#i lost in goblet..sads

[antinousletmehit]

Apollo and his lover got into an argument which he regrets deeply but reader is very mad at him and won't forgive him easily.The whole Olympus tries to get them together because they're fed up with Apollo's sad love poets and songs.

୨୧┇Apollo x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The great halls of Olympus were rarely silent. Gods bickered, muses sang, and the sound of nectar filled goblets clinking together echoed endlessly. But this particular week had been… different. It wasn’t the usual chorus of divine rivalry that filled the air. Instead, a melancholic voice, rich and golden, reverberated through the celestial mount, dragging everyone down with its relentless woe.

Apollo was heartbroken.

He sat on the steps of his golden temple, his lyre in hand, his head bowed as he sang yet another mournful ballad about his lover. She had refused to speak to him after a bitter argument, one involving—according to Hermes, who’d gleefully eavesdropped—a misunderstanding about Apollo’s ego and her need for space.

“I burn brighter than the sun itself,

But her light I cannot see.

Oh, cruel fates, to steal her love,

And leave her silence haunting me…”

“By the Styx, someone make him stop!” Hera groaned, massaging her temples as Apollo’s lament drifted into the great hall. “He’s been singing that same verse for three days straight.”

“And it’s getting worse,” Ares grumbled, leaning against his spear. “I’m this close to starting a war just to drown him out.”

Hestia, ever the voice of reason, frowned. “We can’t let him continue like this. He’s hurting.”

“And we’re suffering,” Poseidon interrupted, shaking his trident for emphasis. “Even my sea nymphs are complaining about hearing his sobs through the waves. My ocean, for gods’ sake.”

“Alright, everyone,” Athena said, standing up and raising a hand to silence the growing complaints. “Apollo’s our brother. He needs help. Instead of whining, let’s figure out how to fix this.”

“Fix it?” Hermes snorted, lounging on the armrest of her throne. “Good luck. The only thing that will shut him up is making up with his lover, and she won’t even look at him.”

Zeus, seated at the head of the hall, finally spoke. “Then we’ll have to make her listen.”

All eyes turned to him, surprise flickering across their faces. It wasn’t often that the King of the Gods intervened in romantic squabbles, but it was clear that even Zeus couldn’t endure another hour of Apollo’s sob songs.

“Who agrees?” Zeus asked, raising a commanding brow. One by one, every god and goddess in the room nodded. For once in their immortal lives, Olympus was united.

———-

The plan was set into motion that very evening. Each god took on a task, pooling their talents to create an elaborate display of apology that Apollo could deliver to his lover.

Aphrodite crafted a wreath of the finest roses, their petals shimmering like rubies under the starlight. “No mortal or immortal can resist the charm of my flowers,” she said smugly, twirling one between her fingers. Hephaestus forged a delicate necklace of golden threads, inlaid with tiny opals that shimmered with every color of the sky. Hermes wrote a letter, overflowing with poetic charm, and tucked it into a golden envelope. “This will sweep her off her feet,” he said, grinning. “No offense to Apollo, but I’ve got more flair for words.”

Even Dionysus contributed, brewing a wine so sweet and rich that a single sip could soothe the angriest heart. “Pair it with the necklace, and she’ll be wrapped around his finger,” he joked, handing the flask to Hera. Meanwhile, Athena and Artemis tried to coax Apollo into proper behavior. Artemis, his twin sister, stood before him with her arms crossed. “You’re embarrassing yourself,” she said bluntly. “If you want her back, stop singing about how miserable you are and do something about it.”

Apollo looked up from his lyre, his face streaked with golden tears. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me? What if I’ve lost her forever?” Athena placed a hand on his shoulder. “She loves you, Apollo. That doesn’t vanish overnight. But love requires effort, not just poetry. Show her you’re willing.”

For the first time in days, Apollo nodded, determination flickering in his sun bright eyes.

The following day, Apollo, armed with the gifts and a newfound resolve, approached his lover’s dwelling. The other gods watched from afar, peering through enchanted pools and reflective clouds, each silently praying their efforts would end the wailing. Apollo took a deep breath and knocked on the door. When she opened it, her expression was guarded, her gaze flicking to the bouquet, the necklace, and the letter clutched in his trembling hands.

“What do you want, Apollo?” she asked, her voice cool.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I let my pride get in the way, and I hurt you. I’ve spent days singing about how much I miss you, but Athena reminded me that words mean nothing without action. So I’m here.”

She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. Back in the halls of Olympus, the gods watched as Apollo disappeared inside her home.

“Do you think it worked?” Hermes asked.

Artemis smirked, her arms crossed. “If it didn’t, he’ll be back here wailing in an hour.”

But the hour passed, and there was no wailing. Then another hour. And another.

At last, Zeus leaned back in his throne, a satisfied grin on his face. “Finally.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, peace returned to Olympus. And while they’d never admit it, the gods secretly congratulated themselves on the success of their rare, united effort.

[starogeorgina]

𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

Paring: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen reader, minor Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut, kidnapping, sexual blackmail, self harm

1.02

Feeling a dip in the bed, fresh tears swell your eyes. You freeze. The hour was late, and the only source of light in the room was from the moon and the single candle you had lit for your nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Rhaenyra’s life was shattered into a thousand unfixable pieces because of what Aemond did at the end of the storm. Only if the gods had not made him so hot-tempered. Nothing would be the same again. You weren’t a fool like your brother, who threw a feast to celebrate; Rhaenyra and Daemon would be coming for all of you with fire and blood.

It was advised by the master that you sleep on your left side for the remainder of your pregnancy, and every night your husband would sleep on the same side and hold you close, making sure you wouldn’t roll into a different position. When you feel Aemond’s hand resting against the thin, silky fabric covering your swollen belly, wracking sob escapes you.

“Did you mean to do it?”

“No.”

By the time salty tears reach your lips, the room is completely silent. What could either of you say? He rubs small circles on your stomach; Aemond did that most nights, and sometimes he’d feel the baby move. You often joked that it was your unborn child’s way of telling him to let them sleep.

When your own tears have dried, you feel the wetness on Aemond’s cheek as he presses his lips against the back of your shoulder. You had only ever witnessed Aemond crying twice befor. “You’re a father, Aemond, and he was just a boy.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.”

You lean back further into his embrace, feeling the warmth radiating from his bare skin. You love Aemond; that would never change, but it terrified you. Not only by what he did, but because it didn’t change how you felt towards him.

Your lips part when Aemond’s large hand moves from your stomach to your rib cage. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No, should I be?”

“I’m scared of myself and of what I’d do to keep you safe.”

He skims his hand over to your breast and begins gently rubbing at your sensitive nipple, causing you to let out a small moan.

Feeling dampness between your thighs, you squeeze your legs together and involuntarily arch your back into his touch. Aemond knows how needy you are for his touch, especially in your current condition. With all the hormones constantly racing through your body, you’d be craving him for the slightest thing. “I need you,” he says, slowly bringing your nightgown to your waist. “Please, my love.”

You part your legs enough for Aemond to slide into you with ease. His thrusts are gentler than normal, and he peppers your cheek and neck with kisses. It’s only when you whine does he bring his hand to your clit, taking you closer to the edge. There was sadness in the air. This wasn’t the same as the other times being intimate; there was no primal urge behind it, just the need to be close to one another.

It doesn’t take you long to come undone, and feeling how tight you are, Aemond spills his seed inside you.

“Wait,” you say, gripping Aemond’s hip when he goes to pull out. “Don’t move; I want to feel close to you... Just hold me, please.”

—

Aemond picks at the scab on his palm; the irony of hurting himself by holding onto his wife’s necklace so tight after losing her for real wasn’t lost on him. His eye shifts from the small specks of blood forming on his hand to the crib at the foot of his bed. The light shade of blue on the bottom sheet inside the crib was an identical match to the shade most of his wife’s dresses were.

Ser Criston clears his throat, then hands Aemond a goblet of Dornish red and says, “My prince.”

Aemond accepts the wine, but unlike his elder brother, he doesn’t guzzle it down. Aegon finishes his drink, wipes the dregs from his mouth, and then slams the cup down onto the table. “Now, since we know where my sister is, how do we get her back? I say we attack at dawn.”

Aemond traces his finger over Dragonstone on the map in front of him. His beloved was so close, yet so far. “Mother has written to Rhaenyra again, asking for my wife to be allowed to leave, but if what our strong nephew says is true, then Rhaenyra has gone to madness.”

Frustrated, Aegon kicks the table. “The whore took my son, my wife, and now she has taken my sister hostage! Fuck madness!”

“Your grace, we have no idea which parts of the castle they are being kept in.” Criston says calmly, attempting to temper him. “If we attack at dawn, we may harm the princess and her baby.”

Aegon sinks further into his chair. “If Sunfyre and Vahgar fly over Dragonstone, the blacks will be distracted long enough, and my sister can mount her dragon and fly back.”

“My wife won’t leave without our daughter,” Aemond says, tapping his fingers against the wooden edge of the chair. “If Daemon sees us coming, there’s nothing stopping him from killing both of them. We cannot attack directly; we must be discreet.”

—

“That’s enough for now. The babe should rest for the night.”

Hearing Daemon's orders, you kiss Daenys on the back of the hand multiple times before handing her over to the wet nurse taking care of her. Your nephew Jacaerys had been right, and the more compliant you are with Daemon, the more your uncle allowed you to do, and that includes spending more time with Daenys. Unless Aemond came for you, you’d need to play along and wait out the storm until you had a window of opportunity to either kill Daemon or escape.

“Thank you... for letting me see her twice today.”

Sighing, your uncle gets to his feet and begins untying his breeches. “Behave throughout the night, and I’ll have the wet nurse bring her back up tomorrow.”

You move away from the now locked door and go to stand by the window. Without turning back, you drop your nightgown so it pools at your feet, leaving you completely bare. Focusing on the stars above you, you arch your back, but instead of feeling the tip of his cock pushing inside you, you feel the wetness of his tongue swiping across your cunny.

You hate it when Daemon brings you pleasure because of the guilt you feel afterwards. But yet you find yourself reaching back and gripping hold of Daemon's silver strands to keep him from moving as he eats you out. Making you cum before attempting to impregnate you was one of the few acts of kindness he granted you.

Against your will, soft moans escape your lips. Daemon stands and takes a fistful of your hair, then roughly slams into you and says, “Deny all you like, niece, but I know how badly you crave the touch of a dragon.”

He was partly right; you craved your husband's touch. But as you stare into the dark abbess of the sky, you yearn for something more.

You crave fire and blood.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Indulgence 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Thor (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you take a new placement without knowing the full details.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The queen rubs her stomach. Her skirts drape over the bump, higher over her toes than her heels. She is taller than most and carries the extra burden well, though her expression does not betray blissful expectation.

"Your highness," you are struck by her beauty; dark hair, bright eyes, effortless grace. Your last employer was a merchant's wife with five sons. "I am honoured--"

"Please, let's not," she dismisses you with a flutter of her long fingers. "You are here for a job and I am here to ensure it is done."

"Yes, your highness." You gulp.

"He will need a travel companion. I trust you can manage that."

You bow your head, "the prince?"

"My son is remaining with me. He is too young for such travel." She snips as lifts a crystal goblet. "The king. My condition prevents me from travel, thankfully. Not that my husband has bothered with all that in... eh, I am not sad for it." She goes to the window and peers out. "I only ask that you keep him focused. He is to travel as king, not as the young menace he thinks himself to be."

Your brows rise in surprise. "Your highness, I am a child minder. I haven't much idea how to handle a king--"

"Discreetly. I needn't more whispers." She snarls as sets the glass on the window ledge. "He isn't much preferential to hand or mouth--"

You gasp at her tawdry suggestion.

"I am not... Your highness, with all deference, I could cradle a child or put them to bed, but I am not in that frame of employment--"

"You are now," she spins on you. "I don't need some diseased whore dirtying my bed. I only need one who can keep him in hand. Men are simple as children and I know your former master. He assured me you are obedient."

"But I... I am..."

"Or you can make yourself at home in the dungeons. Someone of your station could hardly hope for such an opportunity. To travel to a new kingdom in the company of a king? You will be recompensed and you would keep your head."

You stare, stunned. You've heard tales of the nobles and their unsavoury antics. Affairs, secret marriages, and betrayal.

"But... he is your husband--"

"But you are a peasant. Your tongue would see you to the gallows. Now be out of my sight. You are to depart on the morn. Be assured, I have prepared all you will need." She snarls. "Be wary of wasting my efforts with your misplaced modesty."

You do not tarry. Her tone nips at your heels as you flee to the hallway. You nearly collide with another. A man in armour who stops you with the wave of his gauntlet.

"Queen says to keep you in the tower until dawn," he bids.

You gape at him. Your heart sinks with your hope. You'd come all this way with a spark in your chest. You thought you would be the royal nurse or something akin to it. That you could live in the castle with the royal heirs and see them up. This is beyond anything you could imagine. Why a woman in your employ rarely weds lest she wishes to become a wet nurse as well.

You follow the soldier through the corridors, lost not only in this strange place but in your fears. Perhaps the queen is mistaken. Perhaps her husband will remain loyal. A companion need not be anything more than that.

As you're shut into the chamber beneath the high peak, doubt swells in your temples. You sit and stare at the wall. You dreamt of these castle walls but you could never have imagined this.

👑

You are summoned by a thump on the door. The soldier enters without pause. You sit up from the bed, still in your wool gown and cap. He has a swath of silk in hand. He tosses it on the mattress.

"Queen says dress," he barks.

You move across the bed and lift the gown. You look at him. He huffs and turns his back to you. You get up and change quickly.

He peeks over his shoulder and points to the chest. There are slippers on it and a thin cape. You take both as the soldier watches. You look at him and twine your fingers together.

He growls and opens the door. You follow him. This is all very disorienting.

Upon the castle grounds, carts and luggage are ushered back and forth. You dodge between the furor as the soldier marches through undetered. He stops you beside a pair of large white horses attached to a litter with a canopy. The curtains are drawn and booming laughter come from within.

"In," the soldier demands.

Your eyes round, "sir?"

"In!" He grabs your arm and nearly throws you against the wheels.

You don't resist further. You put a foot on the step before the litter and the curtains part ahead of you. You look up at the sparkling eyes of a large man with wavy blond hair and sapphire irises. He chuckles.

"Ah, and what is this?" The man you can only assume is king asks.

The soldier chuckles, "did you not say to bring you something warm, your highness."

"I thought of mulled cider," the king grabs your wrist and yanks upon your arm. "But she burns hotter, eh?"

Before you can think, you fall through the curtain into the litter. The king catches you upon his lap and turns you over. You press against his chest as you writhe in a panic.

"Your highness," you squeal. "Please."

"Oh, do not squall," he slides you down next to him upon the feather mattress that lines the litter floor. "I've taken care of my morning sword. It lays in its sheath awaiting the next battle." He chortles and rolls onto his side, tucking you under his arm. "It is early and I am tired yet."

You squirm as his thick arms trap you. He is large and barely clothed. His arms are naked, his chest too, and beneath the blankets, you're not certain he has anything below.

"Do not fidget or you might just awaken it," he purrs into your hair. "The beast is hard to tame once stirred."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Poor God Kalim just watching as his fellow Major Gods get cast out for various crimes.

At least he has Cater, Lilia, Silver, and Jamil… Then Jamil gets his ass kicked out. Honestly I find it funny that he just doesn’t get kicked out.

[Referencing my pantheon AU!]

God!Crowley weeps about how could so many of his “little ones” (what he calls the gods below him) Fall… Where did he go wrong in mentoring them? (The truth: he doesn’t mentor them 🧍‍♂️)

I wanted “Falling” to be my pantheon AU’s interpretation on major bosses we face in the main story and events. This includes the OB boys and Halloween characters, as well as Grim (since this has been an OB we’ve anticipated since the start of the game). Originally, I had all of the characters Fall, but I realized the pantheon would be really empty if everyone was trapped in the human world. By splitting the cast up like this, the other gods become obstacles in this big game for influence and power, which I think is a much more interesting set-up. It also opens up the possibilities for current gods to Fall just as much as there is the potential for the Fallen to ascend.

Kalim’s too Nice to be kicked out I think god!Kalim probably gets up to some mischief, but hasn’t some anything that breaks divine laws (like coming for another god’s power or doing something so detrimental it harms the humans they’re supposed to be looking after). Kalim just standing there 🧍‍♂️ EXISTING… partying… as his fellow Major Gods drop like flies around him for various divine crimes. The image is simultaneously funny and sad.

I picture Kalim lifting his goblet to a room full of his fellow gods, only for each subsequent party he hosts to have fewer and fewer in the banquet hall with him. He still has friends around, of course—Cater, Lilia, Silver—but it doesn’t feel the same without everyone. Kalim attempts to keep smiling, but it’s hard to when he keeps losing friends century after century.

“You’d never leave me… Right?” he once asked of his dutiful attendant.

“Of course not,” Jamil had replied.

And yet the God of Celebration now has an empty spot at his side.

“Kalim?”

“Huh?”

He snaps back to reality. There is a long table stretching out before him, the head and the host. Ambrosia is piled onto plates, nectar filling each godly guest’s glasses. There are so many eyes staring expectantly at him.

“You were proposing a toast?” Lilia says encouragingly. “To the Fallen?”

“Oh—yeah. Sorry, I must’ve gotten lost in my thoughts.”

“Ehhh, it happens. No biggie!” Cater reassures him. “Sooo, the toast?”

The toast. Yes, the toast.

He scrambles for his goblet—a gaudy thing, entirely gold, with a rainbow of jewels encrusting the rim. Kalim holds the stem so tightly he fears he may snap it. His smile is not as fragile.

“To the Fallen,” Kalim announces, goblet raised. Just like old times, when his friends were all surrounding him. “May they prove themselves and find safe passage back to the Pantheon.”

“To the Fallen,” the guests echo.

[kupidachillea]

Dionysus x You (Hcs or imagines)

Anon asks: “HIII I love your Olympian series. Can I request more of that but with a little more Poseidon or Dionysus”

author note: Eee..I’m not feeling too well but let me make up for lost time with this hehe.

TW (trigger warning):This may have a few Yandere themes in it. And while the Olympians themselves aren’t really yanderes- they do share similar tendencies considering their myths. Please note that this isn’t completely accurate to their mythology- but it’s just a bit of fun so please take no offence and be nice in the comments.

CW (content warning)⚠️: readers either 17-18+ (to read this I mean), mentions of drinking, getting drunk, drunk kissing, slight peer pressure (?), toxic behaviour. General (hinted) Yandere behaviour. Reader’s discretion is advised.

🍇 - Your time on the mountain has been a bit of a blur to you. Everything just felt a bit weird so to speak.

🍷- From the moment you got here to now, first you randomly spawned here and now- you were immortal..no thanks to Apollo.

🍇- But it’s too late to do anything now, all you can do is make the most of your new immortal life. However, that was easier said than done..you were still very much ‘down in the dumps’ about it.

🍷- Who could really blame you? It’s like having a rug dragged from under your feet.. Of course Hestia would try to cheer you up and be a shoulder to cry on once in awhile but you still felt fairly sad.

🍇- One such god took notice of this and decided to take action to help..Dionysus…He figured he could probably take your mind off things, even for just one night.

🍷- So while you were once again sitting by yourself, the god of wine and madness approached you, taking a seat next to you and pushing a veil away from your face.

🍇- “How are you feeling..?” He would ask, your gaze shifting from the smooth marble floor to his face. Regarding him for a moment before telling him you could be better.

🍷- A small frown took over Dionysus’ lips and he sighed. “Yeah..I figured..” He would utter, eyes staring of elsewhere. Soon enough his smile would return, he had an idea and the brunet turned his gaze towards you. “Maybe I could help you take your mind off things, hm?”

🍇- You would narrow your eyes at him..not really in the mood for sex but he quickly reassured you that wasn’t what he meant…yet. Instead he took you by the hand leading you away from the mountain temporarily.

🍷- You had no idea where he was taking you, until you both arrived at something that looked reminiscent of a temple of the sort..was this his domain? There were marble statues of the wine god himself along with offering baskets and altars.

🍇- There, he led you inside and to sit down on a comfy seat adorned in soft cushions and gold. It made you relax in a way. However you were still on your toes around the god of madness and wine.

🍷- Dionysus could tell that you were a bit skeptical around him, which he understood. He only smiled and poured a cup of fresh wine into a goblet. At first you assumed it was for him, so it took you by surprise when Dionysus had handed the stunning goblet to you.

🍇- “Drink…” He spoke. His words as smooth and as silken as the burgundy liquid that swished around in your cup. You honestly should refused, and of course Dionysus could sense your hesitance. So he sighed and sat next to you..pouring his own cup before raising it to his lips. “Oh come now, a little wine won’t kill you. Besides..it might relieve your mind..hm?”

🍷- At his words you would raise a brow. You knew that ‘a little wine’ could turn into a lot..you knew that you should drink responsibly and what about alcohol poisoning? Though- you were immortal now so it shouldn’t be a problem…should it?

🍇- With that thought in mind you closed your eyes and tilted the goblet up. Allowing Dionysus’ wine to travel past your lips and down your throat. The taste could only be described as divine, and the more sips you took the more you felt the stress of being on the mountain begin to fade away. Dionysus would smile at the sight..placing an arm around your shoulder.

🍷- “There you go~ See? You look better already!” He would say before downing his own drink. Of course he was going to indulge as well, why wouldn’t he? It’s only appropriate. So you both drank and talked..the more you had the less your inhibitions held you back.

🍇- You were laughing and having fun..for the first time in awhile. And Dionysus was glad he could help..deep down he wishes that you didn’t need wine to loosen up and get comfortable around them all. Though he shoved that thought down..deciding to dwell in the present.

🍷- As the night went on your words grew a bit slurred..you were clearly drunk. You both work..and soon enough giggling turned into touching. And before you knew it you found yourself straddling Dionysus’ lap and placing kisses onto his lip..not that he minded..he embraced it

🍇- Kissing you back as he pushed the veil away from your face..tasting his precious wine on your lips and tongue. Your breathing was laboured..as if you had run a marathon but in truth you were just a tad bit out of breath from the kissing. When you pulled away you saw that the god’s cheeks were flushed and warm and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. It was certainly something.

🍷- Dionysus frowned a bit when you laughed..though he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t pleasant to listen too. So he chuckled in response and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your head to rest on his chest. “Feeling better now..?” He would ask. Words slightly slurred and soft as his fingers brushed against the jewellery that adorned your skin..each gem a precious stone that made you seem more radiant..

🍇- You felt yourself growing drowsy though you nodded your head in response to Dionysus. Despite being drunk..you were still somewhat aware of what was happening. Your fingers weakly grasping as his tunic as your body relaxed. You told him thank you..for lifting your sorrow even if it was a fleeting moment. You still appreciated it.

🍷- The god of madness felt the corners of his lips turn up in a smile. He was glad he could help. “Any time..” He mumbled as he felt your body go limp and relax…signalling that you had fallen asleep. He would sigh and rest you on the lavish sofa..drawing a sheet over you as he sat nearby and kept watch.

Author note💌: Sorry this took so long. IRL thins have been keeping me and burn out is so high. I’m sorry and I apologise if the quality of this fic isn’t up to the standard you all hoped but I truly appreciate the patience and support 💗

[misswynters]

Prophecy

[TAGS: sadness, soft aemond, angst

[notes | i need more soft aemond, not proofread

inspired by @demigoddessqueens <3

gif: @barbieaemond @peachysunrize

Aemond stood on the balcony of Maegor's Holdfast, staring out at the smoldering ruins of King's Landing. The twilight sky was heavy with smoke, the scent of ash and death permeating the air. Despair and anger twisted within him, threatening to consume him whole. His family was gone, scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving him to face the desolation alone.

The weeks leading up to this moment had been a nightmare. Aemond’s rage and fear had grown increasingly volatile, and you bore the brunt of his turmoil. Each time you tried to reach out to him, he shut you down with harsh words and cold stares, lashing out in fear and anger.

“Leave me be!” he had shouted one night, hurling a goblet across the room. It had narrowly missed your head, shattering against the wall behind you. You had flinched but stood your ground, refusing to be driven away by his outbursts.

“Aemond, I’m not your enemy,” you had said softly, your voice trembling. “I want to help you.”

He had turned on you then, his face a mask of fury. “Help me? How can you help me when you don’t understand? When you can’t possibly know what it’s like to have everyone you love ripped away from you?”

You had taken a step back, tears brimming in your eyes. “I understand more than you think. But you need to let me in, Aemond. You can’t keep pushing me away.”

His response had been to storm out, leaving you alone in the shattered remnants of his anger. It had been like this for weeks—moments of near-violence, followed by suffocating silence. Each time you approached him, he would lash out, his fear of losing you manifesting as uncontrollable rage.

Now, as he stood on the balcony, the weight of his grief pressing down on him, he felt a familiar dread. His grip on the stone railing tightened, his knuckles white. Memories of a childhood marked by doubt, insecurity, and fear surged to the surface. The tears that pooled in his eye were an unwelcome reminder of his vulnerability, and he despised himself for this perceived weakness.

Footsteps echoed softly behind him, but he didn't turn until he heard your voice. "Aemond?"

He turned slowly, his heart heavy. Your eyes, filled with worry and concern, met his. It was almost too much to bear.

"Would you leave me all the same, my love?" His voice was raw, laced with a bitterness that surprised even him. "Just like my family?"

Your eyes widened with hurt, and you stepped closer. "Aemond, no. I would never leave you. I'm here. I'm always here."

He scoffed, turning away from you. "That's what they all said. And look where I am now. Alone."

"Aemond," you pleaded, reaching out to touch his arm. "Please, look at me."

He remained rigid, the tears finally spilling over. "I don't know how to hold on anymore. Everyone I've ever loved is gone. How can I believe you'll stay?"

You moved in front of him, your frustration bubbling over. "You get like this when you're losing me or when you're being challenged. You shut down, lash out, and push everyone away. But I'm still here, Aemond, despite all of it. I’ve seen the worst of you, and I haven’t left."

He stared at you, anger and confusion warring in his eye. "How can you understand? You don’t know what it’s like."

"You’re right," you said, your voice firm. "I don’t but i can see how it’s affecting you. I don’t want you to end up in a place you aren’t meant for."

He looked away, the weight of your words sinking in. "But what if I can't protect you? What if I fail you like I've failed everyone else?"

"You haven't failed me," you whispered, your thumb brushing away his tears. "And you won't. We will face whatever comes."

Aemond's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and despite his initial resistance, he allowed himself to be pulled into your embrace. "I'm so scared," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I've lost so much...I can't lose you too."

You held him close, your own tears mingling with his. "You won't lose me, Aemond. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll get through this. Together."

He clung to you, his walls crumbling in the face of your unwavering support. As he held you, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, amidst the ruins, there could be a new beginning.

But then he pulled back slightly, his expression shifting to one of deep worry. "Helaena," he whispered. "She told me something. She said I would die when I go harrenhal and fight a battle at the Gods Eye." Your heart clenched at his words but remained silent since you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t want aemond to die a brutal death, it can’t be true. However aemond pulled you out of your mind as he spoke.

"I've always trusted her visions," he continued, voice shaking. "If she's right...if I'm fated to die, how can I keep you safe? How can I protect you from what’s coming?"

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "We can't live in fear of what might be. Helaena's visions may come true, but they don't define us. We face whatever comes, together. And if you go to the Gods Eye, then I'll be by your side, no matter what happens."

Aemond's eye searched yours, filled with uncertainty and fear. "I can't lose you," he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

"You won't," you vowed. "Not now, not ever. We're stronger together, Aemond. And we'll face whatever comes, side by side."

In that moment, amidst the ruins and the smoke, Aemond found a glimmer of hope. With you by his side, he felt a strength he had thought lost forever. And though the future remained uncertain, he knew that, together, you could face whatever fate had in store.

tags: @benjicotblckwood @beebeechaos @spn-obession

banner by: @cafekitsune

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (7)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, loss of virginity, smut, angst, mention and description of rape, mention of trauma ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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He didn't know what made him follow her out then, after supper, when his father was carried back to his chamber. He felt fear, uncertainty and tension when he saw her leave without even giving him a single glance, as if what she had just said meant nothing to her.

My place is with you, uncle.

He drank with a deep gulp the remainder of the wine that was left in his goblet and put it down with a loud clink of steel, rising from his chair, avoiding the figure of his mother, who was saying something to him quickly, surely wanting to know how he could have done this to her.

He figured that the last time he had done something just for himself he had lost his eye, and that evening he was not going to lose anything else.

She didn't seem surprised that he had followed her out − she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder when she heard his footsteps.

He was trying to decide what he saw in her gaze, tired, sad, disappointed in him and the way he was acting, who he had become.

Still, it seemed to him that their unanimity at the table had reassured them both, that they had obviously proved something to each other.

Neither of them could end it.

He gulped, looking away from her, folding his hands behind his back.

"Your mother will return to the Red Keep in a few days at my mother's request. To discuss our nuptials." He said dispassionately, hoping she understood what he was trying to imply.

There was no need for her to return with them.

Since she wanted it so much, he could take his time with her, speak with her about whatever it was she had wanted over the years.

His expression that he was able to control his aggressive, violent nature.

She nodded and surprised him by moving ahead again, as if she didn't care what he had to say. He pressed his lips together, furious at himself for the desperation he felt, at the fact that part of him not only wanted to prove something to her, but feared that once she left, she would be gone forever.

"She stole you away from me then, but I won't let it happen this time. You are to stay. You'll return to Dragonstone in a few days, with her." He growled with pain, regret, dispassion, at the very thought of the memory of the night, the first in many months that he had spent alone, crying in despair, listening for when she would come to him.

It was obvious she would come to him, he thought then, trying to calm the convulsions that shook his body.

As soon as her mother was asleep she would slip out of her chamber again, as she always did, sneak up to him, embrace him and soothe his pain and fear.

He waited and listened for her footsteps, that distinctive, quiet creak of wood that always brought him relief.

But she didn't come, then or for many nights afterwards.

He saw her stop again and look at him surprised, as if she didn't believe those words had really left his mouth; something in her eyes had changed, her brow arched in pain.

She lowered her gaze, as if pondering his words, as if she had allowed them into her heart, and he thought in disbelief, trying to calm his breathing, that it had worked.

She hesitated.

She lifted her eyes to him and swallowed loudly, sighing quietly.

"I will stay, but only until my mother returns. Then I will travel back to Dragonstone with her and stay there until our nuptials." She said quietly, looking him straight in the eye.

"Yes. It will be appropriate." He replied at once, forcing himself to be indifferent, feeling his heart pounding hard, his body shuddering with satisfaction and contentment.

He thought with some kind of pride that she remained as she had been years ago, that she, unlike Aegon, could converse.

His brother understood only violence, only force; he could not count the number of times he had dragged him out of the brothels, the number of times he had had to hit him to revive him, the number of times he had yelled at him to make him come to his senses.

With his mother he didn't speak but prayed, with Helaena he didn't speak but stayed in her company, with his grandfather he didn't speak but exchanged dry facts.

He didn't speak with his father, because he hardly saw him.

He did speak with Criston, but he always told him what he wanted to hear.

She, however, understood perfectly the nuances and beauty of conversation, could explain what she herself felt, and could also listen to the other side, accept a sensible argument, take another opinion into consideration.

He thought with shame that he hadn't even noticed when he had become a brutal, silent stone that rammed everything in its path.

He let her go when she replied that she needed to ask her mother's permission and hid in the library, knowing that he had nothing to return to his chamber for.

He knew that his mother had certainly made sure that the guards at his and her door ensured that neither of them crossed the threshold of their quarters.

He sat down in the candlelight at one of the oak tables, taking earlier from the bookcase a book devoted to the complex grammar of the language of Old Valyria that he had been analysing and studying alone for several years, trying not to think about what had happened.

About how, despite what he tried to tell himself, the sight of her, her presence, her voice, her touch did not repulse him.

You desire me, but you're not in love with me.

He heard her words in his head and swallowed loudly, closing his eye, feeling a tightness in his throat, figuring that perhaps the few days they would spend together would calm the chaos in her and his head.

They had met years later at a time when things were happening that amplified his frustration, and although he was furious that Luke got what he wanted again, he promised himself that he wouldn't broach the subject with her.

That he would make an effort not to make things worse.

He shuddered when he heard the creak of the wooden door, and was surprised to find that he felt a warmth in his abdomen when she had in fact come to him, without any word or prior arrangement, as if she knew perfectly well that he would be waiting for her.

She looked around the hall, which she hadn't seen for years, walking slowly towards him, coming up to a bookcase filled to the brim with thick, slightly dusty volumes.

She smiled, pulling out with difficulty a large tome that had a leather, gold-decorated binding, which he recognised immediately, and watched silently as she moved towards him with The Great History of Aegon the Conqueror.

Memory after memory struck his mind as she placed the book in front of him, just to his right, exactly as it was then.

"What are you reading, uncle? Are you looking at our family tree again?" She asked lightly, and he felt a pleasant shudder, tightening his lips, hearing in her voice that she was teasing him, exactly as she had been then.

He crossed his legs and readjusted himself in his seat, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, at her figure and how much she had changed, at her breasts that just yesterday he were caressing with his hands.

"No." He replied lowly, unable to take his eyes off her chest encased in the material of her gown, her bare shoulders glistening in the candlelight.

She approached him, exactly as she had done then, leaning in so that their cheeks were right next to each other. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to pretend he didn't feel what was happening in his breeches, in his manhood which, with its intense throbbing, betrayed what he thought of her long, dark hair and lashes, her bright eyes, the scent of vanilla that filled his lungs again.

"The language of Old Valyria? I might have expected that from my future husband's love of our family's traditions." She said softly, as if with some kind of admiration, and he felt a pleasant shiver run along his spine when she called him her future husband.

He knew she was trying to soften his violent nature, to soothe and calm him, to say and do what he wanted.

"Will you teach me, uncle? I promise to be a diligent and attentive pupil." She said with a quiet click of her tongue, looking down at him, waiting for his reaction.

He knew she was taunting him, wanting him to break, to touch her first, to tell her his thoughts, his desires.

"Mmm." He hummed, turning the page, going back to reading again, trying not to think about the fact that his cock pulsed hard under the thick volume he held in his hands.

He heard her quiet sigh of disapproval, out of the corner of his eye he saw her push back the chair to his right and sit down on it, just as she had then, delving into the story of Aegon the Conqueror again.

He could feel the tension between them, knew they were fighting for dominance, for who would break first.

He pressed his lips together, feeling hundreds of questions rush to his tongue, unable to focus on what he was reading.

What was between her and Daemon?

Did she really believe what she had said at supper?

Did she forgive him, or did she want revenge on him for the years of silence on his part?

He was dismayed that he didn't know what he thought of it all himself, once feeling relieved, once anxious, still coming back to the same conclusion.

He didn't trust her.

He closed his eye, trying to calm himself, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

When he opened it, he met her familiar worried gaze, her eyebrows arched in concern, in a warm, characteristic willingness to understand him, to listen to him.

He felt a sense of discomfort when he realised that once he had felt he recognised her, that she was someone close to him, someone he desired so much, only to decide a moment later that she was a stranger, someone distant, someone different than she had been before.

"You and Daemon." He began, recognising that he could not avoid her if she was to become his wife, that he had to understand what was in her mind, who was the woman who sat at his side. "What's between you two?"

She blinked, looking at him with wide eyes, as if she didn't understand what he was asking her.

"What do you mean?" She asked softly, without any fear or discomfort that might betray that his question frightened her. He licked his lower lip, playing between his fingers with a page from the book lying on his thighs.

"You two are delightfully close." He stated coolly and noticed that she twitched, swallowing loudly, as if she only now realised what his imagination was suggesting.

"Not in this way. Gods, uncle, you're the first one who…" She stammered, they both averted their gazes, embarrassed; he could see out of the corner of his eye her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"And you?" She asked suddenly and this time he threw her a surprised look, frowning his eyebrows; she looked at him fearfully, as if she was afraid of his answer.

He turned away from her, breathing loudly through his nose, feeling his heart pound at the memory of the woman Aegon had taken him to when he was only thirteen, the discomfort and tightness in his throat, that cruel, dark, overpowering shame.

He didn't want to remember it, the touch of that shapely red-haired girl much older than he was, her hand clenched over what was hidden beneath his breeches, his feeling of terror, even though she was telling him to relax.

He didn't want it, he felt it was wrong, his beloved had never touched him in such a way, in such a place.

He felt his lips clench so tightly that they turned blue, so that a squeaky sound of despair did not come from his throat.

"Aegon took me to some whore when I was thirteen. Time to get it wet − he announced then." He said, forcing himself to be indifferent, trying to distance himself from those memories, from the images that flashed involuntarily before his eyes, her body climbing over him, her hands untying his breeches, her whisper with which she tried to soothe him before he began to mutter that he did not want this.

"Prince Aegon paid me for your fulfillment." She answered him then, before she sank down on top of him, forcing him to feel her warm walls; for some reason he felt like he was about to vomit, something akin to a whine escaping his lips.

Seeing his state, tears streaming down his cheeks she stopped, desperate bringing him to fulfilment with mechanical, determined movements of her hand.

Her plump fingers squeezing him, up and down, up and down, as he shuddered and pressed his lips together, as tear after tear dripped down either side of his face onto that strange-smelling, scratchy bedding.

His purity had been taken from him once and for all, even though he had bathed for an hour after what had happened, he could still smell her suffocating scent on him.

That night he took all her letters out of his drawer and laid them down beside him, despairing to find that still when he concentrated very hard he was able to smell her scent, which had seeped into the parchment.

The smell of vanilla.

He shuddered at that memory and returned to the room he was sitting in, glancing at her quickly, unsure if he had done the right thing in telling her.

He swallowed loudly seeing that she was looking at him in disbelief, pained and resentful, apparently thinking that, like Aegon, he had indulged himself that night in the pleasures that a woman's body could give him.

Somehow he liked that look of distress and jealousy, the thought that she wanted him for herself, that she despaired at the thought that he could ever desire another woman.

He grunted, not wanting to mislead her, at the same time not knowing how to explain it to her and not come off as a weak, pathetic man who cried when a woman tried to ride him.

It seemed to him that it should come naturally to him, and the fact that it didn't was endearing to him as her future husband and lover.

"Fear not. I didn't lie in bed with her. I didn't want to bring another disappointment and cause of embarrassment to my mother." He hummed, feigning light-heartedness, spreading himself out comfortably in his chair, looking wearily at his fingers, thinking with relief that he had excelled himself perfectly while not going so far as to lie completely.

It was true that his mother's opinion of him was extremely important to him.

He heard her let out a quiet breath, fiddling in a nervous gesture with the fingers of her hands lying on the book open in front of her, gathering herself apparently to say something.

He looked at her indifferently, at her pleasing figure, her pale face framed by long black lashes and full pink lips, and thought with pain that whoever his future wife was, she was beautiful.

"Will you drink wine with me, uncle?" She asked in a quiet, trembling voice, as if she could not bear this discussion with a sober mind.

He sighed and nodded, recognising that he needed the alcohol in his veins no less than she did.

Criston Cole looked at them distrustfully, watching them closely when one of the servants brought them a jug and two goblets, placing them on the table in front of them; she wanted to pour them some wine, however, his niece pre-empted her, saying she would do it.

"You can leave, Cole." He said, taking his cup from her, which she half-filled first.

His mother's sworn protector stood before them with his hands folded in front of him, clenching his lips, an expression of disapproval and condemnation in his eyes that aroused his frustration.

"My Prince, your mother insists that you…"

"That we don't visit each other in our chambers at night. We are having a conversation in the library. You may leave." He added with emphasis not withstanding the objection, looking up at him from below with a look that did not accept the refusal.

Cole bowed, casting one warning glance at his betrothed, then headed for the entrance with a loud clang of his armour.

His niece sat again to his right, spreading herself comfortably in the chair, raising her cup to her lips.

"Has he been trying to father you for a long time?" She asked without thinking, as if the question came naturally to her.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, fiddling with his chalice standing on the table in front of him, and sighed heavily, recognising that so far their honesty had only brought them closer together, and helped to calm him down.

"Unfortunately." He muttered, lifting the vessel to his lips and tilting it, taking a deep sip from it, the slightly tart, sweet and at the same time sour taste of grapes and alcohol spilling over his palate.

He heard her huff softly, glancing up at him with a slight, childlike smile; he felt hot in his chest at the thought that she still had it inside her, that amused twinkle in her eye, indicative of her brightness, of the fact that she was about to say something that would surely turn out to be true and an accurate statement.

"He's afraid you'll make his mistake." She said raising her eyebrows, however there was no mockery or challenge to be heard in her voice, he could hear her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click as she uttered it softly, cheerfully, as if she thought it was a funny coincidence.

He looked at her impassively, knowing perfectly well what she was alluding to. He had heard, even as a young child, the conversations of servants who said that Criston Cole had broken his vows of chastity and lain in bed with Rhaenyra, who, however, later refused to run away with him and become his wife.

He wondered, what did he expect?

He answered nothing, taking another sip from his cup, looking thoughtfully ahead, remembering how he had repeatedly promised her that he would take her to Essos once he was a dragon rider.

"You also promised me a journey to Essos, uncle. I hope my future husband will not prove unfaithful to his words." She said lightly startling him completely − he looked at her wide-eyed having the impression that she was sitting inside his head.

Her head leaned against the back of her chair, her body spread out on it relaxed and soft, her beautiful dark hair framed her pale face on either side like the night itself.

She was smiling.

It was not a broad smile, almost imperceptible, at the corner of her mouth, her gaze, warm and assured, confirmed the sincerity of that grimace.

He felt a tightness in his throat at this sight; involuntarily the pointing finger of his hand outstretched on his armrest touched her bare skin. He felt her twitch, her lips parted slightly, her eyelids half open.

They began to play with each other's fingers, their tips rubbing against each other in the air illuminated by the warm light of fire and candles.

He had a lot of questions, a lot of doubts that made him furious − he thought about them as he watched their fingertips brushing against each other in the air, so innocent, tender, her skin so indecently soft.

Did she really think anyone would agree to Jace, that fucking bastard, being heir to the throne?

That a war wouldn't break out?

That after his father's death he would remain silent about who her brothers were?

He pressed his lips together, sighing heavily, realising that he would have to humiliate her along with them. He consoled himself with the thought that once she was his wife it wouldn't matter − she would become part of his family, their children would be from the rightful bed, and she would regain her dignity in the eyes of the kingdom.

They sat like this for a long moment, thoughtful, drinking wine, each locked in their own mind, only their fingers meeting once in a while, rubbing against each other in obvious need of closeness, reminding them of their presence.

"Why did you forgive me?" He asked finally, not looking at her though, but into the giant lit fireplace on the other side of the room, illuminating their faces along with the candles standing around them.

He felt her look at him, her gaze fixed on his face. She was silent for a long time before she replied.

"I have not forgiven you. I have understood you. Just as you understood me." She said finally, and he looked at her with a fast pounding, clenched heart, feeling discomfort in his lower abdomen.

Then, at last, everything became clear to him, and the weight that had been crushing him since he had seen her again fell from his shoulders.

They didn't have to force themselves to forgive each other.

They could just understand what had driven them, accept that they had unwittingly destroyed so much, and that some things they would never regain.

He felt suddenly that she was closer to him than ever before, his hand tightened on hers, wanting to see if she felt the same.

He swallowed loudly when her fingers intertwined with his, like the roots of two trees, like a vine; there was something ambiguous, something lewd about this gesture, he imagined their bare bodies hugged together in the same closeness.

"Spend the night with me." He muttered, looking at her, himself disbelieving that those words had left his mouth, feeling that his mind and his cock, all swollen in his breeches demanded her touch, her scent, her presence.

He saw in her misty gaze, in her slightly parted lips, in her sweetly rosy cheeks, that she felt what he said between her thighs, her chest rising and falling faster in shuddering breaths.

"Your mother…I'm sure Cole is waiting at the door to..." She started, but he didn't let her finish.

"Let's climb out the window to the cloisters. I'll take you to the empty servants' chambers." He said feeling her hand quiver in his grasp, excitement and determination in her eyes.

He thought he had completely lost his mind, that he was acting like a child, but maybe that was the point.

To pretend that he could get back anything of what had been taken from him.

She bit her lip at last, the corner of her mouth lifting in an innocent, cheerful smile from which he felt like throwing himself at her; he was sure that, like him, her daring had been enhanced by the wine she drank.

"Let's go, husband." She said softly, cockily, and he gasped loudly for air, standing up with a loud creak of old wood, feeling his head hum with each step to the shutters, the world around him seeming slightly blurred.

He opened them and immediately the cool evening air surrounded them. He glanced down and was relieved to see that they were not high up; he himself was easily able to get to the other side without jumping.

She moved after him without a word with a fierceness that surprised him, her task made more difficult by her long gown, but when he caught her at the waist and lifted her he managed to silently place her on the ground beside him.

They looked at each other with eyes full of self-satisfaction and pride, he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him, he heard her sweet, pearly giggle.

Although he had said since he was a child that he didn't understand women's notions of fleeing lovers who organised late-night escapades for each other, he thought now that he hadn't known the one thing back then that changed everything.

This overpowering, ferocious desire.

As the door of the cool, cramped, modest chamber closed behind them, as he shut the bolt to make sure no one disturbed them, he turned to her. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle a laugh of disbelief.

"Gods, they're going to kill us, uncle…we're…" She didn't finish as his thirsty, yearning lips clung to hers in a greedy, wet, loud kiss, his hands clenched on her gown and hair.

He heard her sigh of delight, she threw her arms around his neck, reciprocating impatiently the movements of his lust-swollen lips, their fingers trailing and clenching on their bodies as if to make sure it wasn't a dream, sighing and panting into each other's mouths.

"Let me see your bare body." He whispered between the loud, sticky clicks of their saliva-wet lips. "Your uncle hasn't seen you in so long."

"You must reciprocate, uncle." She whispered sweetly into his mouth and he groaned into her throat, rubbing the bulge in his breeches against her. He felt his mind go hazy, her lips, the tip of her tongue meeting his sweet from the wine, everything around him swirling, so he relied only on his sense of touch and smell.

Their hands began to clumsily untie and unfasten their garments, bestowing loud, wet kisses on each other once in a while in an attempt to sweeten the ordeal of pulling off layer after layer of everything they were wearing.

He pulled off his boots with a quick, impatient movement, almost falling over, losing his balance; he heard her giggle sweetly, her grip on his arm keeping him from collapsing.

He thanked the gods that she was already standing in front of him in only her nightgown.

"Too much wine, uncle?" She asked teasingly and he snorted, furious, grabbing the back of her neck with his hand, walking forward, forcing her to step back until she fell with a quiet squeal backwards onto the bedding on the cramped bed.

"I'll fucking show you in a moment." He hissed teasingly, grinning involuntarily; she smiled cheekily beneath him, writhing under him in impatience, watching as with a nimble flick of his fingers he untied his breeches, pulling their material aside, releasing what was underneath.

She looked up at him with a dreamy gaze, breathing loudly when she noticed how big and swollen he was, the pink tip of his cock all glistening, wet with his own juices, twitching all over with desire.

"I need to feel you. Just for a moment. I won't be violent." He muttered spreading her thighs in front of him, drawing her buttocks closer; she nodded quickly, all red and trembling as he lifted the material of her nightgown higher.

"− fuck − what happened here, sweet niece? − you're leaking −" He whispered in a trembling voice, looking in disbelief at how wet she was, his thumb involuntarily ran over her heat from her bud to her slit, she squirmed beneath him, impatient.

"− tell your uncle what do you want − hm? −" He asked, not believing it was happening, having a feeling it was only a dream; he let his manhood run over her wetness, over her puffy folds, rubbing against her.

"− y-you − gods, I want you −" She mumbled out clasping her hands on the pillow on either side of her head, her hair spread around her head in wonderful disarray − his gaze fled from her face to his manhood sticky with her moisture, a shiver ran down his spine at her words.

"− spread your thighs wide − wider − just like that, come here − let me inside you − shhh −" He hushed her, hearing her whimper as the fat head of his cock pressed against her tight walls, with difficulty forcing its way inside her.

"− fuck − so tight −" He breathed out, clenching his eye almost in pain, his hands slid down from her thighs to her womanhood, his thumbs spreading the folds of her skin to the sides, allowing him to open her wide on his length. He groaned pathetically at the sight, her whole body trembling, a cry of exertion escaping her lips.

"− I know − I know − shhh − just a little more − it's almost in −" He gasped tenderly, wanting to soothe her, with a slow motion of his hips sinking deeper and deeper into her throbbing hot body.

The sensation of being inside her was very different from what he had felt when Aegon had taken him to the brothel, her muscles moist and hot, tight, clenching on his manhood so hard it took his breath away.

He felt vulnerable and safe at the same time, for here was his beloved, his Rhaenys reaching her hand up to his cheek, as terrified as he was, trying to soothe him with the gentle movement of her fingers, from which they both sighed.

"− you are so warm −" He whispered looking at her face, with gasp of exertion sliding his length fully inside her, feeling a tightness in his throat as if he was about to cry, her eyebrows arched in indecision, clear discomfort but also desire shone in her eyes.

"− uncle − too big −" She babbled, bravely trying to fit what he had just thrust into her; he shushed her again and slowly slipped out of her only to fill her again with himself. They looked at each other with slightly parted lips, shocked at how shameless and yet delightful the experience was.

"− gods, yes −" He exhaled, sliding out almost to the very end, only to sank inside her again with a loud click of her moisture, both of them moaned pathetically.

"− o-oh fuck, uncle −" She mewled as he sped up, rooting into her tight core again and again, slowly, tenderly, placing one of his hands next to her head. He chuckled involuntarily, guessing this must have been the first time she cursed loudly.

"− be quiet − want anyone to disturb us? − hm? − see how I take what is mine? −" He growled out, moaning low along with her, their naked bodies slapping against each other loudly, his cock all sticky from her moisture, he felt how at his words her walls clenched hard against him, sucking him inside.

"− i-if we get caught, won't you marry me? −" She asked despairingly like a small child and he snorted, looking with parted lips at her breasts bouncing slightly with each of his thrusts, his hand impatiently slid the material of her nightgown off her shoulder and squeezed one of them, massaging it between his fingers, playing with her nipple with his thumb.

"− you silly woman − no mere lord will take what belongs to me −" He hissed, speeding up, each buck of his hips stretching her hot, throbbing muscles with more and more intense, confident thrusts, he had the feeling that her fleshy walls had adapted to his size.

He leaned over her, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, their kisses loud and chaotic, forming a dance of their teeth, lips and saliva; they whined and panted into each other's mouths, her hands clenched on his naked buttocks, her breasts pressed against his chest as he rooted into her with low groans of pleasure.

"− o-oh gods, uncle − m close −" She whimpered, shuddering and panting beneath him, their bodies entwined together as then their fingers, tight, sweaty and hot, pulsing with desire, slapping against each other loudly.

"− me too − fuck − where −" He muttered, feeling that he was as close to fulfilment as she was, that one more push of his cock into her and it would be all over.

"− inside me − please, uncle, inside me −" She cried out and her words startled him so much that he just came, cursing loudly, furious at himself and his stupidity, slapping his hand loudly on the bed frame above her head in rage, moaning and panting along with her in elation and delight as his seed spilled inside her.

"− yes − gods, yes, yes, yes −" She mewled out, her eyes closed, her head tilted back, her lips parted sweetly in complete bliss, her hot walls clenching and throbbing against him in elation.

"− we're fucking fools − gods, my sweetest −" He howled, falling on top of her, crushing her with his body; he sighed quietly when he felt her arms quickly embrace him, his cock twitching hard inside her in the stupefying delight that was shaking his body.

"− forgive me −" She babbled, clearly only after a moment understanding what they had actually done.

He turned his cheek towards her, gripping her face in his hand, forcing her to look at him.

"− we will marry as soon as possible − do not fret − I took you and you are mine now −" He whispered, and she breathed a sigh of relief, her lips swollen from emotion and exertion clinging to his in a tender, warm kiss full of gratitude and affection.

He closed her in his embrace, trying to calm his breathing with her, stroking her hair, thinking only of how never after he had claimed Vhagar had he felt so fulfilled as a man as he did now.

He thought that there was still hope for them.

That from now on everything would be as it should be.

What he didn't know yet was that the only person who wanted their nuptials as much as them had just fell asleep forever.

The King was dead.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires

[novaursa]

Flames in the West (a sad lion)

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: his rock

- Next part: a marriage and a lannister

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The once-vibrant halls of Casterly Rock seemed unusually quiet—or so Jason Lannister thought as he trudged through them, his boots echoing against the stone floors. He hadn’t seen much of his wife in recent days, and what interactions they did have were… different. She wasn’t throwing her usual sharp jabs or teasing him with that infuriating yet captivating smirk. Instead, she had become polite. Reserved, even.

And Jason hated it.

He leaned against one of the arched windows overlooking the sea, a goblet of wine in hand and a deep frown etched into his features. The waves crashed against the cliffs far below, their rhythmic pounding doing little to soothe his growing paranoia.

Martyn Lannister strolled into the chamber, his easy grin in place as always. “There you are,” he said, plopping down into a nearby chair. “I was starting to think you’d fallen into one of the mine shafts.”

Jason didn’t reply, his frown deepening as he swirled the wine in his goblet.

Martyn raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “You look positively miserable, cousin. What’s wrong? Did the kitchen run out of your favorite vintage, or did Sylveris decide to roast one of your prized banners?”

Jason sighed dramatically, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “It’s Y/N.”

Martyn’s grin widened. “Ah, the dragon. What’s she done this time? Threatened to throw you off the battlements?”

“That would be preferable,” Jason muttered, finally turning to face him. “At least then I’d know she still cared.”

Martyn blinked, then burst into laughter. “She doesn’t care because she hasn’t threatened to kill you? You’ve lost me, Jason.”

Jason groaned, setting his goblet down on the windowsill. “She doesn’t insult me anymore. No jabs, no teasing—nothing. It’s like she’s ignoring me entirely.”

Martyn’s laughter grew louder. “That’s what’s bothering you? The lack of insults?”

“Yes!” Jason snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t you get it? That’s how she shows affection—or at least, that’s how it used to be. Now she’s just… distant. Civil.”

Martyn leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “So, let me get this straight: your wife isn’t yelling at you or calling you names, and you’re upset about it?”

Jason shot him a glare. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Martyn said, smirking. “You’re addicted to her barbs, and now that she’s treating you like an actual lord, you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

Jason sighed again, pacing the room. “What if she’s found someone else?”

That caught Martyn off guard. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

Jason stopped pacing, turning to face his cousin with a look of genuine worry. “Think about it. Why else would she stop paying attention to me? What if there’s another man?”

Martyn stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter so loud it echoed off the walls. “Another man? Jason, you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious!” Jason protested, his voice rising. “She’s barely said a word to me in days, and when she does, it’s all ‘Yes, my lord’ and ‘Of course, my lord.’ That’s not her. She’s up to something.”

Martyn wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “So let me get this straight: your wife, who’s carrying your child, is suddenly so bored with you that she’s taken a lover in the middle of your castle? Do you hear how absurd you sound?”

Jason crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “It’s not impossible.”

“Jason,” Martyn said, his tone still laced with amusement, “you’re not just a lion. You’re a delusional lion. She’s probably just tired, or distracted, or—dare I say it—growing another person inside her.”

Jason hesitated, his resolve wavering slightly. “But what if—”

Martyn cut him off, rising from his chair and clapping a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “If there were another man, Jason, do you really think she’d be subtle about it? She’s a Targaryen. She’d probably introduce him to you just to watch you squirm.”

Jason groaned, running both hands through his hair. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m helping more than you deserve,” Martyn quipped, shaking his head. “Listen, just talk to her. Ask her what’s on her mind. Or, better yet, stop being so insufferable and give her some space.”

Jason frowned, muttering under his breath. “Easy for you to say. You’re not married to a dragon.”

Martyn grinned. “No, but watching you flail around like this is entertainment enough.”

Jason threw him a withering look before turning back to the window, his thoughts still tangled. Martyn clapped him on the shoulder one last time before heading for the door.

“Good luck, cousin,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re going to need it.”

Jason barely acknowledged him, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew Martyn was probably right—probably—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. And until he figured out what it was, he would remain the most miserable lion in all of Westeros.

The halls of Casterly Rock buzzed with quiet speculation as Jason Lannister, Lord of the Rock, embarked on what could only be described as an increasingly dramatic investigation. He’d spent the better part of the day questioning members of the household, demanding answers with the fervor of a knight preparing for battle.

“Have you seen anything unusual?” Jason asked a servant folding linens in the hallway. “Anything at all? A suspicious visitor? A secret meeting?”

The servant blinked at him, bewildered. “No, my lord. Only the usual.”

Jason frowned, muttering to himself as he moved on to his next suspect.

By mid-afternoon, he had interrogated a steward, a stable hand, and even the cook—each more confused than the last. His antics had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the household. By the time he cornered Martyn in the great hall, a small crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle unfold.

Martyn leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, his grin as wide as the Sunset Sea. “Still convinced your wife has a lover, Jason?”

Jason glared at him. “Something’s going on, Martyn. I can feel it.”

“Let me guess,” Martyn drawled, feigning thought. “She smiled at someone in passing, and now you’re ready to start a trial.”

Jason ignored him, pacing in front of the growing audience. “She’s distant, she’s quiet, and she hasn’t insulted me in days. There’s more to this.”

One of the younger cousins piped up, giggling. “Maybe she’s just tired, my lord.”

Jason stopped, turning to face the group. “Tired of what? Of me?”

The crowd erupted into laughter, and Martyn clapped him on the back. “If she’s tired of you, she’d let you know. Trust me.”

Jason sighed dramatically, raking a hand through his hair. “Fine. If none of you have answers, I’ll just have to ask her myself.”

Jason stormed into your chambers with all the subtlety of a lion on the hunt. You were seated by the window, staring out at the sea with a faintly pale complexion. A cup of mint tea sat untouched on the table beside you.

“Y/N,” Jason said, his voice firm. “We need to talk.”

You turned your head slowly, fixing him with a weary stare. “Jason. If this is about you imagining me plotting against you with some mysterious lover, I’ll save you the trouble. There isn’t one.”

Jason hesitated, his righteous determination faltering. “How did you—?”

“You’ve been stomping around the castle like a madman all day,” you said, cutting him off. “It wasn’t hard to guess.”

Jason frowned, stepping closer. “Then what is it? Why have you been so… different?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “If you must know, I’ve been battling the constant urge to vomit.”

Jason froze. “Vomit?”

“Yes, Jason,” you said dryly. “It’s a common occurrence in pregnancy. Did you not read any of those books I had sent to the library?”

Jason blinked, his mind struggling to process this new information. “You’re sick? That’s it?”

“That’s it,” you replied, sipping your tea carefully. “Though at this point, I wish I could throw up on you just to prove it.”

Jason’s reaction was immediate and utterly ridiculous. He sank into the nearest chair, his head in his hands. “Thank the gods,” he muttered. “I thought you hated me.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You thought I hated you because I wasn’t insulting you every five minutes?”

Jason looked up, his expression sheepish. “Well… yes.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Then, you began to laugh—quiet at first, then louder as the absurdity of the situation sank in. “Jason,” you said between breaths, “you’re an idiot.”

The door creaked open, and Martyn poked his head in, grinning like a cat with cream. “I heard shouting. Did he finally figure it out?”

Jason groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, Martyn. She’s not plotting against me. She’s just… nauseous.”

Martyn stepped fully into the room, his grin widening. “That explains a lot. Though I think we all enjoyed watching you spiral.”

“Get out,” Jason muttered, though there was no real malice in his tone.

Martyn chuckled, bowing mockingly before retreating. “As you wish, my lord.”

As the door closed, Jason turned back to you, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve been an idiot.”

“You’re always an idiot,” you replied, though there was no bite in your words. “But you mean well.”

Jason smiled, reaching for your hand. “I’ll make it up to you. Anything you need—anything at all—you just tell me.”

You leaned back in your chair, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “Right now, I need you to stop being so dramatic. Can you manage that?”

Jason chuckled, bringing your hand to his lips. “For you, my lady, I’ll try.”

The rest of the household, of course, was thoroughly entertained when word of Jason’s misunderstanding spread. But for now, the lion and his dragon had found their peace—even if it was only temporary.

The halls of Casterly Rock were bustling with energy right the next day, not because of any pressing matters of state or impending feasts, but because Jason Lannister had declared it his personal mission to ensure his wife’s comfort during her pregnancy. Naturally, his methods were anything but subtle.

It began in the early morning, when Jason burst into your chambers with a tray in hand. The tray was precariously balanced, piled high with everything from honey-glazed bread to a steaming cup of mint tea he saw you drink yesterday. Behind him, two nervous servants trailed, carrying pitchers of juice and an assortment of dried fruits.

“Good morning, my love!” Jason announced, grinning like a man who thought he was about to win a tourney.

You looked up from your seat by the window, arching an eyebrow. “Jason. What is this?”

“Breakfast,” he said proudly, setting the tray down on the small table beside you. “I had the kitchens prepare everything you might crave. If you don’t like what’s here, I’ll have them bring more.”

You stared at the tray, then back at him. “This is enough food for an entire household.”

Jason waved a hand dismissively. “You’re eating for two. You need options.”

“I don’t need options,” you replied dryly. “I need you to stop hovering.”

Jason clutched his chest dramatically. “Hovering? I’m not hovering. I’m attending to your every need, as any devoted husband should.”

Martyn, who had appeared in the doorway just in time to witness the exchange, coughed into his hand to hide his laughter. “Attending or smothering? It’s a fine line, cousin.”

Jason shot him a glare. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Martyn.”

“No, but I’m giving it anyway,” Martyn said, stepping into the room. “This is delightful. Please, carry on.”

Later that afternoon, you decided to take a walk in the gardens, hoping for a moment of peace. Naturally, Jason insisted on accompanying you. He hovered like a mother hen, holding your arm as though the slightest misstep might cause catastrophe.

“Jason,” you said, exasperated, “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

“I’m aware,” he replied, ignoring your tone as he guided you along the path. “But the ground is uneven, and I don’t trust these pebbles.”

You rolled your eyes. “The pebbles are fine. I’m fine. Please stop fussing.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, one of the younger Lannister cousins appeared with a mischievous grin. “My lord, I heard you’ve been quite the nursemaid lately.”

Jason straightened, his tone defensive. “I’m ensuring my wife’s comfort.”

“By hovering?” she teased, earning a snicker from Martyn, who had once again materialized to witness the scene.

Jason huffed, clearly outnumbered. “I’ll have you know, Y/N appreciates my efforts.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Do I?”

Jason blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Of course you do. Don’t you?”

Before you could answer, a gardener approached with a bouquet of golden roses freshly cut from the garden. Jason seized the opportunity to present them to you with a flourish.

“For you,” he said, his grin returning. “To brighten your day.”

You accepted the bouquet, raising an eyebrow. “They’re lovely. Did you cut them yourself?”

Jason hesitated, glancing at the gardener before replying, “I… supervised.”

The group erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t suppress a small smile.

That evening, Jason took his efforts to a new level by commissioning a troupe of performers to entertain you during supper. Among them was a juggler who insisted on incorporating live chickens into his act.

It did not go well.

As the juggler tossed the chickens into the air, one squawked loudly and escaped, flapping wildly around the hall. Guests ducked as the rogue bird swooped low, narrowly avoiding a platter of roasted venison.

Jason leapt to his feet, shouting instructions to the servants. “Catch it! Don’t let it ruin the feast!”

Martyn, sitting across from you, leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying the chaos. “This might be your finest idea yet, Jason.”

Jason ignored him, lunging for the chicken himself. He missed, nearly colliding with a servant carrying a tray of wine goblets. You, meanwhile, sat calmly, eating your cake and watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

When the chicken finally landed in the lap of an elderly aunt, who shrieked loud enough to rival Sylveris, Jason managed to grab it by the legs and hold it aloft like a trophy. The hall erupted into applause and laughter.

“Problem solved,” he declared, slightly out of breath as he handed the bird back to the juggler with a stern glare. “No more chickens.”

As he returned to his seat beside you, you leaned over and murmured, “Very heroic, my lord.”

Jason grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Anything for you, princess.”

By the end of the day, Jason was exhausted but triumphant. He joined you in your chambers, watching as you settled onto the cushioned chaise by the fire.

“Well?” he asked, leaning against the doorway. “Did I succeed in making you more comfortable?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Let’s see. You brought me enough breakfast for an army, made a spectacle of yourself in the gardens, and nearly lost a chicken during supper. I suppose you were… entertaining.”

Jason laughed, crossing the room to sit beside you. “Entertaining? That’s it?”

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Don’t push your luck, Jason.”

He wrapped an arm around you, his grin softening into something more genuine. “As long as you’re smiling, I’ll take it.”

Inside the grand chambers, the fire crackled warmly in the hearth as Jason Lannister sat at the edge of a cushioned chair, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his tongue poked out slightly—his signature thinking face.

You, reclining comfortably on the chaise with your ever-growing belly, watched him with equal parts curiosity and amusement. A plate of various fruits sat beside you, untouched, as you observed your husband’s peculiar intensity.

“Jason,” you finally said, breaking the silence. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t look up, waving the quill dismissively. “Coming up with names.”

“For the child?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For our child,” Jason corrected, glancing up at you with a grin. “You know, the future lion-dragon of Casterly Rock. We can’t just call them ‘the baby.’”

You smirked, folding your hands over your belly. “And have you decided on anything?”

Jason held up the parchment triumphantly. “I’ve got a list!”

“Oh, this should be good,” you muttered, sitting up slightly. “Let’s hear it.”

Jason cleared his throat dramatically, as though preparing for a great performance. “If it’s a boy, I was thinking… Tylander.”

You blinked. “Tylander?”

“Strong, noble, and distinctly Lannister,” Jason said, clearly pleased with himself.

“Jason,” you said slowly, “that sounds like you mashed ‘Tyland’ and ‘Lannister’ together.”

Jason frowned. “Well, maybe. But it works, doesn’t it?”

“No,” you replied flatly. “Next.”

Jason sighed, glancing back at the list. “Alright. What about… Leorick?”

“Leorick?” you repeated, your tone incredulous. “It sounds like a name you’d give to a particularly pompous bard.”

Jason chuckled despite himself. “Fine. You’re a tough critic, my love. Let’s try another. If it’s a girl, I thought… Jasselle.”

You stared at him. “Jasselle.”

“Yes!” Jason said, his grin widening. “It’s elegant and unique.”

“It’s also clearly just your name with a few letters added and rearranged,” you pointed out.

Jason leaned back, his grin turning sheepish. “Well, I wanted to honor myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Jason, we’re naming a child, not commissioning a statue of you.”

“Fair enough,” Jason said, crossing out a few names. “What about something Valyrian? Like… Vezena?”

You tilted your head, considering it. “Not bad. But what does it mean?”

Jason hesitated. “Uh… probably something about fire and greatness.”

You smirked. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Jason admitted, grinning. “But it sounds impressive, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Barely.”

By midday, Jason had dragged a second chair closer to yours, the parchment now covered in scribbles and crossed-out names. Several servants passed through the room, their expressions carefully neutral as they overheard snippets of the increasingly ridiculous discussion.

“What about Caster?” Jason asked, tapping his quill against his chin.

“For a boy?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Or a girl,” Jason said with a shrug. “Unisex names are all the rage in Lannisport.”

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Caster. Of Casterly Rock.”

Jason blinked. “Oh. Right. That might be a bit… redundant.”

“A bit?” you repeated, smirking.

Jason huffed, tossing the quill onto the table. “Fine. Your turn, oh wise one.”

You leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze with a smirk. “How about something simple? Like Aelora, if it’s a girl.”

Jason’s expression softened. “Aelora. That’s… beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling. “And for a boy, maybe… Daeryn.”

“Daeryn,” Jason echoed, testing the name on his tongue. “It’s strong. I like it.”

“Well, there we go,” you said, leaning back with a triumphant smile. “Problem solved.”

But Jason wasn’t done yet. “What if we combined them? Aelorick for a boy. Or… Daesselle for a girl?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Jason, stop.”

He laughed, leaning over to kiss the top of your head. “Fine, fine. But you have to admit, this is fun.”

“For you, maybe,” you muttered, though there was a faint smile on your lips. “At this rate, the child will be born before we agree on anything.”

Jason grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Well, we’ve still got time. And until then, I’ll keep working on my list.”

You rolled your eyes, but as you watched him return to his scribbling with boyish enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of affection. For all his dramatics, Jason’s excitement was genuine, and his love for you—and the child you carried—was as clear as the sun over Casterly Rock.

You sat by the window early in the morning, absently stroking the armrest of your chair as a servant placed a silver tray with your morning tea before you. The peace was broken when Jason burst into the room, a sealed parchment in hand and a grin plastered across his face.

“A raven!” he announced dramatically, holding the scroll aloft like a prized trophy.

You raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of your tea. “Jason, ravens come daily. Are we celebrating their flight now?”

“Not just any raven,” Jason said, striding to the table and dropping the scroll in front of you. “It’s from your father, the king.”

Your eyes flicked to the royal seal, and you picked up the parchment, breaking the wax with practiced ease. Jason leaned over your shoulder, reading the words as you did.

“An invitation,” you murmured, skimming the elegant script. “To a royal wedding. Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon.”

Jason clapped his hands together. “A royal wedding! That means feasts, dances, and—”

“Hours of tedious travel,” you interrupted, setting the letter down. “While I’m heavily pregnant, no less.”

Jason waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. We’ll take our time, and I’ll ensure you’re comfortable. We can’t miss this! Think of the grandeur, the spectacle—”

“The politics,” you added pointedly, arching an eyebrow.

Jason ignored you, already pacing as his mind raced with ideas. “We’ll need to start preparations immediately. The finest horses, the best wines to bring as gifts—no, the best gold. Velaryons love their ships, don’t they? I’ll have a golden trident commissioned. It’ll be perfect.”

You sighed, watching as your husband spiraled into a whirlwind of planning. “Jason, it’s a wedding, not a coronation.”

“It’s Rhaenyra’s wedding,” Jason said, spinning on his heel to face you. “Your sister. That makes it doubly important. We must arrive in style.”

The castle hummed with activity by mid-afternoon, thanks to Jason’s orders. Servants scurried about with rolls of fabric, crates of Lannister gold, and lists so long they trailed behind their carriers. Martyn, naturally, was in the thick of it, as he watched the chaos with an amused grin.

“Do you ever tire of creating a spectacle, cousin?” Martyn asked as Jason passed by, barking orders to a servant carrying a bundle of crimson cloaks.

“A spectacle?” Jason repeated, his tone affronted. “This isn’t a spectacle. This is preparation. A royal wedding requires a royal effort.”

Martyn smirked, glancing at the two knights polishing a gilded carriage nearby. “And the golden carriage?”

“For comfort,” Jason said, brushing off the sarcasm. “Y/N deserves nothing less.”

“She’ll love that,” Martyn muttered under his breath. “I’m sure she adores the idea of being paraded through the streets like a queen.”

Jason shot him a look. “She is the Lady of Casterly Rock. It’s only fitting.”

“Is that why you’ve ordered enough supplies to outfit a small army?” Martyn asked, gesturing to the growing pile of crates.

“Provisions,” Jason said firmly. “And gifts. You wouldn’t show up to a royal wedding empty-handed, would you?”

Martyn chuckled. “I’d show up with my sanity intact, which is more than I can say for you.”

By evening, Jason gathered the household in the great hall, standing at the head of the table with his usual flair for dramatics. You sat beside him, your hand resting lightly on your belly as you watched him address the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jason began, raising a goblet. “We’ve been invited to the royal wedding of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon. This is not merely an invitation; it is an opportunity—a chance to remind the realm of the strength and splendor of House Lannister.”

The household exchanged amused glances, accustomed to Jason’s theatrical speeches.

“We will travel with dignity,” Jason continued, his voice rising. “We will bring gifts that reflect our status. And we will leave an impression so grand that even the dragons will be jealous.”

You leaned toward Martyn, whispering, “Do you think he rehearses these speeches in the mirror?”

Martyn grinned. “Absolutely.”

Jason, oblivious to the murmured commentary, finished his toast with a flourish. “To House Lannister and our journey to the royal wedding!”

The room erupted into polite applause, and Jason sat down beside you, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you remarked, smirking.

Jason grinned, raising his goblet. “Of course I am. It’s not every day we get to show your kin how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. For all his dramatics, Jason’s excitement was infectious—and you had to admit, the journey to King’s Landing promised to be anything but dull.

[graciesbow]

i love that you write fics based off songs 🖤

would you write a snape x reader fic based off sailor song by Gigi Perez?

it can be fluffy, smutty whatever :)

I sleep so I can see you, because I hate to wait so long

a/n: I'm sorry this turned out sad!! The lyric that stuck out to me in that song was the title of the fic 😭😭 but I truly do love this song and hope I did it justice!

Severus Snape was no stranger to loss. It was a companion he knew well, a specter that haunted every step of his life. He had told himself that no pain could surpass what he had already endured.

And then, he lost you.

The illness came without warning, as swift and unrelenting as a curse. You, with your boundless warmth, your quiet humor, your unshakable patience—you were gone before he could grasp the enormity of it. He hadn’t even been there.

By the time he’d returned to Hogwarts, your absence was a weight that pressed against every stone in the castle. Your quarters had been cleared, your personal belongings sent away to family. The chair you always occupied at the staff table sat empty, and he hated how quickly everyone else adjusted to the void you left behind.

The students whispered about him more than usual. “He looks worse than ever.” “Didn’t he and Professor Y/L/N…?” He ignored them, but their words lingered.

You had been the one bright thing in his world of shadows. He had tried to push you away when you first arrived at Hogwarts as a new professor, but you refused to be intimidated. Somehow, you had seen through his sharp words and icy demeanor, and slowly, without him even realizing it, you had made yourself indispensable to him.

Now you were gone, and Severus was drowning in a grief he couldn’t escape.

The first dream came a week after your death.

He had fallen asleep at his desk in the dungeons, surrounded by empty goblets and half-finished potions he’d abandoned in frustration. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his office anymore.

He was in the Astronomy Tower, the stars glittering overhead. And you were there.

You stood at the edge of the parapet, your nightgown swaying gently in the breeze, your face turned toward the night sky. The sight of you struck him like a physical blow. He froze, unable to breathe, afraid that if he moved, you would vanish.

But then you turned, and your eyes met his.

“Severus,” you said, your voice soft and familiar.

It broke him.

He crossed the space between you in a few long strides, his hands trembling as he reached for you. When his fingers brushed against yours, he gasped. You felt real—warm, solid. He hadn’t realized how desperately he had missed the simple touch of your hand.

“This isn’t possible,” he whispered, his voice rough.

You smiled, and it was the same smile he had seen a thousand times in life, the one that had softened the sharp edges of his world. “Does it matter?”

He wanted to argue, to question how this could be, but the warmth of your hand in his silenced him. For the first time in days, the suffocating weight on his chest lifted.

The dream ended too soon. One moment, you were there, your voice soothing him in a way nothing else could, and the next, he was awake, alone in the cold silence of his quarters.

But that dream was the beginning.

Night after night, you came to him. He never knew where he would find you—sometimes in the library, where you sat surrounded by stacks of books; sometimes in the Great Hall, where the candles floated overhead in an eternal twilight. Each time, you greeted him with the same warmth, as though no time had passed.

He told himself it wasn’t real, that it was only his grief manifesting in his subconscious. But it didn’t matter. When he was with you, the world felt whole again.

One night, as you sat together in the staff room, he broke the silence.

“I sleep so I can see you,” he confessed, his voice low and raw. “Because I hate to wait so long.”

You tilted your head, studying him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “You don’t have to wait, Severus. I’m always here.”

He shook his head, his hands tightening into fists. “Not in the way I need you to be.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. “I know it’s not enough,” you said gently. “But it’s all we have now.”

The pain in your voice mirrored his own, and for the first time, he realized that this was hard for you, too.

But as the dreams continued, something began to change. You felt further away, as though you were slipping through his fingers like sand. The conversations grew shorter, your voice quieter, your form more distant.

One night, he found you in the courtyard, standing beneath the shadow of the castle. The moonlight bathed you in a silvery glow, and for a moment, you looked like a ghost.

“Why are you leaving me?” he demanded, his voice cracking.

You turned to him, and the sadness in your eyes cut deeper than any curse. “I’m not leaving you,” you said. “But you need to stop holding on so tightly. It’s hurting you.”

“How can I let go?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re all I have.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m here,” you said softly. “I always will be. But you have to let yourself live, Severus. Promise me you’ll try.”

He wanted to argue, to beg you to stay, but the warmth of your hand over his chest stilled him. He closed his eyes, committing the feel of your touch to memory.

When he opened them, you were gone.

The dreams became less frequent after that. Some nights, he would wake and reach for you, only to find the cold, empty space beside him. The grief still lingered, but it no longer consumed him.

One night, as he sat in his quarters, staring into the flickering light of the fire, he heard your voice in his mind, clear and certain.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

He closed his eyes, and for the first time in months, he felt a flicker of peace. He didn’t know what lay beyond this life, but he believed, somehow, that you would be there.

Until then, he would carry on. For you.

And when the nights grew too long, he would close his eyes and find you again.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Beauty And The Beast - Chapter 6 - Loki Odinson X Female Reader

Title: The West Wing

Loki Odinson X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Natasha, Clint, Mrs. Potts, and Alpine (Mentioned)

Beauty And The Beast Retelling Fanfic

Chap 1 | Chap 2 | Chap 3 | Chap 4 | Chap 5 | You Are Here | Chap 7 | Chap 8 | Chap 9 | Chap 10 | Chap 11 | Chap 12 | Chap 13 | Chap 14 | Chap 15 | Chap 16 END |

WC: 1,280

Warnings: Imprisonment, rude Loki, italics, banter, nicknames, yelling, wolves, fighting, mentions of injuries, slight angst, and fluff?

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her expression clearly displaying worry as she crossed her arms. “If his Highness finds out you violated his orders and fed her, he will blame me!” Her voice was sharp, exasperation dripping from every word.

Clint, leaning against the doorway, gave her a playful smirk. “Yes, I will make sure of it,” He responded cockily, almost as if daring her to fight back.

“Oh, I’m planning my sweet, sweet revenge,” Natasha muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips before she focused back on the conversation. “But did you see her stand up to him?” Natasha added, her voice dropping to a whisper, and ensuring you were far enough behind to not overhear.

Clint rose a candle into the air, “I am telling you, this woman is the one.”

You, however, were too distracted to even hear their little whispers, your eyes wandering around the halls as you trailed further behind, admiring the strange, yet elegant decor. Rather lost in thought.

“They must fall in love if we are to be human again,” Mrs. Potts whispered with urgency, glancing at Clint and Natasha. “And how can they fall in love if she stays locked away in her room?”

Confused by their kindness, you quickened your steps to catch up, furrowing your brow. “I don't understand why you're all being so kind to me,” You said, your voice soft but filled with curiosity. “Surely, you're as trapped here as I am. Don’t you ever want to escape?”

Mrs. Potts’ face softened with a mixture of warmth and sadness. She glanced at you, then ahead, her voice gentle but firm. “His Highness is not as terrible as he appears. Somewhere deep in his soul, there's a fellow who’s just waiting to be set free of his burdens and just wants to be happy. To be understood.”

As they led you to the kitchen, the smell of rich, savory food filled the air. Before you knew it, you were seated in front of a meal fit for royalty: turkey smothered in thick gravy, a mountain of mashed potatoes, and a sparkling goblet of ginger beer. You dug into the feast, overwhelmed but grateful, savoring each bite, though the weight of your situation still lingered.

Soon after, Clint and Natasha excused themselves, leaving you with Mrs. Potts, who kindly offered to walk you back to your room. As you strolled through the winding halls, you hesitated, your curiosity bubbling to the surface. “Clint mentioned something about the west wing…” You asked, clasping your hands nervously, hoping to learn more.

Mrs. Potts paused briefly, then waved her spout dismissively. “Never mind about that. Off to bed with you, my girl,” She instructed with a firm yet gentle tone, ushering you toward the door to your new room.

“Good night,” You said, though your mind was far from resting.

“Nighty-night. Straight to bed,” Mrs. Potts echoed softly, giving you a nod before disappearing around the corner with a gentle hop.

The moment she was gone, you felt your pulse quicken with a surge of rebellious energy. This was your chance. Heart pounding, you quietly crept down the staircase, turning toward the west wing. Each step seemed to echo in the eerie silence, but your curiosity propelled you forward.

Entering the forbidden wing, the darkness seemed to swallow you whole, the air thick with mystery. Your eyes adjusted, and you gasped at the sight of the broken furniture, torn tapestries, and shattered chandeliers scattered across the room. It was a place of forgotten beauty, left to decay in its loneliness.

Your fingers grazed one of the broken portraits on the wall, curiosity overwhelming you as you lifted the torn canvas flap. A royal family was revealed beneath the damage - two regal parents with their two sons. The father, dressed in golden robes with an eyepatch, had a commanding presence, while the mother, with her gentle smile, stood tall and serene. But it was the sons who captured your attention. The blonde one, with his bright blue eyes, seemed to emanate strength, while the dark-haired son, with his mischievous green eyes, drew you in. Those eyes held something deeper - something alluring, maybe even dangerous.

A flicker of red caught your eye, pulling your focus from the painting. You turned slowly, eyes widening at the sight of the beautiful red rose floating delicately inside its glass case. Its soft glow lit up the dark room, enchanting you with its impossible beauty.

You stepped toward it, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the glass cover. The air around you felt charged, like you were touching something sacred, something forbidden. The moment your fingers brushed the glass, a voice boomed from behind, freezing you in place.

“What are you doing here!?” The Beast’s thunderous roar echoed through the room, and you spun around to see him storming toward you, his eyes wide with panic and fury. You stumbled back, heart racing, as he rushed to the rose, his massive frame blocking your view. “What did you do to it?” He demanded, his voice a dangerous growl. His claws gripped the glass case, covering the rose protectively, as if he feared it might vanish.

“N- Nothing!” You stammered, taking a shaky step back, your voice barely steady as you tried to explain. “I didn’t touch it.”

His breath came heavy, his anger barely contained. “Do you realize what you could have done?” He snapped, his gaze piercing through you. “You could have doomed us all! Get out of here! Go!” His voice reached a fever pitch, sending you stumbling toward the door in a panic.

Without another word, you fled, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as you burst through the main double doors and into the icy, unforgiving night.

Outside, the snowfall came down hard, biting into your skin. Desperation took hold as you raced toward Alpine, who was waiting nervously by the barn. With a quick, frantic movement, you mounted the horse, urging her forward into the thick forest. Snow whipped across your face, obscuring your vision as you rode, the trees blurring together in the storm.

A low, menacing howl cut through the night air, sending chills down your spine. For a moment, you thought it was the Beast, but no… It sounded like a wolf. Alpine reared back, spooked, and in one swift motion, you were thrown from the saddle. You hit the ground hard, gasping as the breath was knocked from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, looking around frantically. Shadows shifted in the darkness - the wolves were closing in.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you searched for something, anything, to defend yourself with, but the wolves were too close. Their black forms stalked forward, their eyes glowing in the dim light. One of them pounced, and just as you braced yourself, the Beast lunged from out of the shadows, tackling the wolf to the ground.

The fight was brutal; savage. The Beast tore through the pack with raw strength, tossing wolves aside as they lunged at him. Finally, the last of the wolves retreated, their howls fading into the distance as they disappeared into the woods.

The Beast collapsed into the snow, his breath ragged, his body trembling from the effort. You hesitated for a moment, then cautiously approached him, kneeling beside his hulking form. His fur was matted with blood and snow. He was hurt…

Gently, you helped him onto Alpine, his weight nearly overwhelming, but were able to guide the horse back to the castle; the cold biting at your skin with every step.

~~~

@meganlpie @lokixryss @violethaze @johnmurphys-sass @greep215 @giona45-5 @wolfsmom1 @vioplay19

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

~~~

Main Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist

[linkemon]

Revenge (Dracula x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

"ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡᴀꜱ ʀᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍ. ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɪɴ ʟɪɴᴇ."

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 1. ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ 2.

[Reader] looked around. The desert stretched as far as the eye could see. Dune after dune and nothing else. Not a single plant, even the smallest one. Heat was pouring from the sky. The air was dry. She reached for the sand, not believing what had happened. Yellow particles fell between her fingers.

The entire landscape seemed the opposite of where she was just a minute ago. The dark, cold, old chambers of Dracula's castle — that's where she should be standing now. She had a duty to defend the vampire. She took an oath.

And yet Vlad sent her away. For her supposed good. When he pushed her into the magic mirror, she wanted to scream. He didn't save her at all. She couldn't be his lover, so she wanted to at least be a faithful servant. She wanted to die by his side. She didn't even get that. Fate never gave her anything she wanted.

— Sir. — She bowed.

She saw him less and less. However, it still happened that he visited her not only to talk about matters related to the army.

It was one of the evenings when he asked strange questions. She knew it. She could tell by the way he sat in the big red chair. He then seemed to shrink in on himself. As if all the power he wielded was draining from him.

— Why are you still here with me, [Reader]? I want to murder your race. — The wine in the goblet shimmered in the light coming from the fireplace. — I also can't give you what you want.

He didn't look her in the eye.

— I've known this for a long time — she replied, unmoved.

She sat down on the floor, by the fire. She looked towards Dracula.

She saw how tired he was. The flame of life burned out in him long ago. He was no longer the same vampire, craving justice for his wife's death. He continued to finish what he started long ago. However, he did it mechanically. There was no passion in it. Mass murders no longer brought him relief. He left it to others. Generals, armies and other vampires. He knew there was no turning back, so he went with the flow. She couldn't comfort him. And even if she could, she knew he wouldn't want to. He drowned in his sadness too deep and did not want to surface at all.

— My love doesn't matter. It doesn't have to be reciprocal. I followed you and I will do what needs to be done. Humanity never cared about me or Isaac or Hector either. — She tightened her fingers on her weapon. — We don't care about people. The fact that we are people has nothing to do with it.

Sometimes she wondered what she was doing with her life. She could have left. Leaving a person who never looked at her the same way. And yet she stayed here. In a gloomy castle, commanding an army of vampires. Creating creatures that kill her kin. But if she stopped, what would she be left with?

She felt that if she refused to help him, she would regret it. In the end, she didn't care anyway. And he needed her. He chose her to help him avenge Lisa. It didn't matter that she should be looked at as a dead rival. No one and nothing would replace the emptiness left by her. Even she couldn't do it. So she stuck with it all. She joyfully rushed towards her own destruction. For him and herself.

She couldn't know that death was rushing faster to meet him. She wasn't first in line.

Isaac seemed less lost than she was in his new surroundings. He stood up and offered her his hand. Throughout their acquaintance, he showed virtually nothing about himself. Now, however, she saw uncertainty in the brown eyes — slight, but still. He was wondering the same thing as her. Is there a chance that the vampire they loved survived?

— He won't kill his son. Not Alucard. Her voice sounded strange in the great wilderness. — So he will die.

She was afraid to say it. This sentence seemed to make real the fact that he was going to die. It was as if by admitting the truth she was killing him herself.

She was answered by a nod of her head.

— There is still revenge. — The man pulled out a dagger, looking at his reflection in the blade.

He never said much but he didn't have to. She understood him enough.

The list was long: Hector, Carmilla, the traitorous army, Alucard, and millions of nameless people. They all had to die. They had no right to walk in this world if Vlad was no longer there.

— Revenge. — She nodded. — And then we'll join him.

She was angry. This wasn't how she imagined it. They should finish the job together with Dracula. She was supposed to leave before him. She felt that when she finally allowed herself to meet death, she would welcome it with joy. However, she had a long way to go before that happened. There was so much she still had to do before she could die in peace.

There was no time for tears or mourning. They had to make plans. For a moment she felt tired. However, she recovered and followed the Forgemaster. Step by step they marched through the wasteland. 

[lesfir]

I'm every time someone calls Lord Astarion a “cardboard villain” (+ parodying Cazador), briefly - in this nasty way:

Fr since when has he not been an evil trickster who says evil trickster shit.

Uh, no, back off.

It's an FreakStarion. When Astarion does the cringe, pompous it's pleasurable and sexy because in slavery he wasn't allowed to do it, he had to be an invisible shadow, small worm - now he's free. In both cases and it's sad for those who don't see it in Lord Astarion aka Astarion with power.

The man is talking about gold goblets and virgins.

In Act 3, sunshine.

A bed of dead bodies (he says totally chillin, almost laughing at that) I mean Stephen Rooney loved ‘What We Do in the Shadows.’ Vlad dusted the floor with a corpse.

brilliant

I'm sure he has the same attitude towards children as Lae or Minthara. They can be fun, interesting like Arabella. But if someone dies, he won't care long because someone was weak.

A child has lost his mum and is asking for help

The man is grieve about his father's death. Astarion: Well, it's a sacrifice, especially since you're going to be a Duke - cool.

You know, he likes drow armour, armies. So he likes something dark and cool. Flowers are bright, he doesn't mind, because he says he likes the luxury, brightness and the colours - but most importantly they don't have much practical use. Poison can't be made :<

Everything can be turned in the direction of nastiness. You know who else liked to watch people fight to the death? Cazador. Monsieur Calvin J. Candie.

If you look at the approvals you will see an even paler Astarioniс wtf :D

+2 +5 - it's rare. Usually everyone's +1.

[ravens-n-rapiers]

Lots has happened since I last posted. I left an abusive relationship, moved in with my dad and stepmother neither of which I knew before hand, started college, lost a job, got a new job, and I just downloaded baldurs gate three again only to find that my little laptop cannot run it.

To say I am heartbroken is the least of it. I was so looking forward to playing and romancing Wyll to completion :(

So here's a few things I think Wyll does when he's in camp and no one else is looking and a few sad ones for fun.

He bites his nails. It's an old and nasty habit that he's never managed to break. He just hides it better now

Paces. Back and forth. Up and down. Wyll Ravengard needs to be moving at all times or else he feels restless.

It's debated whether it's actually wine or juice in Wylls goblet but it doesn't matter to Wyll. The goblet was the last thing he has from his father to remember him by. He missed him dearly even if they are split like this

Perpetual daydreamer. He's so bad about it. No one else is in camp or talking to him? He's holding that goblet and thinking about what things would've been like if it had been different. Funny how it all worked out like this.

Sometimes he wanders over to your tent and peaks in. He doesn't dare to enter but he'll look and wish he could enter. Another daydream of his.

Had a hard time reconnecting with nature after being a city boy for all of his life. He never really got over roughing it and his back aches all the time

Speaking of which, he has lower back pain. All the time sleeping in feathered beds to suddenly sleeping on the ground did not do him well at all.

He thinks about marriage often. It used to be just a fantasy, some nebulous far away thing with a blurry person walking towards him. Now he sees you and everything so much clearer now

[anjelicawrites]

Hello my dear, could I make a request for an Aegon fic please?

You know my passion for pathetic men... could you write something where his wife takes control in the bedroom? (maybe some edging, some fingering/pegging if you're in the mood... I just need him to beg and whimper). Thank you very much ♡

Ez!!! Sorry for the long wait for this one! I hope you'll enjoy it!!!

Warnings: edging, kissing, anal play, cock ring usage, crying, pegging, gaping, dachryphilia, begging, whimpering, talk of safe word, quick reference to the bedding ceremony, Aegon is pathetic and sad, reader is a bit of a mean domme.

You had always thought dragons were mighty, dangerous beasts and that those with their blood in their veins would be the same: how could you think any different when your family brought you up with terrible stories from the time of the Conquest? When House Targaryen took the crown of your small reign from your House?

Yet you had to change your mind once you had arrived at Court, a handful of months before your wedding to the future King Aegon II Targaryen. Your betrothed, now husband, was often sulky and unhappy, someone who preferred the joys of wine when the weight of his kingly duties crushed him, or to go fly on his beloved dragon Sunfyre. You are now used to stumbling upon him, barricaded behind the heavy wooden doors of his study, after a blithering scolding from his mother, or his grandsire, eyes lost as he plays with a goblet, either full or already empty, not unlike an annoyed cat.

During the first few months of your marriage you didn't know how to help him out of his dark moods; nothing seemed to work with a man who, apparently, was happy with wallow in his own despair.

He saddened you and you grew worried for him the worse his moods became, alongside the extent of his responsibilities, making you feel useless in your spousal role: what good queen can't ease the sufferings of the king?

The worse was whenever he summoned you to his chambers. Aegon had never been violent with you, he tried to be gentle during the dreadful bedding ceremony, and quick, to make sure his whole family, and yours, didn't have to observe your coupling for too long. And whenever he called for you, his touches were perfunctory, his only aim was to produce a heir with you: he looked truly unhappy to lay with you, his eyes lost somewhere above your head, tears of frustration on his long lashes.

How the two of you were supposed to live your whole lives this way?

His rhythm faltered, that fateful night, and you used his distraction to turn the two of you around, straddling his hips with a hand plastered on his naked chest; you didn't know what you truly wanted to achieve with this, you didn't know how he would react, would he be mad at you? You could have expected anything, but not the way he arched under you, moaning with his eyes closed, his erection swelling between your naked bodies.

You understood what you king wanted. You have read the books after all, those tomes hidden in the darkest corner of your House's library and that someone of your lineage shouldn't even touch, let alone read. But read you did, countless nights spent awake and shivering in the moldy library, stories where, sometimes, it is the man to submit, it is he who needed a firm hand as guidance.

You never thought such a man could exist in real life.

He seemed to awaken, his purple eyes focusing on you, full of shame, his pale cheeks now burning under your steady gaze.

"Get off me and out of here!"

For a second you were ready to follow his request, but his eyes told you another story, one of repressed desires and unhappiness.

"Your body is telling me something else, my king. Why can't you words say the same?"

He looked at you with tears filled eyes, his hands shooting out to keep you straddling him; short puffs of breath, like hiccups, escaped his parted lips. He couldn't speak, not whit the knot painfully sitting in his throat, his words lost in the whoosh of blood in his ears, his emotions ready to explode.

"Tell me what you need, and I shall grant it to you, my king."

That's why you're three fingers deep in your husband's tight arse, his base safely in your grasp: you don't want him to come too soon.

You needed time to learn what he liked, how to take him safely, but with enough force that he would squirm on his seat the day after; months and months of practice, to become able to play with his body like a fiddle.

Aegon squirms under you, muscles jumping whenever you scissor your fingers to make him gape; the crown sits askew on his head and he's covered with a layer of sweat and precome.

He's so beautiful.

"Ahhh! Ugh!"

One of his legs kicks the air when your fingers find his soft spot, his balls are drawn so close to his body, ready to explode, but for the vise of you hand around his base.

You have been keeping him on the edge for hours: caressing his cock and stopping the moment before he was ready to come, kissing his body all over, playing with his pink nipples and licking his erection. All to drive him mad with need.

And mad he is with hunger for you.

Through the barrier of his own tears he can see the fake phallus dangling from between your legs, the leather of the harness tight and secure on your hips: he needs it, needs you to spread his legs open and fuck him until he can't walk.

"Pl... ples, ah!" He squirms again, shielding his face from your cruel smirk. "You can do better, my king."

The tip of your tongue finds his cock head, licking the weeping tip with slow, circular motions that make the erection jump in your grasp: it's time for the little crown.

Fast you grab the small ring, made in the fashion of the Conqueror's crown, from the chest haphazardly thrown on the bed, where all your 'special belongings' hide.

"Noooh!" He jumps, making your fingers fill him deeper. "Not, please, no, no, no!"

Fresh tears spill from his beautiful eyes, his hands grab the bedding in a white knuckled grip, least he does something as foolish as trying to stop you.

"Do you need to use our word, Aegon?"

On trembling arms, he manages to lift his torso to get closer to you; he seems unable to keep his mouth shut and spit spills from his parted lips.

"N...no." He babbles. "No what, Aegon? You need to be more precise."

You can see how hard it is for him to swallow his own spit, to focus on you and away from the needs of his body.

"Our word, no, no, no, don't need, no, no, no." His eyes find yours again, the purple almost a clearer hue now that he's spilled his tears. "Kiss me?"

You don't need to be asked twice, you attack his parted lips as you push the small ring down his engorged cock, until you can lock it around his base. Under you he arches, his screams swallowed by your mouth, his arms shooting out to grab at the bed sheets.

"Isn't this better, my love? Now I have a free hand all for you."

Desperate cries of need are your only answer.

Carefully, you slip a fourth finger in his arse, marveling at the way his body accepts the intrusion, how his muscles clamp down, almost painfully around you.

"I love your body so much, my king. You're always so responsive to me."

You could have used one of the fake phalluses, to keep his arse filled, but you would have missed on the way his hole flutters around your fingers, how every desperate moan reverberates through him.

Your lips find his body again, kissing and biting, eliciting desperate moans when they barely tease where he needs you the most; your fingers dry his tears and slowly descend down his muscles to find his heavy stones, to caress and play as he begs and cries, his fingers tearing holes in the bedding with the strength of his grasp.

"No more! No more! I need you." He cries, chest heaving with how fast he's breathing.

You lift your eyes to meet his. You have been licking the rim of the small ring and kissing his perineum, letting your spit dribble down to where your fingers are still fucking him open.

You can see the way his eyes open with fear at your smirk. He wails when your digits desert his hole, tears of frustration falling freely down his red cheeks.

"So, do you need me that badly?" "Y... yes. Please give it to me." He wails, his voice small and pathetic. "Come and get it, then."

Swiftly you roll on your back, legs spread, hand playing with the fake member, wetting it with the fingers you have been using to fuck Aegon's hole.

He hiccups and cries as he tries to crawl towards your enticing body; through the tears of need, he can see the way you're touching your breasts and fucking the 'O' your hand is making around the toy: you're like a haven for a lost traveler, the water for a thirsty peregrine.

Aegon's whole body shakes as he tries to reach you, all his muscles tremble with the effort to carry his weight, his cock is torture as he moves, his stones so full and heavy he can barely move his lower half.

With immense effort he reaches your body, he whines when he has to lift a leg to straddle you and his cock slaps on the silk of your skin.

You grab your breasts and push them together, as if offering yourself to your starving husband.

"I'm all yours Aegon. All you have to do is take."

He keens and moan as he lowers himself on the toy. Both his hole and the phallus are wet with lubrication, yet when the wide head breaches him, Aegon has to stop, desperate to relax his body and accept your invasion. Under him you caress the tensed muscles of his thighs, slowly helping his hole swallow the girthy member.

He's all moans and wails as he lowers himself, slowing fucking himself open, spit and tears raining on your tummy as he works the fake cock, until his arse sucks it up whole.

He's so tired, he can't possibly move up and down your fake cock, the muscles of his legs scream and burn when he tries to grind carefully, his sweet spot a bundle of pain and pleasure as soon as the toy finds it.

You slap his arse with a sadistic smile when he pouts at you, and wails in pain.

"You have to earn it, my king. Show me how good you are at dragon riding."

Blindly he seeks your bent knees for leverage, his sweaty palms slid and he unwillingly impales himself on the phallus.

"Help... me, ow!"

He begs and you slap his cock, reveling in the way fresher tears spilling from his big eyes.

His whole body tenses with the effort to move, splotches of red bloom on his skin as he slowly moves up and down, carefully, his hands grabbing his arse cheeks to open them up in the desperate attempt to ease the pressure inside himself.

You grab his hips and help him move, slightly faster than before, your cunt curling around the smaller phallus attached to the base of the one you're using to fuck your husband.

"Ah! Ah! More! Ow! Ah!"

He's lost control of his body, his mind long gone as he fucks himself faster and faster, whining when the toy finds his sweet spot, now that you've planted your feet on the mattress and are fucking him mercilessly, your hands grabbing his pudgy hips to move him faster.

He's lost the crown long ago, his face is a mask of desperation and tiredness, he can barely move to follow the cruel rhythm you've imposed him, his cock slaps against his tummy: it hurts so badly, he can't get enough.

"Come! Come! Please!" He begs, desperate. "Oh, so now you want to come?" You punctuate your words with fast pushes that make him scream. "I haven't had my fun yet."

You roll your bodies, fake cock still deep inside of him. Hastily you pull his useless legs over your shoulders to fold him in a half and fuck him faster, deeper, laughing at his pained whines.

"You're made for this, my king." You pant, your orgasm cresting dangerously. "To be fucked, by me. All day, every day." "Yes! Yes! Only yours!"

You kiss him again. Savagely your teeth attack the soft, pouty lower lip and pull at it until he screams. Your tongue invades his mouth, fucking his throat to the same rhythm your fake cock is fucking his hole.

Faster than you thought you could, you sneak a hand between your bodies to release the small ring, his orgasm erupting out of him like fire, his cock sprouting seed so violently, some reaches to his chin. You follow him with a scream, and fall on his chest when your body can't support your weight anymore.

Careful you undo the knots of the harness and throw it away. Sleepy Aegon turns and curls in your embrace until his sweaty back is plastered against your front and he can pull his legs to his chest.

"I need to find a washcloth, Aegon, we both need it."

Like a stubborn child he grabs at your arms when you try to lift them from around his torso.

"Nooooo." He whimpers. "Later!"

You kiss him behind his ear, making him giggle: you'll get the washcloth as soon as he falls asleep, he deserves some cuddles now. He's your good king, after all.

[naeleys]

AN HEIR FOR A HEIR

note. firstborn daughter!velaryon x twin brother!jacaerys velaryon

warning. death, targaryen incest, jace and his attitude/anger issues, meantion of deaths, poison

The news of Jaehaerys's death had just been announced at the Great Council, and Jacaera was visibly distraught. She mourned not only for her dear friend, her aunt, who had lost her baby—an innocent child—but also for the way the common folk of King’s Landing were blaming her mother. They paraded Jahaerys’s lifeless body and accused Rhaenyra of being responsible.

Jacaera could see that Jacaerys, her husband, was equally troubled. He held Helaena in high regard and felt deeply that she did not deserve such a fate.

“Having lost my own son,” her mother said, her voice faltering and eyes welling with tears.“That I would inflict such thing, on Helaena! Of all people, an innocent!”

Jacaera no longer heard the ongoing conversation; her thoughts had drifted elsewhere, fixated on Helaena.

What could Helaena be feeling right now? And what about Jaehaera? The poor girl must be confused, grappling with the absence of her twin brother.

Did Helaena harbor resentment towards her now, believing that Team Black was responsible for her son’s death? The grief and anguish Helaena must be awful, having witnessed her child’s death—it was unimaginable.

A vision of her own daughter, Rhaenya, came to her mind. Her firstborn, her sweet, innocent girl. What if it were Rhaenya who had suffered such a loss?

The mere thought made her shudder. The pain of losing her daughter would be unbearable—she would burn the world to save her.

Jacaera struggled to hold back her tears, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame despite knowing that neither she nor her mother were responsible. The worst part was her helplessness; she couldn't rescue Helaena and her children, Jaehaera and Maelor, from the clutches of the ruthless Greens and their greed.

“My love,” Jacaerys whispered in her ear, pulling her from her troubling thoughts. He noticed the sadness on her face and felt a surge of concern.

“The council has ended,” he said gently. Jacaera turned to see the others slowly leaving the room. Her mother and Daemon were heading in a different direction, and she could see her mother’s angry expression.

From Jacaerys’s worried look, it was clear that Daemon was in trouble once more. There was also the unsettling suspicion that Daemon might have been involved in Jaehaerys's assassination.

As they walked through the halls of Dragonstone, Jacaerys escorted Jacaera back to their chambers, which were not far from mother’s and their daughter Rhaenya’s rooms.

From behind a closed door, they could hear Daemon’s voice raised in agitation. “It was a mistake!”

Jacaera, who disliked arguments and conflicts, stared at the door with concern. She hoped fervently that the situation would not escalate into a fight. Her worry was compounded by her mother’s presence; Daemon’s wild and brutal nature, especially when enraged, made her anxious.

“Come on, our girl is waiting for us,” Jacaerys said, gently guiding Jacaera by the arm.

As they entered their chambers, they were greeted by their three-year-old daughter, Rhaenya, sitting on the floor with her baby dragon beside her. One of the maids watched the dragon with a wary expression.

“Kepa!” Rhaenya squealed, and her father quickly stepped into her view. Jacaera watched them with a tender smile.

“Muña!” Rhaenya responded, reaching out for her mother.

“Rytsas doña riña…” Jacaera cooed to her giggling daughter, though she felt a disconcerting gaze from the maid. The look unsettled her, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. [Hello, sweet girl…]

“Have you been good?” Jacaerys asked, while Jacaera took a seat at the study table.

The uneasy maid approached Jacaera, placing a goblet of water on the table for her. Jacaera had always felt uneasy around this particular maid, even since her father, Ser Laenor, was still alive. The maid had a habit of watching every movement in the castle, which made Jacaera feel unsettled. Despite this, she chose to dismiss her concerns, convincing herself that the maid was merely attentive and observant.

When Jacaerys left the room to train with the other knights and Baela, Jacaera resumed her embroidery, focused on the dress she was making for Rhaenya.

“Thirsty, muña,” Rhaenya said.

With a smile, Jacaera picked up the goblet of water and helped her daughter drink. Rhaenya gulped almost all of it, and Jacaera chuckled at her thirst. Afterward, Rhaenya skipped back to her toys, leaving Jacaera to continue her work.

As Jacaera hummed quietly, the only sounds in the room were the voices of the maids and her daughter’s play. Suddenly, a collective gasp broke the calm. Alarmed, Jacaera looked up and saw Rhaenya lying on the ground, shaking uncontrollably.

One of the older maids rushed to the young princess, crying out in concern. “Princess!”

Panic-stricken, Jacaera sprang to her feet and dashed toward her daughter.

“My girl!” Jacaera gasped, clutching Rhaenya's small body and pulling her close. The sight was horrifying: her daughter's face was turning deep purple, her eyes wide and bloodshot, slowly reddening. Blood began to trickle from her nose. “Oh my God! No, no, what is happening?!”

The maid who had brought the goblet of water bolted from the room, shouting for help and alerting the servants, lords, and knights.

Panicking, Jacaera shook her daughter, her mind clouded with fear and confusion. She had no idea what was happening to Rhaenya or what she should do.

Outside the chamber, the sounds of grunts and shouting suggested a commotion, perhaps a fight.

“Rhaenya, sweetheart! Look at Mama!” Jacaera cried, holding her daughter tightly. Her horror intensified as she saw Rhaenya’s eyes starting to roll back. “Call the maesters! Find my husband!” she ordered one of the maids, who hesitated for a moment but eventually complied, leaving the room despite the chaos.

Everything happened in a blur as the maesters and Jacaerys burst into the room, their faces etched with panic.

“What is happening to her?!” Jacaerys yelled, dropping to his knees beside Jacaera.

“I don’t know,” Jacaera sobbed. “She just started shaking.”

One of the maesters examined the goblet of water and announced, “Someone has poisoned the princess’s water.” The maesters began to sniff at the goblet, confirming their suspicions.

“What?!” Jacaerys roared, storming towards them in fury.

Jacaera heart sank further at the realization.

“Who did this?!” Jacaerys demanded, glaring at everyone, particularly the maids. Jacaera continued to cry, flinching at Jacaerys’s angry outburst, while the maesters worked frantically to help Rhaenya, whose eyes were now a deep, alarming red.

“It w-was Anna, m-my prince,” one maid whispered, cowering behind the others who looked down in shame. “W-we saw her give the water to Princess Jacaera.”

Jacaerys stared at them, his eyes welling with tears of anger and betrayal. Anna—Jacaera had always found her unsettling, but he had reassured her that it was just her nature. The revelation cut deeply, and he felt a surge of rage and heartbreak.

Jacaerys’s anger flared uncontrollably as he saw Anna’s treachery. He should have listened to Jacaera’s concerns about the maid. In a fit of rage, he hurled the goblet against the wall, shattering it with a loud crash. The sound startled everyone in the room, except for Jacaera, whose world was spinning around her distressed daughter. Rhaenya’s body was growing limp in her arms.

Unbeknownst to Jacaerys, his mother was entering the room at that very moment. The queen recoiled in shock at her son’s outburst. She had just survived an attack by Ser Arryk and witnessed a fierce fight between him and his twin brother, Ser Erryk. Still shaken from the earlier chaos, she was further startled when a guard rushed to inform her of the crisis involving her granddaughter. Baela and Rhaena followed closely behind her.

“What is going on here?” the queen asked, her voice trembling as she scanned the chaotic room. Her gaze landed on her daughter, Jacaera, sobbing on the floor while clutching her granddaughter Rhaenya.

“It’s strangler poison, Your Grace,” the maester announced, eliciting a collective gasp of horror. Jacaerys turned away, staring blankly at the wall beside him, unable to face the sight of his dying daughter and his heartbroken wife.

“It’s an extremely rare and deadly poison,” the maester continued. “It causes an inability to breathe.”

Rhaenyra’s face went pale as she listened, collapsing to the floor beside her daughter. The weight of recent tragedies—Lucerys’s death, Jahaerys’s death, and now this—was too much for her to bear.

Overwhelmed, she felt her strength wane and tears began to stream down her face. Although she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the maester, the heartbreaking cries of her twins filled the room. Rhaenyra’s heart felt like it was shattering into pieces.

Rhaenyra’s gaze fell slowly to the lifeless eyes of her granddaughter, Rhaenya, staring back at her. The overwhelming grief, sadness, and anger made her feel nauseous.

“She’s gone,” another maester announced, his fingers checking Rhaenya’s pulse. “Her heart has stopped beating.”

At these words, Rhaenyra choked back a sob. Both Jacaera and Jacaerys broke down in anguish, their despair echoing through the room.

The onlookers could only watch in sorrow as the family’s grief unfolded. Baela, overwhelmed by the scene, excused herself and left the room, unable to bear the intensity of the moment. Meanwhile, Rhaena remained by the door, silently crying as she observed the tragic scene.

Jacaerys approached his family, and Rhaenyra enveloped both Jacaera and Jacaerys in a tight embrace. All three were a tangled of tears and despair.

Even though Jacaera and Jacaerys were not Rhaena’s siblings by blood, she had grown up with them and deeply loved and cared for them. Seeing them in such pain broke her heart. She knew the sting of losing loved ones all too well, having experienced it twice herself.

Rhaenya was dear to her as well. She had often stepped in to help care for her niece when Jacaera and Jacaerys needed a break or were otherwise occupied. The little girl was bright and sweet, and Rhaena couldn’t comprehend how the world could be so cruel as to take away such an innocent soul, just as it had taken Jaehaerys.

< continue >

[boatemlag]

Ren build guide!

OK, confession. I picked up Ren on release in 3.3, and kind of fell off building him. But when I was pulling for Pix's signature on his release, I lost the 50/50 to Ren's weapon, and I've been building him. He is SO much fun to play. Ren is a 5* cryo catalyst DPS who takes Hermitopia materials, so make sure you have Hermitopia fully unlocked.

PROS: Does HUGE damage with the right team, lax rotations, is a catalyst (yes this is a pro ok)

CONS: Huge investment time to make him viable for endgame content, best team is basically all limited characters, is cryo

Here's my guide on how to build him and what an ideal rotation would look like on his best modern team!

✦✦✦ Explaining the kit ✦✦✦

◇ Basic Attack: Ancient Art

Shoots a ranged homing ice-bolt 4 times. I've found that the homing AI on this thing is pretty accurate, even for overworld puzzles. Charged attack does an AoE.

◇ (E) Skill: Telltale Heart

Does a small amount of AoE cryo DMG and buffs Ren's charged attack. The buff can stack up to 3 times, and the skill has a short cooldown.

◇ (Q) Burst: Winter is Coming

Big AoE cryo DMG, different effects depending on how many stacks of Creeping (his skill buff) he has.

One stack: Significantly decreases Ren's stamina consumption

Two stacks: Significantly increases charged ATK DMG

Three stacks: Decreases the CD for the burst by half and increases the effective time

◇ Passives

Color of Despair: When releasing a charged ATK, releases 4 homing shots that additionally hit nearby enemies.

Blood of Angry Men: When Ren's burst buff is active and the burst is activated again, triples the buffs instead of doubling them

Luck Be With Ye: Has a chance to double talent book production and reduces the cost of crafting them

✦✦✦ Constellations ✦✦✦

C1: Decreases Ren's general stamina consumption (running, climbing, gliding, swimming, etc) when skill buff is active

C2: Charged ATKs ignore a percentage of enemies DEF

C4: Increases the DMG of the homing shots in Ren's 1st ascension passive

C6: For every 1% of Ren's CDMG above 100%, buffs his overall DMG by 5%, capping at 750% (250 CDMG)

Obviously C6 is insane, but C2 is also a good value. C6 > C2 > C1 > C4

✦✦✦ Ascension & Talent Materials ✦✦✦

◇ Drops: Ghasts

These spawn all over the world, but can be found in large clusters in the northern parts of Ention, especially close to the Grumbot Containment Site. You will need:

Sad sliver x18

Smoldering droplets x30

Ghastly tears x36

◇ Deepfrost Fragment

Dropped by the Hermitopia boss Primordial Warden. You'll need x46.

◇ Glowberries

Exclusive to Hermitopia.

◇ Community Talent Books

Mon/Thurs/Sun talent domain in Hermitopia.

◇ Poppy of Remembrance from The Iron Titan weekly boss

If you haven't done Tango's story quest, you should be able to quick access from the handbook.

✦✦✦ Artifacts & Stats ✦✦✦

4pc Lorefinder is his signature set for a good reason. A good interim set if you have the pieces is 2pc Lorefinder, 2pc Moonbase. If you're running 4pc Lorefinder, go for a CDMG circlet instead of a CR one, since the Lorefinder stacks will more than compensate for about 6-7 good CR substat rolls.

Sands: ATK%

Goblet: Cryo DMG bonus

Circlet: CR=CDMG

Substat priority: CR=CDMG > ATK% >>> EM (if running on a reverse melt team) > everything else

ER goal: 150% (120% if running with another cryo that generates particles or with Divine Rights)

He's a pretty traditional crit DPS. The suck thing about getting his artifacts is that Lorefinder is in a domain with the Ambivalence set, which is incredibly useless unless you are specifically building a character like Stress or Joey.

✦✦✦ Weapons ✦✦✦

Ok, I'm biased, but Ren's signature weapon is by far his best option. Gives charged ATK bonus, has a CDMG main stat, gives a CR bonus, and increases his DMG significantly after using his burst. Other than that, there aren't a lot of really good cryo specific catalyst weapons. R5 Destroya (3* gacha) might actually be his best comparable weapon. A lot of the catalysts we have right now are really EM reliant, and Ren is not.

✦✦✦ Talent Priority ✦✦✦

Basic ATK > Burst > Skill

9/7/7 or 9/7/8 is a fine option since his skill scaling doesn't really matter at 8 or 9. It leaps a huge amount between 9 and 10, but if you're not planning on triple crowning him, 9/7/7 works just fine.

✦✦✦ Team Comps ✦✦✦

Ren Premium DPS - Ren as the on field DPS, Grian as the off field pyro applicator and support, Scott for the cryo battery and support, and Martyn as sub-dps/sustain/swirl. This is Ren's current best team

Ren f2p DPS - Ren, Katherine, Jimmy, and a flex sustain like Netty or Cryo False. Jimmy works well as a sub-dps here since he won't steal melts from Ren but still do good DMG and buffing, and the resonance make's Katherine better and buffs Ren's DMG. False doesn't do a lot of particle generation, but the resonance is nice for Ren and she does fine as a sustain.

Ren Superconduct/phys - OK this is a stupid team, but on the new catalyst Force of Personality, Ren can do some really funny physical dmg. Run him on 2 or 4pc Reactor, swap around his goblet, have Cleo or Xisuma (or both) to enable superconduct, bring a healer that can proc FoP's passive, and watch Ren do really funny phys numbers. I ran abyss with this recently and I died badly but it was so so funny to watch him bitchslap enemies.

◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆

Hope you enjoyed the guide and give your puppy another chance! His story quest is coming soon so it's a great time to pick him up again. Thanks for reading and let me know if you try him with FoP!