#and that’s the lady giving birth in the past and she might be the love interest and she might be giving birth to her partner

[genderdog]

every time i listen to ugly death no redemption i go fucking insane about ice the last generation again

[madame-fear]

Okay but like am I the only one that thrives on angst?? Because imagine if Jacaerys and his young wife, who he by the way only married for the support of The Arryns, had marriage problems because there’s always been tension between her and Baela (just an idea, I love my Baela bc she’s my girl!!) as Jacaerys was supposed to be married to her instead..and might I mention that reader was shipped off to Dragonstone by herself to give birth to her son and she’s been alone and scared all the time, until she’s brought back to Kingslanding after her mother in-law, Queen Rhaenyra, finally claimed back the throne with a peace treaty between the Hightowers. His wife is so so shy and alone because she’s only used to being with their baby, and Jacaerys is just absolutely worried for her because he hasn’t visited her at all due to his duties as heir and it just so happens that his wife thinks he hates herr 💔💔 (this was a bit long..but idk)

𐙚 𝐐𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : the so awaited Arryn reader fic is here !! Hope it was what you expected, and overall enjoy it! Thought this was longer than 3.6k words! 😭🤲💗 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : ∿ request above! ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 3.6k

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : angst to fluff. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Arryn!Wife!Reader.

After many years of a long, nearly never ending war, it had finally subsided— bringing peace for once and for all. It had been the same war that provoked the death of innocent people, and the one responsible for your marriage with Prince Jacaerys, as well.

A rather complex marriage, you’d say it was— though, it was an engagement that could only be expected. Betrothals and marriages had never been done for the sake of genuine love, but only for the sake of allies & tying deeper bonds between the Houses; helplessly falling in forced, unhappy marriages.

There had been little to no time for any of you two to establish some sort of proper relationships between each other. It worked as an engagement with the sole purpose of gaining support from House Arryn amidst the war with the Greens. “A betrothal, in exchange for support”, and it served with it’s purpose as it should in a way, you guessed.

Except, for the looming tension that came along your marriage.

Jace’s previous betrothal to Lady Baela, firstborn daughter of the Rogue Prince, wasn’t unbeknownst to you; a betrothal that had to be broken off when you appeared in the picture, as the support from the Arryns would be placed as number one priority— with Jacaerys marrying you as the one and only condition for yet another ally. It was inconvenient, but very much needed.

The growing tension between you and his previous betrothed notoriously loomed in the air as soon as you both met one another— being presented with little to no words from Baela, and most of the time, all the endless attempts you did in order to establish a good relationship with her, were dismissed; thrown into the wind, as you were given a cold stare, with no words said... Being walked right past, left ignored.

Often times, you could feel her contemptuous stare fixed on you, each time you were sat next to Jacaerys.

Solitude had leisurely grown as a frequent monster lurking in your surroundings. “I can’t do anything about it, I can’t act as an intermediary to your relationship.” was the strict response given to you by your future Lord Husband, when speaking your mind regarding how the Lady Baela gave you a cold shoulder, despite the constant friendliness you had to offer.

Jacaerys didn’t seem to care much at all. You swore that the eldest Velaryon prince was as indifferent towards you, as his previous betrothed was— maybe, he even resented you for breaking off his already arranged betrothal. And you couldn’t say you didnt understand the situation, however.

Years of having known, trusted, each other, growing by each other’s side... Having their betrothal arranged for years— you could even silently observe the way in which they gazed at each other, occasionally. All of that had only been for it to turn into ash & dust when the time to seek support from allies had come.

But what other choice did you have, except none at all? Had you any blame, at all? Were you truly the one at fault? The growing solitude and the hefty weight of guilt was nearly asphyxiating. You felt desperately trapped in an escapeless labyrinth, being fully aware of how you had no one at all to release each one of your thoughts to— with your betrothed often giving you a cold shoulder as well, or simply, being far too engaged in his duties. Each private conversation, managed to quickly be dismissed; you had been forced to be kept to yourself, in a way.

All for a war between kin. All for the sake of allies. And you, right in the middle of it all.

Things hadn’t grown to become any better at all by the time you fell pregnant with your first child— with his child. Much less considering it was all still under the looming tension of war felt in the atmosphere.

Dragonstone had become your temporary home; one you had been sent to all by yourself, still being with child. Taking proper care of yourself throughout your pregnancy had been a difficult task, considering how the general situation provoked a constant state of fright and concern to you. Alone, with no one else to rely on; finding mere solace in talking to yourself... Or, rather, talking quietly to your unborn child.

It wasn’t exactly the healthiest thing for the fragile conditions you were mentally experiencing— it simply deepened that inner void, those bitter feelings of loneliness; poisoning you slowly with every quiet tear you dropped late at night in your chambers, after holding on to the knot that formed on your throat during the day.

The rocky castle had been the same place where you had birthed your child— a healthy boy, much to your fortune. Something that the Gods had finally graced you with. And that grace was, providing an heir for your husband... Though, you had given birth to your babe in the mere company of a few maids, and maesters. Your own mother-in-law couldn’t be there by your side, as much as she deeply desired to. Your own husband, with his duties as Rhaenyra’s heir, couldn’t assist, either— and much less, your own blood.

The Gods have a strange way of treating you, you thought. Blessing you with an heir to your husband, and, simultaneously, remaining to provide you with solitude throughout the entire way.

Not long passed after you gave birth, that war had finally subsided, moving from Dragonstone to King’s Landing with a small babe in your arms. Queen Rhaenyra had made peace treaty with the Greens, allowing her to claim her birthright, the Iron Throne, for once and for all— bringing a wave of relief, tossing aside a hefty weight burdening you.

Of course, just one small bit of a burdening weight had been removed from your life, and you dared to say, it was the most important heaviness lingering on the atmosphere— yet, you still had your own issues to solve. Moving all by yourself with a small baby boy towards the Red Keep wasn’t an easy task either, it simply stirred the occasional anxiety you suffered, along with bitter loneliness.

Those series of events happened in, what you considered, to be such a short time lapse— barely allowing you to process your wedding ceremony, the looming tension between you and his previous betrothed, not being able to have properly bonded with your husband as you married for mere alliances, having very little bonding with your mother-in-law, living in a whole different place from one day to another, having a babe, and moving once again this time with your child after the peace treaty...

... And you could keep naming each, and every single one of the little things that provoked an asphyxiating knot on your throat; one you had to bitterly swallow and keep to yourself. How could you not be overwhelmed with the circumstances?

You had grown used to being alone, with only the company of your little boy to keep your sanity hanging from a fragile, fraying thread. You briefly, and very feebly managed to interact with the rest of the members of House Targaryen— but you never throughoutly engaged in a deeper bond with them, or were often seen walking around the large halls, once the war had finished and you moved to the Red Keep.

The war had passed immediatly after the peace treaty with the Hightowers. No usurper on the Throne, no more dead men and innocent people— and all the burden you carried behind of you now, was that of the lurking solitude haunting you. It was just your small, sweet boy and you to spend time together; the one whom you found some warmth, despite still being practically a babe. Though, you couldn’t occasionally help but long for the company of anyone else from your new family.

At the present moment, you spent time on your private chambers. your little boy rested on your lap, as you quietly sat on the ground. On his hand, was a dragon wooden toy which he played with— making some cooing sounds. He had been your only companion for the moment, managing to spare you from any feelings of loneliness from the moment you had learned you were with child, being the one you often spoke to despite not receiving back an answer.

A faint grin graced your lips, with your hand gently caressing the back of his hair. You craned your head gently, releasing a soft chuckle at the sight of your boy engaged into his own world. You both were almost headed to sleep, but you preferred to spend some more time together— enjoying the quietness of the night, and the peace that came along.

The stillness looming in the atmosphere had been interrupted by a soft knock sounding twice against the wooden doors of your chambers. Raising your sight curiously as your boy remained playing in your lap with the wooden dragon toy. Not often having many visitors at the late hours of the night, you softly muttered “Come in.”

The door was gently swayed, revealing to be your Husband the one who knocked, closing the door behind him— which, it wasn’t a common occurence, for him to visit you in your chambers. The constant duties of the eldest Velaryon prince, on his role of being his mother’s heir to the Throne, were more than time-consuming; occupying the entirety of his attention.

But of course, with you being his wife, mother of his son, having shared little to nothing — plus having married only for alliances — and having some previous marriage problems regarding his broken betrothal, could only burden his thoughts. You had done an important effort to be a proper wife to him, one that couldn’t pass unnoticed.

You married to support what his mother fought for, you managed the notorious tension there was between you and his previous betrothed— you had given him a son, birthing all by yourself, and moved to Dragonstone, and then the Red Keep all by yourself, as well; only for him to spend his days focused on what was asked of him, leaving little time to even pay you and your baby son a short visit.

Guilt was overriding him in a constant, haunting manner. It was only natural for Jacaerys to be consumed by his preoccupied feelings towards you. Perhaps, you didn’t often engage or bond together in a convenient way, and you might’ve had troubles before when it came to discussing about your uneasy relationship with Lady Baela— but that didn’t mean he didn’t love you, much less notice your strenght in every sense.

It was only fair to show his appreciation, and his concern for your wellbeing.

“Hope I’m not troubling both of you with my presence?” Jace said in a lighthearted manner, with a faint grin appearing on his rosy lips, tilting his head briefly. His presence had been quite a surprise for you, and that expressed on the looks in your features, along with some tension in the air— not being used to being visited by Rhaenyra’s heir, your husband. Which, if anything, it deepened the looming guilt on him.

You shook your head gently, looking down at your son timidly, using your index finger to delicately caress him on his cheek. “Not at all, we were spending some time before heading to sleep.” you muttered in response. “Is anything the matter? Has something happened?” you inquired with slight concern, furrowing your eyebrows, lifting your gaze once again, staring into his dark coffee eyes. The innocence on your features were most beloved by him, managing to properly appreciate them as, now, it was just the two of you in the room— no duties in between, no one else to bother you.

Jacaerys shook his head. “Nothing’s the matter, fortunately.” he answered, with a tone of relief. His lips frowned for a split second, thoroughly processing his words before continuing. “I... Simply wished to pay you, and our son, a visit— as I haven’t been able to do so lately with my duties as my mother’s heir.” his eyes lingered on the ground shyly, before returning to stare at your own. “I wanted to know if you were doing alright as well, and if you felt comfortable around, of course.”

The expressions on your face softened leisurely. “Oh,” your lips partly opened in surprise, stuttering for a moment, before closing them rather quickly. You had been momentarily taken aback by his unexpected statement, as you had never shared a private moment like this with him before. It had been a situation you would have never guessed you would ever experience, yet, here you were— and it felt as if the world surrounding you stopped for a second.

You swallowed thickly, looking down over your boy, who stared at his father, and then at you. “Keep playing with your toys, my love. I will be right back.” pressing a smooch on your son’s forehead, you carefully moved him so he would sit on the rug decorating the room beneath both of you. A wide, almost toothless smile graced his features, before continuing to play with his own toys as you stood, and approached Jace.

It was almost admirable how much of a dedicated, loving mother you were, Jace thought to himself, staring at the scene— with a grin helplessly increasing on the corner of his lips. Your hands turned into fists, meekly fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. You almost couldn’t stare at him in the eyes, allowing him to notice as well a growing fluster in your cheeks.

“I-I’m... Doing quite alright.” the words came off whispered, and stuttered, from your lips, “We have been managing together all this time, after the war.” you mentioned, staring at your boy — who was absorbed into his own innocent world — before returning to stare at Jacaerys. “Thank you... For asking.” the eldest Velaryon smiled sweetly at you, noticing how you very faintly stared at him in the eyes.

“I’m quite relieved to hear so.” he replied back, in a low, casual tone, continuing to offer a kind grin to you as his eyes guided themselves towards his baby boy playing in the background. Brief moments of awkward silence passed, with a palpable tension in the atmosphere.

You had been given little time — to not say , none at all — to bond with each other, before your wedding ceremony. You knew nothing about one another, and it could only be expected that you would be awkward in each other’s presence. But now that the war had ended, the possibility of engaging in a proper, sweet manner with each other was now given. You could softly hear Jace take a deep breath, before continuing to talk with you.

“I came to visit you to offer my apologies, as well.” furrowing your eyebrows, your stare darted at his own— which lingered on the ground, noticing a rosy taint beginning to cover his cheeks. “What for?” it was a rather innocent ask, or at least, Jace considered it to be that way. With a lingering guilt that weighed constantly on him, offering his apologies felt very little with everything he actually owed you, after all the things you had done for him.

The heir nibbled on his lower lip for a moment, allowing himself to properly process in words each and every single little thing he had to thank you, and apologise for. “For many things, I dare to say.” he scoffed in a teasing way, provoking a frowny grin to grow upon your lips, as you kept delicately fidgeting with the fabric of your dress in a discreet manner. “One of the things I would like to apologise for the most, is for... Not simply not visiting you, and our baby son due to my duties as heir— but for having given you a cold shoulder all this time, in a way.”

Your expressions began softening, not uttering a single word to allow him to continue. The looks on your face were almost puzzling to him, as it contained several emotions— all mostly ranging from surprise, to a... relieved one. But mostly, a shyly relieved look began expressing itself all across your features. “I never expressed to you my admiration for your strength and courage. Much less, I have given you my gratitude for marrying me and giving me an heir, all in order to gain new allies amidst war.”

“You have done everything by yourself. Moved to Dragonstone alone, birthed alone, and moved to the Red Keep after the peace treaty all by yourself, with our boy. I often scorn myself for not having done the slightest effort of accompanying you.” it was true. All this time, you had grown to be used only to the presence of your little child offering you solace, and company.

Hearing his words shed a light of understanding to the implicances of war when it came to the perspective— after all, being heir to the Throne is not easy at all, much less when your birthright is usurped. But for Jace, being an heir occupied with his duties, before and after war, was no excuse to give offer you a piece of his genuine love and admiration. If anything, he resented himself for not having visited you earlier.

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t thought about you, or haven’t grown any more preoccupied. And I’m sorry for not having shown it earlier, when I should have. Your efforts have never passed unnoticed.”

A gentle sigh spurred from you, nibbling shyly on your lower lip, with your gaze meekly darting towards the ground. Hearing such statement coming from him felt almost surreal, considering each moment you spent alone, wondering to yourself if your husband felt mere disdain towards you after breaking off his previous betrothal to Lady Baela. You had to process the moment for several seconds, leaving a few seconds of silence to hang in the air until you gave your response, but you couldn’t deny that a part of you was satisfied to know his true thoughts about you.

“I would’ve thought you... Resented me for breaking off your betrothal, and occupying the place of Lady Baela.” you muttered timidly, maintaining your eyes gazing at the floor. His eyes widened faintly in surprise. Gods, your words didn’t help with the intensely growing guilt-feelings he suffered, almost as if your statement sharply stabbed him in the heart— how could he ever resent you?

You had nothing to do with anything. You simply did your required duties, what was asked of you.

Jace stood silent for a moment, “How could I ever resent you?” he began, a certain desperation, and disbelief, vibrating on his tone upon hearing your statement. It almost shattered him, knowing you thought that— and all because his mind was consumed in war strategies and responsibilities as heir. The tip of his index finger placed itself on your underchin, delicately — yet firmly — lifting your face so you would stare at each other.

His dark coffee eyes stared profoundly into your own, “I could never resent you for something that was not your choice, much less after all the efforts you did.” you swore you could feel a knot beginning to form on your throat, from both the overwhelming sensation of having thought all this time that Jacaerys disdained you, and from content. “The idea of breaking off my betrothal to Lady Baela and become used to your presence for alliances might have been complicated initially, but I could never resent you for it.”

“Quite the contrary, I have grown to love and silently admire you.” both his hands had gone to cup your cheeks affectionately, taking the moments of quietness to admire every inch of your features. That was, before his arms rapidly embraced themselves around you, tightly wrapping you into a hug. One of his hands went to the back of your head, interwining his fingers in between your hair, as his other hand softly moved up and down, caressing your back; nuzzling the tip of his nose against your hair in a discreet manner— finding comfort in your sweet scent.

For a moment, you stood there, being firmly hugged by Jace, as you leisurely processed the — quite abrupt — situation. Your eyes had widened slightly in surprise, only to feel your body relaxing a few seconds after the eldest Velaryon held you in the warmth of his arms, slowly giving into the embrace. Your arms delicately wrapped themselves around his own body, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. A wide range of emotions came afloat at the moment, but all you could feel, was a gleeful sensation of relief.

What you had so longed for, had been finally given in your life— to seek and find comfort in your husband.

“All I can only do, is constantly cherish the lucky fact of your existence, I have never felt a single ounce of resentment, or hatred.” he muttered, continuing to nuzzle his nose against your hair in a loving manner, before firmly pressing his lips against your temple for several seconds. “I hope you can forgive me, and know that I’ll be visiting and spending time with both of you more often— because I adore you, immensely.”

The ghost of a soft, shy grin began growing on the corner of your lips. You knew everything would be alright, from now on— it would all be less dreadful, and less lonely, knowing that your husband would now be accompanying you in a proper manner.

The Gods did have a strange way of treating you, but all for an ultimate good.

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` taglist .ᐟ

@damatheirin @jacesvelaryons @keiratonks @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee @bellarkeselection @feliuuuksks @visenya-reigned @maria699669 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @sweethoneyblossom1 @jamiemydeer @snowprincesa1

@aegonswife @cloveradora @angrybirdxx @crack240 @number-0-iz

@nerdyphantomlady @julekaa @arabelllatargaryen @mduds @taylordaughter

@mikelark-muller @bailey1212 @aniisbavk1 @housetargaryenloyalist @imanewsoul

@withjinkoo @hearts4li @atargaryenlover @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @delightfulbluebirdtidalwave

@embersfae @lady-ashfade @tallrock35 @alyssa-dayne

@cupids-mf-arrow @happinessinthebeing

[navybrat817]

How often does Dad!Bucky get hit on when he's in the baby aisle grabbing diapers?

A lot, Cia! And you get to see it one day.

The Dad Diaries: Diaper Aisle

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You witness a woman flirting with Bucky, but you don't react the way you expect. Word Count: Almost 1.2k Warnings: Fluff, flirting, reflecting, first time dad, slight feels (it's me), parenthood, random woman thirsty for Bucky (we get it), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a dad, okay?). A/N: Next part of The Dad Diaries and from your perspective. Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky doesn’t like to make a big deal out of people flirting with him. For starters, he’s a married man and has made it clear that he has no intention of ever stepping out on you. He would never. You are his wife and soulmate, the love of his life, and the mother of his child. You’re all he needs.

Second, he’s unassuming. You tell him regularly how handsome he is, but he isn’t arrogant about his looks and doesn’t think every woman who looks his way has the intention of hitting on him. He may give a polite smile or nod if he catches someone staring, but will immediately divert his attention back to the task at hand, such as getting those diapers for Jamie.

Fatherhood is sexy on him.

“Your Dada is amazing,” you say to Jamie as you wait beside your cart for Bucky to grab the box.

You smile to yourself when a woman nearly runs her cart into the shelving when Bucky walks past. Not that you blame her for staring. With his luscious locks flowing free, his worn jean jacket fitting like it was made for him, and the sweatpants leaving little to the imagination, you would’ve gawked at him, too.

Which you did earlier and were now.

“Excuse me,” the woman calls out loudly, making Bucky pause as he puts the box under his arm. “So sorry to bother you, but would you mind grabbing a jar for me off the top shelf? I would really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says, giving you a small smile from across the aisle as he goes to help the woman.

You wait patiently as the lady thanks him with a grin. You get why she wants Bucky close by. Beyond his overall gorgeousness and kindness, he displays a responsible side of himself when he walks through the baby aisle. He never carries himself in a way that says he’s annoyed or inconvenienced by being there. Carefully selecting the diapers and anything else needed shows how attentive he is. And responsible.

You understand the appeal.

Though, you do wish the lady would stop undressing your husband with her eyes. You practically hear her inhale when he’s close enough. He does smell good, but does she have to step into his space?

“This one?” Bucky asks.

The woman has to blink a few times before she responds. “Oh, sorry. The one next to it. You really are too kind,” she answers, sweeping her gaze over him from head to toe as he reaches over for another jar. You have to bite the inside of your cheek when she takes it from his hand. “It’s too bad you can’t help me bring this stuff in when I get home.”

Yeah, it is too bad.

Clearing his throat, Bucky nods in your direction. “Well, my son might miss me if I’m away for too long. And I’ll miss him and my wife.”

The woman goes rigid as she looks your way. “Your wife?”

Bucky smiles from ear to ear when you wave. “Yeah, my wife,” he proudly states, making your heart skip a beat.

Any jealousy or bad feeling you have slips away when you see some of the light leave the woman’s eyes and the sag in her shoulders. It’s almost like seeing her in a different light because you know how you’ve felt since giving birth. At times, you feel less attractive than normal, that your body won’t be the way it used to be. You wonder if Bucky still wants you.

And you want to be seen.

While you don’t know her story, you understand the need to feel wanted and desired. It doesn’t go away when you become a mother. You don’t even know if she is a mother or if she’s in the aisle shopping for a sister, friend, or someone else. Maybe her partner isn’t giving her the attention she needs. Maybe she isn’t with anyone.

Maybe she just needed a win today.

“Take care,” Bucky says politely before he walks toward you, leaving the woman alone to stare after him. “Anything else we need?” He asks once he puts the diapers on the bottom of the cart, giving Jamie a small tickle and making all three of you smile.

“I think we’re good,” you say, glancing down the aisle. You could grab Bucky’s hand and stake your claim as the woman makes eye contact with you, but you give her a small nod and a sympathetic smile instead before you push the cart away. “That was nice of you to help her,” you say once you’re out of sight.

Bucky raises an eyebrow as he glances your way. “I don’t usually say this outright, but I’m pretty sure she was hitting on me.”

“Oh, she was,” you agree.

“Does that bother you?” He asks, brushing a kiss to your temple and making your heart race.

You shake your head as you think about it. “It did at first because it’s only natural to feel that way, but it went away pretty quickly. I have no reason to feel jealous or defensive. If it would’ve been bad or crossed a line, I would’ve stepped in. But you proudly proclaimed that I’m your wife and she backed off right away. And I know you’re coming home with Jamie and I, so why would I let it bother me?” you explain, spotting something soft in his gaze.

Like he’s amazed by you.

“That makes sense,” he says.

“I can only hope that someone like you comes along for her,” you add, your heart going out to the stranger.

The blue of Bucky’s eyes shine a bit brighter when you catch his gaze. “I love you,” he says so tenderly that you feel butterflies in your stomach and heart.

“I love you, too,” you promise before you nudge him. “And you know what? I don’t fault her at all. You know what wearing those pants does to people. It’s like some sort of sexy magic.”

His nose crinkles as he laughs, the sound making a few turn their heads. Once again, you don’t blame them for gawking. “Did you just say ‘sexy magic’ in front of our son? Is that why you like these pants?”

“Oh, yeah. You put a spell on me,” you smirk before you smile gently at your son. “And I’m very lucky for that because now I have you.”

You don’t know it yet, but Bucky will write in his diary to Jamie about how you handled yourself today. How you could’ve stormed over and grabbed him or made a snide comment to the woman, but you didn’t. And that if you felt jealous, even for a moment, you didn’t let it cloud your judgement. You know when to observe and when you need to step in. You know when to lead with your heart.

Just one of the many reasons Bucky Barnes considers himself lucky to call you his wife and the mother of his child.

And no matter how many times he gets hit on in the diaper aisle, he’ll always come home to you.

I adore this family. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 7

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: depictions of killing/death, a blood oath, oral sex f receiving, fingering, edging, dirty talk, p in v, no protection, breeding/pregnancy kink, creampie kind of

A/N: I hear wedding bells🎉 This took me a hot second to write up and edit, but it's also a little bit longer than I usually post. I hope you enjoy💕

Sleep evades you. The day of your wedding slips in uninvited, a wash of sunlight to chase away the shadows from your room. The bed is empty. Feyd-Rautha hasn’t returned or, at least, hasn’t visited you since.

You convince yourself that you don’t care.

But still your thoughts stray traitorously to him — where he is, what he’s doing, what he’s thinking and if it’s of you.

You stare out at the Grand Arena. It’s more or less attached to the Harkonnen fortress and, to your understanding, typically reserved for political rallies. It’s the only place large enough to host a wedding where the entire planet is invited, though, plus the added benefits of its close proximity.

A platform has been erected and already citizens are filing into their stadium-style seats despite the early hour. They will wait all day to sit front row at the marriage between House Atreides and House Harkonnen. A historic event, you realize with detached clarity. To be remembered for generations to come.

This does nothing to quell your roiling stomach.

You turn at the sound of your bedroom doors opening, hope lifting stupidly in your chest. Because it is not Feyd-Rautha who enters, but Lady Jessica.

She looks more radiant than ever, though you suspect this partially has to do with the time apart that you’ve spent.

“Mother?”

Perhaps your lack of rest has warped your vision.

Jessica smiles softly, confirming both your deepest fear and most shameful want. “Daughter.”

For the first time in your life, you run to her. She embraces you, cradling your face into her neck. She smells like home and the memory of Caladan has you blinking back tears. “Why are you here?”

“Did you really think we would miss your wedding?” Jessica brushes your hair back. “They are treating you well? You haven’t responded to any of our correspondences.”

“They are treating me well,” you tell her. You can’t help but think of Feyd-Rautha’s lips on your skin, between your legs, but quickly dismiss it. “And I haven’t received any correspondences.”

“Mm, as I suspected. Your father thought that you might be too busy to write but I knew better.”

“He’s here, too?”

“Of course.” Your mother presses something cold and metallic into your palm, curls your fingers around it. “I wanted to give you this.”

You frown. After closer inspection, you realize that it’s a necklace. Simple, elegant, with a thin silver chain and delicate pendant. “What is this?”

“I wore it when I first met your father. Although we are not married, our relationship has obviously grown past that of an arranged partnership. I can only hope you find similar happiness.” She pauses then, examining you. “I know you are aware that your birth was…orchestrated. But that does not change our love for you. You are our greatest treasure, Y/N.”

Your mood falters, slipping from between your fingers and shattering on the ground like glass. “This is a fertility necklace.”

“Yes,” Jessica says, dipping her chin.

You have the overwhelming sense to grind the necklace under your heel. The tears in your eyes now belong there for an entirely different reason.

“I thought you came here today to support me but instead you’re just carrying out your Bene Gesserit schemes,” you hiss. A dry laugh rattles in your throat. “I’m such a fool! You don’t care for me. You only care about what I can provide. My whole life, everything has been for them. Everything.”

Jessica’s jaw clenches. “That’s not true.”

Aggravated, you spin on her, teeth bared. “Then tell me you came here today of your volition.”

Jessica holds your gaze but does not reply.

“I knew it,” you all but snarl at her.

“I thought these past few months would’ve opened your eyes to your potential, the importance of your duty,” Jessica snarls back, matching your viciousness. “But still you are blind to the truth. You blatantly refuse to accept a plan that has been in effect for centuries. Ten thousand years of deliberate planning and you act as if you are here as punishment. You are living proof of the Bene Gesserit’s power, Y/N.”

Chest heaving, you shutter your raging emotions. “Leave me.”

“That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

“I speak to you not as a daughter,” you retort, “but as the na-Baroness of House Harkonnen. And seeing that you are nothing but a concubine to the Duke, I demand that you leave.”

You know that with The Voice, Jessica could force you to bend to her will, to do any inexplicable amount of things. But she does not. She stands there, wavering, before striding back from which she came from without another word.

You hide the fertility necklace in the pot of a synthetic plant, and no one is the wiser when they come to prepare you. For the servants this is a joyous occasion and you do not want to dampen their enthusiasm. You mask your growing unease, laughing and joking with the girls as they recreate you into the image of na-Baroness.

“You look stunning,” Asha tells you privately. There’s quite some time before the ceremony starts, and she’s pulled you into a quiet corner of the room. “The na-Baron isn’t going to know what to do with himself.”

Oh, you very much doubt that. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

Your wedding dress is a subtle combination of both Atreides and Harkonnen culture, a blend of elegance and functionality.

The dress itself is made from a lightweight, flexible material that mimics the look of metallic plates. Featuring overlapping panels that creates a segmented, scale-like effect, the bodice gives the illusion of Harkonnen armor. But the skirt, full and flowing, is entirely Atreides — layers of fabric cascading to the floor. Small, metallic accents line the hem that shimmer with your every step.

And, completing the look, a headpiece that forms a sort of M over your forehead and down your cheeks, adorn with jewels.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. “Have you seen him today? The na-Baron.”

“No, I haven’t. Why?”

“No reason.”

Asha’s mouth quirks teasingly. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” you say, too quickly, “well, yes. But not because of him, because of the ceremony. This will be my first time in front of Giedi Prime.”

“They will adore you,” Asha says. She waves a hand flippantly. “And if not, then your husband will have their heads.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s comforting.”

“Of course it is.” She squeezes your hand.

Your moment with Asha passes as you’re both pulled back into the revelries — spice-laden champagne, food that looks suspiciously like harvested organs, and the pounding, ear-splitting music that’s popular among the Harkonnens. By the time you’re called for the ceremony, your mood has lifted significantly, almost enough to make you forget that you’re the reason for celebration. It’s a sobering reminder.

Your heart threatens to burst from your chest. From inside the walls of the fortress, the roar of the crowd crests and falls like a tidal wave sent to sweep you away. The corridor is alive with mumbled conversation. A procession will precede you to the altar — noblemen and the likes, your parents, who you avoid — along with your betrothed, who is nowhere in sight. The gathered members of your bridal party shift and part, panic seizing you with white-knuckled fingers as the Baron maneuvers toward you.

He greets you with a saying repeated to you many times that day, one that after several iterations you’ve come to understand means, “May your death be swift in battle”.

How it relates to marriage, you are too nervous to inquire about.

“What a wonderful day,” he muses in a rasping lilt. “It would be a pity for someone to ruin it.”

“Indeed,” you reply, eyes narrowing.

“You understand the importance of the ceremony, don’t you?” You don’t respond, sensing that he will tell you nevertheless. “This is just one more step for Feyd-Rautha toward taking my place as Baron. How the ceremony goes will influence his standing with his people.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Of course this was just another political move. What did he think you would do, riot in the middle of the ceremony? You retort, “I understand.”

“Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

The chill that brushes down your spine, seeping into your bones, is deterred by the sudden clash of a gong. War drums erupt in tumultuous exalt. The very sound of them resonates deep within you, invoking a primal response of adrenaline, as if your body is preparing you for battle.

Which, you suppose is fitting.

And who else to be summoned by the promise of war then Feyd-Rautha.

He enters the room as he always does, commanding the attention of everyone in it. The effect is only amplified today, though, in his polished ceremonial armor and resolute intensity, a heady combination of brutality and valiancy.

Gazing at him us purifying fire, searing you from the inside out, and you take your time charting the unholy beauty of his face, gazing back at you with terrifying reverence.

In that moment, you possess no past or future — there is only him. An eternal now.

And then he steps past you and into the black sun, exultant, thrusting the knife above his head.

A championing cheer follows, impossibly louder than the thunder of the drums. Feyd-Rautha lingers and something in your chest expands at the sight of him dwelling in their approval, their admiration, somehow transcendent of any humanity he manages to have.

He truly is a god.

From your secretive position, you peer at him as he strides down the aisle to the platform where the officiant is waiting for him. At the top of the stairs, he turns and faces his people. In an act that surprises you, everyone who isn’t already on their feet rises, and in sync pound their fists to their chests. One two three.

Their utter devotion to him is staggering.

Feyd-Rautha raises his chin, simultaneously moved and expectant of this. He then takes his place at the altar.

Which means it’s your turn.

You loathe having to follow such a devastating display of power and love. There’s no telling how Giedi Prime will react to you, after all, considering that you are technically the enemy. Asha’s words come to you, emboldening you, and you lift your gaze. You will not falter.

A shushed quiet falls over the arena as you stride out, then enormous applause. You can only imagine what you look like to them, your people, but the only one who matters looks upon you with such unwavering devoutness that it nearly brings you to your knees. As you climb the steps to the altar, Feyd-Rautha’s hands clench into fists, a gesture you interpret as a sign of restraint.

Oh, if only he could touch you with those hands.

The officiant, a representative of the Imperium, begins to recite the traditional Harkonnen wedding script. A translator repeats the words to you, but you let the harsh language wash over you as you focus instead on the row of guests at the base of the altar. Your parents — looking fiercely protective, Leto smiling somewhat reluctantly; Jessica maintaining her cool demeanor — the Baron, emotionless, and beside him Rabban.

Did he wish it was him on the stage?

He catches you staring and flashes you a sickening smile. You look pointedly away, a fist forming in your stomach.

The beginning of the ceremony is tediously long and drenched in tradition, most of which you don’t understand even with the translator’s help. Marriage is not generally a romantic affair for Harkonnens, and the proof can be found in their strangely clinical rites. Again it’s impressed upon you that you are preparing for battle, one in which you would reside besides the most fearsome of its participants.

A pause on the officiant’s part draws you back to the present. You know what comes next, and the thought repulses you — Harkonnens of the Imperial House do not get married with the weight of enemies on their shoulders, pursuing a clean slate of sorts. You watch as a row of prisoners are led before the altar, hooded and bound and forced to their knees by a Harkonnen guard. You shiver despite the insurmountable heat.

You are familiar with war, with combat, the knife-thin edge upon which each fight balances. Life or death. But you can hardly stomach the idea of executing a helpless opponent, even if they are an enemy of your House.

Your throat thickens as Feyd-Rautha is bestowed a ceremonial blade.

Each hood of the prisoner is removed except for one, a man at the end who wavers to stay upright. Feyd-Rautha ignores this man, starting at the opposite end. His grin is apparent as he slashes through the throats of the prisoners, the blade his brush and the bodies his canvas, painting them both with ink-colored blood.

When Feyd-Rautha makes it to the still-hooded man, he pauses, shoulders heaving with the exertion of his wicked precision. Rivulets of blood stream down his armor. He says something unintelligible to the man, then removes his hood.

Your blood runs cold as you recognize him.

Ze’ev.

Now that you know who it is, you inspect him closer. There’s hardly any traces of the man you briefly knew. He is emaciated, bones lining his scarred flesh, clearly beaten within an inch of his life. After your encounter with Feyd-Rautha, you know that Harkonnens heal quickly, and the scars on his body indicate to you that he had been torn open again and again.

Feyd-Rautha turns. When he approaches you, his face is full of such naked adoration that it causes you to take a step back. He offers you the bloodied blade.

“For you,” he rasps.

You whisper fiercely, “What are you doing?”

“He is a gift, for you. On the day of our wedding.”

Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to refuse him. But to do so would be to decline your husband, shame him in front of his people — bile rises in your throat as you accept the blade, your fingers wrapping around the handle.

You breeze past him, refusing to meet his eye.

Ze’ev trembles as you advance on him. Though from his delicate condition or fear, you can’t be sure. His lips form a sneer. “You won’t do it.”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” you say dryly. “I thought you were dead.”

“I should be. Your husband certainly brought me to the brink of it and back, telling me that he was saving me. For you.” Ze’ev spits at your feet then, a dark and bloody glob.

On Arrakis, this would’ve been a sign of respect.

But this wasn’t Arrakis.

You raise your arm in an upward swing, then across your body with exuberance, his blood hissing as it splatters the ground. Splatters you.

The crowd applauds your demonstration, and the sound of their approval echoes in your ears as you take the stage once more, the prisoners’ bodies carted away quickly. You feel numb. Bewildered.

But also deliciously righteous.

You face the man who put you in this position, who put the blade in your hand as a gift without considering the consequences. And he smiles because he knows — he knows that you are delighted, that the freckles of drying blood elicit an indisputable, terrifying delirium in you.

He coaxed this from you, what was better left in the dark.

And you don’t know if you should thank him.

The officiant switches to the common tongue. “The time has come to bind these lives together in the sight of their people. As na-Baron and na-Baroness, they pledge their loyalty and protection to one another, their flesh and blood now shared in duty and alliance.”

A second blade is brought out on a satin cushion.

“na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baroness Y/N, to uphold her honor and safeguard her well-being, as your duty demands?”

“I swear.”

“na-Baroness Y/N, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, to uphold his honor and safeguard his well-being, as your duty demands?”

You dip your chin. “I swear.”

“Then, as symbol of your shared duty and alliance, I ask you to exchange your blood.”

Feyd-Rautha takes the blade and, with surprising gentleness, turns your palm over and kisses it before gliding the tip of the blade over it. Your blood wells, bright red.

You take his own hand — large, scarred and calloused — and repeat the action.

Before he can heal, the officiant wraps a white cloth around your now joined hands, red blood mingling with black.

“You are my body, an extension of myself,” Feyd-Rautha rasps.

You tense. This isn’t part of the ceremony.

Feyd-Rautha, one hand still clasped in yours, uses the other to beat his chest. One two three. You watch as the crowd responds in kind: the same gesture, reverberating throughout Giedi Prime.

It’s incredibly intoxicating, to be the focus of such a powerful gesture. You let it wash over your skin and infiltrate your bloodstream, alter something inside you, rearranging your very cells into what it takes to be a fearless ruler. You would do anything to garner such a response again.

The officiant waits until the last thump can be heard before he declares, “May your bond be as unbreakable as the strongest fortress. United by duty and alliance, I present to you — the na-Baron and na-Baroness!”

Having spent so much time dreading the ceremony, you never stopped to think about what would happen after it. Currently you sit atop the dais in the throne room, accepting an endless line of Harkonnens who want to congratulate you on your feat of an arranged marriage. Your palm that the blade cut stings with every hand you shake.

After what seems like a small eternity, it’s time for you to join the nobles at the reception. Memories of the last time you sat at the table trickle in through your exhaustion — which you promptly shove away.

The feast passes in a blur. You don’t have the appetite for any of it, but hopefully do a convincing job of moving your food around on your plate.

And then: it’s time for your first dance.

Reluctantly you let Feyd-Rautha sweep you into the center of the room, the usual security you feel in his presence succumbing to your own fears. He holds you tight against him. His tone is clipped, political, plush lips on the shell of your ear, “You had never killed before.”

Ah, your first words as husband and wife.

“No I had never killed before,” you snap at him. “Not everyone goes around just slaughtering whoever they feel like.”

Feyd-Rautha is a surprisingly agile dancer, though you figure that it isn’t all that removed from fighting. “I didn’t intend to upset you.”

“Perhaps, but you did.” Your throat thickens. “What I did is irreversible.”

“You told me you wanted him to pay for what he did.”

“I-I did. I just didn’t think —”

“If you let someone who crosses you live, then others will try,” Feyd-Rautha says, incensed. “You must strangle the serpent while it’s a hatchling, for once it grows, it will seek you out while you lay in your bed and slip around your neck.”

You can’t suppress your shudder. What a lovely metaphor. Apparently Giedi Prime has loads of fun phrases alluding to death.

“You could’ve told me,” you mutter in lieu of a response.

“It was a gift.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. Was that all it was? Another part of your game?

“Most people give jewelry as gifts,” you retort.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips twitch. “I am not most people.”

“I know.” To prove your point, you coast your fingers over his side where the dagger went in.

He pulls you tighter against him. “I would have you right here in front of everyone if you’d let me.”

You can’t help but smirk. “I know.”

He opens his mouth to continue but he’s interrupted — by Rabban, nonetheless. “na-Baron, I request a dance with my sister in-law.”

Feyd-Rautha’s grip on you tightens. “No.”

“Yes,” you say, loosening his fingers from around your waist. “It won’t be long.”

Feyd-Rautha stares after you unhappily as his brother leads you away. Other couples have now taken to the floor in an elaborate dance that you don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, seeing that Rabban just drags you after him for each step.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says finally.

“You suppose?”

“If it was up to me, Feyd-Rautha would be the one extending his congratulations.” Rabban’s small, dark eyes examine you. “Though the Bene Gesserits have chosen well for a Harkonnen bride. You are a formidable force.”

“Thank you,” you reply, sensing more.

“There are…things…in order that will happen because you will not submit to me,” Rabban says.

Your jaw sets. “Like what?”

“You’ve made your choice.” There’s a twinge of pity in his voice. Not for him. For you? “I thought I should forewarn you.”

“Rabban, what are you talking about? You never said anything about —”

“The day of the Crucible. I told you my wishes and you denied me them.”

“You said nothing that would warrant a warning. I thought you just envious of your brother for obtaining something else that you can’t have.”

“Envious? No. More deserving? Perhaps.”

Behind Rabban, a soldier materializes from the crowd. Sardaukar. You stiffen — it hadn’t come to your attention that anyone from the Imperium had attended your wedding.

“Excuse my interruption,” the soldier says. “I wanted to congratulate you on your union on behalf of the Emperor. He extends his deepest apologies that he isn’t t able to be here himself.”

You nod curtly.

The soldier’s gaze slides to Rabban. “May I have a word with you?”

Begrudgingly, Rabban releases you with a final look. You watch his retreating form, mind reeling with confusion. What did the Sardaukar want with Rabban? And why did the soldier look so familiar to you? Idly, you wonder if the violent nature of the Sardaukar soldiers remind you of the Harkonnens.

No, that isn’t it. That soldier had been here before, at the dinner a few weeks before. He had been the one to call the Baron away, you recall. But he had been dressed as a Harkonnen soldier then, not a soldier of the Imperial army.

The revelation creeps over you uneasily.

Before you can give it much thought, however, someone whisks you away into the next dance. A protest forms on your tongue before you realize it’s Asha — cheeks pink and beaming at you.

“Asha!” You can’t help but laugh, partly out of relief. “I thought you were another terrible admirer.”

“I am an admirer,” she says, “though I would hardly consider myself terrible.”

“Terrible for taking so long to get to me.”

“My apologies, but the na-Baroness is in high demand.” You settle into a comfortable rhythm as the music plays and Asha leads you in the unfamiliar dance. After some time, she grows uncharacteristically serious. “I know your feelings for the na-Baron are…complicated…but your ceremony was beautiful.”

You raise a brow. “Really?”

“The way he saluted you…” Asha trails off, waving her hand as if to ward off tears. This reaction spurns your curiosity.

Trying not to sound too interested, you ask, “What does it even mean?”

A slightly dreamy expression crosses Asha’s face. “Generally it’s reserved for military generals as a sign of respect, something that soldiers do to show their loyalty.”

“So when he did it to me…?”

“He was signaling that he sees you as someone superior to himself, someone to respect. That he is your willing soldier.” Asha grins. “Everyone has been talking about it.”

“Oh.” It’s all you can think to say. “Should I have done it back?”

Asha shakes her head. “Definitely not. It would’ve been an insult to him. His judgement. You did the right thing.”

You’re not sure what the right thing was, but you let the subject go. It lingers in your mind, however, to the point that you over-analyze the moment during the ceremony, replaying Feyd-Rautha’s expression as he saluted you.

You want to confront him about it, but apparently your first dance is all you will see of your new husband on the eve of your wedding. Even trying to catch his eye is impossible as you are both continuously pulled in different directions.

“Is this a bad time?”

At first you bristle, afraid that you’ve been caught sneaking away from the festivities. You have no idea of the time but it has to be well into the morning now, and you just wanted a moment to collect your thoughts. The spot you’ve chosen in a darken alcove gave you a perfect vantage point of Feyd-Rautha, infuriatingly charming as he speaks to a pair of nobles out of earshot.

You tear your gaze from him.

“Father!” You run into the arms of Leto, Duke of Arrakis, who ambles down the hall to you. It’s reflective of your greeting with Jessica this morning, but he inspires only warmth and fond memories. The brush of his beard across your cheek fills you with longing. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“I apologize for not going this morning to visit you. Your mother insisted she go alone.” A frown tugs on his handsome features but disappears as quick as it appeared. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” you sigh. It’s as if you are a child again, the light of your father’s attention basking you in a sunny glow.

“I…” Leto pauses, deliberates. Your father is usually not someone to be lost for words. “I wish I had done something to prevent this.”

You touch his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

“I blame myself, it’s true. What kind of father willingly hands his daughter over to that…monster?”

“You had no choice. Neither of us did.”

“Listen, Y/N, your mother regrets how your conversation went this morning. She has only wanted the best for you,” he adds softly.

His words prick at you, and suddenly the warmth of his light diminishes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Her intentions can be…muddled by her Bene Gesserit training. But that doesn’t change the love she feels for you.”

“Her love.” You chuckle bitterly. “All that she loves is what others can do to forward the Bene Gesserit agenda. You. Me. Don’t you realize?”

Leto’s expression softens. “Just come with me. She’s waiting for us. She wants to try again.”

Anger seizes you with white-knuckles and stifling heat, blooming in your chest. “I’ve given her too many opportunities to make things right. You just told me that you wish you could’ve prevented this. She could’ve prevented this. I do not wish to speak another word to someone who has orchestrated my entire life since conception.”

Perhaps you can blame the time that you’ve spent apart, the exhaustive events the day has presented you, but there is a side to Leto that you have forgotten — his frightening, unwavering loyalty to Jessica. A loyalty that not even you, his daughter, can temper.

His voice is that of a diplomat, detached and commanding as he says, “You will not speak of your mother in such a way.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but jumping to the defense of your mother cuts you deeper than any knife can. You swallow your disappointment.

“You’re fooled by her just like everyone else.”

Leto’s mouth tightens into an angry slash. “You are not the daughter I remember.”

“No.” You tilt your chin. “She is gone.”

“Then I have no business with you.”

Your tongue rolls in your cheek, over your teeth, carefully selecting your next words. “So be it. I won’t inconvenience you with my company.”

You can’t stand to witness his expression, or let him see the grimace of pain that graces yours, so you turn from him before either happens. You go, not back towards the party, but away — you can’t be here any longer. It feels as if your bones are trying to flee from your skeleton, your skin suddenly stretched too tightly.

Truthfully you have no destination in mind but your feet carry you to the one place that you know will guarantee silence.

Feyd-Rautha’s strategy room.

In the dark your fingers find the seam of the door and you ease it open, slinking inside. For the first time since this morning, you’re alone, and there’s no auditory assault of voices or music.

Back against the wall, you slide down to the ground and pull your knees to your chest. You will tears to your eyes but there are none to summon, lost to the icy numbness claiming you. Any other feeling is cast adrift.

Could it have only been three months ago that you were on Arrakis, sparring with Gurney?

You no longer recognize yourself.

The closest identifying factor is when the door open and Feyd-Rautha appears. There’s a resemblance there, a call of darkness in him that something within you answers. Your mouth twists in distaste. How did he find you?

“Go away.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“I don’t care. This is my strategy room, and I can come and go as I please.” Cast in shadows, you can barely make out his face, but the scorch of his gaze is telling of his scrutiny. “Get up off the floor.”

“No.”

“Get up or I’ll make you.”

You weigh his words. Then you reluctantly rise to your feet, unable to look at him.

“This…attitude is unbecoming of you.”

“You’re a prick,” you fire back.

“A na-Baroness, brooding alone — and on the floor, nonetheless, like a common stray. I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

“Or what?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “I will have to remind you who you are.”

Heat flickers in your belly, a weak flame. “And what is that? A whore, a womb? I am nothing but what others have made me to be.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs.

He actually laughs.

The sound of which is so unnatural, so unnerving, that your muscles tense like they’re anticipating a fight. You flush with shame — anger — and raise your hand to strike him but Feyd-Rautha catches your wrist. His words lilt with ill-timed amusement.

“Surely you don’t believe that.”

You struggle to wrest yourself from his grasp, but the effort is futile. “Let go of me.”

“No. Never.”

Feyd-Rautha’s lips crash into yours. He steers your back to the wall, colliding with your spine. He swallows your cry of pain with his mouth, slanting it over yours, hands bracketing either side of your face. His fingers delve into your hair, pads of his thumbs pressing against your cheeks. The weak flame inside you ignites into a raging inferno.

He kisses you with a fierce, concentrated energy, as if his sole purpose is to bruise your mouth with his own. His tongue flickers across your bottom lip, behind your teeth. You moan at the same time Feyd-Rautha chooses to coast his hands down your sides and your head lolls back, neck bared.

He grabs onto you as his mouth flies to your exposed throat, hands greedily clutching at your waist. Feyd-Rautha presses a series of kisses that turn swiftly into nibbles, bites. He sucks and licks at your neck, no doubt creating a necklace of love marks, eagerly staking his claim on the sensitive skin. Each bite and lick winds you closer and closer to an orgasm, the idea of his lips marking you wickedly delightful.

Feyd-Rautha moves his hands to your ass, to the underside of your thighs, and hikes you up. Without thinking, you lock your legs around him. The action brings his hardened length nudging against your center and you whimper, grinding into him, desperate for friction.

“I want you so fucking bad,” you pant. “Please.”

He hums against your neck. “What did you say you were — a whore?” His hips roll with yours, the memory of him inside you inciting a moan from your lips. “The na-Baron doesn’t bother fucking whores.”

“Please,” you say again.

In response, Feyd-Rautha bites down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You wince even as pleasure floods over you. “Beg all you want but I won’t fuck a whore.”

You fail to conjure a response as he pins you to the wall with his hips, your arms thrown around his neck, and effectively loosens his hands in order to hoist your dress up. Your flesh pimples as it’s exposed to the cool air of the strategy room.

Feyd-Rautha’s hands skim over you, brush over your center. You whimper, “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me who you are,” he rasps.

Feyd-Rautha teases your clit through your panties, drawing lazy circles with his fingers. You buck your hips in an effort to gain reprieve but he denies you this.

Your voice pitches nearly into a whine. “I-I don’t know.”

And you don’t — not after the sequence of your day, not with Feyd-Rautha unraveling you with his his hands and his mouth. You are infinitesimal, insignificant, clay waiting to be shaped in his capable touch.

“Then I will remind you,” Feyd-Rautha says. He pushes your panties to the side, ghosting his digits over your entrance so that you writhe in desperation. “You are my wife, the na-Baroness of the House Harkonnen. You will raze cities to the ground and bring men to their knees. I will fuck you often and fill you with my seed, keep you pregnant so that you bear my children. You are not nothing, you are magnificent.”

His words are punctuated by his short, breathy pants, fingers pressing to your cunt without giving you any of the pleasure that you seek.

“Now — tell me who you are.”

“I-I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife.”

A wail looses from you as Feyd-Rautha plunges his fingers inside you, relieved from your aching by his careful ministrations. Each pump of his hand brings his palm to your sex, quick and authoritative. A hand that had killed six men today, saluted you, bled with you, and the severity of the situation has your walls clenching around him — he is Feyd-Rautha, and he is fucking you with his fingers, littering your body with bites and kisses and mumbled, appreciative praises.

It’s not surprising that this drives you to orgasm with record speed, to alleviating the pressure building between your legs —

Feyd-Rautha removes his fingers, depriving you of your release. You almost howl in frustration.

“Close,” he says. “But I’m not convinced.”

“No, please —”

“You can cum once you’ve convinced me that you remember who you are. Until then — your pleasure will be withheld.”

Again, he punishes you with his fingers, splitting you open as he inserts them. Your back bows.

“Now,” he pants, “tell. Me. Again.”

“I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife,” you repeat, mustering as much conviction as you can. You would tell him anything if it meant cumming on his fingers.

Harder, faster, wrist snapping: “And?”

“And…I am magnificent.”

Feyd-Rautha’s satisfaction is evident even in the dark, judging only by the pulse of his fingers, the breathy laugh fanning into your neck. He removes his fingers again, though, to your chagrin, trading positions for one that allows him to see your face. “Oh, you are,” he purrs. “And I bet you taste even better.”

You hitch your legs around his shoulders at his prompting. Feyd-Rautha sinking to his knees while applying enough weight to keep you trapped against the wall. You suppress another whimper. Your thighs are nearly flush with your chest as Feyd-Rautha dips his head to greet your cunt, driving you higher up the wall and forcing you to grab onto his armor for support.

You can’t see him with the skirt of your dress in the way, but you feel his mouth hovering your entrance.

Feyd-Rautha presses a kiss to you. He flicks his tongue over your clit, then licks a stripe up your center back to it, lapping eagerly between your thighs. His mouth works in tandem with his tongue, his teeth, treating you to the same nipping and sucking that he administered to your neck. Your hips buck to meet his every stroke.

And then, there it is again, your orgasm fighting for completion, raking claws of molten lava through your belly, your pelvis.

From between your legs, Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Convince me and I’ll let you cum.”

You swallow down a cry of protest. If you don’t get your release, you might actually implode. You do your best to summon his words from before, “I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife. And I am magnificent.”

“And how will I fuck you?”

Your teeth grind as you recall, “Often.”

“Why?”

“To-To keep me pregnant,” you stammer out. You rarely allow yourself to imagine your body in such a state, afraid of what it will invoke, but you do now: belly swollen with Feyd-Rautha’s child, breasts full, a physical manifestation of the vigorous fucking he regularly bestows.

And just like that, like the snapping of a rubberband, he returns his mouth to your cunt and laps at you until you finally, finally, reach your orgasm. Feyd-Rautha holds you steady as the prolonged release cleaves you in half, shuddering against his mouth, your vision swimming with stars. Tears wet your cheeks with your relief.

You sag into him, and he effortlessly lifts you back to your feet, still trapping you to the wall, one hand lazily skimming your hip.

“Do not, ever again, think so lowly of yourself. Do you understand?”

Your head bobbles stupidly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He brushes hair back from your face, runs his finger along the scattering of angry welts he’s left on your neck. “Now, my jewel, how do you want me to fuck you?”

You commit him to memory, this renegade angel, a contrast of darkness and your own personal deliverance. “I’ll let you choose.”

Without missing a beat, Feyd-Rautha carries you to the strategy table and lays you flat on your back, maneuvering to grab your ankles, one in each hand and spreading you wide. He takes his straining cock from his pants and strokes it as he admires you. “Mm, my beautiful wife, so eager for me to fuck her.”

He traces your entrance with his fingers, then notches his cock there, sliding the tip of it between your slick folds. You ache to take him but with your ankles in his grip, he keeps you firmly in place. Like a silly, wanton thing, you try desperately to grind against him as he drags himself, up and down, teasing you.

“Please, Feyd,” you beg, “please fuck me.”

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me, Feyd. Please.”

The ridges and crests of the strategy table bite into your back as he drives into you. The ecstasy of finally having him inside you is almost too much to bear — hips snapping, groans rumbling through his chest. He is inspired like this, immersed in the feel of your walls clamping down on his cock, pupils blown, plush lips parted with each panting breath.

If you only you could bottle up this moment, savor the way you both rise to meet the other like waves upon the shores of Caladan.

He pounds into you in a borderline frenzy, each near-violent thrust surging your orgasm higher.

Then Feyd-Rautha releases your ankles, your legs returning around his waist, and he captures your wrists instead, holding them over your head. The angle allows him to press himself to you, spearing you deeper, winding your desire tighter and tighter.

“My wife,” he rasps, “my jewel. Look at me.”

You meet his gaze. Feyd-Rautha smirks, pleased with himself, with you, and thrusts into you with swift finality. Your orgasm peaks and suddenly you’re shuddering and convulsing beneath him, pleasure wrought from every fiber of your being.

Distantly, you feel your cunt draw out Feyd-Rautha’s own orgasm, hips rolling against you as he spills himself inside you. He collapses on top of you, both of you panting, greedily drinking in lungfuls of air. Ostensibly, he recovers first and peels himself from you, tucking his cock back into his pants.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him breathlessly, thighs quivering as you stand, the wrinkled skirt of your dress cascading back to the ground.

“I suppose no one will question whether or not we’ve consummated our marriage,” he says.

Your cheeks burn. “Does it matter?”

“It’s typical for someone to watch to confirm,” he tells you, lifting a shoulder. “I said that it would be obvious enough.”

You gasp and swat his chest. “You didn’t.”

“The alternative was some noble peeking in on our fucking. Would you have preferred that? I do know you like to watch.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t,” you admit.

“Precisely.”

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes flicker over your face, and you can only guess what he sees there — you’re coated in a thin sheen of sweat and, undoubtedly, love marks, hair tangled and headpiece askew.

You shy away from him. “Do we have to go back to the reception?”

“No,” he nearly snorts, affronted that you would even suggest such a thing. “I fully intend on taking you to my bed and fucking you until you’re a mewling, quivering mess.”

Your cunt, still full with his cum, dripping with it down your thighs, clenches in anticipation.

“Then what are we still doing here?”

Part 8

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney

[spaceorphan18]

The Contessa (Polin Fic)

Rating: E for very explicitness

Summary: Colin returns home one evening to find Penelope reading his journal. She has some inquires about some undocumented time, and he tells the story of the infamous Contessa...

Notes: I've had this idea forever and just needed to get it out of my system. It's one part slice of domestic life, one part porn without plot, all of it full of love and emotions because how can you not with these two? There's a little pregnancy talk as it takes place in the months between the Butterfly ball and the epilogue.

For anyone wanting to read on Ao3 Here is the Link.

Thanks for reading!!

****

The Contessa

It’s evening when Colin arrives back at the house.  He shuffles through the door, flushed a little from the warm, late summer air, a little from the half bottle of brandy he and Benedict had finished off not an hour earlier.  It is still somewhat a foreign sensation -- leaving the family he had spent a happy afternoon with and the house he had grown up in to return to a place where the halls he now walks feels new and unfamiliar.  But it’s not a bad sensation.  In fact, he relishes the fact that he now has a place of his own.  A home.  A home for his own family. 

He grins, and it’s not just the alcohol that makes him a little dizzy. 

“Pen!” He calls out.  They spend a considerable amount of their time together but on days they’re apart, he’ll usually find her at the desk in the study.  Curiously, she’s not there.  “Penelope?” 

“She’s retired for the evening, sir.” Penelope’s hand maid, Rae, passes him in the hallway.  She points back to the bedroom. 

Colin furrows his brow.  His wife has been fatigued more often than not as of late, and it has had him concerned. “Is she well? Perhaps I should have stayed…” 

Rae holds one hand up, and shakes her head with a smile.  “She is fine, sir,” she assures him.  “And doing well for one in her condition. Besides, her mother was with her most of the day.  Nothing to worry about.  She only wanted the comfort of her bed for reading.” 

“Thank you, Rae,” he says, giving a nod to dismiss her.  

He isn’t entirely comforted.  Lady Featherington has been a source of contention recently; wanting to be at Penelope’s side more often than not.  Never in her life, Penelope has complained to him, has her mother shown her so much attention.  Perhaps it has to do with Prudence and Phillipa giving birth to two, sweet little girls that now Lady Featherington’s sights are set on her third daughter to produce the heir she so desperately desires.  And it would give Colin a slight sense of satisfaction if he and Penelope were the ones to bring that heir into being.  But Penelope’s comfort has always come first, and Lady Featherington’s unusual form of mothering is often too much.  He can only hope that she hasn’t pushed Penelope past exasperation.  

Colin is indignant as he enters their bedroom.  He doesn’t care that it’s evening, or that it might be seen as improper, he’ll head straight to the Featherington estate to give his mother-in-law a piece of his mind if he finds she’s been the source of his wife’s discomfort.  His emotions are easily bubbling to the surface but the minute he catches his wife’s reflection in the mirror, they shift from discontent and worry to… something else.  

He pauses, watching Penelope in the mirror.  After a day of being apart, his chest tightens at the sight of her.  She’s sitting, soundly, on her side of the bed, legs curled under her as she reads.  She is already in her pale, pink nightgown; her red curls down and resting gently against her bosom.  Her skin glows softly in the candlelight.  He has wondered that maybe after months of marriage if the deep desire he felt upon looking at her would eventually diminish or change but it has not and instead he has accepted that it will always be a part of him, always simmering in the back of his mind, waiting for an appropriate time to be unleashed. 

Penelope is too engrossed in her reading to look up.  He notes that it’s his journal that she’s reading so intently, a thought that brings a smirk to his lips, and he can’t help but wonder what part of his journeys has her so captivated.  She scratches a note in the margin, then continues reading, the feather of the quill lightly dancing teasingly against her lips.  He watches, mesmerized.  

“I can feel you staring at me,” she says, suddenly.  She doesn’t look up from her reading, taking the moment to jot down another note, but a smile climbs on her lips.  

Colin crosses the room, over to her side, bending down to give her a kiss on top of her head.  “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to stare at one’s wife.  Especially, when that wife is as beautiful as you.” 

He goes to move away, but she pulls him back, looking up at him with that same mix of wonder and slight disbelief she gets whenever he compliments her.  “You are really too much sometimes,” she says, tugging him down for a quick kiss.  “I am ghastly.  Bloated with child.  Sweaty, swollen, and uncomfortable…” 

Concern crosses his face.  “Is there anything I can do?” 

“I think that you have done enough,” she says.  It’s a gentle tease.  Despite any worries he has, she seems in good spirits, tenderly cupping his face as she draws him in for another, quick kiss.  “Mmmm, you’ve spent a considerable amount of time with Benedict tonight.”

It’s the alcohol on his breath.  No denying that.  “He’s a nuisance, really.  Insisting that we celebrate Gregory going off to Eaton with cards and a drink.”  He moves away, sliding into the chair near the bed and begins unlacing his boots.  

“So he coerced you into it?” Penelope asks, her eyes bright with humor.  

“Of course,” he jokes.  He’s only half in jest about Benedict.  Lately, his usually free spirited, energetic older brother has become listless.  Colin is glad, at least, that Anthony is away in India, handing over the household duties, giving Benedict something to do. Otherwise, he worries Benedict would attempt to find his purpose at the bottom of every bottle.  He tells Penelope as much, but leaves out the part that before them, before her , he had felt the same way. 

“I’m sure Benedict will find his own happiness,” Penelope says, as if she can read his thoughts.  “But what of the rest of your family? Is your mother well?  How is Eloise? I feel terrible that we haven’t seen each other much in the past few weeks.  I do miss her.”  

“Mother is good,” he replies. He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the stand next to the dresser.  “Hyacinth sends her regards.  Eloise is… as Eloise always is.  She talked my ear off about some book that she said I must tell you about.  Some horrific novel about a scientist who creates the perfect man only for it to be a disaster.  She called it a literary masterpiece, and claims that you must pick it up when you have the chance.”  

“That sounds thrilling,” Penelope says, delighted.  “Will you be able to pick me up a copy?  Reading might be the only thing I can do soon, and one can never have too many books.” 

“If it is your wish,” Colin replies.  “It does sound like an absurd tale.  But that might be the way Eloise described it.  She’s always had a flair for the dramatic in her commentary.”  

“And that is why we adore her,” Penelope says.  “I think I’ll try to have tea with her at Bridgerton House.  The fresh air would be nice and I would very much like to get out of this house.” 

“But your condition…” 

“Is fine,” she lets out a laugh.  “I am not bedridden yet.  There is plenty I can do…” 

Her eyes remain fixed on him as he undresses.  He enjoys the way her gaze lingers as he casts off his layers, preening a bit as he unbuttons his shirt and discards it onto the chair.  Her eyes are wicked with want, and after a four day disruption due to her not feeling well, maybe they could return to their usual nighttime routine.  

Pen licks her lips as he approaches the bed, but continues with their conversation.  “It’ll have to be Thursday,” she says. “Friday, my mother wants all of us girls and their husbands for a dinner.”

His trousers remain on (for now) and he comes to the bed, flopping down on his back to stare at the ceiling, letting out a protesting groan as he does so.  “Are you sure we need to be there?” 

“You won’t be forced into conversation with my sisters,” Penelope says, reassuringly.  “You can spend time with Mr. Dankworth and Mr. Finch in the drawing room as you always do.  I promise to keep my mother busy so to keep the two of you apart.” 

He grumbles, turning on his side.  In truth, Albion and Harry have grown on him some.  They’re two of the biggest dolts he’s ever known, but they’re kind and amusing and seem to have embraced him as their leader in the secret club reserved for men who adore the Featherington sisters.  It’s charming, really.  And while he much prefers his own brothers, he’s well aware he could do much worse when it comes to brother-in-laws.  

“So, you mother…” he broaches the subject carefully.  Penelope’s relationship with her mother is fragile but mending, and he treads carefully.  “Was she too much for you today?” 

“She’s too much any day,” Penelope says, though her demeanor remains light.  “She just wants what’s best for me.  She did try to force me some horrid, green drink that’s supposed to manifest a boy instead of a girl.  I really doubt it, but even Varley was swearing by it.” 

“I dare say,” Colin says, “as much as I would revel in you having the heir to the Featherington estate, I would be pleased in having a girl, because it would annoy her so.” 

“Colin!” Penelope says, chiding him playfully.  

“Well, it would.” 

She rolls her eyes at him.  “Let’s move on from my mother.  You’re right, I have had too much of her today.  Besides, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you.”  She looks down to his journal, nervously playing with the pages.  

His curiosity is piqued, and he scoots closer, trying to see the page she’s on.  He can’t quite tell what passage she had been reading, and only sees a few words marked on the page here and there.  “What is it?” 

“I have been reading all evening,” she says.  He takes a beat of pride in how fondly she speaks of it.  “Your words are beautiful.  The way you talk about the moonlight shimmering on the Mediterranean sea; the bustle of Paris and Madrid and Rome; the shady, mysteriousness of the forests of Eastern Europe… It’s like I’m really there.  I can feel it.  Only, I’ve never even stepped foot outside of London.”  

He takes her hand, laces it with his own.  “I promise I will take you, someday.  I’ll take you to see the world.  Wherever you want to go.”  He kisses the top of her hand, as if to seal his promise.  

“I would love that,” she says.  She smiles but looks down at the journal.  There’s more she’s not saying.  “There’s something else that I noticed, though.  There are some dates that don’t quite add up.”  

“Oh?” 

She narrows her eyes, as if she’s hesitant about asking.  “Here you write about Rome, but then here,” she flips a few pages forward. “You are in Milan over a week later.  And yet you don’t speak at all of the journey.  Clearly it didn’t take a full week, did it?  What happened in that time that you do not wish to speak about?” 

He takes the journal, scanning it, wanting to refresh his memory, but there had been so much that had happened in such a short time, he could scarcely remember every detail.  

“Is that when you met her ?” Penelope asks.  He gives her an odd look, unsure as to who she is talking about.  “The Contessa.  I have read all of your journals now.  Twice.  And I haven’t read about her at all.” 

Oh .  He bites his lip to refrain from laughing.  Oh, his dear Penelope.  “How do you even know about her?” 

“Lady Whistledown hears everything eventually,” Penelope explains, she tickles his nose with the end of her quill.  “I have heard stories…” 

“Lady Whistledown…” he lets out an exasperated sigh as he takes the quill from her, and places it in the journal.  He snaps it shut.  “There’s not really anything to tell.”  

“You write extensively about your exploits in Paris, in Berlin, in… every city.  And you never mention her.”  She looks at him, unsure.  “Is the reason you don’t write of her… was she your first?” 

“No,” he says easily, reaching over her to place the journal on the nightstand.  “That experience was bought and paid for.  I have told you about that already - Rosalita...” He shudders to think of his first bumbling time.  Awkward and inexperienced and very short.  But at least she had been kind.  

Penelope’s eyes go wide with amusement.  “The Spanish woman! The one you said had the delectable bosom.”  

He grins, admiring her ability to recall such details, then leans in, giving her a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, while he brings his hand up to cup her breast.  “Mmm, you know I can’t resist a delectable bosom.” 

“I will not be distracted so easily,” she says, it’s a playful warning.  “But how is it that you can boast about this Contessa to the entire male population of the ton and, yet, not tell me a single word about her?”  

He grins as he considers.  There is a reason he’s never shared this with her… And despite whatever she may have heard as Lady Whistledown, no one knows the actual story.  “Okay…” 

“Okay?” she stares at him, wonderingly.  There’s something special about the way she looks at him, so eager to hear any of his stories abroad, becoming especially attentive the more intimate in nature they are.  He once thought he’d never share such private thoughts with anyone, but she makes him want to open up, to share everything.  He could never really withhold anything from her.  Not even if he tried.  

He takes a moment to trace her forehead, her cheek, her chin, wanting to feel close to her.  He combs his fingers through her hair as he begins.  “She had red hair…” 

“Red hair?” she tilts her head in disbelief.  

“Orange-ish, really,” he says, with a small laugh, curling the end of her hair around his finger.  “Wild and fiery.  She was one of our hosts on the long trip from Rome to Milan, which did take nearly a week, now that you’ve got me thinking about it.  One of our horses had trouble and she kindly took us in.  It was a rainy night, but at least not a chilling one, and her cook made us the best stew I’ve ever had.  That evening, we stayed up to talk.  She was an impressive conversationalist.”  

“Oh, was she?” 

“She was,” he continues.  “She was a widow.  A young one.  But she knew things.  Had seen a bit of the world herself.  And I found her captivating.”  He cups her chin and uses his thumb to trace along her bottom lip.  He wants to kiss her. Wants to scoop her up and make up for all the days they’ve missed.  The desire he’s kept carefully at bay is coming front and center again, but he refrains.  

“So you talked?” 

“We did - late into the night.  The others, they one-by-one went to bed, but the two of us.  She said we had a connection and so I stayed.  And talked.”  

“Just talked?” It sounds like disappointment.  

He comes in close, cupping the back of her head carefully, as he whispers into her ear.  “There are plenty of things two people can talk about.”  

“Tell me.” 

He begins to give her feather-light kisses.  “The weather.”  He kisses against her cheek with a grin.  “Embroidery.” Another kiss against her jaw.  “The likelihood of winning at a game of cards.”   He travels down to her neck, but keeps his touch light.  

“Did you kiss her?” She asks.  

He pauses, breathing against her skin.  “I did.” 

“Show me.”  

He kisses her lips.  It’s gentle and tender and as easy as every fleeting kiss they’ve given each other over the past few months.  It’s not enough and he knows it.  

“Show me,” she says again, a harder demand.  

He kisses her harder this time, firm and strong and lingering.  It’s connecting and the heat of his desire begins to grow.  But it’s still not enough.  

“You’re holding back,” she challenges.  

“I am not,” he grins.  

“Don’t tease me,” she says, it’s almost a plea.  

“I assure you, I am not…” 

“Kiss me like you kissed her.” 

“I--” 

He can’t. As much as this had been almost a game between them, he realizes he can’t follow through with that request. Because kissing her is unlike kissing anyone else.  The gentlest brush of skin against skin lights his body aflame in the way that passionate kisses with anyone else does not.  

He pulls back to look at her -- really look at her.  The remarkable thing that he’s discovered since they’ve been married is that there are two of her.  Not her and Lady Whistledown, those are one and the same.  But there is the Penelope whom he fell in love with.  The one he’s always been in love with on some level.  The one who makes him laugh, who grounds him, who always has his best interests at heart.  His dearest friend.  

And then there is the other Penelope.  The woman who looks at him with those darkened eyes; whose lust for him is beyond anything he’s experienced with another partner.  She makes him feel raw and exposed and wanted in the most intimate of ways, even without the shedding of all their clothes.  And he wonders if he’s ever able to fully satisfy her hunger.  

“I cannot kiss you like her,” he says finally.  She looks at him confused.  “Because kissing you is an experience unlike any other.  Nothing feels as good as kissing you.” 

She gives him a proud look as she lunges at him, kissing him fervently.  And this… this is a kiss.  The world melts away, and there’s nothing but her, and her lips against his, her tongue sliding against his own, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer.  He deepens the kiss, feeling her everywhere.  

His own desire is becoming achingly apparent and if he had wanted to, he could end it all in a matter of moments, but he stops himself.  And pulls away, giving them a moment to both catch their breath.  

“This had to have happened after Spain,” she says, breathing heavily, still able to follow the narrative he had been laying down.  “And after France, as you visited Italy after both of them.  You’ve gained some experience by then, so I assume you did not stop with just a kiss.  Tell me, did she have a delectable bosom as well?” It’s her turn to tease, but she does so with the most sultry look upon her face.  

He admires her cleverness.  “Of course,” he gives, and tugs down on her nightgown, exposing her breast.  “As if I would settle for a woman with anything less.”  

He wastes no time latching onto her nipple.  She rakes a hand through his hair, encouraging him to kiss and suck and lick.  He reaches into her nightgown, to grasp at her other breast, squeezing it, causing her to moan and shiver under his touch.  

“I need more,” she manages to cry. 

He keeps his mouth firmly on her, sucking hard, as his hand travels underneath her nightgown.  Her legs fall apart, and he finds her wet and ready for him.  He’s soft at first, teasing where she would like him to be most, then pushes in with two fingers, while his thumb circles her most sensitive of spots.  She lets out a guttural groan that completely undoes him.  He never thought he’d be able to deliver such pleasure to someone else, but she closes her eyes and bucks her hips and lets him take control.  

He begins to kiss up her body as he works her, loving the fact that she has become so familiar to him that he knows exactly the right place to touch, the right pace to move, the right crook of a finger to push her over into release.  She is close, so close and all she needs is a little extra push.  “Let go, Pen,” he whispers into her ear.  “Let go, for me.”  

She screams his name as her release rips through her. He kisses her through it, wanting to feel her everywhere.  

He then pulls away, giving her a minute to come down, and he takes a moment to drink her beauty in.  Her hair is dark red across the white pillow, her breasts out and pink and raw where he’s kissed them.  Her nightgown is a knotted mess that he’ll have to untangle her from.  She has never looked more desirable.  

It doesn’t take long for her to sit up, intense and determined.  She pushes him back, giving herself a moment to free herself from her nightgown.  

“Did she touch you like you touched her?” she asks.  

He scoots back against the headboard, allowing her to undo his trousers.  “...Yes.” He lifts up, allowing her to pull them down and with a few kicks, he manages to cast them off.  

“Like this?” She wastes no time grabbing him.  It’s rough and the angle is awkward but he needs her touch.  

“Yes…” he gasps.  

“What about this?”  

“Penelope, you don’t have to…oh…” 

Her mouth is over him, sucking him down with a sense of determination he’s never seen from her before.  It’s almost too much.  

“Pen…” he says, almost losing himself over to the pleasure of it all.  “Pen, I need you to stop if…”

She pulls off, then straddles his lap.  “Did you lie with her like this?” 

“You really are still comparing any experience with…” 

“Did you lie with her like this?” she repeats. 

“No, but to be fair, we are sitting, not lying down.” It gets her to crack a smile.  “Are you sure you want to continue? Your condition...” he rubs a hand over her stomach.  “I don’t want you to push yourself more than you need to.”  

“Please do not speak to me as the mother of your child,” she says, staring at him deeply.  “Talk to me as your wife.  Your wife who needs you.”  

He nods.  “Okay…” 

They reposition some so he’s sitting on his legs.  She still straddles his lap, reaches between them to grab him, then lowers herself on him inch by delicious inch.  It is ecstasy feeling her around him, warm and tight. She begins to roll her hips, torturously slow.   He wraps his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible, wanting to feel connected in every sense of the word.  She brings her arms around his neck, drawing in for a deep kiss as they rock together.  

They pull apart, and he watches her, lets her lose herself in her own pleasure, lets her use his body for her own needs.  His body aches for its own release, but there’s something beautiful, something satisfying about watching her come undone over him.  

He senses when she begins to tire, when her legs begin to give out and lifts her up to lie her down on the bed.  

“Are you still okay?” he checks in.  

She nods.  “Don’t hold back.  I want to feel it.  I want to feel you .”  

He doesn’t. 

He begins to piston his hips, pushing into her frantically.  She moans into his mouth as they kiss and touch and get lost in each other.  There’s nothing in this world that feels as good as her, as feeling deep in her, as if she’s fully encapsulated him and they are one and the same.  There is nothing outside this room, this moment.  Nothing but her.  His thrusts speed up, become more erratic, and it’s not long before he’s pushed over the edge, spilling deeply inside of her.  

“Colin!” she screams.  His name on her lips, needy and desperate makes him dizzy and he crashes their lips together for another long kiss.  

Coming down, he pumps his hips shallowly a few more times before pulling out. He reaches between them to feel her, to touch her, to let her have her second release that evening.  Her body spasms around his hand, wildly and unyielding.  She calls out his name again, as she clings to him, letting wave after wave of pleasure wash over her.  

He remains over her as they both settle, catching their breath.  She reaches up, cups his face, runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his back. Neither quite ready to be done.  He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, sweet and gentle, just wanting one more taste before he rolls to his side, collapsing beside her.  

“Your time with the Contessa,” she says, “was like that?” She giggles as she says it.  

“Penelope…” he laughs, taking her hand, lacing their fingers together.  He doesn’t have to say it.  She knows. 

She shifts, curling up into his arms, cuddling against his chest. 

“Thank you,” she says.  Her voice is soft and sweet and the first Pen has taken over again.  “I needed that.” 

“I could tell,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  He remains quiet for a moment, holding her tight, enjoying the press of her body into his, the sweet smell of her scent she has after they’ve been intimate, the feeling of deep emotional connection that remains even after the physical connection has ended.  

“I think I’ve figured it out,” she says, a bit unexpectedly.  She looks up at him, her eyes bright and engaging.  

“Figured what out, love?” 

“The Contessa,” she gives him a grin.  “I know your secret.” 

“Oh?” 

“She does not exist,” she says plainly.  “You’ve made her up.”  

He gives her a smirk.  “Have I?” 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Penelope says, as if it’s the most obvious answer.  “There’s no real woman with fiery red hair who happens to be a great conversationalist and has a delectable bosom and can satisfy you so thoroughly.  Not one in Italy, anyway.”  

He chuckles into her hair.  “Oh, I assure you, she is very real.”  

“Real in your imagination.” 

“Real in my bed.”  He leans down to kiss her.  

“What did happen in that missing week then?” she asks.  

“I did tell you,” he says, with a grin.  “We had to get a new horse.  And then stayed for days in the most boring lodge waiting for a storm to pass.  There was nothing to do but stare at the wall…” 

“And create a fake Contessa?” she teases. 

They share a laugh together.  

“Oh, how I love you, Pen.” 

“And I love you .”  

After all of his travels, after all the adventures, he’s glad he’s there now with Penelope; his love, his best friend, his home.  He snuggles her close as his eyes flutter shut, and lets sleep take over.  

[tilly-tilly-2827]

Benedict Bridgerton and the Multiverse of Madness

What always puzzled me (and adored) about the characterization of show! Benedict is his emotional maturity. Quoting the amazing Times article, he is a “loyal friend, a sympathetic listener with an open mind, a game and giving lover, and the emotional bedrock of his family”. (Lang, 2024) He’s very emotionally intelligent and sympathetic; the ability to sense his siblings and friend’s discomfort, and soothe them in his own way, the open-mindedness to Granville’s sexuality, the list is endless. I love him.

Now look at Book! Benedict. Although we have his character development/arc throughout the story, when readers first see him in 1817, he’s a complete dick. Arrogant, slightly abusive, manipulative, completely ignorant of Sophie’s insecurities, doesn’t accept Sophie’s rejection. His emotional immaturity toward Sophie is completely different from what show! Benedict is.

However, now that I’ve seen the first half of season 3, I could see how show!Benedict is changing into the Book! Benedict. As @the-other-art-blog (read her great review from here!!) has pointed out, his unnecessary hostility towards the debutants is slightly disturbing. He is bored and exhausted from the society, yet he doesn’t have a purpose in life, giving up on his artistic pursuits. In his season, He meets his love of his life at the masquerade, but she completely disappears from his world. His younger brother is happily married. His elder brother has two sons, so he’s no longer the spare. My guy is in absolute shambles and descending into madness at this point.

So as dickhead book! Benedict could be, he might not be relatable, but he is at least understandable. Benedict is at his lowest point when he reunites with Sophie in 1817; that is why he is so possessive and patronizing towards Sophie. He has to threaten and blackmail Sophie to London because he doesn’t want to let go the only light (Sophie) he found in his miserable life, and he’s already lost the love of his life, he doesn’t want to risk losing it again.

One of the most dickheaded moments in AOFAG?

The lake scene. Love that scene. Very Romantic. However, if you think objectively, seeing Sophie spy on him, Benedict proceeds to kiss her and asks her to be his mistress and tries to take her down on the ground? Knowing that she is a virgin? Absolute chaotic behavior and nothing like the soft, considerate respectful-to-women Benedict we saw in the past seasons. Why is he acting like this? Because at this point of his life, He is absolutely LOSING HIS MIND AND SANITY.

The aggressive “YES!!!” From season 3 Benedict? Oh we are slowly stepping in to the worst side of Benedict Bridgerton. Not the charming, respectful Benedict we have fallen in love with since the past seasons.

This is completely different from the topic that I rambled on, but I’m can’t wait to see the reaction when Sophie rejects Benedict during the pond scene. “I don’t see why not.” “But you wanted to just few second ago.” Imagine the look of confusion and frustration on Benedict’s expression. (In the past, viewers see that Benedict can bring girls to bed with one smirk and a flirty banter,) And as we all well know, Luke Thompson is the mastery of micro-expressions. Would love to see him deliver these lines.

Also, Benedict sleeping around with Lady Tilley, and also with the past ladies really heightens the tension between Sophie and Benedict, especially on the point of physical intimacy. For Benedict, he just likes to have fun, having sex is just light and breezy. So of course he would have no problem fucking an innocent girl who seems to like him back. In outdoors. On the FUCKING GROUND. However for Sophie, physical intimacy is almost like a sin; She can’t repeat the tragedy of her mother and make another human being suffer from the baseness of their birth. Ben and Sophie are perfect for each other, but Their polar opposite perception towards physical intimacy creates so much conflict and tension between the two. This point is also what differentiates Benophie from other couples, especially compared to Polin.

Benedict and Sophie are soulmates, two lost drifting souls finding solace, comfort and love in one another, but there is a deep rift between them that they have to overcome.

The angst in AOFAG is just pure drama.

Any thoughts? Love to hear your ideas too🥰🥰

I’m further rambling on in the comment section 🥶

References

Lang, Cady. Why Benedict is the Best Character in Netflix's Bridgerton | TIME, 2024

[jwirecs]

RECOMMENDED ARRANGED MARRIAGE AU💍

hello, hello! here are my arranged marriage au - nct recs! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers💝

requested by anon (i literally went through 44 pages of my svt tag and i dont think i’ve read any skz arranged marriage aus, so for now, its just nct..)

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Before I Go || @yutaholic​​​​​​🔞💕💔✅ (doyoung x reader)

↳ The day has come for you to marry Doyoung and life as a princess is not what you expected. Your new husband is distant and there is trouble stirring within the monarchy. Now more than ever, you are determined to kindle a romance with the prince, but you soon learn that your marriage will be put to the test in ways you could never have imagined.

Binding Bonds || @jaedore​🔞💕💔✅ (jaehyun x reader)

↳ Being the daughter of a top fashion brand, an arranged marriage isn’t what you’d expect coming out of your mother’s mouth. Especially when she says that it’s with Jung Jaehyun, the son of the CEO who owns one of the biggest trading companies. Of course he’s a heartthrob, a ladies’ man, and prince in the media, but in reality, he’s a royal pain in the ass. Your patience, emotions, and sanity is tested when you’re forced to share a life together. Will it crumble to the ground of the empire you’ve build or will there be a change of heart?

Coming Home || @cupofjae​​​​​​🔞💕💔✅ (yuta x reader, smau)

↳ an arranged marriage between two of the most powerful families drives a son away from the only home he has ever known. however, two long years past in success until his past comes knocking on his door, literally.

Lucky Number Seven || @paintmebare​🔞💔✅💯💯💯 (johnny x reader)

↳ When your less than lovely cousin makes a jab at you, you finally snap and tell her that you're dating her ex-boyfriend (even though you haven't spoken since high school). Johnny agrees to play the role of your boyfriend, though the longer you pretend to be in love, the more you realize you might actually be crushing on him.

MOON RIVER || @ppangjae​​​​​​​🔞💕💔✅ (jaehyun x reader)

↳ Your mother warned you of many boys. She’s warned you of the immature ones, the players, and even the fools and cowards. But man, she has never warned you of guys like Jeong Jaehyun, the President’s son, who seems to be falling in love with you with every passing day even though he’s already engaged to someone he’s been set up to marry.

***Seeds of Pomegranates || @/anashins​​​​​​​🔞💕💔✅ (jaehyun x reader)

↳ (this was also included in my feb-march nct fic recs, so please do head over to that post! this isnt under the arranged marriage type of au, but it gives off the vibes of it to me!)

Anon Request || @alluringjae​🔞💔✅ (jeno x reader)

↳ Anon: “ hi dear for the birth months special can you do this as angsty as you can. angst “ you weren’t there...why weren’t you there? I needed you! I needed you! And you weren’t there!” and “All I wanted was a happy ending.” + prompt ‘As you begin to fall asleep, you feel a gentle kiss pressed to your temple and a blanket draped over you’ THANKYOUUU

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

[maysrinn]

I'm assuming in both AUs that Coryo and Lucy Gray are still around by the time of the 74th hunger games and all of that. So how does all that play out in each AU? In the district AU do they have any connection to Katniss at all? In the capitol one does Coryo still have a weird grudge against Katniss or does Lucy Gray talk him into being more sympathetic toward her? What happens to the families of both AUs when the revolution comes?

Good question,

Just as a fact in both AUs, katniss and Lucy gray are blood related. Katniss is Lucy Grays first cousin twice removed

………………………… ✨

Capitol AU

Lucy Gray indeed watched Katniss's games with her grandkids after she and Peeta captured the attention of the First Lady during the interviews, particularly impressed by Peeta's bold declaration of love. Despite her reluctance to admit it, Lucy Gray, like many in the Capitol, found herself captivated by their performance. However, she stopped watching after Rue's death and Katniss's emotional rendition of "Deep in the Meadow," which hit too close to home.

Lucy Gray was surprised to learn that Katniss and Peeta emerged as victors, knowing her husband's inner fury over the outcome. She had to work to calm him down, fearing a repeat of what happened 24 years prior with Mr. Abernathy. Though Lucy Gray managed to exert some influence over Coriolanus and his malicious tendencies, it wasn't substantial. She appeared as a graceful, weary figure, exuding the scent of roses, when she met Katniss in person during the end of the victor tour, engaging in a genuine conversation unlike many others in the Capitol. Neither of them knew about their familial connection, a fact that would remain unknown for quite some time.

In the rebellion, Lucy Gray plays a minor role that ultimately safeguards her and her children from facing execution at the end. However, tension arises when Katniss negotiated grant immunity to all victors comes in the way with Coins plan to include Coriolanus's grandchildren in her symbolic Hunger Games, an idea that Lucy Gray finds outrageous.

Lucy Gray decides not to witness her husband's execution. Instead, she stays with Rosalyn and her family, fearing the temptation to do something reckless or foolish. Coriolanus meets his end as he did in the original story, facing the wrath of an angry mob who beat him to death.

………………………………✨

District AU

District AU during the 74 hg its not really well thought out and through yet. Coriolanus, portrayed as an emotionless commander of District 12, appears to the public as someone who casually sends people to the Hanging Tree every Tuesday, almost as if it's routine. The identity of the president in this AU is still uncertain (suggestions are welcome), but the Games remain unchanged and continue to operate without necessarily requiring a figure like Coriolanus Snow to oversee them.

Lucy Gray would know Katniss and her family as now being actually involved with the covey in this AU, She might have even cradled Katniss as a baby, echoing her interactions with her father. When Maude Ivory gives birth to her son, Lucy Gray bursts through the door, urgently making her way past Colton with a casual “MOVE BITCH!” to attend to the newest Covey member. Despite Coriolanus holding a secure and influential position in the district, both he and Lucy Gray chose not to reside in the wealthier part of District 12. They prioritize the safety of the kids and Lucy Gray her connection to the Covey, especially Lucy Gray, who dislikes being viewed with disdain. While it's unclear if they later live together, it's imaginable that Lucy Gray steps in to help raise Primrose and Katniss, with Coriolanus maintaining a distant or dismissive presence at best.

Side note: despite Coriolanus's influential position, he is unable to prevent Primrose from being reaped due to unforeseen circumstances or obstacles. Consequently, the Hunger Games proceed as planned with Katniss who volunteers for prim and Peeta as tributes. Haymitch and Lucy Gray would be their mentors.

He did tho went through Katniss names quite some time for getting tesserae for her family, being told each time not to do that. Each year being “this is the last time Everdeen-“, until next year “12, 13, 14…15?!”.

What happens during the revolution I’m not sure but I’m sure not the bombing of 12 that sounds like a 100% snow move (and if none of my babies is going to the heavens above-)

[bethanydelleman]

How would the Austen Heroes act during their wives pregnancies?

You also asked about the heroines, I deleted that question by mistake because I thought it was a glitch. I will answer both now.

I did a bunch of research on pregnancy in the Regency era a while ago for my Pride & Prejudice sequel and I'm going to give a general answer: pregnancy was treated fairly causally as far as I have read.

This is from a well researched article:

During the Regency, there was no prohibition against pregnant women appearing in public, and many of them led active social lives throughout their pregnancies. While in her ninth month of her third pregnancy in 1805, Frances, Lady Churchill continued to attend parties and went to the opera on June 11. She gave birth on June 28. There was no prohibition on travel, either. During the last trimester of her first pregnancy in 1810, Harriet, Lady Granville, and her husband visited the country seats of his family members in Staffordshire, Gloucestershire and Cheshire.

There were some women who refrained from activity due to reasons of health, for example, when suffering from nausea during the first trimester. They might even make their condition an excuse to avoid unpleasant engagements, but a lady who was too indolent might be criticized. “Lady Jersey is to be confined in March,” wrote Lady Harrowby in 1807, and “to secure this, she does not move off her Couch, nor will she risk the exertion of holding a glass up to her mouth, so that all this is done for her.” Perhaps one might excuse Lady Jersey for her worries, however; her first pregnancy had not been successful.

Also, this is a very interesting quote about expecting an heir:

“You should not be anticipating boys,” wrote a gentleman to his expectant sister in 1815, “because you subject yourself to disappointment and the poor little girl does not meet with a fair reception. Not withstanding this wise advice, I hope to hear of an heir.”

All of that said, I can't tell you how the heroes and heroines would react because I think a lot of it would be down to how their pregnancy went and how they felt. I was miserably sick and constantly tired during my first pregnancy, much better during the second, and I'm sure I acted very differently but it had nothing to do with my personality (except that I didn't complain that much because I don't like to, Mary Musgrove would have milked it...). Some people love being pregnant, others hate it, others are neutral. And the births themselves range from easy to nightmarish (oh the stories you hear after you have a baby!) None of the heroines are really prone to complaining for pity either.

Otherwise, did they miscarry or have a stillbirth first? (1/5 pregnancies end in a spontaneous miscarriage in the first trimester even today, but both miscarriage and stillbirth were more common in the past) Did their first child die? Did their mother or a close relation die in childbirth? These things we don't know and they would likely change the person's reaction to pregnancy. Everyone would be nervous during the birth and the first 3 months, those who had lost someone would likely be more nervous. A parent would feel that their baby is safer after the first year was over.

Women did know childbirth was dangerous, many wrote wills right before they gave birth, but it was also just a part of life. It was part of the mix of joy and sorrow that everyone experienced.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Sisters No More

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: ARE WE READY!?

Synopsis: An anonymous source reveals that your big sister Danielle isn't exactly who you think she is

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

First Lady of Private Garden Masterlist

Thank you to @hoodharlow and @nattinatalia for helping 😘💖

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Did we seriously get all three of them to go to sleep and it’s only 7:30?” Jack asked as both of you collapsed on the couch, but you more so did a faceplant.

“Mm hmm. I was surprised Ivy actually let you go since she was clinging to you so tight.” You muttered before Jack picked you up and slid you onto his lap while kissing your forehead.

The two of you had gone out to brunch with Dani, Drama, Urban, and Curse earlier that day while Maggie and Brian watched the triplets which you were thankful for. It was the first time that the two of you had gone out without them and of course you and Jack were texting them every 20 minutes to check on them before Urban snatched both of your phones.

"Jack, did you forget that your parents also had to raise your dumbass and Clay? This isn't their first rodeo." Urban said while finally getting close enough to snatch his phone.

"It is their first rodeo for having three newborns at one time!"

"They're fine and you two need to stop worrying so much. If there was really a problem, we would know." Curse added while drinking her mimosa and you immediately got jealous.

"I miss drinking mimosas."

"It won't be too much longer until you get to have them again."

"Yes it will be if I plan on breastfeeding for 2 years at the most." 

"Damn in that time you might be pregnant again." Urban said while also drinking his.

"NO THE HELL I WILL NOT! FOUR UNDER 2? FUCK THAT!"

All Jack did was smirk and laugh at you.

"That isn't funny Jackman!"

"But at least you wouldn't be doing it by yourself."

"We're really proud of the two of you. Perfect parents." Dani said while smiling at both of you. 

"There's no such thing, but we'll always try our best to do right by them and they're going to know how much they're loved."

—

“Are you going anywhere tomorrow?” You inquired as you grabbed the remote and was flipping through different channels.

“Nope, I’m all yours. I moved a few meetings to Friday since I at least know Blanca, Jessica, and Victoria will be here with you. But I’ll still be here since they’re all zoom meetings. That way you’ll have help.”

“I actually thought it was going to be worse. We’re actually sleeping for the most part which is surprising. My mom couldn’t believe it.” 

“Hopefully it stays that way.”

The two of you fell asleep on the couch and Jack was woken up by his phone repeatedly going off while you were still laying on his chest in a comfortable slumber. 

He didn’t even bother looking to see who it was and answered.

“Hmm?”

“Jack, I’m sorry for calling this late, but um… did you hear?”

He immediately recognized Saweetie’s voice.

“Hear what? And what time is it?”

“2 in the morning for you, but it is literally everywhere.”

“What is everywhere?” Now that got his attention and he tried to sit up without disturbing you. 

“Just turn to E! News, they’ve been showing it on repeat for the past hour. Tell Y/N I’m sorry and I’ll call her later.” 

After Jack had hung up the phone, he reached for the remote in order to turn to E! News and one he did, his jaw dropped.

“We have gotten word from an anonymous source that Danielle Valentine who we all know and love to be Y/N Harlow’s older sister and a part of her management team is actually her birth mother who had her at the age of fifteen, but that’s not all. Her birth father is DJ Drama who is the owner of Generation Now, the record label that she as well as her husband Jack Harlow are signed under. Sources are saying that DJ Drama signed Y/N and Jack Harlow as a favor to Danielle. We’ll give more updates as soon as we learn more.”

Jack quickly shook you awake and you groaned.

“Baby, the house better be on fire or one of them is hungry and I don't mean you. I was sleeping so good.”

“I know, babe and I’m sorry, but please wake up and look at this.”

“What?” You picked your head up from his chest and turned towards the television as Jack rewinded the segment so that you could see it from the beginning and pressed play.

You sat there dead silent as you listened to it. When it was over all you did was look down at your hands in your lap.

“Baby girl… I… I don’t even know where to begin.”

Silence.

“Baby, please say something. I know it’s….”

“How could they lie to me like that? For almost 25 years?” You asked as you picked up your phone and saw the many texts from the two of them in a group chat with all four of you. You also saw multiple calls from anyone you could think of.

Dani- Baby girl, please let us explain

Drama- I promise it will make sense when we do

Dani- We were going to tell you, just wanted to do it at the right time

Dani- Y/N, please answer me

Dani- Everything I’ve done has been for you and Jack to be successful. Please, you have to understand that. I love you and I love Jack as if he was my own.

Drama- We wanted the both of you to succeed and this is how we had to go about it

“They have some fucking nerve to think that I want to hear them out. My mind is racing and I don’t even know what to think right now.” You muttered as both you and Jack looked at the text messages. 

“I know. I… shit… I don’t even know how to begin to make you feel better because I mean damn.”

“You being my husband and always supporting me even if I do dumb shit sometimes is enough for me. I just… therapy is really helping me because if this happened a year ago, I would have gone to her house right now and kicked her ass. I would have dragged her ass out of the bed, I don’t give a damn what time it is. Birth mother or not.”

“I’m proud of you for sticking with it. That just feels weird to hear you say… about her being your birth mother I mean.”

“It feels weird saying it. She was only fifteen and that means that he had to be seventeen.”

“Still a child herself.”

“I always wondered what my mom meant when she said she didn’t want me to go down the same path Dani did. She never explained what she meant by it. I would always ask but she always said to ask her about it but I never did. I do recall one time, I was maybe 6 at the time, but I distinctly remember her coming in the house high, but of course I had no idea what that was then. Apparently she went upstairs and took more of whatever she had because when I went to her room, I couldn’t wake her up and I yelled for my mom. She definitely overdosed. She cared more about drugs than she did her own child. I don’t even think she realizes that I remember.”

“They need to give you answers too. They’re just as guilty as she is. You don’t keep something like that from someone for more than twenty years.”

“People have big age gaps between their children all the time and I obviously didn’t think anything of it, because why would I? The only reasoning behind this that I can think of is that she felt guilty leaving her parents to raise a child that she made. I need a fucking drink.”

You looked over to see Jack typing away on his phone.

“Babe, who are you texting?”

“Dani and Drama and to tell them to leave us the fuck alone. We’re new parents and the last thing we need is added stress caused by the two of them. All because they decided to lie.”

Jack- The two of you have some fucking nerve. You not only lie to me, but more importantly to your FUCKING DAUGHTER. Do us a favor and leave us alone for now. Last thing I want is for my wife to be stressed out because she already has enough to deal with being a new mom. And I better not catch either of you on our doorstep either. Good fucking night. 

Drama- Wait, Jack just let us explain

Dani- We never meant to hurt either of you

Jack- Both of you can fuck off

“I don’t even know who this anonymous source would be because someone obviously had to know since I don’t think they were dumb enough to leak it themselves.” Jack said as you continued to scroll through your phone to see nothing on your timeline but you and your husband.

You clicked on one of the articles and the news was only getting worse.

Danielle had Y/N when she was only fifteen, and her parents decided that they would raise her as her sister. It was also discovered that she was heavily into drugs during her teen years and eventually went to rehab. Our same sources say that DJ Drama had only intended to sign First Lady and not Jack at all until he was convinced by Danielle. However since she was only mostly writing songs at the time for him as well as their best friends, The Homies, he decided to sign Jack first. 

All you did was sigh before you handed Jack your phone. That honestly broke your heart and you immediately knew that Jack was going to feel some type of way about it, just like you were now.

Both of you were talented, but it seemed as if Drama never wanted to be bothered with Jack in the first place.

After Jack had read it, all he did was hand it back to you.

“Look at me.” You whispered while looking over at Jack and he didn’t even budge.

“Jackman, look at me.” You said while grabbing his chin so that he could face you.

“I remember being so excited when you told me he wanted to sign you and that I knew he would see you were talented just like everyone else saw. Do not think or question how amazing you are for a second. You deserved to get signed just as much as anyone else in Gen Now. You understand?”

Jack simply nodded his head, but you knew his thoughts were running rampant by the look on his face and by how quiet he was being.

“I love you.” You said while pinching his cheek and you got a small smirk out of it.

“I love you too, more than life itself.”

“I just don’t understand why people continuously try to fuck with us. We went through enough last year. Oh, boo bear?”

“Yes, mamas?”

“What do we have to do to get out of our contract at Gen Now? We should have just kept the shit just how it was in the beginning. We don’t fucking need him or her for that matter. We have Private Garden Records for a reason. If they want to play checkers, then we’re going to play chess and they’re going to learn not to fuck with us.”

The next few days went by in a blur and you weren’t answering anyone’s text messages or calls except a handful of people.

All of Private Garden was now scattered across your living room since this is the first day that they had seen the both of you since the news broke.

“I always knew something was off with Drama and how he would interact with Y/N.” Urban said as he was playing with Little Urban.

“How so?” Jack asked and everyone was now looking at Urban for an explanation.

“It’s like, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like whenever she would suggest something or have an idea, he would always agree with her and sometimes he would be on some creepy shit and just be staring at her. I guess he did that because he felt guilty.”

“Ace! Don’t hold her like that! Support her head!” Jack exclaimed while looking over at him and he quickly adjusted his arm so that her head would have more support. 

“Oh shit, my bad! She has your big head in case you didn’t notice!”

“Ace! Like you’re one to talk! Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“But why did they feel the need to lie? Like this shit was obviously planned since we were in high school.”

“They both seem to have a side of them that we never knew existed.”

“Y/N?” You heard Urban call for you as you looked over at him.

“Yes?”

“You’ve been quiet this entire time. How can we help? You know we always protect our own.”

“I know and I love you guys for that, but I just don’t know right now. Still trying to process everything. My phone has been going off nonstop and I just want to turn it off.”

“And to think you named one of your kids after her.” Quiiso said as Shloob passed him her namesake, Autumn Danielle.

“She had so many opportunities to come clean and just tell me but she didn’t. So why is she trying to explain now? Just because she got caught? I want to be done with my parents too for just letting her string this along for so long.”

“Have you talked to them?”

“No, and I don’t plan on it any time soon. It’s already so bad that whenever we decide to see Jack’s parents, they either have to come here or we’ll go and eat out somewhere. I don’t want to run the risk of seeing them. I get that they did an amazing job raising me because their daughter wasn’t shit, but I mean come on you lied to me just like she did. It seems like I can never catch a break.”

“So, are you two trying to get out of your contract? What’s going on with that?”

“We are, we’re trying to discuss it with our lawyer to see if we can, but who knows. That shit is hard to get out of. But if Drama knows what’s good for him, he’ll let it go.” Jack answered as he went over to pick up Ivy from Ace who was reaching for him. 

“He’s definitely going to put up a fight with how much money he’s made off the both of you.”

“We’ll see when the time comes. For now, all we’re doing is focusing on being parents to these three terrors.”

“Do not call our offspring terrors, Jackman. If anything they got it from you.”

“Are you serious Miss I always choose violence?”

“Take it back, Jackman! You just as violent as I am, you just hide yours better!”

“I… actually agree with that.” Shloob quietly said and you eyed him.

“Oh, so yall don’t want to get fed today is what yall are saying?” You responded.

“SHLOOB, TAKE IT BACK BEFORE WE STARVE!”

—

It was around six in the evening, when you heard a knock at your door. You were currently in the living room and had just finished feeding Autumn when you got up and decided to answer it while still holding her.

Once you did, you immediately regretted it. 

She was the last person that you wanted to see standing in front of you and you already knew if Jack saw her, how he would have no hesitations to cuss her out and give her a piece of his mind.

You had hoped for her sake that he didn’t.

"Please, Y/N, just let me explain." Dani said as she pleaded with you while you wanted to slam the door in her face.

"I thought Jack made himself clear in saying that we want you to stay far away from us. I haven't answered your calls or texts or HIS for a reason." You said as you held your youngest to your chest that of course was her namesake. Now it left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

"I have to explain myself, it will make sense when I do!"

"Make sense? Do you hear yourself right now? How the hell can you make sense of this? You lied to me for 24 years and would have probably kept lying to me if you two didn't get caught. Now as understanding of a person as I am, why did you feel the need to lie to me?"

"I... I don't know. I don't have an answer for that but everything I have done has been for you and Jack."

"No, it hasn't. it's been for you. You have literally been on your Kris Jenner shit and been pimping us out so to speak ever since we were younger."

"When I told you I would do anything for the both of you, I meant it! I wanted to see you both be successful!"

"But this was the wrong way to go about it and YOU KNOW IT. Jack feels as though he didn't get signed to Generation Now because he was talented, but because YOU had a hand in it. Oh, and apparently I also heard that he only got his role in White Men Can't Jump because of you. Otherwise, they were going to pick someone else."

"You two should be fucking thanking me for this."

"I'm not thanking you or THAT MAN for shit. Because we would have still been successful if your ass would have minded your own fucking business."

"YOU ARE MY BUSINESS!"

All you could do was shake your head and look at her in disbelief.

"You really don't see anything wrong in what you did? Do you?"

"I only regret lying to the two of you. But I don't regret doing what I had to do to get you two to this point."

Just then you felt Jack come up behind you, saw Dani and immediately stepped in front of you.

"Babe, go back inside before you both catch a cold." Jack said without taking his eyes off Dani and you went to sit back on the couch in the living room. 

"Jack, please just listen to me and hear me out."

"What, Danielle? What is there to hear out? Don't you think you've done enough? How would you feel if the roles were reversed and she was the one who lied to you?"

"I just... I had to do something to let her know that I loved her and cared about her."

"If you really loved and cared about her like you say you do, you wouldn't have had this go on for so long. No one deserves to get treated like this by their birth mother."

“They took her away from me! She’s MY daughter! Not theirs!” Dani exclaimed as she felt her eyes begin to water. 

“Because last time I checked, your ass was a fucking drug addict. She is their daughter. They took her away from you to keep her safe. Do you even think you deserved having the title of her mother since apparently you cared about getting high more than you did her! And she told me how she found you overdosed when she was six years old and she actually remembers!”

“The only way they would let me see her is if I went to rehab and I did! I relapsed a few times, but I never said I was perfect! I’ve been clean for the past six years.”

“You mean to tell me you only got your shit together ever since we were nineteen? So all that time you were still getting high? I heard cocaine was your drug of choice” Jack curiously asked while looking at her in disbelief.

“Because I needed my plan to work and no one is about to listen to a drug addict in the industry. Everything I fucking did, I did for the two of you. Ever since she told me when she was ten years old she wanted to be a rapper and then when she met you, it sealed the deal. I admit, I have paid off people to get both of you the opportunities I know that you deserve. When Drama told me he was creating his own label, I begged him to sign both of you. I admit he only wanted Y/N, but I pleaded with him to sign you too, because I knew we could mold you and you would be successful.  I have done questionable things, I admit but it’s because I care!”

“NO! IT’S BECAUSE YOU FEEL FUCKING GUILTY FOR LEAVING YOUR PARENTS TO RAISE A CHILD THAT YOU MADE! YOU’RE TRYING TO REDEEM YOURSELF! DO YOU HONESTLY THINK IN YOUR RIGHT MIND THAT MY WIFE IS GOING TO FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS? BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL DON’T. IF YOU THINK SHE IS FOR A SECOND, THEN THAT GOES TO SHOW YOU DON’T KNOW HER AT ALL.” 

“WHY ARE YOU MAKING IT OUT TO SEEM LIKE I’M A BAD PERSON?! LOOK THE FUCK AROUND ALL THIS SHIT YOU HAVE IS BECAUSE OF ME AND DRAMA!”

“STOP PLAYING THE FUCKING VICTIM AND GET THE FUCK OFF MY DOORSTEP, DANIELLE. ALL THIS SHIT WE HAVE IS BECAUSE WE WORKED FOR IT! AND IF YOU THINK FOR A GOT DAMN MINUTE THAT I AM LETTING YOU ANYWHERE NEAR MY WIFE AND CHILDREN, YOU GOT ANOTHER THING COMING. OH AND YOU CAN TELL YOUR BOYFRIEND, BABY DADDY, WHATEVER THE FUCK HE IS THE SAME THING.”

Without another word, Jack slammed the door in her face and turned around to see you standing there silently with tears streaming down your face.

“Baby…”

“Thank you for that. I… couldn’t have done that even as mad as I am at her. I just… I’m so hurt. She’s everything to me and I worshiped the ground she walked on. In my eyes she could do no wrong. I… I can’t even begin to process how I’m going to heal from this.”

“One step at a time and I’m going to be with you the entire time. Nothing can break us. You already know this.” Jack said as he embraced you and you quickly hugged him back.

“Drama called while you were talking to her.” You quietly said and Jack looked down at you.

“Did you answer it?”

“No. He should know better by now. We don’t want anything to do with either of them. I’ll talk to my parents eventually because they’ve been calling me too but for right now, I just can’t do it.”

“And that’s fine. It’s important to set boundaries, baby.”

“I know, but for now the only thing I want to do is spend time with my husband and babies who right now are all asleep except you.”

“I can think of a few things we could do and it definitely doesn’t involve clothes if you’re up for it.”

“Then what are we waiting for?

—

Jack was annoyed and so were you.

Apparently Drama sent a message on instagram to the both of you about the Gen Now charity event that neither of you could miss since it was required for all artists who are signed under the label to make an appearance. 

The two of you were in Atlanta, and the triplets were now six months old. Jessica and Blanca were on babysitting duties for the entire weekend that you two would be there and then you were flying back on Monday.

“Baby…” You said as Jack was aggressively tying his tie and you simply went over to him to do it yourself.

“He better not say a damn thing to me or you for that matter.”

“Just play nice so we can get this over with and then we can get back to our babies. They’re what’s important.” You said while sniffling as you finished.

“Babe! We’re only going to be gone the weekend and then we’ll be back home! Don’t cry!”

“BUT I MISS THEM!”

“The weekend will be over before you know it and then we’ll get back to being spit up on and shitted on.”

“You didn’t have to add that last part.” You responded while rolling your eyes and slipping on your heels.

“Damn, the way you look right now, we can make baby number four, five, and six.” Jack looked you up and down while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Fuck off, Harlow.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you’re not giving in.”

You simply sighed before walking over to him and kissing him.

“Make this quick and DON’T sweat out my hair.”

When the two of you pulled up to where the event was supposed to be held, you were looking around confused since there weren’t a lot of people or cars outside.

“Uh babe? Are we late?” 

“We can’t be that late, we only had sex twice. I would have gone another round if you didn’t demand that we had to leave! I was perfectly content staying at our house and fucking my wife’s brains out.”

“But we do, so quit it! We have more time for that later!” You responded as the both of you got out of the car, Jack grabbed your hand and began to make your way inside.

“Baby, why is it so quiet? Since when are any events that we do for Gen Now this quiet? This is how horror movies start.” You said as you held his hand tighter and Jack simply laughed at you.

“Just know if you do that damn white girl fall, I am NOT coming back for your ass!”

“YES YOU WOULD! You would not leave me!”

“Shit, that’s what you think.”

The both of you went around the corner to be faced with Dani and Drama and Jack immediately looked around and clenched his jaw.

“There is no fucking event. They lied and did this in an attempt to talk to us.” Jack muttered while looking down at you.

“Baby, play nice. We don’t know that, yet.” You whispered back to him and he simply shook his head.

“Too late and yes we do because that’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Please don’t be mad, but we had to do this to get you two to talk to us. It has literally been four months. Y/N, we used to talk every day!” Dani said while looking at the two of you.

“Don’t talk to her. And I thought that I made myself fucking crystal clear that I didn’t want either of you near my wife.”

“How long are we going to keep this up for?” Drama asked and you knew that your husband was about to hit the roof. 

“You kept this shit up for almost 25 years so I can keep it going until you’re in your fucking grave. Doesn’t matter to me.” Jack answered and you stifled a laugh. 

“Y/N, just please let us talk this out.”

“No. Because I don’t want to talk to either of you and I probably won’t want to for the rest of my life. Both of you can fuck off. Be happy Danielle that your ass is not tasting concrete right now and I credit myself with going to therapy for that. Because if it was a year ago, you best believe I would have knocked all your fucking teeth out and you know I’m telling the truth.” 

All she did was cross her arms and look at you.

“Didn’t you teach me how to defend myself when I was little? Didn’t think you were going to be on the receiving end of that one day, huh?” You asked and it was now Jack’s turn to stifle a laugh. 

“I did the two of you a favor, all I wanted to do was set my daughter up for the rest of her life. That’s it.”

“You truly got some nerve calling her your daughter when you didn’t even fucking raise her. Neither of you did. You didn’t do us a fucking favor just like I told Danielle, the two of you feel guilty and this is your way of redeeming yourselves and trying to get back in her good graces. Well fucking newsflash, it’s not happening and I don’t know how many times I have to tell you two that. Hurt me all you want, I could care less. But if you come for my wife or my children, I have no hesitation to teach you a lesson and let you know I don’t play that shit. Unlike the two of you, I took my vows seriously as well as my role as a father. Yeah I found out yall were married for a little bit before getting divorced. Didn’t think we knew that, did you?”

“Damn. Double homicide.” You quietly said, but Jack smirked because he heard you.

“What you need to do is to stop being disrespectful towards us. If it wasn’t for us, the two of you wouldn’t have nearly as much as you have.” Drama said and Jack simply scoffed while you muttered ‘oh fuck’ under your breath. 

“It takes giving it to get it in return. And on that note, we’re leaving.”

“Just wait a minute.” Drama said as he went to put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, but Jack quickly turned around and punched him.

“SHIT!” Drama exclaimed, but Jack kept going as you gasped.

“JACK, WHAT THE FUCK?!” Dani yelled and you soon started to pull Jack away.

“Baby, stop!”

“HE FUCKING DESERVES IT!”

“I know he does, but think of our children. Just, please stop. He’s not worth it.” You said while finally pulling his arm away that was an inch away from Drama’s face. 

Jack stood up as you looked to see Drama’s eye starting to swell and he was also sporting a busted lip. 

“I warned the both of you to stay away, but you two obviously don’t know how to listen. Like I said before we’re leaving and the two of you better not pull this shit again. If there actually is an event that we need to be at, tell Neelam and Brandi. We’re done here. Unlike the two of you we’re actually good parents and we need to get back to Louisville to take care of them. Bye now.”

The two of you were now back home and it was around four in the morning. You had just gone to check on the triplets and you were now laying back down next to Jack who was lightly snoring in your ear.

“Jack?”

Silence.

“Jackman?”

“Hmm?”

“I feel as though they aren’t going to stop unless I publicly call them out.”

Now that got his attention as he opened his eyes to look over at you.

“What do you mean, baby?”

“It looks like I’m coming back from my hiatus a little early.”

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, druski2funny, softtcurse, privategarden, theshaderoom, brysontiller, claybornharlow, and 5,093,873 others

y/ninsta: did yall miss me?

all I was trying to do is mind my business, but these bitches got me fucked up. I deserve everything that I muthafuckin have and I'll be damned if someone says something otherwise

PSA: TRUST NO BITCH

p.s. danivalentine and djdrama this shit is for yall. FUCK YOU AND FUCK GENERATION NOW! I DON'T OWE YALL SHIT!

disrespectfully yours,

YOUR FUCKING DAUGHTER

jackharlow: let them know Mrs. Harlow 😤

y/ninsta: jackharlow I'm at the corner of fuck around with the Harlows and find out 😤

druski2funny: YOU KILLED THIS SHIT MAMAS! HAPPY YOU'RE BACK!

y/ninsta: druski2funny thank you boo, definitely missed it. this is just the beginning

saweetie: GO BEST FRIEND GOOOOOOO!!!!!

y/ninsta: saweetie stepping on fucking necks. I'm done playing with these bitches

urbanwyatt: both my best friends got to this point because of how talented they both are and nothing else

jackharlow: urbanwyatt REAL ONES KNOW

softtcurse: I'll jump they asses. just say the word

y/ninsta: softtcurse thank you for always having my back

yungskylark: SHE'S BACKKKKKKK!!!!!

y/ninsta: yungskylark LIKE I NEVER LEFT!!!!!

shloob_: THE DROUGHT IS OVER! I REPEAT THE DROUGHT IS OVER!

y/ninsta: shloob_ they NOT ready

privategarden: OUR QUEEN HAS RETURNED!!!!!!

y/ninsta: privategarden villian era loading

quiiso: FUCK IT UPPPP!

y/ninsta: I need a milkshake after that!

blancaaahood: uh oh. they got my girl mad now. rest in peace in advance

claybornharlow: little baby approved!

y/ninsta: claybornharlow thank you for producing this. love you.

jessicakelce: you got another thing coming to even think you can fuck my girl over and get away with it smh

theestallion: they need to stop playing with my girl. we got your back baby!

lilnasx: one thing I am NEVER going to understand is why you gonna go and piss off the first lady. damn it's quadruple homicide at this point

y/ninsta: lilnasx and they asses learned the hard way

Taglist:

@harlowsbby

@babyharleezy

@hoodharlow

@stefansalvatoresgf

@jackiehollanderr

@primadxna-girl

@dessmxsworld

@cockslutslurper3000

@raelorns21

@variety-fangirl

@gbaabyyyy

@kamorsstuff

@harlowthot

@sinsandsuccubus @curlyhairclub

@bootlegroach

@haylexo10

@thinkingaboutjharlow

@fluidsentiment

@charli123456789

@moody4world

@yourstrulymayah

@yana4life

@beanbagbitch

@alinaharlow

@carma-fanficaddict

@minaxcarter

@arination99

@xjup1t3r

@venusvinc

@jacksmoviestar

@jackharloww

@midnight-star47

@minkookie95

@inluvwithladybug

@exoticr0ses

@jharlowsangels

@jackierose902109

@jackmansbabymama

@cmalass

@megawhoree

@softtcurse

@sia2raw

@miniaturehideoutmentality

@hoya122

@nattinatalia

@jackslover12

@skyesthebomb

@jackharlows-world

@louisianalady

@fdl305

@automaticpeachsong

@harlowcomehome

@gassyandsassy1

@babygirlwilly

@amethyst09

@harrycanyonmoonn

@toocriticalharlow

@tattered-tales

@sisiking99

@dessxoxsworld

@gillybear17

@jacksdaycare

@iheartharlow

@disaster-rose

@babyvinnie

@evansxchalamet

@chtkmyharlow​

@itsyagirljaz

@neon-lights-and-glitter

@awhore4moree

[nebulablakemurphy]

The Queen’s Hand

(Part I: House Strong)

Summary: Y/N Targaryen is Princess of the seven realms. First born daughter of, Viserys I and Aemma Targaryen. Heir to the iron throne, forced to make impossible decisions to ensure peace amongst the land and the safety of those she holds most dear.

Prologue

“Where’s Rhaenyra?” Y/N asks, promptly out of breath, from the speed of her footsteps. The meeting had run over, pressing matters that could not wait. Up until this moment Y/N has never missed one of her sister’s labors. First in wait to hold the babe after Rhaenyra. By the looks of the empty room, Y/N may finally be too late.

“The Queen requested to see the baby, your grace. Princess Rhaenyra took him herself.”

“I have a nephew then?” A third.

“Indeed, Princess.” The lady in waiting bows her head with a tiny smile.

Y/N leaves without another word, there’s nothing in the realms Alicent could want or need at such a time, other than to bother.

Rhaenyra can hold her own, even after her labors. Y/N seeks out her husband instead.

“Ser Harwin!” Y/N calls from the courtyard balcony. Watching as her husband’s face softens at the sound of her voice.

“Princess,” he bows his head.

Y/N grins, “come.”

They’ve been here before. Twice before, to be exact, over the past decade. It was no real secret that Rhaenyra’s sons do no resemble their father. Their features more Strong than Velaryon. When it first erupted as a hushed whisper amongst the castle, Y/N was betrothed to Harwin Strong and married within two weeks.

A union born of duty. But through the years the two developed a deep love for each other. While Harwin will always adore Rhaenyra, sworn to protect her with the same devotion as his bride, and their children by proxy…he is not in love with her. Their time had passed.

Y/N and Harwin share three children of their own. Two daughters, Aemmia and Geniysa, followed by a single son Viserus.

This new child, Rhaenyra’s third, will be the first to share blood with Laenor. He would surely be the show of good faith their kingdom needs. Whatever agreement Rhaenyra had struck up with Laenor when they were betrothed still stands. They never begrudged each other happiness.

“Is it the babe?” Harwin asks, pressing a kiss to his wife’s temple.

Y/N nods, “Queen Alicent requested an audience the moment he was born.”

“Here I thought scaling the stairs immediately after birth was a torture reserved only for you.” Harwin quips, “no matter, her majesty will be pleased this time.”

“One would hope so.” Y/N looks down at her hands, “then again she is rarely pleased.”

Harwin taps her chin with the side of his index finger. “Stand tall, my love.”

“I have yet to meet my nephew. I hoped you might accompany me.” The princess changes the subject.

Her knight holds out his arm, “it would be an honor.”

“Do you ever tire of this?” Y/N wonders.

“It matters not.” It is his duty.

———————————🌱————————————

“Look, aunt Y/N!” Lucerys calls, reentering his family’s sitting chamber with a steaming black cauldron in his grasp.

“Oh, what’ve we here?” Y/N leans over the arm rest of the settee.

“It’s a dragon egg for the baby.” Jacaerys informs her. “Uncle took us down to the pit.”

“That was very nice of him.” Y/N smiles.

“It’s not every day a dragon gives birth to a clutch of eggs. Their brother deserves the fairest one.” Harwin insists.

“That he does.” Y/N agrees, “thank you for taking them. I’m sure their parents will appreciate such a grand gesture for the new prince.”

She is not upset, not in the least. Rather it warms her heart to think that despite their…untraditional family structures, perhaps they needn’t weave such a tangled web.

Just then the door opens. Rhaenyra and Laenor, with the baby in tow.

“Let me see him.” Y/N demands, rushing her sister. Still shimmering with a sheen of sweat.

“I thought you dead.” Laenor jests. “This is the longest I’ve been allowed to hold my own child before handing him off to you.”

‘Twas a laugh really. Laenor loves Y/N as his own sister, always has. But it was unusual for the eldest princess to miss such a moment with her sister.

“I do apologize for making you worry.” Y/N scoops the infant up in her arms. “There was a matter in the court I simply could not skirt.”

Harwin stands with a look of ever growing love as he watches her bounce and sway. Perhaps he might ask his wife for another babe. Just one more. “Does he have a name?”

“Joffrey,” Laenor tells him.

“What a fine name.” Y/N kisses her nephew’s tiny fist as it raises form the blanket.

“I hate to steal you away, but the Queen requests you next.”

“Me?” Y/N scoffs.

Rhaenyra clears her throat. “I’m sure we can manage in your absence for a little while.”

Y/N returns the baby to his father. “Perhaps Harwin will bring the children in to meet their cousin.”

“Later, Princess.” Laenor says, “they’re gathered down at the dragon pit. Ser Harwin might bring his nephews back there instead.

“I’m going with you,” Harwin protests.

“She did not ask for you.” Y/N points out, running a hand over the front of her dress.

“Mind yourself on the stairs.” Rhaenyra calls after her sister. “I bled on them.”

———————————🌱————————————

When Y/N doesn’t find the Queen in her rooms, she enters her father’s instead. Maybe she’d gotten lucky.

Viserys is seated at his model of old Valyria, grateful to have his eldest daughter join him.

“I’ve always been fond of this section.” It spoke to something in her. She would tend it almost daily in those first years after her mother’s death. Before it became someone else’s, a place where she felt unwelcome.

“Even as a girl,” the king smiles at his daughter. “Although you never could say why. Are you still unsure?”

“Y/N, a word.” Alicent’s voice cuts through the calm air.

“I thought you’d forgotten me, your grace.” Y/N remarks.

“An impossible task.” The Queen murmurs, “walk with me?”

“Looks like the rooftops will have to wait for their dusting.” Y/N nods to her father, as she rises from the table. Giving his shoulder a squeeze when she passes. The palm of his hand resting against the back of her own for just a moment.

“I will make sure they hold their post.” Viserys adores his daughters. But when it comes to matters between them and his wife, he finds it best not to insert himself.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Alicent begins, on their walk about her rooms.

“Lovely.” Y/N agrees, unsure where this is headed.

“I’ve seen the baby.”

“I heard.”

“He is different than his brothers.”

“How so?” Y/N asks, her pace keeping time with the Queen.

The brunette turns to look Y/N directly in the eyes. “Is there no line you will not cross to protect her? What of honor? Decency? If you do not speak up, her son will sit the throne instead of your own. Does that not bother you?”

“Is it my son you’re worried about?” Y/N blinks, “house Strong is noble and well beloved, my son will have a seat there. That is more than enough.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“Then speak it plainly, your grace. I want nothing more than to ease your mind.”

“Jacaerys and Lucerys,” Alicent tries a second time. “The new babe has hair white as snow. They do not. They bear a closer resemblance to your own children with Ser Harwin.”

Y/N draws in a breath, “my father had a black mare once.”

If looks could kill the princess would be dead and gone. Alicent’s mouth slightly ajar.

“She fled the fence, when he found her again, it was with a neighboring stallion. Silver as the moon. The foal was born chestnut. Nature is amazing that way.”

“We may speak of chestnut foals forever, turning a blind eye to what is so clearly in front of you will not make it go away.”

Y/N lowers her voice. “I do not know why you insist on pressing this matter, my Queen. The implications of what you’ve said threaten the very lives of those I hold most dear. I beg you, leave it rest. I have told you all I know.”

“Do you know what kept me?” Alicent lifts her chin indignantly.

“You are surely busy.”

“Ser Harwin attempted to beat his fellow knight, Ser Criston, to a pulp.”

Y/N’s father hadn’t said a word.

“Awful,” Y/N lowers her gaze. “But my husband is not a violent man, he would do no such thing without reason. So I must ask, what happened?”

“The princes were training with Ser Criston. Sparring in the court yard. It seems your husband did not appreciate the match up made by the other knight.”

“What was the pairing?”

Alicent gawks at her.

“The match up,” Y/N insists she answer. “Who was it.”

“Prince Aegon and Prince Jacaerys.”

“Seems an odd choice. Jace is better suited to spar my Viserus than your eldest son, wouldn’t you say? Or even Aemond.”

“I’m sure Ser Criston had his reasons.”

“Oh, I do not doubt that, your grace.” Y/N spits back. “Even so, my husband is not likely to attack over a bit of training. So may I ask what else happened?” Or rather, what really happened.

“From what I understand…Ser Criston made a remark about your husband’s devotion to Prince Jacaerys. Stating it was better suited to a son than a nephew.”

Y/N cocks her head to the side. “Why wouldn’t Ser Harwin be concerned when his kin is treated unfairly? Rhaenyra is my sister, we are a family. If my husband simply stood idle while one of the children was treated unfairly, it would be me beating him. What you have spoken today is treacherous, but it stays between us. It would upset my father so, if he were to catch wind.”

Viserys had forbade Alicent to speak of it on more than one occasion.

“If there’s nothing more, I would like to get back to my father.”

Alicent’s gaze cuts like a dagger. “That is all.”

———————————🌱————————————

That night, after Y/N has put her children to bed, she collapses onto the mattress fully clothed. The day has drained her, Alicent especially.

The door opens and the familiar clanking of armor fills the room. “Long day?”

Y/N lulls her head to the side. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Was the Queen very hard on you?”

“Same as before, nothing’s changed.”

“Might I help you out of your gown? I can’t imagine it’s comfortable to sleep in.”

“You only wish to have your way with me, Ser Harwin.” Y/N sighs, feigning exasperation.

“Perhaps I only wish you comfortable, Princess.” Harwin smiles, lying down the last of his gear.

“Very well.” Y/N sits up with a grunt. Forcing herself to stand, facing the bed post. Pulling her hair over one shoulder to allow her husband access to the closure of her dress.

“I would like to apologize, my love.” The knight says, beginning to unlace the back.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“My affairs have brought shame upon your name…again.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Y/N repeats.

“I have made a spectacle of our family. Attacked Cole-”

“Cole is a pompous arse who surely deserved it.”

“You should not have to make excuses for my indiscretions. This shame is not yours to bear.”

“There’s been nothing shameful.” Y/N turns to face him, cupping his cheek with her hand. “You’ve done naught but honor me, bring comfort to my life. Became the person I confide in and-“

“The person who loves you.” Harwin murmurs, “all of those things mean little, if you know not of my love for you. Devotion to you runs deep in my bones and that for our children. I care for Rhaenyra, that will always be true. But you are the one I love. The one I swore vows to.”

“I know that you love me, Harwin. I’ve never questioned it. Whatever happened before is no matter to me.”

“It matters to me.” Harwin says, “I would do it differently, if I could. Spare you, Rhaenyra, and those boys.”

“You of all people know I would do more for my sister, and worse. But also for you. We cannot go back, only look forward.”

“I wish to take you away from all this. Give you peace, a castle of your own. I realize that Lord and Lady Strong does not hold a candle to Princess and Prince consort of King’s Landing but we would be happy there. I swear it.”

“I would be happy, it matters not of the title.” Y/N agrees. “The freedom alone…” it’s more than she dare imagine. “But you know as well as I- I cannot abandon my post here. I cannot leave her to the vultures. She is my sister.”

Harwin presses his lips to Y/N’s forehead. “We’ve options. That’s all I meant to say. You are not a prisoner to the crown nor this castle.”

Yes. She is.

Part II

[queenmarytudor]

Mary I's Fight For The Throne

18th August - Mary makes her first Royal proclamation

Following Mary's jubilant entry into London, fights instantly break out between the mixed population of Catholics and Protestants. A priest who performs Mass has his chalice and vestments stolen, and "two or three hundred people assembled and made such riot that the mayor had been obliged to go in person to quell the tumult." 1 while on the 15th a "defamatory leaflet was scattered about the streets of the town:

"Noblemen and gentlemen favouring the word of God, take counsel together and join with all your power and your following! Withdraw yourselves from our virtuous Lady, Queen Mary, because Rochester, Walgrave, Inglefield, Weston and Hastings, hardened and detestable papists all, follow the opinions of the said Queen. Fear not, and God will prosper and help our holy design and intent; be assured that they have no great strength now, except two archpapists, Derby and Stourton; Arundel might be mentioned as the third, with the renegades (Sir Edmund) Peckham and (Sir William) Drury, chamberlain, who have no great power. As to the other personages in the country, of whatever condition they may be, they will assuredly prove tractable and conform to our belief, as we have seen by experience during the last seven years. But Winchester, the great devil, must be exorcised and exterminated with his disciples named above, before he can poison the people and wax strong in his religion. Draw near to the Gospels, and your guardian shall be the crown of glory!" 2

Hearing of this, and after already giving the Mayor and alderman of London "a writing to act and provide accordingly, and let it be known in the proper quarter, without making any solemn proclamation", Mary decides she must make an official statement. 3

On the 18th of August Mary makes her first royal proclamation regarding religion:

Her Grace, considering the great troubles and dangers that were brought forth in the past by the diversity of opinions and questioning about religion within the kingdom, and having learnt moreover that since her accession to the throne contentions have sprung up afresh owing to certain rumours and false reports circulated by wicked persons disposed to evil doing, has determined to make her resolve known to her faithful subjects, as follows:

First, her Majesty, being now in possession of her Imperial crown and estate pertaining to it, cannot forsake that faith that the whole world knows her to have followed and practised since her birth; she desires rather, by God's grace, to preserve it until the day of her death; and she desires greatly that her subjects may come to embrace the same faith quietly and with charity, whereby she shall receive great happiness. She makes known to her beloved subjects that out of her goodness and clemency she does not desire to compel anyone to do so for the present, or until by common consent a new determination shall be come to; but she forbids all and sundry of her loving subjects, of every age and condition, under the penalty of the law to stir up tumult or sedition among her people, on the pretext of upholding certain laws of the kingdom made according to the fantasies of men; but rather commands them to live quietly until fresh ordinances be made, because her Majesty desires, and strictly orders and commands, that all shall live in peace and Christian charity. Words of recent introduction, bandied as insults, such as “papist,” “heretic” and so forth, shall be dropped; and all men, by possessing their souls in the fear of God, and by a rightous life and holy deeds, shall truly show their desire to glorify God and His Word, as they profess in their reasonings and disputations to desire it. By these practices, and by honouring God, men shall live without fear and the tranquillity of the kingdom shall be maintained, whence her Grace shall derive great joy and contentment. But if any were to presume to hold conventicles in public or in private, and sow dissension among the people, her Majesty makes it known that she would do her duty in reforming their ways and punishing those who should be guilty of going against her laws.

Moreover, as we see that false rumours and reports are nourished and maintained by certain evilly-disposed persons who take upon themselves, without sufficient authority, to preach and interpret the word of God according to their own mind, in churches and elsewhere, publicly and privately, and by representations, by false printed books of recent composition, in rhymes, ballads and other foolish and unreasonable ways attack the ministers of God and the articles of the Christian religion which they have recently brought into controversy, which books, rhymes and treatises are given out by the printers and booksellers with evil zeal to sell them and make their profit, or rather with greed of unjust gain; her Majesty commands and strictly charges every one of her subjects, of whatever age and condition, that no one shall henceforth, under pretext of sermons or lessons, either in church, publicly or privately, interpret the Scriptures, or teach anything pertaining to religion, except it be in the schools of the university. Neither shall they print any book, treatise, dialogue, rhyme, ballad, comedy or argument except by special, written command of her Majesty, under pain of her displeasure.

Her Majesty strictly commands all and sundry that no one among her subjects shall presume by his own act to punish or rise against those who may go against the law, or against any who may have taken part by word or deed in the past rebellion made by the Duke of Northumberland and his accomplices; neither shall they take their goods nor offend them in their persons by violence or imprisonment or similar acts; but they shall refer them to her Majesty or her officers, so that they may be punished according to the law. Her Majesty does not wish to discourage any man from denouncing or giving information concerning those who may be guilty of the above-named offences against her own person or the members of her Privy Council, so that they may be punished as the law ordains.

Her Majesty enjoins upon all her subjects the observance of the said commands, and decrees that they shall everywhere bend to her will without reserve, and thus avoid her displeasure and the rigour of her wrath, giving her no cause for sorrow; being determined to leave no deed unpunished that may be committed rebelliously against the law, so that there may follow no troubles or disorders, but the laws be carried out to the letter.

Her Majesty hopes that her loving subjects will conduct themselves befittingly; and, in fine, she commands and strictly enjoins upon her mayors, sheriffs, justices, bailiffs, constables and other officers and public administrators to use all diligence in the observance and execution of her will and commands, and to see to it that they who shall wilfully break them be sent to the nearest public prison and kept there until notice be given to her Majesty or her Privy Council of their names and the fault imputed to them, together with their replies on examination; after which they shall receive their punishment according to the law, as an example to the rest. 4

On the same day, at Westminster Hall, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland is found guilty of treason. After being released following Mary's entry into London, the "Duke of Norfolk, sitting under the cloth of estate, gave judgement". 5

The execution is planned for the 21st, however it is delayed a day once Northumberland recants Protestantism. He "received the holy sacrament, heard mass devoutly and performed all the customary acts of devotion according to the ancient religion, declaring loudly before those who were in the Tower that since he had forsaken God and the Church to follow the new religion he had done no good, and his actions had been unfortunate. He confessed publicly that he had continued in error for three or four years, and went so far as to approve the authority of the Roman Church, using words that avowed the said authority, as we have been told. He did not merely declare what is said above in the Tower, but repeated the same words on the scaffold, loudly, before the people. He recommended them to obey the Queen, whom he called good and virtuous, saying that she had attained the throne miraculously, by reason of her true right by inheritance, and that therein he acknowledged the hand of God." 6

On the 22nd of August "the Duke of Northumberland and Sir John Gates, late Captain of the Guard, and Sir Thomas Palmer, knights, were all three beheaded on the Tower hill, between 8 and 9 of the clock in the forenoon, and after their bodies and heads were carried into the Tower again." 7

Sources:

1. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

2. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

3. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

4. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

5. Wriothesley's Chronicle

6. Spanish State Papers, 27th August 1553

7. Wriothesley's Chronicle

[feyhunter78]

I literally just asked for a different one but I came up with another. Can you do a one shot where Aegon falls for the Maesters assistant who argues with the maester after asking the husband whether to save the wife or child and not the woman herself. He likes her fire and stubbornness and invites her to drink with him. They bond over trauma and stuff and he gets all suggestive saying oh the things I would do to you and that fire of yours… he then proceeds to ask her to marry him. Again is okay as she’s a 4th daughter to a high-ish lord. After the proposal starts though he goes on about how he would fan the flames to make them higher and any other man would put them out and that sort of stuff. It ends in them sharing a sweet kiss though

Don't even worry, I love getting multiple requests, especially when they're both such good prompts!!!! This one I really ended up enjoying, it was a lot of fun to write!!!!

The Maester's Assistant

Aegon sat next to Aemond, hand on his shoulder as they both grimaced at the screams coming from Aemond’s wife. This was the first of their babes, and Aegon knew it was taking all Aemond had to remain outside.

“Perhaps a drink will calm your nerves?” He suggested, offering his flask to him.

“I do not wish to drink; I wish for my wife to no longer be in pain.” Aemond spat, slamming his fist against the bench, and standing.

The door flew open and the maester hurried out, followed by a young woman. You were quite beautiful and had a furious look on your face.

You grabbed the maester’s sleeve. “The princess and her babe can be saved; we must change her position—”

The maester cut you off. “My prince, Lady Alyra is in great pain, I fear if she does not give birth soon, we shall have to chose between her or the child.”

“No, we will not, and even if that time comes, it should the princess’ choice, my prince. It is her life we are gambling with.” You said, standing between the maester and Aemond.

“If you kill me, I will haunt all of you and this wretched place for the rest of your lives.” Alyra screamed, her voice filling the hallway.

Aemond’s face drained of blood, and he pushed past them and into the birthing room. “Save my wife, we will have another child if she so wishes, but I will not lose her.”

Aegon stepped back from the door, thankful he was not the one having to deal with his goodsister.

“That is the twice you have spoken out of turn, you will remain outside until you are called for.” The maester hissed, pushing you further into the hall.

You stumbled and Aegon stepped forward, catching you. “Are you alright?”

You brushed off your skirts. “Yes, thank you.”

He offered you, his flask. “Quite bold to stand up to the maester like that, I admire a woman with fire.”

“I am working, I should not drink.”

He shook the flask, and you glanced back at the door.

The screams went silent, then a small cry rang out.

“It seems your work is finished for the day.” He smiled, flask still in his outstretched hand.

You sighed. “I will have a drink, but not from that, it would be inappropriate.”

Aegon tucked his flask away and held out his arm for you. “Perhaps I might escort the lady to the finest winery in the lands, then?”

“Oh, will we take your dragon to Highgarden then? I have always wished to ride a dragon; they seem to be magnificent creatures.”

He smirked, as he took your arm and led you down the hall. “There is no need to leave King’s Landing if you wish to ride a dragon, my quarters are just around the corner.”

You looked at him with a shocked look on your face, but his smirk stayed.

“Does that line every truly work?” You deadpanned once you recovered from his words.

“You would be surprised.” He said truthfully, thinking back on how many women had followed him back to his chambers after he uttered that line or one similar to it.

You raised an eyebrow. “I have no doubt I would.”

Aegon laughed and held the door to the kitchen open for you. “My lady.”

“Thank you, good sir.” You replied, your voice a performance of politeness.

Two hours later you found yourself leaning up against Aegon, one bottle of wine in your hands versus the two in Aegon’s.

“He treats me like a common child, I am a lady of the court, and I have worked hard to have this opportunity to study under him, but his methods are barbaric.”

Aegon nodded, his words slurred. “I have lived my entire life knowing my parents despise me, well I speak falsehoods I am not entirely sure my father knows I still exist. Either way, I have tried, and it is never enough for them.”

“That, my prince, is the burden all women face. We will never be good enough, never be worth more, even if our efforts say otherwise.” You clinked your bottle against one of his.

He dropped his, letting it roll away, and grabbed your free hand, pressing it to his lips. “Lady y/n, you fought for my goodsister today, you shall be my personal healer, if Alyra does not request you first.”

You pulled back your hand. “That is kind, my prince, but you are drunk and slobbering on my hand.” You wiped the back of your hand off on his tunic. “I doubt you will remember this come the morn.”

“That fire, that wit.” He caressed your cheek, suddenly seeming stone-cold sober. “If you would only allow me, I would fan that flame into an inferno.”

“Now, you are a poet?” You giggled, meeting his lavender eyes.

“If I was a poet, I would spend my time raving about your beauty, how it calls to me. How your tenacity, inspires action in others, and how your spirit of fire makes my heart and my cock yearn for the flames of your anger to turn upon me.” He leaned closer, his lips a hair breath from yours, brushing against them as he spoke. His voice was low and sent heat to your core.

Your face was flushed with warmth, your heart pounding in your chest. “I do not know what to say.”

“Say you will be mine, Lady y/n.” He said, placing your hand on his cheek and nuzzling into your touch.

“I have been likened to fire before, other men have crumbled and turned to ash.” You warned him, caught between a rush of affection and a rush of fear. Perhaps you had been foolish to follow the prince down here.

“I do not care, burn me, purify me in your flames until I emerge a man worthy of your affection.” His lips were kissing down your bent arm, and goosebumps followed their trail.

You gently removed your arm. “Prince Aegon, if you truly feel this way, find me tomorrow and ask again.” You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then left.

It was noon, and you were starting to believe your own fears, Aegon had sobered up and either forgotten his words or regretted them.

A frenzied knocking at the maester door sent you rushing to open it, fearing the worst.

Instead, Aegon stood there, hair wet, new clothes and a panicked look in his eyes.

“My prince? Is everything alright?” You asked, ushering him inside.

“Your favorite color is blue; it’s calming and reminds you of the ocean. You became a healer to help women and children survive not only the birthing bed, but the rest of their lives.” His words tumbled out and he grabbed your shoulders.

“Yes, these things are true. Do you feel sick?” You gently removed his hands.

He intertwined your hands and fell to his knees. “Y/N marry me, let me burn alongside you, I do not care if there are scorch marks, I will cherish each one.”

You started at him scanning his face, sincerity oozed from his very skin, and you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yes, yes, I will marry you.”

Aegon stood and pressed his lips to your temple. “My ember, I swear to you, I will spark a blaze within you, no other man will ever be able to step foot near you, no other touch will satisfy as mine does.”

“Loud voices often shout words they are not willing to back.” You teased.

He nipped at your earlobe. “I have no qualms about waiting, I shall take you on this table right now. The pleasure I give you will stoke your flames higher and higher until the table is nothing but charred wood and ash. Even then I will not stop, not until you are writhing beneath me, and the whole of the Keep hears that smart mouth of yours screaming my name.”

You could not deny his words had your heart racing, and you grabbed the collar of his shirt and kissed him. He tasted of Dornish wine and citrus, his plush lips moving against yours with a skill that left you dizzy.

“My wife.” Aegon breathed against your lips, smile evident in his voice.

“My husband.” You echoed, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

“You shall be the greatest healer the realm has ever known, and I, your most valued patient.” He promised, pressing swift kisses all over your face and drawing a giggle from you.

“My favorite patient.” You smiled.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-errorr, @bellameshipperper, @the141bandicootndicoot

[sotwk]

Hi!

OC Matchmaker with my latest OC.

Her name is Faelivrin—everybody calls her Fae—and she's the third child and second daughter of Faramir (his second biological child). Her older siblings are Elboron and Elenna "Enna" (my main OC in my current WIP "The Lady of Ithilien"). As Éowyn died giving birth to Elboron, Faelivrin is the daughter of Finduilas of Lamedon (my OC, youngest daughter of Angbor the Fearless). Theirs is an arranged marriage Faramir accepts because of *things that happen* and for Finduilas is basically a gift from the Valar since she's pushing 30 and still unmarried (it is my headcanon that Gondorians marry VERY young and all of her older sisters are already married with children while she's still a maid at 28/29).

Facts about Faelivrin "Fae":

• She absolutely adores her older sister Enna. The feeling is mutual and Enna, despite her many issues and things she has to deal with, tries her best to be a good sister. She and her mother try to raise her as a proper lady and Enna will be an extremely hands-on sister as far etiquette and protocol are concerned. Though they won't see much of one another because of *things that happen* (if you want spoilers, you're very welcome to text me privately, but I don't want to spoil the story for those who are interested and may have not read the chapters that I've already posted), they'll remain very close throughout their lives. Fae also worships Elboron who's of course very protective of her and jokingly disapproves of all her suitors.

• She's Faramir's little baby and he worships the ground she walks on and their bond gets stronger as time goes by. As Enna falls out with basically almost her entire family, Fae becomes his only comfort. She's his baby, his happy place and his sunshine. She loves it when he reads to her and she'll become one of few reasons he still keeps going after some of his grandchildren, his son-in-law (Eönwë, Enna's husband. Yes, the Herald of Manwë. There's a Middle-earth Maiarin/Noldorin invasion in the Fourth Age basically) and *possibly* some of his grandchildren by Enna die (courtesy of a Maia with a fascination for smithing and jewelry).

• She loves singing (Enna taught her) and one of her favorite songs to hum is the lullaby Enna used to sing to her. She's also very good at drawing and sewing. Also, similarly to her beloved older sister, she's a historian and would read every book ever written by anyone. She's a decent dancer too.

• She's tall with dark hair and blue/gray eyes (not much else to add about that. She probably has a birthmark somewhere)

• She wears a pearl necklace with the initials of her siblings. She loves pearls.

That's her teenage/early adult version (she looks particularly young. Actress: Isla Merrick-Lawless)

I'm not including an adult version because, although I have a vague idea of how she might look like, I'm still unsure. I was thinking of Jennie Jacques (Princess/Queen Judith in the show "Vikings" but I'm not 100% convinced yet. I'll keep her as an option and I'm still on the lookout for someone else. It should be someone who wears a lot of pearls 🤣)

That's all for now! Thank you!

Oooh! It's tricky to find a match for a young Fourth Age character, since most canon characters even named or mentioned past the War of the Ring have sparse details written about them (but you know all this, since you write mostly for the Fourth Age!). Only my Éomer fic is set post RotK, but as it happens I do have an "obscure canon" that I would like to propose for a match!

The SotWK Matchmaking Machine pairs Faelivrin with:

HALETH, Son of Háma!

In the SotWK AU, Haleth (movie character) not only survives the Battle of Helm's Deep, but he also becomes the squire of Éomer King himself! His career as a Rider only continues to rise from there, as he earns himself plenty of honor on the battlefield. Taking after his father, Haleth is brave and kind, and fiercely loyal to Rohan.

It would take quite a bit of charm for someone not from Rohan to win this Rohan loyalist's heart, but Fae has beauty and grace, so who knows? I think the bigger issue would be whether her family would allow her to love a "lowly" rough-around-the-edges cowboy from Rohan--even if he does become one of Éomer king's most trusted and formidable soldiers.

(Note: This picture of Haleth is of Callum Gittens, the very same actor who played him in the Two Towers movie! He grew up WELL didn't he??)

Thank you for trusting me to match up your OC! :)

This OC Matchmaking game is part of SotWK's Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024. (Requests accepted only on July 11-15, 2024.)

[written-in-flowers]

I really love your writing, I may have read the Otto ones too many times...

Could you do an Otto x Rosebud, where Daemon makes a mistake of saying something about taking her away from Otto and she gets mad?

Then she becomes really clingy to Otto and he notices because he has to tone down her PDA a bit. Once she tells what happened Otto takes her to the chamber where no one can see them and proves her that she is only his

A/N: ahhh it's been so long since I've written these two, but I managed to pop this one out for you guys <3

It truly is a sad affair. You didn't personally know Lady Laena, yet a death, no matter whose it is, is still tragic. You heard she'd died in childbirth, a thing which shook you to your core. Every time you pictured your own birthing, you shuddered imagining how awful it could have ended. You'd been lucky that no such complications emerged during your pregnancy, but not all women are blessed in such a way. You stood beside Alicent at the wake, gazing at the other guests around the room. A distinct sadness clung to the sea air blowing through High Tide, the gloominess of the skies deepening the mood. No music or laughter was to be found in the open space.

"When I pass," you said, nursing your own wine cup, "I hope my funeral is not as bleak."

"Y/N, don't say such nonsense," Alicent scolded gently.

"Well, I don't," you insisted. "I don't want sad faces at my wake. I want music, dancing, and laughter. I want people to celebrate me, not mourn me.”

“I’m afraid what you want will not matter once you’re gone,” she replied, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m sure Lady Laena wanted the same, and here we are.” She’d been surveying the room before she spotted someone, pulled you aside, and stood in front of you. Seeing your surprise, she then said, “Prince Daemon.”

The late Lady Laena’s husband, Prince Daemon, spent most of the wake sulking alone in a corner. You’d done your best to avoid giving your condolences until now. You hoped Otto’s small exchange might extend to you, and therefore you could stay beside Alicent. But, it appeared Prince Daemon expected you to come over to him. Even as you stood there, you felt his eyes burning into your back. No, not burning. Undressing. Every time you and Daemon crossed paths, you almost felt those violet eyes peeling back your clothes. It reminded you of the times he’d come into your chambers. You shuddered remembering his warm hands on your body; those same eyes putting every detail to memory before he kissed you. You wished you’d screamed or pushed him away, but you didn’t. Then, the last time you saw him, he’d been hilt-deep inside your handmaiden. It had excited and disgusted you. 

“Has he spoken to you since Rhaenyra’s nameday?” she asked you, concerned. 

“No.”

“It makes my father furious, you know,” she said, giving a soft laugh to lighten the mood. “He once asked for my favor at a tourney because he knew it’d infuriate my father.”

“I do not understand where this rivalry started,” you replied. “I thought Otto and The Prince might work together since they both care for The King and wish to see the realm succeed.”

She snorted, “As if that can be believed.” She leaned in closer, “Daemon Targaryen only looks out for the interests of Daemon Targaryen. My father…He has his ambitions, but his ambitions align with bettering the realm and seeing it continue to prosper. From what I’ve always understood, my father carries this deep seated distrust of the prince; he often tried having him removed from the small council, but the man always managed to return. He’s been exiled twice, you know. The King sends him away and doesn’t make a whisper when he reappears.”

“Certainly now that his wife has passed, Prince Daemon will be invited back to court,” the thought of Daemon swaggering around the same halls as you made you uneasy. “Your father says The King is feeling remorseful and sentimental these past few months. He may ask him to return.”

“And Prince Daemon will decline.”

“Why?”

“Because he always does the opposite of what The King wishes.” 

“What if he should…wish to return?” 

“Then my husband shall welcome him with open arms.” She noticed your anxiousness, and said, “You could go to Oldtown.”

“Your Grace?”

“If court life should ever become bothersome to you,” she said pointedly, “You and Cedric can always go to Oldtown. My uncle will never turn you away. Daeron will be there, and you can spend time with the rest of our family.”

Hearing her say ‘our family’ warmed your heart. Your relationship with Alicent began on rocky waters when you’d been introduced. You’d expected that, since you are much younger than her and are her step-mother by law, but it uplifted you when she finally opened herself to you. You smiled at her and said, “As lovely as that sounds, Your Grace, my place is at your father’s side. I would never leave him unless he specifically requested it of me. Though,” you paused, “It’d sadden me deeply, if he did.” 

You spotted Otto across the patio with a few other lords. He wore all black, making his appearance more distinguished, and stood with his hands behind his back. Every time you looked at him, every worry briefly disappeared. You could not stand thinking of leaving him willingly. The man who made you feel so safe, who assured and reassured you when you began doubting things, who kissed away every tear, and needed to be with you always. You sadly realized one day you would be without Otto. ‘The Stranger comes for us all, my sweet,’ your mother told you the day your grandsire died. You imagined yourself in the mournful black all widows wear. It is customary that widows wear black for at least two years following a death, but for Otto, you’d wear them until your dying day. When he caught you staring, you gave a soft smile, which he returned. 

How could anyone expect you to leave his side?

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston Cole appeared beside Alicent, glancing around the room before leaning close to her, “A sensitive situation has come up regarding Prince Aegon.”

Alicent sighed irritably, then turned to you, “I will speak with you soon.”

“Your Grace.”

You gave her a slight bow, and she walked away with Ser Cole. Standing alone in the group made you feel vulnerable. It heightened knowing Daemon stood nearby, occasionally taking time to glance in your direction. Prince Daemon had not been seen at court for several years now; Otto believed he’d done it to hurt The King more, but personally, you were glad to be rid of him. Down in the deepest part of your desires, Prince Daemon Targaryen nestled himself a space for those lonely, particularly desperate moments Otto could not fulfill for you. You exhaled deeply at the thoughts you’d curated in your mind of him. Emely admitted she found him to be a tremendous lover, though you suspected he paid her to say such things to you. Not really paying attention to where you were going, you found the crowded space suffocating. You reached the edges of the balcony where the fresh sea winds blew past your face and through your hair. Taking in deep breaths, you took in the scenery before you. The Red Keep sits by the Blackwater Bay where one can see the ocean if they move to the right spot. Yet, it was nothing in comparison to Driftmark, which had a beauty all of its own. 

“Lady Y/N, I’m pleased to see you here.”

The easiness inside you immediately became disturbed by the emergence of Daemon. He leaned against the ledge a foot away from you. It’d been three years since you last saw him, and nothing about him changed in that time. Your eyes met his, and you found it hard to look away. 

“My Prince,” you gave a small curtsy, “I’m very sorry for your loss. I did not know Lady Laena well, but I heard many great things about her.”

“She was an extraordinary woman, yes,” he agreed. “I thank you for your kind words, my lady,” he said, “They bring me much comfort in these sad times.” He moved closer to you, and said, “I trust you have been well while I’ve been gone? I know it must be tiring being the wife of the Hand of the King…I imagine you spend many nights alone like I have these past few days.” 

“I have been well, thank you, my prince.”

You felt him staring. You felt his eyes scanning your profile as you turned away from him. Quietly, he said, “I will admit there is a certain light in the middle of this darkness.” 

“And what would that be?”

“That I am now free from the bonds of matrimony,” he answered. “Now that I am once again unwed, I am allowed to pursue things I once felt out of my reach. I can indulge in pleasures and desires I’ve denied myself for so long, and make them mine.” He was an inch from you when he said, “Come to Pentos with me. Come with me now. I promise I will make it worth the trip.”

“My Prince-” you began, scandalized and shocked. 

“-My daughters need not know about you. There’s a marvelous manse near me where you can stay.” You felt him gently touch your bicep with the backs of his knuckles. The touch made you shudder. “You’d have servants to tend to your every whim; jewels and silks to adorn your gorgeous body and any and all desires you wish. All I ask is that you let me have you as often as I-”

“-That is enough,” you glared at him, but all he did was smirk back at you. “That is wildly and wholly inappropriate. The vile acts you’ve forced upon me are fine without you adding your disgusting remarks to them.” You then said, “I was tolerant of your behavior towards me upon your last visit. It was all within my rights to go to His Grace about the despicable things you’d done to me, but I kept my silence because I knew how it might reflect upon myself and my husband’s position. But, I will not let you stand there and say these things to me.”

“No,” he chuckled, “You kept your silence because then I’d reveal all the depraved, sexual, delicious things I’ve seen you and your handmaiden do behind closed doors.” He was amused by your fiery gaze, “I’ve said before that I’d never tell anyone. I know were I to speak of your body or put your virtue to question, your husband will have me killed for certain. But, you cannot blame me for wanting another bite after I’ve had a taste.” He leaned in and whispered, “I can still taste your cunt on my tongue at night. Your moans and orgasms haunt me in my dreams; the image of your naked body contorted by pleasure drives me to madness. The mere thought of having you for a moment leaves me in agony.” 

“Then I’ll leave you to wallow in your agony,” you said scornfully, then stormed from his presence. 

You moved through the crowd until you found Otto. He’d been speaking with another lord when you turned up at his side. You did not let him see the embers burning inside you, but instead gave him a small smile and linked your arm with his. Your husband noticed nothing wrong as you joined in the conversation, giving your opinions and listening intently. When the lord excused himself, you turned your attention to him. Daemon might still be lurking by, watching and observing you from afar. You wanted him to see that you had no desire for him, despite what your guilty pleasures may say. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you today,” you said, holding his hands as he rubbed your knuckles. 

“Yes, funerals have that effect on people. I’ll admit I have thought about it myself.”

“And it’s made me think,” you grasped them gently, “Of what life might be like without you, Otto.”

“Oh, dearest, we mustn’t dwell on such matters.”

“I couldn’t stop imagining how lonely and cold our bed would be,” you stood closer to him, dropping your voice and giving it that suggestive tone, “And how I’d never feel your touch again. I think about the sheer despair I’d feel at never kissing your lips or having you inside me again-”

“-Rosebud,” Otto chortled, lifting your chin with his finger, “We are in nosey company.”

“I don't care. I wish to show my lord husband exactly what I’d do if it were his last night in this world.” You clasped your hand in his, “Would you care to walk with me, love? Walk with me somewhere that nosey company cannot follow?”

He smiled, “What sort of husband would I be if I declined such an innocent request?”

You led Otto right past Daemon, who watched you both walk down the staircase and onto the beach. It was rare for you to be so close to sandy shores. You did not leave the Keep much, since everything you needed was inside the castle’s red walls. The sea air blew through your gown, making you shudder, and you deeply inhaled it. Your arm around Otto’s elbow, you both talked while walking further and further from the party. Once you were hidden behind sand dunes and grass, Otto placed down his cloak and rested on it with you. 

You said nothing as you straddled and kissed him slowly. His mustache and beard tickled your upper lip and chin, but it flared up your arousal still. You imagined the places that beard could scratch and tickle while he kissed you. His hands went around your back, smoothing up the back of your dress and grabbing your backside. Layers of skirts and small clothes kept his hands from caressing your bare ass, and you could tell it made him even hungrier for you. You rolled your tongue over his lips until they opened, his tongue entering your mouth to explore and brush yours. The touch of his tongue made you moan, and grind your sex against his crotch. 

“Let me see them,” he moaned between kisses. “I’d want to see them before I went.”

Your lips kissed his neck while he hastily untied the back of your dress. The loosening fabric brushed on your nipples, exciting you further, and you immediately pulled it from your shoulders and arms. You purposefully wore an underbust corset, so your husband merely tugged down the collar of your chemise to expose your breast. The mixture of the cold wind and your arousal made them harden more, and only Otto’s mouth warmed them again. You moaned softly as he sucked and flicked his tongue over each of them. You continued rocking your hips to his, occasionally stopping when you felt an orgasm approaching. It occurred to you then exactly how long it’d been since you last pleasured your husband. With your son to worry about, your various duties as a wife, and Otto’s demanding position as Hand of the King left you both little time alone. You fondly recalled your first night with him, and all the sensual and passionate ways he made love to you. 

“Do you wish to fuck them, my lord husband?” you whimpered when he gave one nipple a hard suck, “The way that you used to like?”

“Oh, how happy that would make me.”

Giving him one last kiss, you went down his body to his belt, where you unbuckled and removed it easily. Moving his tunic flaps aside, you found the strings of his breeches and untied them slowly. You occasionally brushed your hand over the large bulge his cock made in the fabric, trailing your fingers over the wet spot his precum made and giving it a small lick. You never forgot how good his cock tasted, and what pleasure you got from simply holding it in your mouth. Soon, you pulled them down and took out his throbbing member. You loved the length and girth of him. Nothing else compared to your husband’s lovely cock: not Emely’s deft fingers or tongue, not your own fingers or the pillows you grinded into during those lonely nights. You flicked your tongue over the hardening, red bulb of his tip, sliding over the underside and up to the beads of precum dripping from the hole there. Otto gave a low groan as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. You gave his tip gentle kisses while your pussy pulsed between your legs. Pinching one of your nipples instead, you took his head in your mouth and hummed softly. Inch by inch, you brought his smooth shaft into your mouth and rubbed it over your tongue. His precum spilled further into your mouth, and you used it to wet his cock. Otto glanced down right as you spat on his dick and stroked him languidly. Getting your nipples as hard as possible, you knelt up slightly and placed his dick between your breasts. Pregnancy had made them swell, so they’re larger than the first time he fucked your tits, and he loved this even more. You licked and sucked the tip whenever it came up through your cleavage, spitting and wetting it so it went faster. Otto soon took hold of both breasts and pumped himself between them. You giggled at his eagerness, knowing fully well he’d explode over them if he went on too long. Though, this stopped when his thumbs grazed your sensitive nipples and had you whimpering. 

“Your cunt,” he breathed, stopping his thrusting and moaning when you greedily licked up the cum he fed into your mouth, “I want it now. I want to fill it, and keep filling it until my seed quickens there. I want you round and swollen with another child.”

“So my breasts get even larger, husband?” you smiled knowingly, lifting your dress as you sat back into his lap. 

“So Prince Daemon understands that you are mine,” he growled, aligning himself with your body and gradually pushing to your entrance, “And only mine.”

“Otto…” you whined, trembling at the touch of his cock sliding up and down your soaked sex, “I’ve always been yours. Always. Even if you left this world tomorrow, I’d be yours.”

“And I’ll always be yours, my sweet rosebud.” 

With that loving pet name, he plunged into you. Finally, you felt complete and full. You loved the sensation of his width stretching you; your body and his finally connected, so your hearts did as well. Placing your hands on his chest, you rocked yourself back and forth with him buried inside you. You could feel your clit brush his pubic bone, and his hands grasping your ass underneath your skirt. He raised it up to your waist, and laid a sharp smack on your buttock. The sting sent a shiver of pleasure that added to the cock pushing into your sensitive core. He grabbed both cheeks for a light squeeze, and you whimpered as he encouraged you to start riding him. He kept his hold on them while you bounced your hips on him at a steady pace. Otto’s lips latched to one of the breasts above him, and his swirling tongue rolled back your eyes. When you sat upright, Otto cupped both your tits and let them bounce in his hands while you rode him. 

“Look at you,” he breathed, pinching both your nipples while thrusting up into you, “So beautiful with these breasts exposed in my hands and your cunt gripping me tightly. I truly never tire of you, my love.”

“I would…would hope not,” you replied breathily, going nearly mad from the pleasure he gave you, “I love your cock too much to-Ah, Otto! Otto, yes, just like that!”

He leaned you back, lifted your dress to see your pussy being filled by his cock and went faster. The new angle had his tip pressing into that spot that had you seeing stars. It heightened when his thumb started grazing your swollen clit, spreading your combined juices together and rubbing over the folds and nub. You came suddenly, your body shuddering and quaking from the cock and fingers working you relentlessly without mercy. You heard the obscene sounds of a wet cunt sliding its juices over a throbbing, wet cock. Head falling back, your moans were only drowned out by the crashing waves nearby. Otto did not stop, however. He rolled you onto your back, lifted your legs to his shoulders, and pounded his hips into yours. You continued stimulating your sensitive clit while he used your sex to finish. 

“Cum inside me,” you squealed when he took control of your clit once again and went rapidly over it, “Please, love. I want it inside me.”

Your whimpering pleas brought him to climax right away. Eyes closed and mouth falling open in a long groan, he kept himself hilt-deep as you felt a warmth slowly surging there. He gave a few short strokes to get every drop into you, then finally stopped. Otto remained over you a few moments, catching his breath and pecking your neck before sliding out. The both of you laid there for a while, still half dressed and gathering your breath. You did hope you had another child. You’d love to have a large family like your own, but you knew that’d be asking much of your husband. 

Soon, you both straightened yourselves back up and soon returned to the castle with a stickiness dripping from your thighs. Otto kissed your cheek, as he always did when near company, and spoke quietly. 

“I must go find my grandson before he makes a fool of himself,” he said, “Perhaps you could go on ahead to bed? I’m sure you must be exhausted.”

You laughed, kissing his cheek in return, “Hardly, so I will eagerly await your return…” you leaned closer and whispered, “Naked, if you so wish.”

“You’re truly an insatiable nymph, aren’t you?” he teased, kissing your knuckles when he took your hand. 

“If you wish to see me swollen with a babe inside me, you’ll need to be thorough and certain I’ll have another, won’t you?”

“When you put it that way, I suppose you must be bare for me.” 

You kissed his cheek once more, then slipped from his grip. Walking back to your bed chambers, you enjoyed the slippery feeling of your thighs sliding together. It didn’t matter if his fluids came out now, he’d have all night to replace them. You caught sight of Prince Daemon leaving the party in the direction of the beach, walking beside his niece, Princess Rhaenyra. For a brief moment, he looked over his shoulder to see you passing him. In a single glance, he knew where you’d been and what you’d done, and smirked. You ignored him and kept on walking to your private chambers. 

Then stripped out of your clothes, put on a bit of perfume and waited eagerly for your husband to return.

****

Tagged: @leniabranch @compra-se-livros my fave otto lovers <3 hope this makes up for the Otto Drought lmao 

[put-me-out-of-my-destiny]

I'm having thoughts about a plot starring Trish, Lucia, and Lady. Posting them here:

The enemy faction is an organization devoted to fighting demons, similar to the Order of the Sword, but with more of a modern military aesthetic. They were a bit of a fringe group up until the Qliphoth incident, after which they received a massive influx of enlistees and funding.

By some means, they learn about the original Nightmare, a demon created by Mundus from his own blood, that had the power to destroy the Underworld by itself. They also learn of Trish and her origins, and seek to secure a sample of her blood to create their own Nightmare, perhaps even multiple Nightmares (this is based on another old idea of mine).

Much of their intel was fed to them by Machiavelli, who I've pitched as a villain for a plot starring Vergil and Dante in the past. However, I actually think he'd be more of a begrudging ally to our heroines. Machiavelli is a war profiteer, but this organization wants a weapon to end all weapons, to start a war to end all wars, and that would render him obsolete.

Trish and Lady would both be highly distrustful of Machiavelli. Trish and Dante parted ways because she felt responsible for Enzo Ferino losing his hand to one of Machiavelli's creations in the Drama CD. Lady herself spent a whole month possessed by one of them in DMC5. Come to think of it, Trish is the one who brought Artemis to the Qliphoth in the first place, you'd think she'd feel terrible about what happened to Lady based on her reaction to what happened to Enzo.

They might try to sway Lady to their side, she's an ordinary human who relies on human-made weaponry, they think she's like them. However, she doesn't find humans inherently more trustworthy than demons. Her father was born human, after all, and most of her friends are at least part demon, especially the very demon these people are trying to exploit.

The organization has a contract with the Ouroboros Corporation. It's new CEO is actually a clone of Arius created by the same means as mannequin/secretary demons like Lucia. There's an element of tragedy to this character, he's pretty evil, but he was never given the choice to be anything else. Trish would relate to him, maybe she'd try to reach out to him the way Dante reached out to her. I don't imagine he's entirely aware of what this organization is planning, he wants to use demonic power to rule the world, not to destroy the demon world. If he found out, perhaps he too would become a begrudging ally. But I don't think he'd choose to abandon his evil ways if given the chance.

A leader in this organization is a surviving family member of Eva's, perhaps a parent or a sibling, who blames Sparda for her death, and wants a piece of this mysterious demon wearing her face. Trish might try to explain her real origins, and this character is just appalled to learn that their sister gave birth to two half-demons, assuming they'd even believe Trish.

While Lucia loves Matier very much, and is grateful for the love she's been given, there's tension between them due to how long Matier hid the truth about Lucia's origins, which comes up again after the reemergence of the Ouroboros Corporation and Arius.

One mechanic from Dante's DMC2 moveset that should transfer to Lucia is the Desperate Devil Trigger, also called the Majin Devil Trigger. A major source of internal conflict for Lucia is a fear of completely giving in to her demonic nature, of losing control of herself and becoming a threat to others. While this fear is mostly irrational, suddenly gaining a more powerful devil form, one that manifests in dire circumstances where Lucia is fighting to survive, would validate that fear.

A piece of lore I've speculated about before is Anima Mercury, described in DMC4 as an 'artificial soul'. I could see this organization messing with that, essentially utilizing robots. Perhaps this includes a return of Infested Tank and Infested Chopper.

I've talked before about how a female-led DMC game should focus on the notion of given v.s. chosen family, and I think the ideas given so far could serve as a vehicle for that. Trish is being targeted because of something her maker did. Lady's motives are heavily informed by her experiences with her human father and with the demons she calls friends. One antagonist is a mannequin demon like Lucia, made in the likeness of the man who created and disposed of her. Another antagonist is Eva's next of kin, who disapproves of the family that she started with Sparda. Lucia is reconciling her love for Matier, who chose to love Lucia when she was discarded by her maker, with the fact that Matier lied to her about it for her whole life.

Also, what if Gloria was a real character who moved to this organization after Trish stole her identity, infiltrated the Order of the Sword, and helped bring it down?