beside you at the fire, his everything already making your tensed frame ease into a more calm and relaxed one. He does not make any move to stop you from making sure the letter is properly burned into nothingness. An act you appreciate immensely.

“My brother, was a fool to believe he needed someone else to comfort him...”

The quick comment is also quickly followed by a deathly sort of silence in the room. The only thing being able to penetrate it being the comforting sound of the crackling flames.

Though not a few minutes after, from the corner of your eye, you can spot Aegons hand slowly and cautiously placing itself on your arm, drawing your attention to him as you cautiously drop the poker and turn to him. His face looks like the one of a deer when it’s caught in a trap, fear and panic. Though by the way he had approached you, it was as if he was trying to approach an unpredictable creature from the forest. A beast.

“Can I be so bold princess, as to say something to you?” His voice is practically one of a whisper. So meek that you didn’t know if you had heard him correctly the first time.

“Of course Aegon? You are my closest confidant.” Your words though, supposed to be ones of comfort, makes Aegons lips turn in a slight grimace. Yet still, he wets his lips before speaking.

“You… are everything any man I think could ever need in a wide. Which is why i am so disappointed in him. Why take that bastard into his bed, when he could have had you…” Aegon then cautiously leads his head forward and captures your open mouth with his own.

You cannot move. You cannot think. You cannot say anything to stop what is going on in that moment. There is only one thing that races specifically through your head however. One question that stands out from the rest.

Do you even want Aegon, your husbands brother, to stop?

In your confusion, you find yourself unable to move a muscle. Only it seems Aegon mistakes your lack of action and your confusion as a direct answer. Since his once shy hands move with a surprising confidence from your arm, to delicately cupping at your cheek and your head.

You cannot deny that the kiss did not leave a warm feeling erupting in your chest, and a fluttering sensation to churn in your heart. Yet there is one other thing you can think off while this is happening. You can only ponder on how strange it truly feels to kiss another man other than your husband. How strange it is to betray your marriage like he had done.

When Aegon finally breaks away from you, you can see that his eyes have grown dark with presumably desire. Yet unlike other men, he makes no move to direct you to the nearest bed like you would expect him to do. Instead, it looks as if his eyes have softened as they look into your own. A strange kind of peace drifting over him that you’d never really seen on him, nor even on another person before.

“Why did you do that…” You mutter, watching the way the flames make his skin look almost golden in the light.

His eyes though still hold that same strange look of softness, and his hand begin to stroke at your cheek with a strange type of fondness.

“Because I’ve been wanting to do it for quite some time now.”

It’s so simple. Spoken so calmly with a careless shrug, that it’s almost as if it was the easiest thing Aegons ever said in his life, and yet it causes an immediate feeling of panic and terror to erupt deep within your chest.

Your head moves your body in such a hurry that you had almost toppled over, if Aegon had not clutched at you so quickly to keep you steady. Yet at the feeling of his practically burning hands on your bare skin you push away from him.

Your head races with the discovery of Aegons… desires? Feelings even? Whatever they are, they’re something you never would’ve known about if not for Aemonds betrayal to his vows.

You know you should be angry at Aegon for what he has done. Angry at yourself even for not immediately pushing him off of you, a still married woman. And yet, when he kissed you, you felt more alive and happy then you’ve felt since Aemonds betrayal.

Even as you pace the room, Aegons keen eyes watch you with concern and slight anticipation at your next move. Like a dog always waiting for it’s masters command. He doesn’t move from the spot he originally sat in, only turning on his and trailing after your pacing with his eyes.

“I don’t know if I could ever love you-“

“You do not have to love me!” At the confession, Aegon is suddenly standing before you, your hands clasped tightly in his. Almost too tightly. As if he was grasping a delicate object he was too afraid would collapse and smash into a thousand pieces. The issue with that concern though, is that you’ve already been broken into thousands of tiny pieces and put back together again. In the end, there’s nothing left for him to break that’s not already been broken before. “All you need to do, my sweet princess, is let me in…”

This time, you do not break away so suddenly from Aegon when he kisses you again. Instead, you tightly grip at his warm fire like flesh in your fingers, and allow for his body to envelope you in senses you thought would never be awoken again.

That night, you felt the crash of everything you have ever been feeling, and everyone that’s made you feel that pain hit you all at once. That night, the hurting finally stopped for a time, and was replaced with only pleasure.

Aemond feels tired, exhausted, and drained, all in one. The words that he attempts to write to you blur all into one as his head swims with an ache that he has no idea whether is due to his deformity or due to his lack of sleep and self care. Either way, it’s in the way, and if Aemond could, he would rip it from his head so he could be done with it all.

He’s seen glimpses and heard plenty of tales of Aegon coming and going from your chambers. Seemingly, a strange bond has formed between the two of you, as before his time at Harrenhal, you’d never spoken to him. Yet now, he hears whispers of his brother leaving your presence and your chambers nearly every day.

Now he not only is jealous of his brothers soon to be crown. Now, he must bear witness and be forced to sit and wallow in his jealousy of Aegons access to your touch and your voice. Of Aegons access to his wife.

The letter in front of him, his unknown number attempt at reconciliation, is half written. The quill in his hand half poised to write as it drips dark raven ink onto the page and bleeds onto the dark oak desk.

Maybe he should write it with his own blood? Slice his palm and let it drip into a cup, before dipping his quill into it and writing his heartbreak with it. If he shows you how much he’s willing to bleed for you, maybe you’ll finally be willing to read his words and allow him to see you again…

There’s now a cramp in his hand from where he’s paused himself, and yet he strangely relishes in the onslaught of dull pain being given to him by his hand and head.

Maybe it’s a sign from the gods that he should stop himself? For he betrayed both the maiden and the mother when he laid with that fucking witch from Harrenhal, and it feels as if he should be praying nightly to the father for him to be brought to justice for you.

However now, with the considerable amount of time that he is being forced to spend away from you and your arms, he feels as though he should pray to the Stranger, late at night, when the moon is high and full. He should pray to him to slice his head from his shoulders and place him away from his misery forever more.

Though with his Targaryen heritage, there is no doubt that they have been waiting for an opportunity like this to pluck him and his family from their very roots for their many sins…

It has been a few months since you, ‘let Aegon in’, as he’d so put it. Though if you were to be honest with yourself, you’ve never felt as calm of character, as you were when you were with Aegon.

Still, you must admit, that whenever his head of short and unkempt silver hair is laid in your lap, facing away from you, your mind begins to wander of other things. You end up always thinking of his hair being twice as long, and his body being twice as lean.

You concluded that the gods must be punishing you for your sins. For practically abandoning your husband for a man of his own blood and partaking in pleasures of the flesh with him. But if this was how the gods had decided to punish you, how were they punishing Aemond…

“It is alright my love, we do not need to do it again until you are willing.” Aegon had said whilst stroking the bare skin of your arm with a distinguishable fondness.

You hadn’t the strength to tell him that the reason why you could not bring yourself to lay with him again is because the memory of Aemond still lives on in you forever. The ones that used to make you smile in fondness, but now make you wish to tear out his other eye with your bare hands and have his blood drip from your fingernails.

Aemonds memory that constantly lies within you is now a plague. A plague of constant mourning and sadness. A plague that is never ending and never relenting.

The memory of him still lives on months later, where for the first time ever, you leave your room dressed properly and looking like a true lady of the court. Aegon stands by your side in what you believe in his eyes is for your protection. But why would you need protection when your heart has been broken and stitched back together carelessly two times already?

Though as Aegons tries to murmur what your sure is meant to be encouraging murmurs of affection in your ear, your ears prick up to the sound of a familiar sound of footsteps, and you look up and connect eyes with your husband.

Your feet stop where they stand, and Aegons hands clench firmly against your own as he continues murmuring some kind of unknown gibberish in your ear. But you ignore him and look only at your husband. Who in turn, stares only at Aegons hands that are intwined in your own. You can see even from where you are standing, the way his brows furrow in annoyance at the sight, and somehow, you can feel your heart break for the third time in your lifetime as Aemond swiftly walks away without sparing you another glance.

You’re here. You’re walking close as can be with his brother and you’re standing in front of him looking at him with shocked doe like eyes.

The anger that blooms in his chest is nothing like the anger he felt when he killed Luke. It’s nothing similar to the anger he felt when he faced the injustice of his father when he was robbed of his eye. This is a new type of anger. It’s an obsession. A new type of injustice that only the feeling of blood on his skin could possibly have the power to diminish. But not your blood. Never your blood. No. Aemond craves Aegons blood on his blade.

He doesn’t even realise that he walked away from you until he looks around and realises he’s in his chambers, and his eye stares at the half written letter that still pathetically lays on his desk. An old pot of ink and a ruffled quill still waiting for him to pick up again.

His rage that still boils like a dragons fire within him feels no bounds as he tempts himself into ripping the letter. Into grabbing his dagger tucked away in his belt and stalking his way through the passages to Aegons chambers, where he’d wait till the sun goes down to strike him when he least expects it, and grin as Aegons chokes on his blood with fear and betrayal in his eyes. Watching with glee as Aegon dies for his crime. Trying to take what rightfully belongs to him.

But then, Aemond properly begins to think. You seemed to be close to be brother, if the closeness Aegon held you and the way he so closely whispered into your ears meant anything. If he killed his brother, it would only mean that he killed another one of the people you cared about. And Aemond refused to give you another reason for you to be scornful of him.

Aemond gives in though and rips the letter on the desk, and with a huff begins a new one. His anger and his frustration clear in his writing and with how many times the quill almost goes through the page with how fiercely and carelessly he uses it. He imagines your happiness though as he writes. The way you used to smile at him with such unique brightness. The way your cheeks would flush a beautiful light pink when he teased you. He even dared to think and reminisce on the way your face would shift into one of pure pleasure when he’d sit before the heaven that lay between your thighs, and lick and suck till he felt you spill no less than three times on his tongue.

The last thought soured though as he imaged Aegon seeing you like that. Seeing your smile, your happiness, your pleasure. The grip on his quill so strong he felt it snap between his fingers. A sharp shard of it bringing a small drop of blood to drop and pool on the page bellow. Yet Aemond didn’t choose to begin a new letter clear of his blood. He allowed it to stay there and continue with the same paper, so he could show his devotion to you. So he could show his willingness to bleed for you. Show how much he values his vow to shed as much blood as he needed to in order to achieve your forgiveness. It was truly an addictive thought, seeing you again. And one he could never stop running through his head when he thought of the future.

Aemond finished the letter, writing on the paper front and back with no less than three separate pages before he deemed his rant to be over. Blood pooling on various areas on all of them. His fingers now cramping around the new quill that he’d grabbed with each flex of his hand, and the ache that has sadly dulled around the cut to Aemonds relief remains pungent. If he could, he would pray to all Seven Gods for the wound to never heal. So you could see his devotion to you. To witness the death of his sanity in front of your very eyes.

There are no guards outside the front of your chambers. A fact Aemond cannot help but be disgusted by when he sees it as he walks to the familiar doors. Later that night he’ll find those two men tasked with the purpose of keeping you safe, and he’ll make sure to strip them of whatever dignity and honour they believed to possess. Perhaps the comfort of the wall would suit them nicely? Or the kiss of his blade?

Aemond raises his fist to knock at the door, but voices keep him from doing so. Specific voices. Yours and Aegons voices…

Before he knows it, Aemond is pushing himself against the wood as much as he can so he can hear every beautiful syllable of your voice. He does not care at first for the meanings behind them, but he certainly begins to when he realises what he is listening too are some very familiar high pitched sounds. Breathless sounds that Aemond had told you on yours and his wedding night that only he would hear.

While Aemond waits outside your door, he can hear your voices of pleasure radiating from the other side.

His fists are clenched no more to knock, but instead in anger. And the dulled throb of the small cut earlier on his hand flares up again as it reopened from his carelessness. Yet instead of moving to stem the blood, Aemond grows an idea deep from within him. Aemond snatches his dagger from his belt, and with no hesitation, quickly slices a deep mark on his inner palm.

His posture and frame is deathly still while the blood begins to heavily pool and drip onto the ground, only moving to place his hand firmly against the wooden door, watching it drip down the dark wood and trail to the stone flooring.

He can see the large puddle flow under your door, and Aemond wishes nothing more at that moment for you to see it. To see him. To see his devotion. His love. His sacrifice for you. If he hadn’t already lost it, Aemond would’ve torn out his eye and shoved it under the door too as a gift for you to make you stop your torturing of his soul.

Aemond only steps away when the blood pool reaches his shoes, and even then it’s with great resistance from himself as he stuffs the still bleeding wound against his dark coat that already begins to rapidly absorb the blood. He can even feel it soak his undershirt and his skin.

He goes straight to his chambers that night instead of paying a visit to the maesters. He does the same the next night, and the one after that.

Instead, Aemond relishes in the look he receives from Aegon the next morning. The look of utter horror and fear that speaks at least over a thousand words. The look that tells him you now finally know of his gift and his devotion to you. The look that tells him he is one step closer to you again.

Aemond Targaryen refuses to rest until he is drained entirely of his blood and it is pooled directly at your feet. He refuses to rest until his heart is laid bare in his hands and is presented to you like a septa presents the gods with their offerings. Until his name can be uttered from your precious lips without your own heart breaking from sorrow.

Aemond Targaryens heart could break a thousand times over, each time bloodier than the next, but he refuses to allow yours to break again. Not by his hand at least…

[tashiberrie]

✮ HEARTWORM ✮  tashi duncan x fem!reader 

⋆💌⋆ TAGS - written with fem reader in mind, toxic relationship, reader is a lit student, angst, stanford era, no mention of tashi’s injury

wc- 763

masterlist

You two had met during a tennis tournament in 2004. After a long and intense match between the two of you, Tashi Duncan had come out on top.

You were drawn to each other instantly, like two moths to a flame, each recognising the shadows in the other's eyes.

From the start, your relationship was a tempest. You were addicted to the intensity of your connection, the way you could read each other's minds with a glance, and the way your souls seemed to intertwine in a dance of passion and pain. Your love was all-consuming, burning brightly but always on the verge of destruction.

Tashi was volatile, her moods swinging wildly from euphoric highs to devastating lows. She played furiously, the swings of her racket reflecting the chaos within her. You found inspiration in her unpredictability, your writing becoming darker, more profound, as you delved into the depths of your tumultuous love.

But your passion often turned into rage. Fights erupted over trivial matters, your words cutting deep, leaving scars that never fully healed.

You would argue until dawn, your voices echoing through the dorm room, throwing accusations and regrets like daggers. But in the quiet moments after the storm, you would cling to each other desperately, unable to let go despite the pain. You were addicted to the drama, the heartbreak, and the brief moments of bliss that followed your reconciliations.

You tried to leave once, packing your bags and walking out the door, determined to escape the cycle of hurt. But you couldn't stay away. You found yourself drawn back to Tashi, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your love. She was your muse, your torment, your everything. And so, you returned, your heart heavy with the knowledge that your love was both your salvation and your destruction.

Tashi, too, tried to move on. She sought solace in her tennis, pouring her pain onto the court, hoping to exorcise the demons that haunted her. But every swing of her racket reminded her of you, of the way you looked at her as if she were the only person in the world. She was lost without you, adrift in a sea of loneliness and longing. And so, she called you, her voice trembling with desperation, begging you to come back.

You reunions were always bittersweet, filled with tears and whispered apologies. You would cling to each other, promising to change, to be better, but the cycle would inevitably repeat. Your love was a battlefield, each skirmish leaving you more battered and bruised, but neither of you could surrender. You were trapped in a toxic dance, unable to break free yet unable to truly be together.

As the years passed, the toll of your relationship began to show. Your once bright eyes grew dull with fatigue, and Tashi's vibrant spirit became shadowed with sorrow. You were like two stars on a collision course, destined to burn out in a blaze of tragic beauty. But even as you destroyed each other, you couldn't imagine life apart. Your love was a prison, but it was also the only thing that made you feel alive.

One night, Tashi and you found yourselves back at the tennis court where your had first met. The atmosphere was hauntingly familiar, the rackets’ mournful wail echoing the ache in your hearts. You played in silence, your souls intertwined, lost in your own thoughts.

Tashi broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we had never met?"

You looked at her, your eyes filled with a mixture of love and pain. "Every day," you admitted. "But then I remember that even if it's killing me, I can't imagine my life without you."

Tears welled in Tashi's eyes, and she squeezed the handle of her racket tighter. "I don't know how to let you go," she confessed, her voice breaking.

You walked over to her and pulled her into your arms, holding her as if you could keep the world at bay. "Maybe we don't have to," you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Maybe this is just who we are."

As you held each other, rain started to fall, a fitting soundtrack to your story. You were two souls entwined in a love that was as beautiful as it was destructive, unable to break free yet unable to truly be whole together. And so, you remained, locked in a tragic embrace, bound by a love that would forever be your greatest joy and your deepest sorrow.

[soberpluto]

Tarot Tips: How to Spot Soul Connections

In my readings, these are the main give aways about spiritual relationships (soul-contracts). Mind that I am taking into account only upright positions.

Applicable to all types of soul contracts:

Cards falling in sequential order: there's an imminent plot to be fulfilled

Preponderance of Major Arcana: the relationship is entangled with universal forces that cannot be controlled by the parties involved

Paired King and Queens (the weaker pair is the Swords suit): high compatibility and resonance

If your reading contains 60% or more of each block of cards, take it as a clear indication of a soul tie

Soulmates:

Ace of Cups: genuine and abundant desire to love

2 of Cups: deep understanding, balance and closeness

6 of Cups: kindred spirits (a reunion from previous lives)

10 of Cups: this is your fairytale romance

The High Priestess: telepathic rapport and a soul bond

The Hierophant: faith in each other and spiritual connection

The Lovers: high chemistry and fated love (you stick like magnets)

The Wheel of Fortune: your encounter was destined

Temperance: you are divinely guided

The Star: a healing connection

The Sun: you light up each other, it's pure bliss

The World: they see you as the one or vice versa

Karmic Partners:

3 of Swords: this relationship will hurt AF

4 of Swords: your self-care will be neglected

5 of Swords: this relationship will feel like a war

6 of Swords: you need to heal from this and move on

5 of Cups: there will be grief, sorrow and loss

8 of Cups: please leave before it gets messier

Many Wands cards: there's a lot of attraction but little to no stability

Many Swords cards: many challenges around communication and understanding (watch out for 7 and 10 of swords, as they indicate cheating as a rule!)

Reversed court cards: please watch out for these, they can do a lot of damage

The High Priestess: there are many secrets and hidden forces around you two, it's highly important you listen to your intuition

Justice: you need to choose for your own good and do what's right, if not karma will repeat itself until you learn

Death: this relationship brings deep transformations through crisis

The Devil: toxicity is part of your union / you are badly co-dependent

The Tower: your world will crumble and turn upside down / you are fatally attracted to each other

The Moon: very strong connection, but one that triggers each's shadow side

Judgement: you need to learn from the past, take responsibility for your deeds and release karma. If they wronged you, they will pay.

Twin flames:

This is the most difficult to pinpoint accurately, but you will get a mix of Soulmate and Karmic Partner cards. Clear give aways are:

2 of Cups: unconditional love (even if the reading looks challenging)

4 of Wands: you are meant to reach union / 11:11

The Lovers: yin-yang principle, you are each other's counterpart

The Magician: you have manifested each other / the attraction you feel is more powerful than your separate wills

The High Priestess: you are connected in ways you cannot understand / the bond cannot be broken

The Empress + The Emperor: You are the divine femenine / divine masculine

Death: you will summon a new version of yourself after this encounter

The Devil: the intense feelings you trigger in each other can create havoc in your lives

The Tower: the universe will strike you by surprise and both will change each other views for good

The Moon + the Sun: the runner and chaser dynamic

The World: they are your "missing piece" and vice versa

🌟Intuition will ultimately tell you which is what, but I feel this is a pretty good starting point. 🌟

Thanks for reading! 😇

Written by @ soberpluto

Book readings here! https://starintuitivehealing.etsy.com

[themotherofblood]

chapter 5 | RIVER OF FIRE | blood runs thick | d.t x reader x r.t

masterlist | series masterlist | previous chapter

synopsis: the aftermath of Alicent being wed to Viserys.

~ “Did you think it all true, all these things will catch up to you now.” ~

It truly wasn’t much of a bother, was it. Here you were, threading together a bouquet with gold silk threads and next to you paced Rhaenyra, cursing practically anyone that would dare interrupt her maniacal pacing. Five steps she would walk forward, mutter curses under her breath and then she would turn, walk five more. The antechamber almost grew hot, burning along with Nyra’s ire, the dragon flames within her burnt so bright, you feared for the Queen’s life.

She was just next door, being readied for her wedding by her Hightower cousins, you could hear the rambling and muffled giggling and jangles of gold bangles and necklaces. Her wedding to Viserys - by the gods - even now brought bile to the back of your mouth coating it with bitter thickness. It wasn't unheard of but perhaps when the bride bleeds from so close to home, one might truly weep for her virtue. Even if she were to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a girl and a grieving King. What bore far more pain was that she hid it, for months she hid her ongoing relationship with the King, from you, from Rhaenyra. Being unable to aid Rhaenyra through her grief to which Alicent sewed parts of Rhaenyra back together with such ease. She is wise, truly wise, yet she hid this. Rhaenyra believes her a traitor now, for weeks she voiced the fear of Aemma’s memory fading if Viserys were to remarry, Alicent listened and yet said nothing.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the doors to Alicent’s bed chambers opened, ladies poured out one by one, bowing to you and Rhaenyra before heading for the Grand Sept, the bells had begun to ring, marking the King’s arrival to the Sept.

A girl of six and ten turned into a woman, Alicent stood at the door with a stunning ivory gown, her cape sleeves curving around her figure and intricate gold metal work placed on her shoulders to mimic dragon wings, her beautiful brown hair pulled up. She was radiant as always, you couldn't help but smile at her, it was her wedding day after all.

Alicent’s eyes flicker to Rhaeyra, expecting to find some warmth within the purple of her eyes, Nyra gives Alicent a once over, taking in what had seemed like a nightmare come true.

“You look lovely, your grace” the hint of sarcasm coated thick in Rhaenyra’s voice as she bowed to Alicent before taking her leave.

You pitied her, the smile you gave her after screamed so, the Queen loved by all but the one closest to her. You walked her, reaching out to fix an untucked ribbon and then handing her the bouquet.

“Is there no way that I might mend this?” she sighed, sorrowful and guilty.

“Not today.”

She looked defeated as you fussed with pinnings of her wedding dress.

“Not today, because today is about you, our petty problems will be with us tomorrow too, my lady.” you give her a once over before once more smiling at her “today you become Queen.”

This time she matches your smile, a long breath shaking away the sorrow weighing upon her shoulders. You walked behind her, lifting her long train with both arms as she proceeded to walk.

There was this joy, your friend was being wed, a momentous event but you couldn’t breathe past how terrified Alicent looked, and torn over how perturbed Nyra appeared to mask her strong need to sob. Your lover and your companion, both bleeding from the wounds of court and you could help but one, a side that you had to choose. She had ripped through two dolls, sobbing over the one gown she managed to steal from her mother’s chests. She didn’t want a stepmother but most of all she didn't want to have to lose a friend so cruelly. No matter how tightly you held Nyra through the nights and gave her comforting touches, the dark shadow of doom that seemed to follow never left her, it loved her more than you could. More than the sunshine could cast a shadow, it persisted. At supper and at tea, it pained you to watch her so.

So much so, she wrote to Daemon, begging him to return, to stop this madness, speak some sense into his brother but what was done couldn’t be undone by a banished prince, now could it?

You reached for Nyra’s hand as you stood amongst the people, watching the Targaryen cloak draped over Alicent taunt her. All would be well, all must be well, you prayed. A marriage for the stability of the Realm, even with an heir, the lords never truly seemed satiated.

As Alicent and Viserys turned with their heads held high, the crowds cheered, roared in an out pour of joy. A new Queen had blessed the Realm, soon she would bless the Realm with a son.

A son, you looked to Rhaenyra. The whites of her eyes had gone red, moist.

“She is no Queen of mine.” she angrily whispered to you.

In the vast toll of things, one thing you had expected less. Rhaenyra had charged her ladies to be so frigid to the Queen. You sat with her and her ladies, leisurely pushing your needle through the fabric and then back out, every now and then glancing at Alicent and the growing mound of her belly hidden behind the plush blanket she sat under.

A rabid dog with a mustard collar, that’s what you were to her. Shielding her from the bitch-like behaviour many of these courtly ladies had directed towards her. Loud mouthed wenches, snickering behind her back, most of them had expected to be Queen– now they lick their wounds, playing those half cooked political games to gain Alicent’s favour. Most of all, you shielded her from Rhaenyra’s wrath, raging just as hot as Syrax’s fire, burning all those who might to diminish it, though you– immune to the brunt of it all, both figuratively and literally. The Targaryen in you kept you Valyrian-clad, and Rhaenyra’s lover in you kept you protected.

You looked out the window this time, you were sure she was up there– somewhere so high where if she was to let out rageful screams, she would be the only one to hear. Well– her, Syrax and perhaps a vulture or two. You and her had talked about it at length, while Viserys saw the possibility of a spare, all Rhaenyra saw was an heir, to overshadow her, to depose her before her father sold her hand in marriage to the highest bidder. A castle? Gold? Armies or perhaps a foreign political connection, casting her away. Just as Jaehaerys’s daughters suffered, so would she.

Your mother Daenereys was probably the most fortunate of the lot, along with her sister Alyssa. Both women married the men their hearts desired, Alyssa and Baelon producing the purest of Targaryen children and your mother bringing Dorne into the fold by marrying your father Allyrion Martell. You however bleed Martell through and through, unlike your brother that possessed purple eyes, the ravenous features of a true Dornish woman embraced you as you grew, full lips, sun kissed glow, a distinct head of loose curls, leaving but a few streaks of white, just like Princess Rhaenys.

That was besides the point that even with the macabre tradition of the Dornish and the contumacy of Targaryen traditions, you couldn’t fathom admitting that you indeed wanted Alicent’s child to be a boy, for that little child to be heir so you and Rhaenyra could fly east, just like you always dreamed of, marry and live in a quaint little hold with servants purchased from sold jewellery and a farm of your own. Yet once a prey tastes blood, it can only want for more, Rhaenyra’s purpose was this, to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she found power within the title bestowed upon her and just as demanded flaunted his oddities with immunity so would she, you could do naught but follow her, obey her commands and prepare for the day that she would sit the Iron Throne– with a husband on her back instead of you.

You couldn’t give her heirs of her blood, no blood magic nor prayer could change that you too were born a girl, and the unnatural pairing of the two of you would lead to carnage.

“Princess?” the voice of Enorah standing by the doorway tore your attention, you looked at her, momentarily stunned– returning to the world of the living “The Princess Rhaenyra has demanded your presence in the Godswood.”

Demanded

Rhaenyra knew at the cusp at which she played at, your afternoons were Alicent’s by the King’s “suit,” you turn to Alicent apologetically.

“My Queen if I may…”

“Go on, I have my other ladies to keep me company, perhaps I might return to my chambers for some respite.”

You looked around the ladies scattered across the chamber floors before neatly putting away your embroidery ring, you stood, back straight and shrouded in formality. You bowed to your friend before taking your leave.

You knew how you find Rhaenyra in the Godswood, hair mussed— stinking of dragon on the rage of the fourteen flames in her eyes.

“Why must you be with her?”

Something so sacred but irreparable, such a bind of sisterhood never found again. Squandered yet again by what you knew to be the ugly politics of lords in their ivory towers. What irked you the most was the price paid was you— your companions barely old enough to bleed let alone be pawns to whatever bargains were being struck in the Great Halls of the Red Keep.

You remembered the fight they had so vividly, almost envisioning it as you entered the Godswood.

“Rhaenyra, slow down!” You huffed, hiking your skirts to chase behind her.

Viserys had just announced his proclaimation, you stood there. Among the choices he had, along with Laena. Alicent too was— oddly among the lot. It wasn’t a surety until he said her name.

You were sure Rhaenyra felt it harder than you did, right in your gut. A dagger wound, you should have seen this coming. She looked torn, regrettably so, but why? She would be Queen.

Thus you chased out Rhaenyra, down the stairs and to the Godswood where she wiped at her angry tears.

Dear gods

When the realization set it, your closest friend had lied to you, through her teeth. Under the disguise of consolement and wise words of religion and perhaps comfort. She hid her “affairs” with Viserys.

For her sake you wished that she would steer clear of Rhaenyra but such fate was beyond her for she too followed.

“You!” She whipped her head furiously towards Alicent.

“Why? I wept to you, afraid for my mother’s memory and you betrayed me!”

“Rhaenyra truly—“

“You do not speak! You do not breathe near me.”

“Ever again…”

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC Targaryen. | SERIES

Warning; future chapters will include:

Graphic Violence, XXX content, Targcest, Spoilers, Canon depravity, death and war, troubling being afoot, menacing, mischief making, genocide, murder, blood, guts, dragons etc.

Word Count ~ 2k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii ● viii ● ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

Prelude ~

Princess Visenya Targaryen, had always been cited as a fair & bold creature. Born in 111AC, a smile that gleamed with mischief adorned her face, marking her most like her mother Rhaenyra. She was, indeed, the picture of a Valyrian Princess, the picture of her mother – with wide eyes and demure glances which hid the current of cunning beneath. She was a but harmless thing, playful at best, impish at worse; at least so far as her grandsire King Viserys thought. Proclaimed as the Leoner Velaroyn’s only daughter – the Princess did not inherit her father’s deeper skin or the ringed seafoam shaded locks of Velaryon women. Visenya in fact, did not possess many of House Velaroyn’s traits, both of the body and mind she seemed of true Targaryen stock, and it was but her mother Rhaenyra who knew, the young princess indeed was just that. Visenya’s impish glares and taunts were alike to that of The Rouge Prince, and to the common Lord or Lady of the court, one might think she inherited such a trait from her mother’s uncle. However, other more insidious rumours deemed Visenya a bastard of Prince Daemon’s, conceived by her mother unknowingly, right before she had wed Ser Leanor. Such rumours would be deemed, most truthful.

i - 'Old Wounds'

124AC ~

The Princess Visenya, having but defying her mothers’ orders found her way to the Dragonpits alone, once more. She snuck through the winding caverns the soft glow of firelight shading the stone walls, her crimson dress dragging along the volcanic sand below. It was a soothing place, she thought, the warmth of the air… the smell of dragonfire which would linger upon one’s flesh, the gentle growls, and mummers of stirring Dragons. A place in which only a Targaryen might feel at ease. However, it was not the mummers of waking dragons which echoed through the caves in which Visenya heard. Her head peaked, her brow furrowing in confusion as she heard stifled sobs. Wrathful sobs.

She walked with caution, following the solemn sound until she stumbled upon him. The silver haired boy with his knees to his chest, his fists tightly scrunched. She stopped, taking in the sight, a most startling one for the Princess. Aemond.

It was only but a few hours ago that she had heard of her half-brother’s marvellous prank, allying with their eldest Uncle, Prince Aegon; to give Prince Aemond a pig instead of a dragon, to lure and taunt him just to see his face fall from glee to humiliation. Visenya had coiled with hearty laughter as her brother’s recounted the story, she longed to have been there, to see the propitious Prince Aemond faulter. However, her joy was shortly curtailed as Aemond had stumbled upon the scene, the imprint of his stern furrow upon hearing Visenya’s laughter still within her mind. Indeed, the sight she saw before her now, was unlike his affectedly stern façade – it was weak, crumbling, hurt.

The young Princess approached him softly, her face washed with a slight uncertainty.

“Aemond?” Her voice echoed quietly.

Aemond lifted his chin. A thin veil of tears dampened his lashes, his eyes red, bloodshot, and heavy with sorrow. In response, the prince simply glanced down, his expression sullen.

"I’ve no interested in your gloating." He said.

The silver haired girl raised an eyebrow. Her mouth curved upwards in a bemused smirk. "Why would I gloat? It was a rather clever prank. Regardless, it was not I who did it."

The prince’s fists clenched. His knuckles turning white as he looked up at her, his grey eyes glaring. "Yet you snickered all the same, you all laughed at my expense! I cannot forget what you all did to me, how you all..." His voice trailed off, his gaze falling to his fists. When he looked back at her, there were fresh dampness under his cheeks as his expression turn bitter.

“Leave. I should not like you reporting back to your brothers the details of my misery.” His voice a low warning.

“I had no intention to.” Visenya raised her brow, her arms folded. As she looked upon the prince she couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pity, his gaze so bitter… so wrathful. She sighed, coming down to sit beside him.

“It was a mere jest. Do not tear yourself to bits over it. Your thoughts are far harsher than the truth of it.” Her attempt at sympathy making her cringe.

“You know nothing of my thoughts!” Aemond snapped.

The air settled between them for a moment, the silence brutal as she looked to him, her hand hesitantly placing itself on his shoulder. Aemond snapped his head, his eyes narrowing as he brushed her hand away.

“I do not need your pity.” His tone curt.

The princess rose, scoffing as she extended her hand to him below. “Get up.” She spoke promptly.

His face coiled with both refusal and confusion. “What?” He snapped.

“I said, get up. If you do not need my pity, so be it. But I cannot stand to listen to your whining any longer. Come, I am visiting Silverwing, and you shall be my torch bearer.” She smiled mischievously, her hand lifting him up, then walking to another torch mounted on the stone walls, using it’s flame to set hers alight.

Visenya walked back, forcing the rough trunk of wood into his hand. “No- “His voice grating as she then shoved her hand upon his mouth. His eyes wide with shock as she crooned into his face.

“Enough of your sulking. Come. You wish for a Dragon, no? Then you ought to learn how to tend to one.”

She pulled him with her, further into the dark caverns of the Dragonpit until they came to Silverwing’s lair. “Silverwing, māzigon naejot nyke.” Visenya cooed.  Silverwing, come to me.

The sudden shake of the earth bellow accompanied the grumbling of the large beast, her silver scales gleaming by the flickering torch light. Visenya turned, glancing at Aemond, his eyes like moons boring into her dragon.

She watched as he stepped back, his neck tilting upwards, the breeze hitting his silver hair. A smug smile came to Visenya’s lips as she turned to Aemond. His face was still set in stone, his gaze hardening as he watched the great beast. "So," the princess prompted, "Are you going to pet her? Or shall you remain sulking?”

Aemond's lips parted, he was about to make a snide remark before sighing. "Of course not." He walked closer to the dragon, standing a few feet away from her. The beast was enormous, the sheer size of her body dominating the wide cave, her lithe yet robust frame looming over the two young Targaryen’s. Silverwing's grey head looked down at him, her eyes narrowing. The prince had not stopped to wonder how the dragon would react. Aemond grumbled under his breath, then took a hesitant step forward. He looked at the dragon, its shining silver scales glinting in the dim light, his breathing hitched. The Prince could not help his anxiety, he had never been so close to a dragon before… never felt its hot breath warm his skin. He moved closer, swallowing a ball in his throat.

Aemond had taken another step forward when Silverwing's body rattled with warning, her low growls causing his steps to falter, his hand tightening on the base of the torch. He would not allow himself to look away, he would not show fear, nor would he retreat. The torch cast a long shadow upon the cave walls, Silverwing’s breath rapidly increasing as he moved closer, her nostrils flaring with each exhale. The dragon's eyes did not stray from the young prince, studying his every movement as Visenya let out a soft chuckle, revelling in his rattled stance.

"She shall not bite you." An amused smirk curled upon her lips. "Silverwing, māzigon." she cooed. The dragon's head turned, her eyes focusing on the princess before she did so.

"There, you see?" Visenya asked, she looked over to him, a small part of her finding the utmost enjoyment in the nervous expression he wore. The dragon raised her chin, letting out a soft whisp of hot air from her nostrils.

Visenya’s amusement brought no pleasure to Aemond, his expression taut, his neck tilting up to look at the dragon approaching him. The dragon halted, lowering its head almost appearing as though it were sneering at the young prince. Aemond stilled, taking one step back as Silverwing’s jaw neared him. Visenya’s eyes wide with an intrigue as she watched her dragon interact with her uncle. Silverwing was indeed, sizing him out. Aemond’s chest rose, and with that he stepped back once more, folding his arm as though he were unimpressed with the beast’s size. Silverwing giving out a soft huff as she moved, her large head nudging against Visenya.

“She was Queen Alysanne’s dragon.” Aemond spoke matter-of-factly.

“You know of her histories?” The princess raised her brow.

“Unlike you, I have decidedly taken an interest in our House’s legacy. It apart of our duty.” Aemond replied, firmly.

Visenya scoffed, turning as she sauntered towards him, her arms folded as a smug smile appeared upon her lips. “I am far too busy actually flying and tending to my dragon to have time to reading of other Targaryen’s doing the same.” Her voice haughty.

“I have yet to see you do such a thing.” He furrowed his brow in disbelief.

Aemond watched as Visenya placed a gentle hand upon Silverwing, whispering a soft farewell before they exited her lair, the princess spoke smugly, “Yes, well I do not expect you to pay much attention to my doings. Regardless, I am already rather adapt, Daemon said I did not need a saddle so-“

“Daemon?” Aemond raised his brow, and Visenya shrugged, nonchalantly about the fact. “Yes.”

The young prince furrowed his brow in deep disapproval, his stern demeanour returning as he stopped, Visenya turning as he spoke.

“Uncle should know better than to allow such a thing.” He barked. Visenya stepped forward scoffing. “So? Those bloody Maesters- “

Aemond stepped closer, his voice overlapping hers. “Those Maesters are doing their duty in making sure you are equipped to ride properly. You ought not to be going on saddleless joyrides with Uncle Daemon.” The Prince stared sharply, unyielding.

“Are you to tell on me?” The princess gritted her teeth.

A disenfranchised look came to Aemond’s face, he spoke more like a father scolding his daughter than a boy of her own age “Daemon is not fit to minding you. You are a Princess of the Relam, if anything were to happen-“

Princess Visenya’s eyes widened in both panic and fury, she could not have the precious time she spent with her father ruined by Aemond’s incessant need to dob. “But nothing did happen! If you dare speak a word of this I shall tell my brothers that I had caught you sobbing and sulking in the Dragonpits all by yourself… like a helpless, pathetic babe whining for its mother.” She interrupted.

“Do not dare.” He sneered, his gaze lowering.

“Swear you shall not tell.” Her voice raised, stern. Silence fell between the two as their gazes pierced into each other, they stood opposed in the darkened space. “Swear it.” Her tone sharp.

He said nothing, the silence lingered as he felt his strength faulter. “Fine.”

The two Targaryen’s did not speak again as they walked up out from the Pit’s entrance. Visenya’s eyes expanding in a deep trepidation as she was met with the folded arms of her mother, Rhaneyra’s face stern. “It may please you to know that you’ve had every guard and servant forced to abandon their duties so they may search for you.” Rhaneyra’s voice echoed at the carven entrance, her head tilted downwards as she gazed into the calculatedly soft eyes of her daughter.

“I had told you where I wished to go.” Visenya lowered her gaze in sweet self-admittance as her mother shook her head.

Rhaenyra spoke firmly to remind the young Princess her mother was indeed, well aware of her charmed tongue, often used to evade trouble. "And I had told you no more leisure trips to the Dragonpits without an escort.” Rhaneyra’s doubled down as the young Princess protested. “But mother- “

Rhaneyra’s tone softens as she steps forward, placing a hand upon her daughter's shoulder. “Visenya, I worry for you.”

Visenya turned her head, gesturing to the seemly meek Aemond which stood behind her “But I was not alone. Prince Aemond had accompanied me.” Visenya gave the young prince a narrowing gaze, subliminally signalling for him to nod; he did. The future Queen could not help but tilt her head, a small warmth in her chest as finally, it seemed there may be hope for some level of kinship between her own and Alicent’s children.

Rhaenyra regained focused once more, her voice almost lenient, “Aemond is but a year your prior and the King’s young son no less, tis not his duty to protect you. And while I am glad of the peace the two of you have forged...” Rhaenyra sighed softly, and shook her head a little, clearly unimpressed. “I will not have my only daughter risking her life to get to the Dragonpits, without a proper escort. The streets are most unpredictable, my girl.” She shuddered.

“I did not take the streets.” Visenya protested, a small smile upon her face as though the news would be pleasing to her.

Rhaenyra frowned, stepping forward to Aemond as her concern reignited as she gazed at them both, “You took the passages?" She leaned towards her daughter, her voice hushed so that her half-brother would not hear. "I ought to have the mind to bar you in your chambers until the moon turns!” Rhaneyra's tone hardened once more.

Visenya looked down, her gaze ruminating on the floor as her mother’s tone grew stern, there was a pause; she felt embarrassment coil within her, why must mother do this in front of him, she thought. Rhaenyra sighed as she noted her daughter’s meek demeanour she let her frustration dissipate, she did not dare scold her own child in front of her half-brother.  Aemond noticed the tension ease between them, he remained still, his arms held behind his back as he watched Visenya. Satisfaction bloomed within him; he’d never seen her so… passive.  

Rhaenyra yielded, her tone softening, “You must take an escort, sweet girl. I’ve little desire to strip you of your freedoms, so do not force me to do so.” Visenya looked up, her pale violet eyes meeting those of her mother, Rhaenyra placed a gentle hand upon her daughter’s head, stroking her silver hair.

Visenya gave a small and conceded, “Yes, mother…”

As the moment came to an end, Rhaneyra’s gaze came to the young green prince before her, Alicent’s son… her father’s son… her younger brother.

Aemond shuffled under his sister’s gaze, they had hardly ever spoken all he knew was that she bore bastards, that she was the King’s favoured child. Rhaenyra spoke again, clearing her throat. “Come, the both of you. I fear the Queen, has sent for your whereabouts, Aemond.”

With that, the three Targaryen's took to exit the Dragonpits, not another word was uttered.

○ii○

[acourtoffaeandfanfic]

A Court of Flames and Sorrow || Eris Vanserra || Chapter 5

Synopsis: Lynette Vesper. Daughter of Winter and Night. Lover of a problematic red head who used to be engaged to her best friend.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @baebeepeach @marigold-morelli

***

Lynette focused on anything besides the male that sat across from her, the swirls the cream made when it hit the tea, the crackle and pops of the fire next to her, the feel of the soft velvet on the chairs, the smell of cranberries that was brought in from the autumn breeze. She felt his fiery gaze on her the entire time, trying her best to not meet his gaze. 

“Are you seriously not going to talk?” Eris asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

She drank deeply from the tea cup, letting the spiced tea hit her lips once again, signing in content at the taste. “This tea is absolutely delightful. What kind is it?” Lynette asked, finally looking up and making eye contact with Eris, a fake look of curiosity on her face.

She noted the clenching of his jaw, she was infuriating him. “Chai.” He said through gritted teeth. 

“Mmm, it is very good. Will definitely need a few crates of this sent with the next trade shipment.” Lynette smiled wide as she brought the small cup to her lips once again, draining the last of the tea from the cup and placed it back onto the saucer. “May I have some more?” 

“Enough about tea!” He blurted out and hastily got up out of his chair, starting to pace in front of the fireplace. 

“What else would we talk about?” She asked with feigned confusion, enjoying the effect she had over him a little too much. 

“Do you get a kick out of playing the dumb blonde?”

“Do you get a kick out of acting like an ass?” 

“You’re impossible.” Eris said while running a hand through his hair, shaking his head at her antics, eyes closed as he breathed deep and slow. Now that she had fully taken him in she couldn’t keep her eyes off him, the fire was casting a glow over him and he looked … godly. That was the only word deemed fit enough to describe him, he looked godly. Bathed in the fire light, he looked too good not to look at; but, she found the last of her self control and turned away from him, instead looking at the decorated walls of the drawing room. She mentally cursed the bond for giving her such an infuriatingly attractive mate. 

“You know I can feel your attraction right now.” He said, his tone turned smug as he walked back into her line of vision, smirking down at her no doubt flustered state. “Can sense it,” Eris inhaled deeply and took a step further, “can smell it.” 

Lynette snapped her legs together tightly, ignoring the warmth and throb she felt between them. “That’s just the mating bond trying to pull us together. It says nothing about how I truly feel about you.” She hissed out at him. “You are nothing but a cruel, smug, bastard.” 

He leaned over, hands gripping the sides of the chair she sat in, trapping her between the back of the chair and his body. “Is it just the bond or is it the bond amplifying feelings you already had?” Eris threw out the question like it was nothing. 

“The only feelings I have for you are anger and hate.” 

“You really need to get better at lying.” Eris said, unwavering smirk still plastered on his face as he noticed the slight change of color in her cheeks. Standing back to his full height he made his way back over to the chair across from Lynette, staring and waiting for her to do anything. “When did you find out?” 

“What?” Her head snapped back to look at him, shocked by the question. 

“You probably already know when I found out, when did you?” He asked again, elbow coming to his knee as he rested his head on his hand, head cocked to the side, waiting. 

She hesitated to respond, not sure if she should let him know that she’s known for centuries and left him in the dark. “Do you remember when you were first introduced to Mor?” He nodded in response. “I had no knowledge of the meeting beforehand since I had just gotten back from a month of training with my uncle in the Winter Court. I had finally mastered winnowing and was so excited to tell Mor, I ran all the way to her family's apartment.” Lynette smiled fondly on the memories of her training. 

“I remember, you burst through the doors like a lunatic. I thought the doors were gonna fly off their hinges.” Eris snickered at the memory. 

“Keir was fuming when he saw me. He tried to convince my parents to have me lashed for my behavior.” Lynette laughed at the thought until she noticed the small look of concern Eris gave her. “He failed, my parents are respectable, most of the time.” She reassured him. “Anyway, I was looking for Mor, then saw you and it just … snapped. It felt like time stopped, I could barely hear Keir as he introduced you as Mor’s betrothed. I was frozen in shock. I had a mate. When I finally realized who you were I cursed the Mother for mating me with someone so--”

“Cruel.” Eris cut her off.

“Unattainable.” She corrected him. “My best friend was supposed to marry you, what was I supposed to do? Sure, I knew of her dislike towards you but I didn’t think you were too bad. I thought that deep down you were good.” 

He scoffed, “Really?”

“Truly.” Lynette reaffirmed her answer. “I didn’t want to believe that the Mother would pair me with a horrid soul. I was young, naive, still had hope in the world.” 

“And now?” Eris asked, his face softening at her confessions. 

“Now? Now I believe that the Mother laughs in my face.” Lynette said through gritted teeth as she looked across at him with distaste. 

He straightened back into the chair, no longer eager to hear her recount the events. 

“Your turn.” Lynette said, causing Eris to look back confused. “I know when you found out, but I want to hear it from you.” A raised eyebrow let him know that she was waiting for him to speak. 

Eris closed his eyes, breathing deeply as if readying himself to recount a painful memory. Lynette almost took offense that the memory of the bond snapping was a painful one, as if being mated to her was the horror of the pair. Then, just as he opened his mouth to speak a knock rang loudly through the quiet room. “Thank the Mother.” He whispered under his breath before hastily making his way to the door, opening it only enough to see who knocked. “What is it?” He hissed out at whoever stood on the other side.

“A letter for you, sir.” said a small voice that Lynette could only assume was Muriel. She heard the paper being ripped from the poor girl's hand before the door was slammed in her face. He stalked back over to his chair, examining the letter on the way over.

“Must you be so rude to the girl, she’s just doing her job.” 

“So am I.” Eris said, not even throwing a look in her direction, still focused on the letter.

“What does it say?” She asked. 

“My father wishes to meet you for lunch tomorrow to talk about the trade between our courts.” He handed her the letter so that she could read the letter for herself. She hummed in reply as she scanned over the paper. 

“Whatever will you do until then?” Eris said with a smirk on his face.

Lynette sent him a chilling glare before responding, "According to Rhysand, babysitting you."

"But we could have such other fun together, little lynx. Don't feel like playing?" He raised his eyebrow with the question. 

She looked over at him and could see the fire behind his stare, the dare to give in to the pull of the bond. "Not with you." She hissed back at him. 

“Pity.” Eris dramatically pouted. “Anyway,” he said with a small slam of the hands to arm rests as he got up, “I’m off to training. I suppose you can busy yourself till then?” 

“I suppose I can.” Lynette said with a fake smile. 

“I’ll be back around lunch.” He stalked back over to the door, only looking back at Lynette as he closed the door ever slowly, just to secretly get one more glance at his mate. 

***

The drawing room got boring fast. There was only so much Lynette could do in there. She’d looked over the bookshelves, trying to find any hint of personality in the room. Books on battle strategy, past wars, past High Lords, and Autumn Court politics were the only subjects littering the shelves of the room. Disappointment evident on Lynette’s face at the lack of anything of substance. Not only did Eris wear a mask of cruelty and disinterest but he lived it too, careful not to show his true self even in the objects of his living quarters. 

Lynette then wandered over to the double doors on the other side of the room, pressing her ear up against the door, listening for anyone in the room. After hearing nothing she cracked open the door to find a grand bedroom, much nicer than the one she had been given. The room was a large, extravagant, fit for a king bedroom. The crimson red walls with gold painted designs surrounded her as she stepped further into the room, she had no doubt that the gold paint must've had actual gold in it from the way it shimmered in the daylight coming through from the balcony window. 

The glittering room was perfectly put together. Books and papers neatly placed onto a cherry oak desk, clothes perfectly folded and hung up, everything categorized by type of clothing and color. Then there was the bed on a large dais on the other side of the room. Lynette walked up the steps to find a king sized bed carefully adorned with a multitude of blankets in varying hues of red, orange, and gold; fluffed pillows and soft furs carefully placed, just like everything else in the room. Lynette couldn't tell if it was like this due to Eris' instructions or if the maids were just that good at their job, making the room look like it had barely been lived in. She still couldn't find any trace of an interest or hobby in the room, nothing to tell her that there was in fact a decent person underneath the mask that he showed to the world of the cruel heir, nothing to show her that she had a mate worth fighting for. 

Lynette started to make her way out of the room when she felt one of the floorboards move, stepping back and forth a few times confirmed that the floorboard was indeed loose. It didn’t fit the clean and precise room she had just surveyed. She crouched down and moved the rug back to reveal the floorboard right at the bottom of the dais, a step so close that it’d hardly be noticed. Lynette raced over to the desk to find something to lift the floorboard with, spotting a letter opening knife, she grabbed it and rushed back over to the dais. Falling to her knees and eagerly shoving the knife between the boards and wiggling the blade until the board popped up. 

A small, black marble chest lay between the boards. A smirk graced Lynette’s face as she shimmed the chest out of its hiding spot, eager to discover what secrets lay inside it. The smirk fell however when she realized the chest was locked and wouldn’t budge open. Examining the box further caused the notice of the small vile on the side of it. Did it require blood? Of course it would, how else would he keep his secrets safe, the floorboards weren’t enough safety. Lynette cursed quietly as she threw the box back down onto the floor, causing the loud thump to sound. The box showed no signs of cracking. It was charmed, impenetrable without the blood of the owner. 

She sat back on her heels, glaring down at the box that possibly housed the answers that she desperately wanted. It confirmed one thing though. There was a hidden side to Eris Vanserra, one that he’d probably be punished for in this ruthless court. Lynette sat there for a while longer, silently pondering what could be laying inside the chest. Minutes ticked by turning into hours, locked in a trance of staring at that damned box. She was finally broken out of it by the distant sound of footsteps coming near to the drawing room. Lynette rushed as she put the chest back under the floorboards, smashing the loose board back into the floor and covering it with the rug. The steps were closer now, right outside the doors now. She had no time to put the knife back, instead choosing to stuff it down the front of her dress, the handle snug between her breasts. The knob was turning now. Lynette launched herself towards the plush bed, falling onto her side, propped up by her elbow. The door opened. 

Eris walked in. Hair slick back with sweat, shirt tossed over his shoulders, sweat making his skin shine in the light, warm muscles flexing with every step. He looked towards the open doors to the bedroom and a feline grin took over his features as he noticed Lynette laying on the bed. 

“I have no complaints about you being in my bed, but little lynx, what are you doing over there?” Another step and he was fling the shirt towards the chairs they sat in that morning, stepping closer to the bedroom. 

“Having a little cat nap, obviously.” Lynette replied while slowly moving into a more comfortable seat. 

Eris hummed in response, slowly stepping closer and closer, abs now fullying shining in the light. Lynette let her eyes linger downwards, watching as the sweat rolled down and down his torso until her eyes met the waistline of his pants. Clearing her throat she shifted in her seat and turned her gaze away causing a laugh to erupt from Eris. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Now at the bottom of the dais he gazed up at her on the bed, a wicked gleam in his eye. 

“Don’t know what you mean.” She said, still gazing off at one of the walls of the room. 

Another laugh came from him. “Be like that then.” A step up onto the dais and he was towering over her now, on his bed. He leaned down, lips to her ear causing a shiver to run down her spine. “You stay here while I go freshen up, then I’ll take you on a nice lunch. Yeah?” He pulled back with a smug expression, knowing the effect he was having on her and taking great pride in it. She glared up at him, unable to refuse since she had no other business to attend to. Eris grinned as he backed away from her and made his way to the washroom. 

***

Eris came back dressed in a matching set of dark red slacks and a buttoned up jacket, gold threads making designs of leaves at the seams and cuffs of the jacket. His hair no longer slick back with sweat, loose waves of hair now falling down right below his ears, framing his face nicely. He looked almost respectable, almost, there was still the unwavering smirk on his face. His mask never dropping for a second, even within the safety of his rooms. 

Lynette was sitting at the desk now, specifically denying his request to have her stay on the bed. She flipped through a random book on the desk, not even reading, just mindlessly scanning the pages. 

"Would you like the scenic or quick route to lunch?" He asked as he finished folding the cuffs of his jacket back. 

She pondered the question for a second. "Scenic." If she had to be stuck with him for the day she may as well see some of the Autumn Courts beauty. She had heard of the glorious waterfalls, lakes, and trees that belonged to the Autumn Court; it'd be nice to see them before having to deal with Hybern. 

Eris walked over to her, slightly extending a hand for her to take. She ignored it, instead walking past him and to the double doors connecting to the drawing room. Turning back to him slightly, waiting for him to lead the way to wherever their lunch was. 

He shrugged it off and walked past her, to the other pair of doors. "May I hold the door open for you? Or is that too much as well?" He asked in a mocking tone, already opening the door for her. Lynette threw him a sarcastic smile as she walked through the doorway and back into the stone corridor. “This way.” Eris said, pointing down the long corridor. The door slammed shut behind them as he already started making his way down the hall, not waiting up for her. She hurried her feet and caught up to him. 

“Where are we going anyway?” Lynette asked as they continued down the what felt like a never ending corridor. 

“You’ll like it, don’t worry.” He sharply turned, leading her down an identical hall. Another sharp turn, another identical looking hall. She could’ve gotten lost in here for days if she had been alone, the house was a never ending maze. 

Lynette then suddenly left dizzy, the walls were closing and opening. The stones were rushing by here, a mile a minute. She barely even recognized that she was moving, feeling like she was stuck in place and that the house was moving. That was until she looked down and realized her feet were moving, she was running over the cobblestone floors. She was lost in the house, trapped in the house. The walls were still moving. Lynette willed her feet to stop moving, collapsing onto the cobblestone. Hyperventilating on the floor, everything still spinning.

“I held out my hand for a reason.” A voice broke through the illusion, the room slowly stopping. She looked up to see Eris towering over her, a hand held out for her. This time she accepted it, letting him haul her up onto her. With shaky legs she leaned on him, hands on his chest as she slowed her breathing, gaining back her strength. “The house protects itself, it doesn’t like strangers.” 

“I see.” Lynette huffed out.

Eris carried Lynette over to a stone bench, letting her sit down for a minute to reorient. “If you don’t have an Autumn Court smell then the house will try to trick you. It’ll slowly make you go mad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” She panted out, still calming down from the mind games the house played on her.

“If you had taken my hand when I offered it you would’ve been told.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Knowing she wouldn’t have even believed him if he had given her a warning, she had to learn by experiencing it firsthand. 

“I was fine walking from my room to yours!” Lynette refuted. Her body finally recovering enough for her to breathe easily now. 

“You weren’t going far. Now, will you hold onto me?” He held out his hand. She grabbed onto his elbow, linking their arms as she raised from the bench. “Good enough.” Eris pulled her down the corridor, a series of turns once again before they stood in front of a stone archway leading outside. 

She stepped out and looked up at the leaves gleaming in the light, various shades of yellow, orange, red, and purple leaves surrounding them. Trees lined from the archway all the way down a path of mossy step, the trees arching inward to create a tunnel. The light seeping through the leaves creating a kaleidoscope of colors all around them. “This isn’t even the scenic part of the trip.” Eris whispered behind her. 

Lynette whipped her head around in shock at what he said, there was something even better than what laid in front of her. 

“There is much beauty to be found here.” He gently lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek. “It all pales in comparison to you though.” Eris let his hand fall away from her face, stepping down the steps, gently guiding her down by their linked arms. 

Lynette continued down the tunnel in confusion, he just let the house try to kill her and now he was calling her beautiful. If he was trying to win points with her, he was failing. 

As they got closer to the end of the stairs Lynette could smell what waited for them. The smell of apples was brought up by a breeze, getting stronger and stronger as the steps went by. She stepped off the last step, Eris finally letting go of her, taking in the gorgeous orchard that greeted them. The red and yellows glimmering, inviting her to pluck the ripe fruit off the tree. 

She followed Eris as he continued walking through, only waiting a minute for her to take in the scenery. A small dirt road laid just ahead, he walked across it though, going straight into the forest instead. 

"Need a quiet place to murder me?" Lynette asked in a mocking tone from behind him. 

"Yeah, I'll just throw your body off a cliff. Let nature take care of you." He shot right back at her, earning a small laugh that made him smile ever so slightly. 

They continued the trek up into the forest, moving deeper and deeper, surrounded by the autumn trees. Lynette found herself slowly becoming mesmerized by the beauty of the Autumn Court. While it had a bad reputation for how it was run, no one could deny that it had beautiful scenery. 

“We’re here” Eris announced as they came up to a cave. He extended a hand towards the cave, letting her walk through first. One step into the cave and the smell of iron washed over her, the fresh scent of dirt and water being present as well as she made her way through. The cave shortened, Lynette squeezed through to continue on. She could hear the crashing of water on the other side, a waterfall, he led her behind a waterfall. In the middle of the cave a large flat rock with lunch on top, two smaller rocks on each side for chairs. 

“Some like to watch waterfalls from below, I think this is a better experience.” Eris said as he came up behind her, laying a hand on her waist carefully, watching the awe in her face as she watched the water rush and crash below them. She let him stay close, just for a minute, to let him know she appreciated being brought to such a place. Leaning head on his shoulder as she continued to watch the waterfall, sighing as her face was misted. “I knew you’d like it.” He whispered to her. Lynette hummed in response, closing her eyes and breathing in the sweet smell of her surroundings. 

The lunch was ate in silence, only focusing on the food that their stomachs were grumbling for after the long hike. Lynette was lost in thought as she mindlessly stirred her soup, thinking on if this is what she’d be agreeing to if she accepted him as her mate. Breakfasts in his rooms, hikes to have lunch in mysterious caves, the guilt constantly racking her body of being with him. She wanted this. She wanted the company of her mate, and she hated it, loathed herself for feeling like that for even a split second. The last of the soup and bread was gone now, nothing left to distract herself with. Her disgust, shame, and guilt must have found its way down the bond because hurt flashed in Eris’ eyes for just a second. 

“If you think this will make me accept the bond you’re wrong. I can never accept it.” Lynette stated, turning on the rock to face the waterfall, not being able to bear seeing her mate's face as she rejected him. 

“I have no intention of you accepting it.” She turned her head to him, eyebrows raised in question. All of his actions said otherwise, why else take her here. “At least not yet. Not while my father sits on the throne.” He added on. “I would never willingly subject my mate to his rule.” It surprised her, he wanted to protect her from Beron. She knew that he was hungry for the throne but it never occurred to her that he wanted to protect people from his father, she only thought of his greed for power, to rule an already fearful people. 

“With that plan, maybe you'll have me in, hmmm, a few eons.” Beron was older than any other High Lord in Prythian. He was cruel, but smart, there was a reason why he had been on the throne for so long. He would not be taken off it so easily. Eris knew this. 

“Such little faith in your mate. A pity.” He tutted at her, shaking his head. Eris then suddenly straightened, eyes on guard as he scanned the room. “Someone is near.” He whispered, walking towards the cave entrance. “Stay here.” Eris turned his head to her, “Please.” He said sincerely. She nodded, staying in her seat but now on guard, eyes glazing over slightly, a spark of her power behind them. He left.

An icy fog started to leak out of her hands, ready to strike at the first sight of a perpetrator. She stood at the edge of the cliff now. If someone came she could stun them and then drop down into the water, she had no idea how far the fall was or if the water was shallow or deep but she had the better guess that she’d survive the drop. She had to, it was her only exit. 

The minutes passed by and Eris still hadn’t come back. She started to get nervous, debated on going after him, debated on even tugging on the damn bond to make sure he was alright. She took a step away from the edge of the cliff, making her way towards the entrance, stepping off to the side so as not to be seen. Then a smell suddenly filled the cave from behind her, someone was behind her causing her whirl around. A sinister grin graced the male’s face, fiery red eyes stared at her, his hair the same shade as Eris’. A Vanserra brother, which one, she had no idea. 

“Has no one given you a warm welcome yet?” His eyes flickered to her hands still encased in the icy fog. “Well, let me be the first.” A flame erupted in front of her face. She ran to the other side of the cave, trying to get back to that edge of the cliff, but he stood in her way. He tutted at her as he walked closer to her. 

She could either turn and run out into a forest that she had no idea how to navigate or she could fight her way past the Vanserra brother and jump off the cliff. She didn’t know if she could find her way out of the forest, for all she knew there was another brother waiting for her outside. The watery depths however, he would not be stupid enough to follow. She weighed her options for a moment before sprinting right at him, a strong icy wind blowing out his flame. An icicle formed in her hand, she swung it at his ribs but he jumped back, barely missing it. So close now to the edge, just a few more feet before she could freefall and be rid of the fiery male. He was close to the edge too. Maybe she could just push him off, but that could cause even more issues for her stay. She had to get around him and leave him unharmed. Lynette lunged for one side then ran the other way to fake him out. 

Successfully she leaped from the edge, ready to be encased in the waterfall and crash down along with it. He grabbed the bottom of her skirts, yanking her backwards, with just barely having enough time to register it, she shielded her face with her arms as her body slammed into the side of the cliff. 

“You won’t get away this time.” He hissed out from above. This time? He must’ve been at the border when Feyre crossed over from Autumn to Winter. What did he want revenge for? She only attacked Eris, she didn’t touch the other two. Rhysand messed with their minds, they may think Feyre’s ice powers were actually Lynette’s. 

Lynette dug her hands into the rock, steadying herself as there was an attempt to yank her up. Her fingers dug deeper into the rock, small jagged pieces piercing her skin but she barely felt it, too focused on getting away. She kicked her foot up, aiming for the hand wrapped around the cloth of her dress. Looking down she could tell that the water was deep, if she could free her leg she could dive and swim off. 

She kicked up again, pulling herself towards the rock even more, desperate to get away from the male. He dodged it, instead shaking the bottom of her dress and slamming her back into the cliff. Her hip throbbed in pain but she buried it down, not having time to worry about the injury. He dislodged something in that movement though, the hilt of the knife fell out from between her breasts, now balancing between her chin and chest. She had forgotten that she had stuffed in there earlier when Eris surprised her. 

Steadying herself on the rock with one hand she quickly took one hand off the rock and grabbed the knife. Turning her head she could see where his hand was bunched into her skirts, with one swift movement she sliced the knife clean through the fabric. Lynette heard him crying out in pain as she plunged down towards the water, splashing into the embracing cold depths.

[danikamariewrites]

𝕊𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Prologue

A/n: welcome to my first series! I’m so happy to be putting this out and I’m excited to hear your thoughts. Please feel free to comment or ask questions :)

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of death, reader being trapped in a tower, deceptive Beron

At thirteen years old you were still showing no sign of powers. Your father had always told you tales of the fire that runs through your veins. What your birthright is as the last living heir to the Autumn Court.

He had always seemed so happy to have you as his child. So proud.

Though the expectations he set terrified you, you were happy you have Beron as a father. When your father visits your tower he always asks what you’re learning this week or if you found any new hobbies to enjoy. There wasn’t much to do in your tower but study and draw. In your free time art had become your passion. So much so that your father and tutor, Lady Briar, couldn’t ignore your talent.

Everytime your father visits you ask him to tell you a story. Finally, after a decade of begging him for the tale of your family, Beron gave in. Your mother and two older brothers had loved you very much, he would tell you.

“When you were just a babe,” he would start the same way every time, “Relations between us and the Night Court were unstable. Their High Lord was hell bent on dominating Prythian.” This tale would always scare you. Make you afraid of what you would have to face once you took the throne of the Autumn Court. You’d be alone as High Lady. You didn’t like to think about being without your father.

During their legendary battle your mother and brothers had perished at the hands of the vile High Lord of Night. It was so awful and graphic your father never let you read any of the history books about it.

After he would tell the story he would leave. Giving you no other information about your family. Only left with your imagination to draw up what they looked like.

By twenty-two your powers had come, but you didn’t dare speak of what they were. You didn’t have the bright flames he’d hoped for from you. Father had told you of the blue flame that came once in a generation. An Autumn High Lord hadn’t produced a child who could wield such power in centuries.

On your own you have discovered your daemati powers. You knew about them from the history books Lady Briar had given you about the High Lords of Prythian.

Every time father talked about powers your gut twisted. Your heart rate spiked. And your palms would sweat. Father mistook it for excitement about learning how to control the fire that was your birthright.

On the day before your fiftieth birthday your father came into your room. He was frantic and disheveled. Telling you he loved you, cherished you even. He told you that you are the most important person in the world to him. That the day you were born he was blessed by the Mother herself to have you in his arms

The next day he didn't visit. Nor the day after that. Then a week had gone by and nothing. No one had come to your tower.

He never missed your birthday.

Calming your mind and body you sit criss cross on your bed. Slowing your breathing you cast your mind out to the main house, far from your lonesome tower.

There was chaos and quiet. Advisors scrambling but no solid answers. But not a soul is worried about you.

A knock at your door brought you back to your body. Unlocking the door with your mind you quickly stand, smoothing out the skirts of your dark autumn red gown. Lady Briar enters, looking as solemn and stern as ever. You give her a deep curtsy. “Lady Briar,” you greet. Looking up you see her expression changed to one of slight sorrow. “Princess,” she starts. “Your father, he…he has been taken with the other High Lords. That is all we know for now, your grace.” Without another word Lady Briar turned and left.

For weeks you paced your room, going about your usual routine. Reading. Painting. Sleeping. Repeat. You were going stir crazy. You were also desperate for answers as to who dared keep your father captive.

Something wasn’t right. You could feel it in your gut that there was more to what happened.

If no one would tell you then it was time to hunt for answers on your own. Which means going somewhere you’ve never gone before.

You have to leave the comfort of the tower. Well, it’s never been comfortable. As the years droned on you’ve felt more cramped and isolated than anything.

You had no supervision. No one to tell you no. Lady Briar certainly isn’t an authority figure to you anyways.

It took days of projecting your mind into the house, watching to learn the guards patterns. Where you would need to hide yourself and whose mind you would need to hold on to.

Throwing your cloak on, taking a deep breath you make your way down the spiral stairs of the tower. There were less than you thought there would be.

Letting loose another breath, resting your hand on the door that separates you from the real world, you square your shoulders and push.

Taking in the night sky from below was so different than your window. It seemed wider. Endless. Feeling the soft ground under your boots made you want to run and jump through the Forest House grounds.

Perhaps another night.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

dōnus riñus (sweet girl) │ Chapter 2: Bedding (NSFW!)

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second-born daughter of Aemma and Viserys, you never expected to be married off to your uncle, Daemon Targaryen. The wedding night is here. 

(Set in Episode 6 - however, Daemon never married Laena, and he's returned to King's Landing after ten years in exile.)

TRIGGERS: incest, loss of virginity, purity culture, mild blood, breeding kink, age gap, dubious consent, public bedding.

The fire crackles merrily in the hearth while your ladies-in-waiting prepare you for the evening. You stare unseeingly at the blaze as Ceryse brushes out your pale hair and Senna ties the laces at the neckline of your shift, allowing the flames and the warmth to lull you into a false sense of calm.

“Look at me,” Senna says. You look up. She is smiling sympathetically at you. “There is nothing to be afraid of, Princess.”

“I’m not afraid.” It is true. You aren’t—and you are. You know not what to feel. That is the problem, is it not? It is the not-knowing, the unknown, that makes you anxious.

“His Highness will be good to you.” She makes no comment on your response, but you can tell she does not believe your affirmation, as hesitant as it was. “He loves you.”

“Of course he loves me. He’s my uncle,” you say absent-mindedly, but even the knowledge of your shared Targaryen blood does little to assure you of this.  

Love. It is a word that has been bandied about by many throughout your short courtship—but how can he love a person he does not know? You know not what love a man like Daemon can have for you, if it even exists at all. Seven years old when he left, seventeen when he returned, three moons’ courting and less than half a year of reacquaintance in total is not near enough time to relearn a person, even if they are family.

You exhale tremulously when the door to your chambers—the new, unfamiliar room you feel as though you had scarcely been given a moment to accustom yourself to—opens. The sound of merrymaking and raucous chatter from the wedding feast in the Great Hall, even so far away as it is, spills in as the witnesses file in. The chairs had been laid out, the wooden screen already unfolded, the gauzy curtains arranged to ensconce the bedframe, not that any of these measures serve to wholly shield the marital bed from view. It hides enough, but one can still see the outline of bodies, the vague impression of movement. You had Ceryse and Senna help you test it. You suppose idly that this is the point—a bedding, especially a royal one, must be seen. You steadfastly ignore the low whispers, the shuffling and scraping of chairs as the witnesses take their places. You know who you would see if you did.

Lord Lyonel. Grand Maester Mellos. Lord Tyland. Lord Lyman. Alicent. You could almost tolerate what would no doubt be an ordeal of humiliation, if not for the necessity of the presence of your family—

Father. Laenor. Rhaenyra.

It seems cruel to you that Rhaenyra is here, made to sit beside her own husband—a match of convenience, no more—and watch as the man she had always longed for beds her little sister. It is cruel that your uncle will have to consummate a union to the wrong niece after spending ten years abroad, drowning his sorrows after she had wedded Laenor. It is cruel that you must play second-best to Rhaenyra even in this, your marriage, when you have felt her shadow over you your entire life—the second daughter, even more useless than a first daughter.

You had even heard tell of the most salacious rumour concerning your uncle and a whore with silver hair playacting as his niece in the slums of Flea Bottom, and when you had asked him of it, he had refused to provide an answer. Doomed before it has even begun, you think wryly to yourself.

The door adjoining the marital bedchambers across the room opens with a creak. From the sudden cessation of noise from your left and the abrupt absence of Ceryse and Senna’s warmth at your front and back, you assume your uncle—your husband—has arrived. You make no move to acknowledge his presence, even as his footsteps draw nearer to you.

“Ābrazȳrys.” He all but purrs the word into your ear, the rolling consonants of your Valyrian mother tongue voiced gently. Wife.

He stands in front of you, partially blocking the fire. You suppress the urge to shiver—with fear or something else, you do not know. Ceryse and Senna murmur something—it remains unheard—they depart.

“Valzȳrys,” you breathe, your voice quieter and weaker than you had hoped. Husband.

“Elēdrar issa.” It is time. His hand rests on your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

His features are sharp in the light of the flames behind him, emphasising the cut of his jaw, the edge of his nose, the darkness blotting out the lilac of his eyes. Your Uncle has always been handsome, and he seems almost unearthly in the play of light and shadow. His thumb traces your bottom lip, and your mouth parts instinctively. He makes an aborted press between your parted lips and swallows, glancing up in question. You know what this means. You nod.

His hand shifts to cup your neck as his lips descend onto yours. You press your mouth awkwardly against his, hands hesitantly coming to rest on his clothed chest for leverage. You can feel him smile against you as he tilts your head softly, and you know your cheeks burn as he coaxes you to mimic the press and glide of lips in an art unfamiliar to you. Slowly, you feel the tension in your arms, your spine, your shoulders loosen, and you unconsciously shift and relax against him as you kiss. He huffs gently as his free hand comes to rest on the small of your back, pressing you further into him.

Ahem.

You feel him stiffen at the unsubtle noise from the gallery. You had forgotten about your audience, and your head automatically begins to turn to—

“Daor,” he whispers—no—pulling your eyes back to him. “Fuck off,” he says louder, and though he has not ceased eye contact with you, it is obviously directed at your interrupter.

A weak grumble of protest is all that can be heard as your mouth upturns weakly in spite of your own nervousness. You could always trust your uncle to openly confront opposition. Daemon smiles at you and takes your hand. 

“Māzīs, riñītsos.” Come, little girl. 

You swallow anxiously at the old pet-name as he leads you to the bed, pushing aside the sheer fabric drapes to expose the sheets clearly. For all that it is your wedding night, you had never felt so small or so vulnerable since you were a child.

He looks down at you, the twist of his mouth gentle, already working the strings that tie the neck of his bedshirt closed.  “Mīsītsori aōhe nādīnagon bēvilō daor.”You do not have to remove your clothes.

You bite your lip, willing away the tears threatening to well in your eyes. You want to cry at his kindness.

A reedy voice pipes up suddenly, loudly, interrupting again. “Your Highnesses, if you could procee—”

Daemon exclaims sharply at the interruption. He has to talk even louder from here if he wishes to be heard by your company. “Brother. If you cannot shut that old cunt up, I’ll gladly do it for you. You’ll likely need a new Grand Maester, though, as I don’t see Mellos performing all that well without a head.”

You can hear your father reprimanding the Maester, though it sounds low and far off from your position before the bed, and your cheeks flush again at the reminder that there are people here watching you. Impatiently, from the sounds of it. For a moment, rage suffuses you.

How dare they treat me so disrespectfully?

You are a Princess of the Realm, not a whore at a pleasure show. For all your mild-mannered temper usually, you are not wholly without the pride and fire of House Targaryen.

Perhaps this is what fuels you next.

You respond to Daemon’s previous statement haughtily, already rolling up your shift and yanking it over your head, heedless of the laces, throwing it to the bottom of the bed. “Lo elēnin jaelzi, kepus, elēnin mazemilzi.” If they want a show, Uncle, a show is what they will get. 

And with that, you are naked before him.

He pauses, jaw clenching as his eyes roll over your exposed throat, the slope of your breasts, the concavity of your belly, the valley between your legs. He flicks his gaze back to yours, a wolfish, predatory smile transforming his face into something almost savage.

“Let us begin, then.”

He tugs off his shirt and steps towards you, heedless of where the fabric lands. When he grabs you this time, he is less gentle, his hands tightening on your hipbones as his lips slot over yours with a hunger you are surprised by. You whine softly—he growls, pushing you down onto the bed and landing over you, his mouth following to re-join yours with ardent intensity. He trails to your neck, laving at your exposed throat with amorous kisses and light nips that elicit a breathy yip from you at the small shock of almost-pain. His nose brushes down the valley between your breasts, and he murmurs softly against your skin.

“Gevie.” Beautiful.

You smile unbidden at the praise, starting when his lips slide over your nipples, alternating between hot laps of his tongue and soft pulls of his mouth. It feels as though there is a steel bolt connecting the sensations to the throbbing epicentre between your legs, and you throw your head back as a moan escapes. You slap your hand over your mouth. Daemon raises himself above you again. 

“Do not hide from me,” he says hotly, bending down to kiss you. “I want to hear every sound. Understand?”

You sigh in agreement, and he returns to his task. You shift uneasily as he makes it clear where he is headed. You squirm as he comes to rest just above the valley between your firmly closed legs, his nose buried in the silver curls shielding your womanhood. His eyes flick to yours as he inhales deeply, and your cheeks burn with embarrassment. What is he doing?

“Uncle…” you whisper. He hushes you, pushing his hand between your knees and gently—always gently—forcing your legs apart, the width of his invading shoulders preventing you from closing them. You push yourself up on your elbows, unsure of what he is intending. “Daemon–”

“Sh, little girl.” He kneels before your splayed form, pulling your legs over his shoulders and dragging you a scant few inches to the edge of the bed, flush with his body, his arms wrapped around your thighs and trapping you in his hold. “You’ll like this part.”

You want to ask what he means by that until you feel something hot and wet against your exposed centre, and you realise with shock that he’s using his mouth against you.

“Daem—” You try to move away, but he has you locked in tightly against him.

He moans and the vibration rocks into you, transforming your desire to escape into an urge to press closer. His tongue lashes furiously against your folds, bullying against the nexus point of your pleasure and you cry out, the noise seeming louder than intended due to the unnatural silence permeating the room. You rock your hips against him reflexively and he grunts, tightening his arms around you and pulling you further onto his face.

You crest with a shocked yelp, tipping back onto the bed as a wash of golden-warm bliss overtakes your body, your thighs clenching on Daemon’s head. He works you through your orgasm with firm lashes of his tongue, groaning as the taste of you suffuses his palate. 

When you sink down into the bed, he releases you and stands, hands working at the laces of his breeches.

You pant in wonder, staring up at the canopy. “What… was that?”

He laughs; you look down towards him, squinting in affronted annoyance. His hand works slowly at his shaft. “That was your peak, sweetling.”

You stare.

You’ve seen what lay between a man’s legs before—or, well—once, when you were a child, you caught your father’s prize stallion tupping your favourite mare in the stable. The stableboys were alarmed to see their young princess hysterical, sobbing that the ‘horsey was hurting her’. When your father found out, you were sat down for a long and distinctly uncomfortable conversation with Septa Marlow about men, marriage and mating. Despite your relief that Daemon’s appendage is nowhere near as horrifying as that stallion’s was, he is still a great deal larger than you were hoping—you do not think it will fit where Septa Marlow said it is supposed to.

“My—what?” Your wide eyes are glued to the motion of his hand.

He licks his lips as you watch him, then abruptly ceases, grabbing you by the waist and jostling you up to the middle of the bed. You squeal softly at the sudden movement and grab onto his shoulders, so reminiscent of your innocent rough-play together when you were a young girl, and he chuckles at the light-hearted cadence of your voice. He lay your head softly on the pillows.

“Your peak,” he repeats, and your forehead furrows lightly. “The height of your pleasure.”

As he speaks, his member brushes against your belly. You shiver at the contact. His brow quirks, and he pushes down against you more firmly, repeating the action, his nose rubbing against yours. You can feel the wetness from between your legs on the skin of his cheek as it brushes yours—you do not abhor it.

“I liked it,” you whisper.

He growls softly, turning his head to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips, and the realisation sends a pulse of want through your core, despite having just come down from your climax.

“Dōnus riñus.” Sweet girl. “I’m glad you liked it. You should enjoy the marital bed, not be afraid of it. Fucking is a pleasure, you see—for the woman as it is the man.”

He smiles wryly down at you, though you do not understand why. He kisses you again, licking into your mouth, tongues intertwining as his hand comes up to entwine into your hair and his cock presses down to sluice through your wet folds, driving against that point of great sensitivity at the top of your centre. You whimper at the overstimulation, but allow him to do as he will.

A loud clatter echoes throughout the room—your head snaps towards the gallery in alarm. Why do you keep forgetting there are people here?

“Fuck! I tripped. Sorry!”

“Laenor. Shut the fuck up!”

You snort when you hear your cousin’s and sister’s voices, giggling despite the awkwardness. Daemon’s head presses down into the exposed column of your throat, and you can feel the rumbles of his laughter against your skin. He has not stopped grinding down into you though, and your hips tip up even as the spell has been broken.

“If you’d both shut up, I’d like to get on with it” Daemon calls out.

He lays kisses idly against your throat, and you whine as he suckles what is sure to be a dark blooming mark against the skin just under your ear. You hear faint mumbling in response to your uncle’s exhortation, but you can no longer find it in you to be ashamed of your audience—Daemon’s lack of concern is catching.

“Ojenillo gō emi, riñalōrti aōhe pryjēlun,” he mutters, “yn dokimarves umbagon emon daor.” Your cheeks redden violently. I should break your maidenhead before I fuck you, but I don’t have the will to wait. 

He kisses you again, pulling your right leg up around his waist and grasping the base of his shaft to glide it through your folds. You stare down, wide-eyed. He nudges your chin with his lips, and you look up at him. You are unsure whether or not to panic.

“Aō iemnȳ gaomilā, riñītsos?” Will you let me inside, little girl?

You mutter back, “Aōha ābrazȳrys. ‘Riñītsos’ daor.” Your wife. Not ‘little girl’.

He moans.

“Ñuhus ābrazȳrītsos. Ñuhon.” My little wife. Mine.

He begins to press himself inside, watching you carefully with dark eyes. You wince as he meets resistance, your walls tightening on him instinctually.

His jaw clenches. “Fuck. I thought years of riding that dragon of yours would have taken care of this.”

You know this, too. Horse-riding—and, you suppose, dragonriding by extension—often resulted in the breaking of a lady’s maidenhead. But for whatever reason, your frequent rides on Athfiezar had done nothing to ease the taking of your innocence.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Daor,” he says. “‘Tis no fault of yours. But it is unfortunate. This will hurt.”

He pauses in his advance, and you can see how the night will go if he continues to hesitate. It is gallant of him—but if it already hurts and he is barely inside, you cannot see how prolonging the event will be easier. You steel yourself.

“Do it.” You are resolute, and you are glad your tone betrays none of the anxiety you feel. “Quickly.”

His teeth grind in frustration. He nods shortly, lingering minutely before kissing you again, pressing his lips across your cheek and down your throat. You burrow your head into the crook of his neck.

He shoves in in in—

Biting down hard on his shoulder does nothing to stop the cry from escaping your lips, tears welling in your eyes. He grunts as your teeth gnash, but you can spare little consideration for his feelings. It fucking hurts. But it is a strange hurt—not akin to a stabbing or piercing as Senna had nervously relayed when describing her sharp-tongued Redwyne aunt, but more of a leather band snapping under immense pressure. It is better—and worse—than you thought it would be. And the pressure is immense. You were right in thinking it would not fit, at least not without a fight.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” His hips jerk into you, and you cry out again, the tears spilling over to wet his shoulder. He pauses. “Ah, dōnus riñus, I’m sorry–”

Daemon cradles your face in his hand and presses his lips to the trail of tears under each eye, sweeping away the evidence before placing salt-stained kisses on your mouth. It is an uncharacteristic display of softness from a man many consider violent and cruel. Then again, this entire night has been full of uncharacteristic softness. You had not been expecting much from your uncle. After all, his previous wife had been nicknamed ‘the bronze bitch’ right up until her untimely death, a death everyone says he was the cause of. You suspect those rumours are correct, but you do not wish to ask.

He waits. You are unsure if it is mere moments, or minutes, or an age—but the pain of forced entry abates, and you grow nervous at his inaction. All he does is kiss you, and stroke your hair, your waist, your leg still wrapped around him. You begin to squirm under him, trying to incite him to do something. His lips twist, but still he does not move.

“Uncle—” you whisper.

“Yes?” he asks, still stroking your hair, your waist, your leg in rhythm.

“Can you—” You blush. You do not think you can finish your sentence.

“Can I—what?” Daemon mocks gently. “If you don’t say it, I cannot know what it is you want.”

This burn of humiliation is familiar, at least. Daemon enjoys taunting people, so his wife should be no exception. You briefly wonder if he was kinder to Rhaenyra, but dismiss that as a thought to be mulled over later.

“Can you—”

You hesitate again. You are not entirely sure what it is you need, only that you are certain he can provide it to you. Daemon nudges you encouragingly. Go on, his eyes seem to say. You think you can feel his cock throb within you.

“I need—please, please, valzȳrys.” You take a gamble, thinking that naming him ‘husband’ would incite him to action.

And you are right.

The first thrust burns. The second aches. But as your husband gently rocks his hips, in-out, in-out, the pain lessens more and more.

“That’s it.” He wedges his hand under your back and pushes up, arching your spine toward him, changing the angle of his slow and steady drive into you. You pant and whine as his cock drives into the opening of your womb, forcing your cunt to make room for him—it does not hurt, this sensation, but it is strange, and you are unsure if you like it. “Sh, nice and quiet, there’s a good girl—you are, you’re a good girl, tight little cunt just for me—”

Your skin has blushed from the exertion, but you think that if you had not already been flushed, you most definitely would have started reddening from the crassness of his words. You hope that your audience cannot hear him.

“Daemon—”

“Yes,” he groans. “Say my name. I want you to fucking scream it.”

He shifts back and grabs your legs, folding them up towards you, hooking your knees over his arms. You are more exposed in this position, less dignified. You do not care. His cock drives into you and you see stars.

“Daemon!”

His responding smile is feral as he drives in harder and faster. “Three moons’ turns was agony to wait. I should have stolen you away the moment I first saw you again. Laying pretty in the grass, so innocent—I should have fucked you right there in the gardens, in front of that cunt Cole and your ladies and your bitch of a Septa, made you mine—”

You turn your head from him, alarmed. This is not what you expected. You had not realised his desire had ignited even from your very first meeting after ten years, so many moons ago now or so it seems. It makes you question every encounter, every conversation you had engaged in since, leaving you wondering if he had been thinking those same things each time he was in your company. “What—”

“Look at me,” he snarls, driving into you harder.

You yelp, clutching onto his arms, looking up at him with wide eyes. His hair has spilled out of its tied-back style, falling over his face; his eyes are fever-bright, his expression twisted into something violent and possessive. You do not know what it says about you that it makes your heart pound loudly in your chest, a bizarre mixture of excitement and fear that makes the wet pool below, easing your uncle’s path.

“Do you ‘like it’ now, niece? Does it hurt?” It sounds almost cruel. “It does,” he crows. “And you love it. Tell me!”

You shout when he thrusts forward ever more forcefully. “I like it,” you sob, overcome. “I love it, it hurts and I love it—”

“Fuck!” His lips crash down onto yours, panting as he ruts into you like a man possessed. “You’re going to take me all up in your cunt, aren’t you? Let me hold you down and spill in you, let me put my babe in your belly—”

“Yes—please, Uncle—”

You cannot help the way your eyes roll back as he forces you into a second climax, mouth open in a silent scream as the crest takes you. This time, no sound escapes—this peak has rendered you voiceless in its intensity.

“Sȳres riñus.” Good girl.  He moans, speeding up, chasing his own end. You clench down on him at the praise and whine at the overstimulation of his cock pounding into you, too much and too fast, and clutch him closer. “Good girl—fuck, take it—”

His thrusts lose rhythm as he comes, his seed bursting warm within you as he rides out his high. Claiming your mouth with his own, the urgent press of lips gradually transforms into something softer, more tender as he reaches the end. He lowers your legs gently and you wrap yourself around him as you kiss. When you are done and your breathing has slowed, he presses his forehead to yours.

“Are you well, dōnus riñus?”

Your eyes are closed. You want to live in this moment a little longer. Nodding against him, you sigh tiredly. He kisses you again, a soft brush of lips that makes you smile. You wince as he withdraws from you—a “sh, little girl” from him once more—and cringe at the sensation of warmth sliding from you and spilling on the sheet below. You do not want to look, for there is sure to be plenty of blood.

Daemon returns to you with his shirt in hand, wiping between your legs with care. “Sit up for me,” he murmurs, and you automatically do as you are told.

He bundles your shift back over your head, helping you slot your arms in before lifting you from the bed, the fabric falling to cover the rest of your body. Sitting on the chaise by the open balcony, he folds you into his lap like a child. And, like a child, you drowse, head buried in his neck as he strokes down your back. Absently, you notice he has not put his breeches on.

There is minor commotion across the room. You lift your head up. Daemon urges your face back into the crook of his neck. “Don’t worry. Just the maids tidying the bed for us.” 

And our witnesses fucking off, is the unspoken addition.

The path of his hand up and down your spine is lulling you into sleep. You try to fight it off, to little avail. There are voices over your head—Daemon is speaking—but you are too tired to pay attention.

You have questions. Much of what you had assumed no longer appears to make sense. But as Daemon—your uncle, now your husband—lifts you once and places you into bed, following quickly after and folding you into his arms, you decide it can wait.

“Sleep,” he whispers.

It does not take long for you to sink into slumber.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41942436/chapters/105272127

[noahhawthorneauthor]

Queer Books I've loved since returning to reading. 🏳️‍🌈📚🏳️‍⚧️❤️🎧

This is not a comprehensive list, and there are some authors that I've read their entire backlist but I'm only including one because SPACE.

I've been slacking on my #IndiePride2 posts, but hopefully this makes up for it. Honestly, I can't believe I kept up the consistent posts for as long as I did. Today's prompt is a queer podcast, which I'm no help with because I don't listen to podcasts. I have some saved in my 'to-listen' but I haven't gotten there yet.

Have you read any of these?

Books Listed:

A Strange And Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows.

How To Be A Movie Star by TJ Klune.

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell.

Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe.

Perfectly Imperfect Pixie by MJ May.

Initiation by Alethea Faust

Angels Before Man by rafael nicolas.

Malium Discordae by Ashlyn Drewek

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree.

Cuffs and Carnations by Nikole Knight. (I love the entire series, but this is the newest.)

Find the Jinn by Maz Maddox

The Wolf in the Whale by Jordanna Max Brodsky.

Exhale by Joel Abernathy.

Prince of Sorrows by @skellygraves

A Psalm for the Wild Built by Becky Chambers.

Lore and Lust by Karla Nikole.

The Eidolon by KD Edwards. (I have read this series four times...)

All that's left in the World by Erik Brown.

Odder Still by DN Bryn.

A Dream of Flame and Shadow by L. Eveland.

The Witch King by H.E Edgmon

Shield and Sorrow by J.E Ridgemon.

The Darkness Outside Us by Eliot Schrefer.

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic.

Vicious by VE Schwab.

Coin Tricks by Willow Scarlett

A Taste of Gold and Iron by Alexandra Rowland.

Lor by Lily Mayne.

Heart Haunt Havoc by @freydismoon

Kinship and Kindness by Kara Jorgensen.

[harlowsbby]

Master List

Jack Harlow 

Valentine Concepts

Sorrows Series

She say He say

Instagram Love

 Up at night

Wrong Turns 

Unspoken Words    Part 2 

Petty Too 

Us or Them Part 1 

I don’t think so 

Gas lighting Queen 

No Love 

Forever Fling 

Calling my phone

 Softness 

Breakup Blues 

Outta my love 

Trust Issues 

Wait for you 

Smacking Jack’s ass 

My little love 

Making Jack blush 

Still Yours collaboration with @jackssneakylinkk

Altar

Kentucky accent

 Just us 

Love is kind 

Instagram Au’s 

Fears 

Have Mercy collaboration with @lcandothisallday

Sink or swim   Part 2   Part 3 

Arguing with Jack 

Texts go green 

Jealousy, Jealousy

 Big flirt 

Court Side Love 

My Baby

Catching Flights 

Bitter   Part 2 

Need you right here

Heated  Heated Part 2 

Plastic off the sofa 

All up in your mind 

Sorry enough 

Show it 

All mine 

Missing You 

Sleepy 

Twin flame 

She’s a 10 but..

I drink wine 

My baby 

Need you right here 

Court side love 

You thought I was feeling you? 

Pure Honey 

Sleep over parties 

Sickness Blues 

Dead man 

Wants and Needs 

She’s taken 

Just the two of us

Been that way  

You and Me 

Don’t you dare 

That’s just the truth

I hate you  

Boy, I invented you 

Memories 

Impalas and Air Force 1′s   Part two   Part three   Part four 

Mine all mine 

Favorite toxic duo

My man the cook 

Lover boy Harlow 

Bare wit me    part two 

Enough is Enough 

Improv Baby 

Say you love me 

I got you 

Stone Cold 

It’s like that?

Treat me right collaboration with @nattinatalia

I guess it’s fuck me 

In the city

Grass ain’t greener  

Football shenanigans

Be mine this Christmas 

Disclosure  Part two 

Closure   Part two 

Jealous much?

Video Game Shenanigans 

May the best man or women win 

It’s giving Christmas 

Shot Clock

Target runs  

Sports and stuff

Soulmate and Always 

My headache

Some haters 

Memories  

Spread Thin

Toxic Duo

One last time   Part 2 

All that matters 

Pranks and Kisses

10,000 Hours 

Chef Harlow 

Valentine’s Blues 

My baby love 

Sorrows 

Changes 

Birthday Parties 

Little weirdo 

Could’ve Been 

All for me 

Good Love

Love Cycle 

Circles   Part Two 

Keep you in mind 

Cops & Robbers 

Open Arms 

Best thing I never had 

Timeless Love 

U remind me  Part two 

Obvious 

Inhale & Exhale 

How does it feel 

Games Women Play 

Coming Together 

Jealousy 

School Crushes 

Broken By Love 

Sound Check Shenanigans 

Women of my dreams 

The stage is ours 

2 in the morning 

Only 1 

Rainy day blues 

Sharing is caring 

That’s the spot 

Screwing 

Good Off You

Games Women Play

Top Priority 

Something Tells Me 

Coming Together 

Whatever It Takes 

Pranks & Making Up 

Should’ve Been 

Soft Life 

Cater 2 You 

Who Is Who 

Love In Paris 

All about you 

My Everything? 

Routines 

Secrets 

Someone like U 

Scared Much?

Arcade Love 

Spooks and Apologizes

Morning Routines 

Snooze

Come see me 

Pranks and Spooks

Polar Opposites  collaboration with @harlowcomehome

Deserve U 

Fun and Games

Forever Attached 

Spooky Nights In

Love Sick

Double Take 

Nonesense

Traditions with you 

Lovin on me 

Out of luck 

Late nights in 

Days with you 

So over

Too much

Jeremy (WMCJ) 

Massages & Smoothies 

Urban Wyatt 

Phoenix & Venus 

Birthday Boy 

Coming Together 

Treacherous Twin

Let me love you 

All for us 

Rainy Day 

 Adorn 

Two fools in love 

Love Bug 

Loved & Lost 

Buy a heart 

Cozy 

Personal Space 

Cover Girl 

Turn that cherry out 

Twins 

Hate me tomorrow 

Talk of the town 

Love Drought 

He loves me?

Only 4 Me

In love 

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Request from the lovely @nicoline1998enilocin: "I have a short and simple request for you including our favorite super soldier: Bucky! What is he like during mirror sex? He can be the one receiving the pleasure or giving - or both, depending on your mood 😉" Shoutout to @samodivaa for the help and support as always!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Some angsty feelings on Bucky's behalf, mention of legal proceedings, oral sex

“BUCKY!” you yelled after him. He was halfway down the staircase when you were finally within ear shot. 

“Bucky,” you panted out his name this time. Cardio had never been your strong point.

He looked up at you, mirth reflected in his eyes at your need to hang over the handrail to catch your breath.

“What’s up, Sugar?”

“Get your butt back up here,” you demanded.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed into a look of concern as he marched back up the stairs to you.

“Did you even look at yourself in the mirror before you left?”

The small shrug of his shoulders told you everything you needed to know. “How did you know?” he asked. The mirth that had temporarily graced his features was replaced by his usual melancholy.

You held up the long strip of silky material in your hand. “You forgot your tie!”

“Oh.” His lips breathed out the sound as they formed a perfect little circle.

“Here, let me.” You lifted your arms to pull up the collar of his shirt and wrap the tie around his neck. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“It’s a closed hearing. They aren’t allowing anyone inside.”

“I could wait outside," you suggested, folding his collar back down and smoothing the tie with your palm.

“It’s not worth your time.”

“You’re worth it, Bucky.” You leaned into him, the back of your fingers gently caressing his cheek. He was one step below you, meaning you were face to face rather than this usual towering posture.

“Am I?”

“Buck,” you sighed. You hated how much his past plagued him. He would suffer from fits of despondency and wistfulness which would take him away from you. His body would be yours to hold but his mind was lost in a haze of his bloody past. Today was definitely one of those days. Understandably so, he was being judged for actions he felt responsible for, despite knowing that his mind had not been his own.

His court mandated therapy would leave him a shell of himself. Gone would be the charm and snark that your boyfriend innately sported and you were left with a husk of his former self. His spells of self loathing had become more frequent and it left you filled with dread that one day you’d lose your boyfriend to his guilt ridden conscience.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked him.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s tone didn’t inspire confidence.

“Buck, just give me five minutes, I’ll-”

“No,” he cut you off with more force than you expected. “I don’t want you there.”

It hurt. He knew it hurt you but he couldn’t quite form the words to apologize. Instead he would let the sorrow fester in the depths of his soul, turning away, unwilling to look into your eyes, to see the new cracks he had made on your heart. He was afraid that one day he would shatter it into a thousand pieces and he would lose you forever, but he still didn’t have the strength to concoct an apology. He would lose you through his own actions. It was what he deserved.

“Okay.” 

Your acceptance of him made him angry, he clenched his teeth, a rage building up inside of him in the same way it had when he had been him. It was still inside him, the creature they had forced out of him, had leashed and used. Why didn’t you see the monster inside?

“I’ll be here when you get home,” you said softly as he left you at the top of the staircase.

***

Bucky crept back into the apartment. A pardon. They had given him a full pardon. He had complied with their demands, jumped through their hoops and saved the world to boot. His actions told the tales of redemption but his soul still burned in flames of an eternal torment.

He heard you humming in the kitchen, probably preparing something delicious for him. You were the only light in his life, he couldn't think of anything he had done in his overextended lifetime to deserve the compassion you showed him.

Shame engulfed him, he couldn't face you after the words he had spoken that morning. He couldn’t look into your beautiful eyes without an apology that was worthy of you. Maybe the scalding temperature of a hot shower would help wash away the fog that clouded his brain and steeped him further into his anguish.

You may not have caught the sound of his footsteps, but there was no mistaking the creaking of the ancient pipes in the building.

“Bucky?” you muttered under your breath. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, except a super soldier who was not currently in the act of drowning his sorrows under a showerhead. You turned off the stove and padded into his bedroom. After retrieving the suit that he had so carelessly dropped on the floor, you sat down on the bed to wait for your boyfriend to come out of the bathroom. 

He didn’t emerge for almost an hour, but you were patient. Forgiving. Almost too forgiving.

Bucky froze in the doorway with only a towel hanging around his waist, seeing you sitting on the bed watching him, concern etched across your face. He watched your lips open and close slightly, fighting the urge to get up and rush to wrap your arms around him. He craved your touch, but he stayed, frozen, out of reach. He could see your fear, not for your safety, but of his response. But it was your sadness which finally ignited some movement from him.

He sat down beside you, drops of water dripping off his hair down onto his shoulders. The scent of his geranium and orange shower gel wafted into your nostrils, giving you the comfort of his presence, his proximity, as well as the courage to ask your question.

“What happened, Bucky?”

“Pardoned.” His reply was flat.

You gasped, flooded by a sense of relief. It was a reflex, you grabbed his flesh hand between yours and looked at his face, searching for his reaction. “That’s great! Right, Buck?”

He turned his head, not quite able to look at your face. Instead he stared ahead, only to catch your eyes in the reflection of the full length mirror which hung on the wall in front of you. You deserved an answer, so he nodded stiffly.

“Bucky.” The way you breathed his name betrayed everything you were feeling. Heartache, apprehension, anxiety and most importantly, affection.

He squeezed your fingers, trying to convey everything he hadn't said with this one action.

"We need to talk, Bucky."

And here it was. You had reached your limit.

"I'm worried about you."

The breath that had caught in his throat escaped in a short hiss.

"You can't carry on like this."

You weren't looking at his reflection anymore, you were looking directly at him, eyes filled with expectation.

"I-" Bucky grappled to find the right words. "I don't deserve this."

"Because of what you see, right? You look into that mirror," you pointed at his reflection, "and you still see yourself as the Winter Soldier. But Bucky, that's not who I see."

"No?"

"No," you shook your head. "I see a man who's the survivor of the most heinous acts that another human can inflict on them."

Your fingers hovered over the scars on his left shoulder, gently caressing his skin. "Someone who resisted their torture for twenty years."

"You have so much strength and resilience, you fought against it and you're still doing it. You don't give up. And that makes me so proud." Gently you rested your chin on his right shoulder and pressed your temple against his stubbled cheek. 

You folded one knee under you and moved closer  to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his waist. "I know I can't take away the sadness in your heart… as much as I wish I could. And I know you carry that weight with you every day. But if you'll let me, I'd like to help you with it. Especially on those days when it gets to be too much."

Bucky's jaw worked hard to mumble his next words. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're the most important person in my life. I choose you."

You kissed his cheek, a sweet peck. The first of many. The next was firmer, your lips on his skin longer. Another to the angle of his jaw. It left a buzzing sensation where you'd made contact. But you didn't stop there, you left a trail of blazing kisses down his neck and along his shoulder, not once taking your eyes off Bucky's reflection. You wanted to make sure he was watching you.

"I want you to see how special you are."

You snaked your hands up from his waist so that they landed on his chest, over his heart.

"I want you to know that I see the good man that's in here. I see you, Bucky."

Your eyes didn't leave his in the mirror. Together you both watched your movements as you showed Bucky what he meant to you.

A few more chaste kisses landed across his broad shoulders before you decided to change the focus of your attention. His vibranium arm. The advanced prosthetic was usually a source of pride and achievement and told the story of how far he had come from the nightmare he lived for decades. But in moments of madness, the maelstrom inside him would sweep him into the past and Bucky would view his gift as a curse.

You pushed on his elbow from behind, guiding his arm up in a cradled position across his chest. With your other hand you interlocked your fingers with his, your thumb caressing the smooth hard metal. Your free fingertips now traced the golden veins which stood out against the midnight colors, every second watching.

Closer, you pulled him closer. You drew his cool fingers into your mouth. One digit at a time, your tongue swirled around each one, licking, sucking, admiring their taste. He hadn't taken his eyes off you. Your other hand stroked this muscular back, working its way around the edges of the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Sugar…"

"Yeah, Buck?" you asked, taking his fingers out of your mouth.

"I'm sorry for how I spoke to you this morning." He was looking directly at you rather than the mirror as he apologized, you could see the sincerity in the glimmer of his cerulean blue orbs.

"Thank you."

"I shouldn't have."

"No, but I think I understand what you were feeling."

"Forgive me?"

"I forgive you, Bucky."

This time he initiated the kiss. Lips covering yours. Tongues dancing together. Longing and love exchanged in the act of passion. Bucky wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his lap. 

"I want you to see what I see," you whispered as you finally came up for air.

You turned to look over your shoulder at your reflections before facing Bucky with a smile. There was enough action under his towel for you to work with. You climbed off his lap and started to kneel down in front of him. But Bucky grabbed your arms just as your first knee touched the floor.

"Sugar-"

"Let me show you, show you how much I love you." You slipped your fingers into the small space where the towel was tucked in on itself.

"Just hang on-"

"Buck, it's okay, really!"

You tried to stop him leaning backwards, but he was intent on his action. Bucky grabbed a pillow and handed it to you. "The floor's pretty hard. I know, I sleep on it."

You accepted his offering gratefully, dropping it to the floor, you felt immediate relief as the hard wooden floorboards were no longer pressing your knees. It allowed you to focus your attention back on exposing him.

The towel fell open with little effort and you worked on tracing a trail along his thighs with the tips of your fingers. It made you smile to see the line of goosebumps which erupted on his skin. Gently you wrapped your palms around his shaft.

You started with a simple kiss, pressed against his tip. And you felt him respond. Your lips slipped over him again, taking him a little further into your mouth. A smile crept across your features as you heard him suppress his moan.

Bucky reached down to touch your face, there was a tenderness in his expression which made you feel a new kind of warmth inside you. It made you want to give your boyfriend everything you had to offer. 

Slowly, you stroked the underside of his shaft, just under the head where you knew how sensitive he was. He rose magnificently under your touch. His hands surrounded your head and he threaded his fingers through your hair with a hum of pleasure. 

"You watch in there," you jerked your thumb behind you. 

The long tortuous vein that ran along one side of his magnificent member received an extraordinary amount of attention as you traced its journey from the base to the tip. The tip which was now flushed, pulsing with excitement.

You offered him a coy smile before dropping your head. Lips enveloped him, engulfing him with the warmth of your mouth. Once, twice. The third time you dragged your now puffed up lips, giving a lap of your tongue against his meatus for added effect. Tucking away your teeth, you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked hard, hard enough to turn his hum into a strangled gasp followed by the most erotic groan you'd heard from him.

Bucky's fingertips massaged your scalp, tugging at the strands lightly to help set your pace. You reveled in the tiny whimpers that left his lips as you worked on him. 

His cock throbbed lightly, you could feel it in your mouth. He was rapidly reaching his climax and you wanted to help him along as best you could. You edged one hand down to his balls, taking both into your palm and rolling them between your eager fingers.

Eventually Bucky did the one thing you'd asked of him. He looked up. He wasn't sure if his vision was blurred because of his dilated pupil, or if it was the flush across his cheeks, but he barely recognized the man he had seen in the mirror for the last few years. He felt strong and confident and loved. 

Instinctively his hips thrust towards you and his cock slid further down your throat. He groaned, louder than before. His fingers clambered desperately at the duvet cover, trying to find an anchor for the oncoming storm.

You bobbed your head, deeper each time, inch by inch. His tip grazed the side of your mouth, the inside of your cheek, nearing the back of your throat. Lips sucking, tongue twirling, fist pumping. Over and over. Faster and faster. His breaths came hard and fast. Until that moment arrived. 

His eyes closed and muscles tensed. Hot, white cum exploded out of him with a strangled cry. Bucky’s body undulated as you pulled back while swallowing his load. As his pleasure subsided, you took him back into your mouth, lapping off the sweet elixir you'd milked from him.

Once you'd had your fill, you climbed back up onto the bed to sit at his side. He turned his head to face you and smiled. You pressed your forehead against his, your noses brushed against each other.

"Did you see?" you asked him. 

He nodded slowly. "Yes."