#let him live Alice he's been through enough

[thelargetomato]

I couldn't believe Alice would call Norris a "whiny little toad" until I saw that Alex wrote this episode and it all made sense

[g1rlken]

┏ Like real people do ┐

Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

summary: The reader is Aemond’s new bride, a match fixed some time before Viserys’s death. Daemon’s daughter through Lady Royce navigates through a difficult now into a new chapter of being married to the one eyed prince, council and war.

warnings: daemon being an awful dad, Luke’s death, attachment issues, angst, slow burn, arranged marriage

word count: 5.1k

Part 1. Part 2

-

Worlds changed, dragons spew fire, flowers burnt and flowers bloomed, children born and doomed. Y/n, Daemon Targeryn’s first born through Lady Rhea Royce. A child he had despised ever since her birth, just an extension for his hatred towards Lady Royce in the first place. He could never stand her, having been forced to his duties he hated her even more. He was never around for the aftermath of anything, the rogue prince who knew no bounds. The child wasn’t even half a year old when he mercilessly put an end to Lady Royce. The ‘accident’ left the child at the kindness of pitiful wet nurses and the castle staff.

King Viserys however couldn’t stand such tragedy over and over, he generally refrained from interfering his brother’s life. He did regret his decision of marrying daemon to someone against his will but he could not have anticipated such a harsh counter reaction via Daemon. Especially after the babe, Viserys thought the child could perhaps soften the coldness of their relations but it only got worse. The king wished to seek some atonement at least for the sake of the child. Y/n, the princess, away at the grasslands of Runestone. He arranged for her to live at the red keep, a motherless child with an absent father would do better within her present family. The King’s children through alicent were mere babies themselves. The maids, the kind Queen herself, would do well to look after the infant. After all the red keep was her house just as much as it was Daemon’s despite his grievance towards it. Her dragon too was well looked after through the keeps instead of Runestone staff. Her dragon was just a hatchling as y/n too was a baby herself.

Alicent, younger at the time. The keep’s staff, mastered in squalling babies and fussy infants. Y/n wasn’t a bother at all. Not that she were to remember but Queen alicent was kinder to her than the fates had been, she nursed her like one of her own. Such fondness and softness towards daughters, it was nice enough. At least for a while. Y/n was six by the time daemon had come for Rhaenyra’s wedding, then off with Laena. No familiarity between the six year old y/n and her father. Too young to understand her family setting and Daemon still rancour.

Daemon had two daughters with the driftmark princess, viserys deemed him capable enough to raise y/n then. He decided to send little y/n back to her father, viserys wanted his brother to accept his daughter. Alicent had a smaller voice at that time yet she tried to reason with her husband to let y/n be at the keep. Daemon had to accept his brother’s whim anyways so he did. Viserys was as relieved as Alicent was anxious that y/n was in Pentos. King made the decision in good faith, if only he put a bit more distrust in daemon than he did trust. Daemon was still the same, y/n, still a child and he did nothing to make her feel included or at home. She learnt to keep to herself how she had seen Haelena do. Still quite young to comprehend where all such distaste came from, all these different people, different land. She longed to call a place home, her memories of the red keep, Alicent, the others it kept fading because she was but a baby back then. Her father wouldn’t teach y/n how to ride on dragon back how he did with her half sisters. But y/n had taught it to herself. Watching she learnt, she didn’t have to be told explicitly what to do. She fell a lot, on her face and back but she learnt anyways.

As years passed nothing changed between y/n and her father, her half sisters were company enough time to time but she was always in their orbit and not as close. All until Driftmark, they lost lady Laena. Y/n was in her early teens and she tried to be there for Baela and Rhaena. She stood by their side through their mother’s funeral. She understood the gravity of such tragedy, she lived with that grief all her life for her mother who was a stranger she never even met. But she mourned her longer than she’d known her.

Reunited with Alicent, gaining a distasteful look from Daemon. “You’ve grown so much” Alicent remarked as she pulled the girl into her embrace. Both of them looked so much different from when they last met each other. The girl had distant memory of the queen but her warmth was nicer than she had known anyone else’s. Despite the occasion alicent was brought some peace of mind seeing Y/n, she didn’t look her best but at least not the worst. She didn’t have to ask y/n to know if Daemon spoke to her, if she felt at home. She reintroduced y/n to her children, some of them y/n didn’t even remember through faces if not for name.

“She was such a small babe.” Helaena commented as she greeted the young girl. It had been years since Helaena had seen her. Aegon and Aemond just stood with disinterest, Aemond trying to mask it otherwise regardless.

After the tragedy that was which followed Laena’s death upon the nightfall of her funeral. Aemond’s eye was taken and it was a rather gruesome unfolding. A night which left a permanent distance between families. A mark which shaped Aemond for years to come.

As the years followed, dragonstone proved to be just as dreary and awfully lonely for y/n. None of her half siblings were her own or ever treated her as such, unsolicited kindness was all she would get here and there and she had accepted surviving it. Thinking of lives far away, a place where life would begin. But it was perhaps never. As King Viserys’s health worsened the queen and hand took matters into their own hands bit by bit.

The queen, declared that it is but the king’s wish for Aemond to be married with y/n, Daemon’s firstborn. Viserys was asked about it, surely, his decision was firm and wearily elated about the marriage so what does it matter who pitched the thought as long as the king agreed. Aemond was agitated. He did not want it, at all. For the ever present and abiding Aemond he had a rift with the thought of marriage to y/n. But he kept his shortcomings to himself.

Even more so mortified was y/n, she didn’t remember how exactly was her childhood at the red keep but she did recall that ever since driftmark, that family would surely not have a soft heart for her. “Father please don’t-please don’t make me do this” she pleaded Daemon.

“It is the King, my brother’s wish.” Daemon said in a disregard of her wish, surprisingly he was fine with his brother’s second hand wish too. Daemon was aware that the Hightower queen and Otto is who pulled all the strings and his brother was a bed ridden king but this was a decision in his favour as long as he could be rid of y/n.

“You cannot marry me off like this!” She exclaimed, for someone who rarely expressed thoughts to daemon. Something she learnt in all those years with being met with cold shoulder all of life, she had to fight for her life as of now. “Not to Aemond, please father please, I do not know any of them-“

“You do. You have spent most of your childhood at the hip of that Hightower queen you will be just fine.” Daemon scoffed with a bit of condescension in his voice. Indifference as he referred to Alicent.

“I do not remember them” y/n tried to reason, any wet nurse could show sympathy to a high born motherless child she did not account to be in a marriage with that sympathy at this stage in her life. “They are complete strangers, father, please I will stay wherever you ask please don’t marry me off!”

“You are of age, y/n. This is a fitting decision for you!” He exclaimed with growing irritation at this conversation, daemon never paid mind to her moreover chose not to and hence he had expected her to show nothing but compliance.

“For me or for you?” She asked with a bitter huff looking away from her father already losing hope in this conversation, she couldn’t stomach this decision without letting him know her repulsion of it. “You are so eager to wash your hands off of me as if I have ever wronged you, all my life, I’ve never asked for anything-“

“Haven’t you?!” Daemon said loudly, his rage visible in his tone “The fact that you exist is asking too much of me as it is. You are an awful reminder and a mistake. I have been subjected to duty and honour and it is only fair if you are too. It is your duty, if not to me then to the King.” With that the door was slammed as the rogue prince walked out, an ironic vision of her life.

A bitter goodbye and an uncertain life with little to no hope y/n was set for the red keep, glancing back at dragonstone for one last time. She didn’t know if she held any homely softness for that place in her heart but she presumed the life which awaited her would be more dreary than the stone.

The wedding was an intimate affair, a small ceremony but still a lot of strangers y/n had never seen. Daemon refrained from attending but it was no surprise. She was met with warmth and affection from her mother in law and her family but not her husband to be, they were all a strange set of people down here in the south from the maids to the king himself who didn’t even sit on the throne yet made decisions.

Even the most beautiful flowers would wither away at the heavy heart of the new bride of new title, the princess. She couldn’t stand her person she was becoming or moreover the mere idea of what she had to be. Aemond wouldn’t even share the same bad as her, almost every night for the first week. He’d rather sleep on the sofa or some nights he’d just never return from wherever he wandered off to.

Barely getting the grasp of it, small domestic solaces just everytime she was with Halena and her mother in law, tending to her niece and nephew. The only time she felt less alone but she was familiar with the loneliness, that wasn’t the problem. It was the nerve wrecking confusion and uncertainty that followed after, eating her alive every night that she would lay. Within strangers now, she felt a stranger to herself too.

Days passed, circumstances arose: the king fell. Aegon was declared the king, a restless unease of an upcoming war. The hand’s very first decision was passing daemon’s seat on the council to y/n. “What?” She asked wide eyed as the hand and queen pitched it to her. “Why, me? I’m not even that learned…” she trailed off.

“You spend most of your time in the library, you happen to have a knack for reading. I’m assuming you can write too?” Otto questioned, if more number of people on the council were his own to mould and speak for the rule would be so much easier.

“Yes but just letters and scrolls..” she trailed off with a sigh, it was rather strange they would approach her for something as important as the council in the first place.

“We need sharp mind of a soft heart on the council.” Alicent said as she caressed her daughter in law’s cheek, with a smile to put some confidence in her. Despite her father’s motives of having y/n on the council, Alicent believed y/n would prove to be rather fruitful and genuine.

“It is also your birthright, through your father’s seat on King Viserys’s council. It is only right if you were to be a part of it.” Otto added in an encouraging manner. The pieces were being set already, as the blacks were processing their own steps.

They had Aemond set to go meet lord Dorros the very next morrow, with a bribe of the crown’s coin and loyalty. The forces set, Aegon’s coronation done. Just one last afternoon council left. Aegon, riding the high of his coronation wasn’t present in this one.

Everyone took their respective seats, it was an eventful morning’s slow afternoon. The coronation was as eventful as it was unpleasant with the beast beneath the boards. Sending out scrolls to other lords, the council discussed it. Y/n didn’t say anything, just listening. Writing out the needed scrolls, Alicent quietly remarked her beautiful hand at the words.

The door slammed open as Aemond entered, he was enraged at his wife’s seat on the council. “Aemond.” Alicent said as the room stiffened.

“What is this?” He asked with as his brows furrowed, he felt very wronged and partially frustrated that his lady wife had a seat on the council above him.

“It’s a meeting.” Otto declared as he looked back from the board back to Aemond, “Not yet done, what is your business here?”

“What is she doing here?” Aemond inquired as he leant over a chair, more belonging in this room than anyone else. Especially his wife, he thought to himself the other members with an awkward look on their face.

“She has a seat extended on the king’s council after her own father, daemon.” Otto filled him in on the subject, visibly disinterested.

“Daemon’s claim on the council died with my father’s death. She holds no such extension.” Aemond reasoned calmly, very much opposed to the irritation rising inside him.

“I’m still a hand to the king aren’t I? Your mother is on the council. Lord Tyland-“ Otto replied back but was interrupted by Aemond midway before he made his point.

“None of them sworn against Aegon. Daemon has called for the pretender hence his seat on this council holds no significance.” Aemond scoffed looking down at his wife who sat, scrolls lay in front of her and a pen in her hand. She felt overwhelmed with such necessary distaste, the hand to the king and queen mother herself asked her to join the council yet Aemond had an issue. It’s not as if she were to act against the interest of the crown or make big decisions to begin with.

“She is the princess. Your lawfully wedded wife, in the eyes of the gods and all the members of this very council and more. Despite Daemon’s treachery and your incoherent jealousy she belongs here.” Otto said breaking Aemond’s mouth, he knew which nerve to exactly hit. Saying Aemond was jealous, of his lady wife’s seat in front of everyone. It was enough to send him seething back and he was right. With a huff as he stared down at y/n, he turned to his heel at left.

Everyone had their accustomed part with a potential war brewing. Aemond had to leave to meet lord borros next morning. Y/n assumed he would be calculating and supposedly busy with his task at hand yet he found time to cause a scene at the council. Y/n knew that nobody on the council saw her as a threat because they all knew of daemon’s indifference for her. The black sheep. In truth she didn’t owe her father any loyalty either so their calculations were correct, her husband however.

She planned to avoid him regardless, spending the rest of the day with the twins, Helaena talking her ear off about her fixated spider and y/n loved that too. Jaehaera was playing with y/n’s hair, adding her toys into it making improper braids. Jahaerys running in circles and hoarding his toys in y/n’s lap as she enjoyed a conversation with their mother.

Alicent walked in, for a moment just taking in the domesticity of the scene. The serenity, the girls laughing. It was rather rare before y/n to see Helaena at peace like this. She entered with a soft knock greeting everyone and she took a seat next to y/n, “Children you must retire your auntie now, it’s rather late!”

“It’s alright mother, it’s not that late.” protested, Haelena she enjoyed y/n’s company as much as the whining children, Jaehaera caged y/n in her tiny arms from her back to not let her go. However through alicent’s hesitant eyes y/n realised she must have some sort of business to discuss.

“Forgive me my loves I am growing a bit tired…but I’m not going anywhere I’d be back soon enough!” She said with a sigh as she kissed the twins goodbye, both of them a bit protestant but let her go eventually. “Good evening, Helaena.” She smiled and bid her goodbye as well and exited with her mother in law.

After they were out in the hallway, secluded of other ears Alicent proceeded “Are you alright?”

“Yes, your grace” y/n replied with a non hesitant nod, in an instant with a smile confused why would that question come up.

“Mother.” She corrected her stopping on her way to turn to face her.

“-Mother.” Y/n said with a soft smile rephrasing her title.

“After…today’s council. You have been avoiding Aemond?” She asked searching for y/n’s dreary eyes.

“No-that is not the case” y/n shook her head trying to formulate a better answer given she hadn’t asked that question to herself. Because in a sense she was avoiding Aemond. “I—“ she breathed “I am rather anxious.”

“Of what? Does he speak to you in an ill manner? Do you wish for me to talk to him?” Alicent inquired concerned for her hesitation of Aemond’s lashing out or whatever it was she was trying to avoid.

“No-no it’s not that…I just feel guilty. He wants an authority, his opinion to be heard at council level and I get that place before him, we’re not at the best terms to begin with and now he must be cross with me�� Y/n explained her worry with a sigh.

“And? It is your right, y/n.” Alicent said as she took her hand into hers in an affirming way, “you must never feel guilty for claims that are solely yours.” She explained, “as of Aemond, he can be difficult sometimes, but I assure you he isn’t malevolent. He loves you.”

The Queen mother’s assurance felt it came from a place of gentle constitution and the motherly naïveté of overlooking some things but y/n was more than aware that Aemond did anything but love her. She was familiar with lack of warmth, affection, just so far from it she could almost find strange ways to dwell in it. It was an emotion she knew for so long, from her father’s house to her husband’s, bricks of her old life and no love.

But she did not tell alicent of her wearies, after all she did not worry about it she was at terms with it. But she was worried meeting Aemond, as of now, she walked the hallway to their shared bedchamber with heavy breaths. Aemond was looking out the giant window, he had a journey to make the next morning to the baratheons yet he wasn’t resting or preparing. Much to y/n’s demise she hoped he’d be off somewhere else. She closed the door behind her as she entered, Aemond never talked to her generally. She never spoke unless spoken to but today silence weighed heavy between the two of them.

“The meeting ran late did it?” Aemond asked without looking back at her, he could tell from the soft stride who entered their chambers.

“No, I was with Helaena…” She trailed off growing strangely anxious because she felt answerable to him. As if it would compensate him and that was her burden to bear. “The meeting was rather trivial”

“Was it now?” He scoffed in a bigger way and turned to face her, “You must have provided the trivial meeting with your other worldly wit and understanding of warfare.”

“Aemond” she said taking in a sharp breath, meaning to tread carefully “I know you are upset. Believe me I did not know beforehand of the planning nor was it offered to me, the hand-queen mother they deemed it as my duty and right and I did not have other choice otherwise I would’ve asked you…”

“Asked me what?” Aemond interrogated crossing his arms as he leant against the stone pillar, her feigning nonchalance and false sympathy irritated him to no end.

“To take my place” she answered. She meant it in a genuine sense because she did not hold the same passion or want for a seat on the King’s council the way Aemond did. It was far from her. “I’d rather you take my place, I have no wish for authority on the council. I could ask the hand to-“

“You truly are the imbecile I presumed you to be.” He said assertively as he stiffened, his shoulders tight. “Are you that naive? Do you think I would need your help to put myself on the council? Yours?” He said as he huffed, berating her was his intention. Y/n remained silent, unmoving in her place no matter however she tried and help him or soften the rift in their marriage he was always imbecile from it. In the meantime he walked a bit closer to her, towering over her given his taller stature he leant forward by a bit to make himself appear intimidating.

“My apologies then.” She muttered lowering her gaze from his because she felt rather scrutinised by him as if she was at fault for something, as if she had wronged him. “Excuse me” she said before he could reply and attempted to retreat away to the adjoint bathroom. Wait out him falling asleep or leaving. The newlywed with their peculiar marriage of indifference.

-

Aemomd’s return from his errand with the Baratheon lord contained of a difficult detour nobody had anticipated. Rather difficult, to navigate such a blow through warfare. The council, y/n merely heard and spoke four sentences on an average, was shocked. No idea of action status not war treading. Circumstance heavy on everyone. Shame and disregard.

Sitting by the burning lamp, late evening, the scrolls and letters were to be written with such urgency after what happened with lucerys y/n had to take it to her own desk. Too busy with the works she barely processed the loss yet, she did not know Lucerys as a brother but an acquaintance who was rather kind to her all those years.

She barely looked up when the door opened, only when Aemond drew closer. Rather too close to her desk, he leant on the table where she was writing. Close to where she was sitting he breathed heavily. Putting the pen down and the scroll aside y/n looked up at him. “What did the king say?”

“The king?” Aemond repeated with a small laugh, he was still getting used to the new titles but referring those even behind closed doors was somewhat strange. “Aegon, he is not the most serious about it. Collateral damage he said.” Aemond repeated the words, he was never fond of the bastard himself but he never planned to take such drastic step. “Grand sire had a lot to say and mother, she is disappointed. Perhaps everyone is disappointed?” He asked emphasising ‘everyone’ referring to her. He did not know of his lady wife’s connection with the Strong boy but his own mother had a dislike for him and yet she was disappointed.

“I don’t know warfare as good as the lot of you, but” she nodded to his previous implication of being disappointed in a way, such loss must be difficult to stomach for those really close. “It is a lot…”

“Do you grieve him?” Aemond asked, his tone non threatening nor interrogative, subtly calm.

Pausing y/n thought about it for a moment, she was quick to side with the hand’s cold and calculative decisions as her mother in law suggested writing Rhaenyra letters instead, y/n herself weighed heavy on practicality as if grief was non existent. In a way it was. “I don’t know” she said puzzled “We were never close but he was kind to me, not all of them and not everytime but whenever he could be…” she trailed off. “He was easily anxious about a lot of things, scared.” Last time she had seen him it was the dinner for King Viserys upon the discussion to heir of driftmark. The scene that followed that dinner was distant in y/n’s mind until now. The same inferior fright was in Luke’s eyes that day.

Aemond did not say anything, her words made him feel guilty even more so but he would never display to anyone. He fought for his life debating to the council, to grandsire that it was an accident however not enough for him to take accountability of it as if he had done something wrong. He knew he had, but he did not show it. He could not. It did not come from a place of sympathy nor altruistic intentions but an ambush of unsolicited guilt. “Is it true?” She asked him.

“What is?” He replied as her voice pulled him out of his thought and his gaze met hers, she still sat on the desk the soft orange hue of the lantern on her face.

“You hold no regret?” She asked him referring to the conversation he had with the council when he was confronted about what happened. He did not owe his truthfulness to anyone, especially not the council.

The heavy silence between the two of them told her more than his words could, her eyes softened as he pondered his unsaid exoneration. Nobody would believe him but she might just, “I did not mean for that to happen, nor did I plan it.”

There was a crack in his demeanour, very different from how he presented himself back in front of everyone else about the the whole ordeal. Accountability seeping in and he should know, “Acting bigger than the situation won’t provide you with the atonement you are looking for.” She told him, forgetting herself when he asked for her advice and she assumed in such delicate state of mind he would rather lash out than listen but he did not. He was present, here to listen. To her? So far he had made it so very clear that he held no regard for her whatsoever.

“I am not looking for atonement.” He said more to himself than to her in a gentle tone and a hint of lostness in his expression. He longed for something, some consolation of some kind but he did not know exactly what and he felt restless with heavy emotions.

“You are.” She answered for the question he did not ask out loud, however the epiphany of it was not lost on him as he looked at her like an open wound. He did not protest her because she was right, she held the answers to herself. She could think for him despite of what he did and it unsettled him in some way because he had never felt such softness of anyone else. To know that he had done something he would have to seek atonement for and…hold regard for him still?

“Do you see me differently then?” He asked, small fright creeping him on the inside if she affirmed his answer.

“No” she replied without hesitation nor enthusiasm, she did see him less ruthless and uncaring than she had previously known him to be but she did not tell him that in this state of mind of his. However the heavy silence and the remorseful tension was too much to bear. She stood up from her chair seemingly to leave and attend some other task, just then realising he stood rather close. Before she could attempt to move away he stopped her. Holding her by her wrist he pulled her close but he was already close enough, the distance shortening this small for the first time since their wedding.

“Do you truly, not see differently?” He asked again with searching eyes. He couldn’t do with her short no however affirming as it was it wasn’t absorbing. It did not feed to his shame and guilt.

Y/n did not know how to soothe his wearies, she never thought her perception would matter to him at all. The walls within their marriage came crumbling down as he held her wrist it seemed, she wasn’t going away yet he kept a hold of her. To ground himself more than her. After staring into his eye for what seemed like an eternity she simply pulled him into her embrace, in a tight embrace. Her arms holding his broad stature the best they could, raising on her toes to bring him as close as she could.

Aemond was stunned to say, for a moment. He could not fathom she would want to tread so gently with him after what he had done he did not expect such, such softness. As he enlaced his arms around her waist, hugging her back as he raised her closer to him. His person. He had never felt such warmth and love of hands that would show soft affection even after knowing his ugly work, he was met with her comfort when he deserved retribution. It nestled his spirit in a serene place, he worried the place would vanish if he let go off her so he didn’t. He kept holding her close to him, closer of it was possible as he buried his face by the crook of her neck.

After a while she pulled away but not entirely, resting her temple against his. His soft breath on her as she sighed closing her eyes. He followed to, until he met her gaze again. His impulse wanted to touch her face to make sure she was real, that this moment was. So he did. Fixing the loose strand of her hair behind her ear he cupped her face. She did not move away, heart racing in such gentle exchange between the two of them. It was a first and he did not want her to extend her boundaries for his sake but he could not stop himself, he brushed his lips against her.

Indulging in a passionate kiss, holding her face in his hands as if she was made of porcelain. It was the first time somebody had held y/n with such fragility. Such affection was very foreign to her all her life, even the kiss on their wedding day felt forced and ceremonial. But this felt real, it was. She kissed him back and held him close, standing in the light of a desk lantern, the moonlight seeping in and lovers who might just be alright.

—

—part 2.

I am sorry if this feels rushed, i skipped season 1 bc i want to do all of s2…please let me know what you think in the comments 💕

If you want to be in the taglist pls comment AND go drink water RIGHT NOW ILY SO MUCH !!!!!!!!

-

[kiiwiigii]

Mine

Jasper x Vampire!Fem!Reader 

Summary: You make the mistake of wearing someone else's hoodie. 

Warnings: 

NSFW 18+ 

Smut 

The Major *wink, wink* 

Possessive sex 

Oral (F. receiving) 

Cream pie 

Word Count: 2.8k+ 

Requested?: For Kinktober! 

Intense and angry possessive sex with jasper pleaaaaaase 🙏 

A/N: A special thank you to @alecvolturi and @demetris-cocksleeve who both encouraged me to not bin this. This was the most frustrating one I have written so far. But I hope you enjoy!

I honestly should have seen it coming. 

It would be just my luck to be left alone with Jasper while the family had decided to take separate vacations. 

Coming out of the newborn stage at 2 years, I still didn't feel comfortable enough to be out in the world just yet. Alaska was a safe haven for me until I felt I was ready. So, Jasper had stayed behind, essentially playing babysitter. 

And it was awkward as hell. 

I think it was obvious that I had a crush on him. 

Obvious to everyone in the fucking house. 

Including Jasper. 

And I knew he could feel it. Which was as embarrassing as it sounds. And it was quite obvious that he didn't feel the same way, since he had never acted on it. 

We were just friends. 

And as awkward as it was, I sucked it up and enjoyed his company instead. 

At least he couldn't hear my thoughts, unlike poor Edward. 

Jasper made sure that we had something new to do every day, but he also gave me space when he sensed I needed it. In a weird way, it felt like we had been growing closer, and I had caught him looking at me often, something flashing in the back of his eyes. And like me, he would look away quickly.  

It was like a sort of dance that neither of us would admit to. 

I sat on the kitchen counter, watching the snow drift by in thick flurries through the large windows. Alice had given us the heads-up that a storm was rolling in during one of her daily check-ins. Jasper and I had just returned from hunting a few hours ago, and despite being cold-natured now, I was still uncomfortably cold. I held a cup of hot water in my hands. Not to drink, but it made me feel somewhat normal, and it warmed my hands fairly well. 

I let my mind wander. I should go sit in the living room where the fire was, I'd be much warmer. But Jasper was in there. And every time I even looked at the fire all I could think about was him taking me right there on the floor in front of it, the plush rug soothing against the skin of my back- 

I squirmed a little at just at the thought of it. 

"Darlin'?" 

I blinked up at Jasper. I had been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn't even been paying attention to my surroundings. He had only taken to calling me 'darlin' recently and it practically set my body afire. By God, if I could blush, I would be beet red. Quickly clearing my thoughts, I smiled up at him. 

"Hey, Jazz." 

"What are you wearing?" 

I looked down at what I had on. Shorts and a hoodie. 

"Clothes?" It came out as a question. 

"Yes, I can see that. But why are you wearing Emmett's clothes?"  

I started at the anger in Jasper's tone, surprised and wary. I eyed him quizzically. 

"Because. I wanted his hoodie. I like it."  

 Jasper scowled, and disappeared before reappearing a moment later, one of his own hoodies in hand 

"Here. This is much warmer, and I know you're cold."  

"Why do you care?" I raised a brow at him in challenge. 

This was completely out of character for Jasper and to say that I was confused was an understatement. 

We had a mild stare-down until Jasper actually growled at me. I sucked in a breath, heat shooting straight between my legs, and I squeezed my thighs together again.  

Fuck.  

That was playing dirty.  

And given my current state of emotions, he absolutely had to know it. 

"Just get rid of it." He demanded. 

"What?" 

"Emmett's hoodie. Get. Rid. Of. It." 

I gulped, a little uncomfortable with Jasper's sudden mood swings. I quickly took the hoodie from his hands. It was his dark blue one, my favorite one to see him in. 

He continued to stare at me, waiting, and I cleared my throat. Finally, he raised a brow at me, and I rolled my eyes, trying to fight the bit of embarrassment rolling through me. 

"Well, if you insist on me putting it on right here and now, Jasper, I'm going to insist that you turn around." 

His brows furrowed adorably. "And why would I need to do that?" 

I looked away from our little staring contest, biting my lip. "Because I don't have anything else on under it." 

Jasper straightened up and his eyes darkened as he looked at me, and if I'd had a beating heart it would have leaped at the burning look in his eyes. 

"What?" I said defensively. "It's soft. I like how it feels! Most of my clothes are scratchy!" 

He turned around quickly, his hands coming up to massage his temples. Keeping an eye on him I quickly discarded Emmet's hoodie and slid my arms through the sleeves of Jasper's, zipping it all the way up. I discreetly buried my nose into it for a moment. It was so much softer than Emmet's, and it smelled significantly better. Like Jasper. 

Fuck. 

I could feel the wetness beginning between my thighs. 

I needed to escape. 

Like, now. 

I couldn't exactly hide it, but it was way better than creating an uncomfortable atmosphere for the both of us. 

"You know, you wouldn't feel so cold if you put more clothes on." He was facing me again. 

I felt embarrassment flood through me. He had a point. And it was also the perfect excuse to escape- 

"Not that I really mind," He continued with a smirk, his eyes raking up and down my form. "I like what I see. And I like  how you look in my clothes. Especially in my clothes." 

My brain screeched to a halt, my lips parting in shock. His southern drawl had suddenly gotten deeper. This sounded like the Major talking. I had only met the Major once, right before Victoria's army came for Bella. That had been… an experience to say the least. And if that part of him was coming out, then that explained his sudden shift in mood. 

"And I have to say that I also prefer you wrapped up in my scent."  

He was practically purring. 

I gulped, suddenly on edge. "Why?" 

Jasper's eyes were predatory, nearly black. "Because darlin', you're mine." 

My eyes widened at his words. He approached me slowly, hands reaching out on either side of me on the counter, my legs falling open unconsciously and allowing him into my space. He leaned in, eyes watching me with such intensity that I forgot how to breathe. Perhaps it was a good thing that I didn't need to breathe because before I knew it, I felt a wave of lust roll through me, and it wasn't just my own. 

I gasped as he leaned in, claiming my lips with his own, and my legs wrapped around him without a second thought. He groaned, cupping my neck as he tilted my head back, while his other hand gripped my waist possessively. He tasted like mint, with a small tinge of copper from hunting earlier in the day. He swiped his tongue along my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth obediently, letting him in. 

After a moment he pulled back and buried his nose into my neck, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs. I tried to catch my breath, despite not really needing it. 

"You taste so much better than I thought you would." His voice was low and husky, muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. 

Goosebumps erupted across my body, and I could practically feel the wetness begin to drip down my thighs to the counter.  Jasper must have caught on to my confusion and doubt because he gripped my thighs even tighter. 

"Oh, yes. You have no idea how many times I've thought about you, darlin'." He pulled back to look at me. "Of all the ways I could have you. In my bed. On the couch. On the floor. Against the wall."

I gasped, thighs squeezing together around his waist. 

"That's right, darlin'. I've lost count of how many times I've thought of making you mine." 

"Yours?" I squeaked. 

"Mine." 

Oh my.  

Oh fuck. 

I really, really liked it when he was possessive. 

I moaned, clutching his shirt, a bit dazed as he swooped in for another kiss. 

"Oh," I gasped as he kissed his way down, lightly raking his teeth against my neck, his hands tracing invisible lines over my curves.  

I could feel every inch of him pressed up against me, and it was almost too much. I rolled my hips up against him and he pulled away, breathing heavily. 

Before I could comprehend what was happening, I was being lifted off the counter. One of his arms wrapped around my waist while the other slid under my ass to hold me up. I held on for dear life as he carried me to the living room and sat me down on the couch. I stared at him as he kneeled in front of me on the floor, spreading my legs open slightly. 

Jasper suddenly paused, looking up at me with dark eyes. 

"This is your one and only chance to tell me no. Otherwise, I will have you, right here and now, and there will be no going back." 

I gulped but said nothing, choosing to nod instead. 

"Use your words, darlin'. I need to hear you say yes." 

"Y- yes." 

"That's my girl." 

He smirked before reaching up and tugging at the zipper of the hoodie, the fabric slowly falling away to reveal my nakedness underneath. I automatically went to cover my breasts when Jasper grabbed my wrists with a warning growl. 

"Don't you even think about it darlin'. You are mine. And I want to admire every inch of you." 

My breath caught in my throat, and I felt a thrill of pleasure and submission at his words, my body betraying me as my nipples hardened. 

Jasper let out a purr of pleasure and slowly let go of my wrists, pulling my arms away from my body and exposing my breasts to his hungry gaze. 

I gasped when he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around my waist, splaying his hands across my back beneath the hoodie, and pressing me to him, sucking one of my nipples into his mouth. My hands automatically came up to twist themselves in his hair, my back arching at the wet sensation of his tongue on my skin.  

I couldn't help but moan as he nipped and licked before biting down lightly, teasingly. I gasped as the pain and pleasure mixed together, creating a delicious sensation that had my pussy practically pulsing. The sensations were overwhelming, and I couldn't keep still. I started to rock my hips against him, moaning. 

Before I knew it, he was pulling away, leaving me to whimper at the loss of his tongue.  

Jasper slowly began to peel my shorts down my legs, exposing my soaked panties. 

I squirmed at the way he took in the sight of me before traveling back up to my face. 

"Mine." he purred, his eyes never leaving mine as he hooked his thumbs into my panties. He gave them a little yank, and I felt them slide down my legs. "Fuck. You're gorgeous."  

His hands trailed up my smooth, silky legs and I quivered as his hands got closer to my heated center. I couldn't help but whimper as one of his hands traced the apex of where my thigh met my pussy, right along the panty line.  

"Please." I begged softly. 

I gasped in surprise at how quickly he moved, one hand gripping my ass to pull me closer, and the other quickly shoving his face into my soaked pussy. 

I had to bite back another moan, my back arching as he slid his tongue along my folds and began to lick me. 

"Holy fuck," I managed to croak out, my eyes nearly rolling to the back of my head. 

The feeling of his hot tongue along my slick folds was almost like an electric shock, hitting me in the base of my stomach and sending sparks throughout my body, ending in my fingertips, which had tangled themselves in Jasper's golden locks. 

I had completely lost control of myself, practically squirming with each swipe of his tongue. Jasper grasped my thighs to keep me still, relentless in his assault. He started swirling his tongue around my clit, teasing me, and slowly driving me closer to my climax. The feeling of his mouth finally deciding to suck on my clit sent me right over the edge. 

I let out a cry as I came hard, gasping for breath. Jasper didn't let up, continuing to viciously lap up my juices as he sent me spiraling into yet another orgasm.   

By the time my breathing had returned to normal, he had somehow managed to escape from my hold and was standing in front of me. 

"We're not done yet, darlin'." 

I swallowed thickly. He smirked, watching me intently as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, making me even more aware that I was unable to get rid of my burning need for him. He slid his jeans down and kicked them off before stepping close to me. I could smell the faint scent of me on his breath and I licked my lips in anticipation as he inched closer. 

"We're not done until you can't walk." 

I sucked in a surprised breath, pussy practically pulsing with need. 

Jasper chuckled as he pushed me back on the couch and spread my legs wider. His touch was soft and gentle as he spread my pussy open and slid two fingers inside me, stroking them in and out yet again. This man had magic fingers. And if he had me coming undone with just his tongue and fingers alone, it made me wonder what he was able to do with his cock. 

"I have to make sure you're nice n' ready for me darlin'." He murmured. "Here, put your hands up under your knees for me. Just like that. Now, don't let go." 

I obeyed, chest heaving and now fully exposed in a way I never thought possible. Jasper grinned before leaning in and kissing me deeply, tugging at my bottom lip with his teeth. 

I could taste myself on his lips and it only made me more aroused. He slowly slid his fingers out of me and replaced them with his hard, throbbing length. 

When had he lost the underwear?? 

I didn't have much time to think about it before he was pushing himself inside me, filling me up in one smooth thrust.  

I let out a ragged breath in surprise. 

"Jasper!" I squeaked. 

I was so full that I could feel every inch of him, so thick and hard. 

Jasper barely stopped to pause, bending down to nip at my ear in admonishment before he started thrusting in and out of me, a slow, steady rhythm that had me moaning and gripping the underside of my knees for dear life. 

Fuck. 

He was hitting that spot again, and I had the feeling that I wouldn't be seeing only stars this time around. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to another orgasm, the pleasure building up inside me until I couldn't take it anymore. 

"Jasper," I gasped out, my nails digging into my thighs. "I'm gonn- gonna come." 

He grinned before driving himself even deeper into me, his pace picking up as he started to drive me closer and closer to the edge, feeling my walls practically strangling his cock. 

"Come for me, Darlin'." He purred.  

My toes curled in pleasure as the coil building in my belly snapped, and I came hard, my body shaking and my pussy clenching around him. Jasper followed suit a few seconds later, his body going rigid as he came inside me.  

"Don't move." He ordered. 

Jasper paused before pulling out, looking down at me with a satisfied grin, eyes still dark and intense. I was panting, doing my best to catch my breath yet again while holding my legs up. I could feel his seed dripping out of my pussy and onto the couch. 

He licked his lips, taking in the sight of me and I nearly moaned at the thought of what he was seeing. I must look like a wreck. Completely ruined. Half dressed in his hoodie and completely defiled, his cum running down my pussy and ass. 

Jasper smirked. 

"Oh, darlin'. You look perfect that way." 

{Kinktober} // {Masterlist}

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[saltandburnheathens]

Good morning Miss Winnie.

Part II

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader.

Rating: Gen.

Summary:

You've just given birth to Dean's baby and are a enjoying a quiet family moment in the days afterwards.

Notes: Non-canon, no time line. And I don't ever want kids. But I just became an aunt and I sort of need to get this out of my system! Short and I'm not promising that I won't continue this. Who knows really. Finally this was written after I'd taken my usual nightly gummy.

The bunker was quiet first thing in the morning except for the usual hum of the circulation fans. You’d been there so long that they barely registered anymore, and you were extremely thankful that the consistent noise wasn’t a problem for the baby. That would have been a horror show. Trying to navigate parenthood with a baby awoken by the simplest of sounds. 

You shuddered at the thought. 

Life was always loud when you lived with Dean Winchester and his posse of colour characters. Between unexpected visitors and the brothers coming and going at odd hours, there was something new every day and often that new wasn’t good. 

But in that moment things were perfect. The monsters outside didn’t exist and you were a regular mom with a new baby and a husband who loved you. His bother Sam and best friend Castiel were an added bonus, the former serving as an unexpected asset when both you and Dean needed some rest.  

You crept carefully out of bed, your body still feeling weak, and quietly crossed to the crib by the wall. A set of hazel eyes stared up at you and your heart melted. 

“Good morning Miss Winnie.” You cooed, “Let’s get you up and at ‘em before you wake daddy.” 

You heard a small scoff followed by the shuffling of blankets. 

“Winnie?” Dean asked with a sleep-laden voice, “We ain’t calling her Winnie, sweetheart. I’ll accept those new-agey-hippy-names like Kendell and Kloe with a K before I’ll take Winnie.” 

“I’m just calling her that until we choose a name.” You laughed, lifting the little girl up into your arms, her head coming to rest on your chest, “And Winnie is short for Winchester in case you hadn’t pieced that together.” 

“I don’t care if it’s short for ‘daddy’s-little-angel’, it ain’t happening.” 

“I’ll cross that off my list then shall I?” You sat back on the bed, Dean coming up to nest beside you and his eyes immediately going to the baby in your arms. 

He smiled, creases forming at the corners of his eyes. 

“You’re not a Winnie, are ya’ princess?” In that voice he seemed to only have adapted five days ago after the birth of your daughter; that voice reserved for her. 

“Maybe not. What about Meghan?” You suggest. 

“Oh nope. No can do. Knew a Meg once. Demon.” 

You nodded knowingly. No one wanted to name their child after a monster. 

“Stevie?” Dean carried on, his eyes still fixed on the baby.

“Like Stevie Nicks?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not seeing it. Samatha?”

“Already got one Sam in this bunker and that’s more than enough. Alice?”

“Can’t do it. All I’ll keep hearing is ‘who the fuck is Alice’, and I don’t want my kid to be subjected to that for the rest of their life.” 

You both laughed, interrupted only by the whine building in the little one’s chest. You quickly jumped to action and proceeded to the morning routine you’d been adjusting to since getting back home. Dean followed you, rubbing at his eyes. 

“I don’t think I’ve had hangovers that made me feel quite as bad as waking up five times at night.” He yawned. 

You handed him a dirty diaper and smiled as he grimaced. 

“You can go back to bed if you want. I can manage by myself.” 

“Sweetheart, you just damn near broke your pelvis giving birth to my kid a few days ago. I’m in this from start to finish, and if that means running on caffeine and a prayer, then I’m game. Even for the diapers.” 

Dean rummaged through the first drawer of their dresser and pulled out a small onesie covered in colourful dinosaurs. He held it up in front of him and smiled. 

“It’s hard to believe how small she is, huh?”

“She didn’t feel so small coming out of me.” You quipped, taking the clothing from him to finally cover the squirming child on the changer, “I’m pretty sure my vagina will never be the same.” 

“That’s blasphemy.” Dean gasped playfully, “But seriously, baby, the doctor said that it’ll take a few weeks before you start to feel normal.” 

“Normal is subjective when you’re postpartum.” 

Holding his baby tight to his chest, Dean lent down and kissed you softly on the lips. His green eyes fluttered up to meet yours. 

“Let’s face it, ain’t nothing normal about either of us in the first place.” 

[leviathanspain]

Hey! Saw you were looking for requests. I've seen Alicent's child!Reader manipulating Daemon into being on the Greens side. What about Alicent's daughter accidentally seducing Daemon? Like she's innocent and doesn't realise what she's done but Rhaenyra is not happy about it. (Rhaenyra still loves Daemon and can't get over the fact he is fall for her half-sister)

say yes to heaven

daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader

synopsis: your uncle always had a soft spot for you, but everyone else could see it was something more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

your mother hardly ever touched you, let alone brush your hair. she was smiling, a pleasant one, as she followed the brush with her fingers, carefully raking through. it was quiet, the only sound was the crackling of the burning wood, candles flickering around you as you gazed into the mirror, eyes honing in on her face.

she put a hand on your shoulder, a hesitance to it that you wondered if she thought you wouldn’t notice. “you looked lovely today.” she commented, her fingers still going to play with your hair, “prince daemon couldn’t take his eyes off of you.” there was a twinge of disdain in her voice. your mother, after all these years, still couldn’t stand your uncle and half-sister. if she could avoid them all together, she would.

you grabbed the lock of silver hair from her fingers and brushed it forward. you looked down at the table in front of you, and noticed the silver hairbrush that your uncle had acquired for you on one of his many travels. you grabbed the silver hairbrush, giving it to your mother, “he was telling stories from his time in the kings guard.” you tried to brush off the tension, but alicent had grabbed the brush with reluctance.

“riñnykeā, come.” your uncle’s voice whispered in your ear, you turned to see his back, already walking off. you rolled your eyes, following closely as he walked. he was walking quickly, and you had to lift your skirts to try and catch up to him, “umbagon!” you shouted, and he slowed just enough for you to match his stride.

you were smiling now, a laugh just on the tip of your tongue as he bumped into you. you laughed, and shoved him lightly, “what is it you have to show me? is it so important that we have to practically walk half the keep?” you turned back to see the path you had been walking. it was far now, and daemon shrugged, “i know you’ll like this.” his eyes lingered, catching your gaze, you blushed and instead looked to the ground for the rest of your trek.

daemons eyes blazed with satisfaction as he saw you practically leaping up and down with joy. you grabbed him, pulling him into a hug as you still continued to squeal. he laughed, watching you light up was what he lived for.

“i assume the walk was worth it?” daemon raised his eyebrows, and you nodded, “very much so.” you grabbed the sword, grabbing it off the table it had been set on. you hissed slightly, and ignored daemons warnings of the metal still being hot. your fingers brushed over the large targaryen emblem, etched onto the swords hilt. there was a weight to it, but your body seemed to adjust. you swung it towards him, smiling, “perhaps the rogue prince would like to spar?” you looked at him, smirking as you brushed his shoulder with your blade.

hung on his hip was dark sister, and daemon couldn’t resist a challenge. he unsheathed it, watching as you stood firmly against him.

rhaenyra could hear the clashing of swords and laughter as she walked. the closer she got to the training room, the more she recognized you, and daemon.

she put a hand on the door, the commotion was now getting louder, and you were laughing more. daemon’s shouts could be heard, but they were in good spirit. rhaenyra swallowed thickly, and pushed the door open.

daemon had finally caught you. you had cut him on his cheek, and decided that running around the training room was apology enough. but he had finally caught you, dropping your blade, you laughed in his arms. “i’m sorry,” your finger moved to wipe the blood from his cheek, “i ruined your handsome face.” daemon hissed slightly at the contact, but shook his head, “you gave me a memory, riñnykeā. a story to tell.” he knew there was nothing more you loved than hearing his war stories, or his stories from his time as king of the narrow sea.

you nodded, “i guess so.” your hand lingered on his cheek, and you caught yourself staring into his eyes for too long, and your head dipped in embarrassment. you pulled away, but rhaenyra had already seen you.

rhaenyra couldn’t shake the nauseous feeling that crashed upon her. swallowing the rising bile wasn’t enough.

“daemon.” her voice sounded steady, there was no shakiness to it that would reveal how she felt. there was disgust, disgust that daemon was currently holding you, barely her sister, in his arms like a wife.

you were pulling away from him, but daemon held you in his arms still, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling at the skin. he looked at rhaenyra and raised his eyebrows, “what?” he sounded hostile, his jaw clenching as he stared at his wife.

you looked between them and realized there was something that neither of them were saying. you grabbed his hand, it was warm to the touch, but you peeled back his fingers, “thank you, uncle. for my gift, but i must go now.” you stepped back to retrieve your blade, tossed to the ground like an afterthought, daemon dipped his head slightly, “yes..” he trailed off, his hand swinging like dead weight as it fell from your waist. his head turned to rhaenyra, his mouth opening, but you were already too far to catch his words.

alicent glared at the blade, wrapped in one of your finer silks, sitting on your bed. you were at your vanity, removing your jewels, you began to undo your hair, preparing to brush it.

“what did rhaenyra say again?” alicent looked away from the blade, warily towards you. you shrugged, “nothing. all she said was his name and they stared at each other for a moment until i left.”

alicent hummed in response, and sighed, “are you to sleep with the blade now? not even your brothers sleep with their weapons.” her comment made you slid your eyes towards her, before scoffing, “my brothers might not sleep with weapons but they have slept with half of westeros.” you grabbed the silver hairbrush, and raked it through your hair, “my uncle gave me a gift that is more than just a weapon.” alicent stayed quiet, and moved to brush your hair, “i think daemon wants to give you more than just a sword.”

it was a week before you saw daemon again. you had been training with your new blade during, hoping to impress him with improved skills.

you had moved towards the stuffed sparring dummy, full of hay. your sword struck it, a deep slash appeared on the dummy’s stomach as you pulled your sword back. you huffed, staring down at your mark with pride.

the sound of clapping echoed out into the room and you turned, seeing your uncle with his shoulder leaning against the doorway. he continued to clap as he walked towards you. excitedly, you walked up to him, “what do you think?”

daemon neared you, grabbing your face in his hands, leaning down, he brought his lips towards yours, “magnificent..” and he brought them down, crashing against yours, you felt his teeth against your lips, moaning as you kissed him.

you dropped your blade again, your hands moving to grab at his back, pulling him closer. he pulled back, drawing a breath, he kissed you once more, “show me, show me again.” he panted, his voice sounded shaky, but his grip on you was determined.

rhaenyra couldn’t stop him. she had begged, pleaded that he leave you alone.

“how could you?!” her cries had been heard across the keep, horrified that her husband would present you with such a gift.

not for the fact that you were her sister, but because he was her husband.

but he was a man, a man she loved, even if he was corrupting her younger sister right before her eyes. she had seen him slip away, knowing where he was off to. all rhaenyra could do was sit in front of the fire, and try not to vomit up the contents of her stomach.

“show me again.” daemon pulled at the shoulder of your dress, his fingers pulling at the fabric. you shuddered at the cold air hitting your bare skin, and did as he said, moving gracefully as your sword cut through the air. daemon watched you, his eyes enchanted by your movements, he couldn’t deny himself of you. finally, with a frustration to it, he pulled your dress down from the shoulder, the fabric tearing roughly as you gasped. nearly dropping the sword, you pawed as your dress fell around you in ribbons.

daemon didn’t miss a beat, “show. me. again.” he demanded, his voice was powerful, showing of the authority he once had.

“yes, my prince.” you whispered, and continued to cut through the air, smiling as you did so.

[novaursa]

hello !! do you think you can do a request where at the family dinner , aemond doesn’t do his speech but instead expresses his desire to marry reader who is rhaenyras oldest and only daughter ? and a little smut but nothing like too smutty please , if you can 💛 thank you in advance !

The Ties That Bind

Requests are closed!

- Summary: After Luke was named rightful heir to Driftmark by your grandsire, King Viserys I, during the feast, Aemond, makes a claim of his own.

- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: The reader is the oldest child and only daughter of Rhaenyra.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

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

The hall is filled with the warm glow of countless candles and the hum of lively conversation, yet you feel the tension woven beneath it all. It has been a long, arduous day. Vaemond Velaryon’s blood still stains the floor of the throne room, though servants scrubbed at it tirelessly. Your mother, Rhaenyra, sits at the high table next to your grandsire, King Viserys, her face a mask of calm, though you know well that her heart is heavy with the strain of politics, the weight of family expectations, and the ever-present danger to her children.

You sit beside her, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, surrounded by your younger brothers. Luke, who has just been named heir to Driftmark, smiles hesitantly at you, as though seeking reassurance. Jace offers him a comforting smile, but you know well enough that the blow of Vaemond’s death still lingers in their minds. Across the table, Alicent Hightower’s gaze flits between her children and your family, her brow furrowing as if anticipating what will come next.

Aemond sits at the far end of the table, quiet, yet his presence is like a storm gathering on the horizon. He catches your eye now and then, though you look away, pretending to focus on the feast laid out before you. You’ve known him since childhood, grown alongside him in the shadow of the Red Keep, but something has changed in the last few years. He’s no longer the boy you remembered—he’s a man now, hardened, sharp, and dangerous.

You can feel his gaze, heavy on you, even as he lifts his cup to his lips, the sharp planes of his face cast in shadow by the flickering candlelight. The toasts are made, starting with the King, who, despite his frailty, speaks with a warmth and hopefulness that rings hollow in the tension-laden room.

“Let us be one house,” Viserys says, raising his goblet with a trembling hand. “Let us honor our blood, our traditions. For the good of the realm.”

The silence that follows his words is filled with unspoken promises and buried grudges. You swallow down the bitter taste of wine, wishing for the feast to end, for the night to be over. But just as you think you can retreat into your own thoughts, Aemond stands.

All eyes turn to him.

There’s a palpable shift in the room. You feel it in your bones as you watch him, tall and imposing, his one good eye gleaming in the firelight. He raises his cup, and for a moment, you think he will speak words meant to inflame, to goad your brothers like he did once before. But his gaze does not shift to Jace or Luke. Instead, it lingers on you.

“I have a few words of my own,” Aemond begins, his voice smooth yet commanding, cutting through the murmur of the hall. The silence that falls is heavy. “My family, my kin,” he pauses, glancing around the room, “I wish to honor my blood tonight. And in doing so, I wish to speak of marriage.”

A murmur ripples through the guests, uncertain and shocked. Your heart pounds in your chest, faster with every breath as his words sink in. He cannot mean…

“I speak not of mere alliances for political gain,” Aemond continues, and his gaze finally locks with yours. “I speak of love.”

The entire hall seems to still. Your mother stiffens beside you, and you feel the weight of her hand on your arm. Alicent watches her son with narrowed eyes, while Helaena seems to shrink into her chair, confused. Daemon, seated across from you, raises a brow in interest, though he does not seem surprised.

“I have long admired you, niece,” Aemond says, and there is an intensity in his voice now, an edge that makes your heart skip a beat. “You are the embodiment of Targaryen blood—strong, proud, unyielding. It is my wish to wed you, to unite our houses in the truest sense.”

The breath catches in your throat. The words hang in the air like a blade, cutting through the festering tension. You glance at your mother, who looks torn between fury and shock. Her gaze is steel, but beneath it, you can sense her worry. This is not what anyone expected.

For a moment, the world seems to tilt. You, a daughter of Rhaenyra, the rightful queen, proposed to by Aemond, the man who once took Vhagar and burned with resentment for your family.

King Viserys coughs, breaking the silence, and forces a smile. “An admirable proposal, Aemond. It... it seems fitting.” His words are strained, as though unsure whether to accept or reject the offer.

Your own voice is caught in your throat, uncertain of what to say. The looks on your brothers’ faces tell you all you need to know—they hate the idea, but they can do nothing but seethe in silence. The politics of the realm are far more dangerous than personal feelings.

Later, when the feast has ended, you find yourself walking alone in the gardens outside the castle, seeking the solace of the night air. The moon is full, casting everything in silver. The tension of the hall still buzzes in your mind, and you wonder what your life would be like if you accepted Aemond’s proposal.

The sound of footsteps approaches, and you turn to see him, his pale hair catching the moonlight like spun silk. Aemond’s face is unreadable, but there’s something in his gaze, something raw and yearning.

“You left without saying a word,” he says softly, his voice far gentler than it had been during his speech.

“I needed time to think,” you reply, your heart beating faster as he steps closer.

He studies you, his eye trailing over your face, as though he’s memorizing every detail. “Do you hate me for it?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You shake your head, though you don’t know if you’re lying to him or to yourself. “I don’t know what to think.”

His hand reaches for yours, and though you should pull away, you don’t. His touch is warm, steady, despite the cold night. “I meant every word I said, Y/N.”

“I’m not a prize to be claimed,” you say, but there’s no venom in your words.

“I don’t see you as such,” Aemond replies, his voice soft and sincere. “I see you as my equal. My match in every way.”

The silence between you stretches, filled with the unspoken tension that has existed for years. And before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you. Your lips meet his, hesitant at first, but then the dam breaks. There’s no more uncertainty, no more doubt. The kiss deepens, and Aemond pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

When you part, the air between you is charged, and before you know it, you’re leading him to your chambers, your steps quick and urgent. Inside, the room is dimly lit, the fire casting long shadows. The moment the door closes behind you, Aemond is upon you, his lips crashing against yours, his hands roaming over your body with a hunger that matches your own.

The rest of the world fades away as you pull him closer, your hands tangled in his silver hair. His touch is all-consuming, his mouth claiming yours in a way that leaves you dizzy. When you fall into the bed together, there’s nothing left but the sound of your breathing, the feel of his skin against yours, the taste of him on your lips.

He moves over you, his touch both gentle and fierce, as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. And when he finally enters you, it’s with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. The world shatters and rebuilds itself around the two of you, your bodies moving in sync, as though this was inevitable, as though this was always meant to be.

When it’s over, you lie together in the dim light, his arms wrapped around you, your head resting against his chest. The weight of what’s happened lingers between you, but there’s no regret. Not now.

[qierxing]

A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?” 

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare. 

“I’m really sorry about all this.” 

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.” 

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox. 

From: Azul Ashengrotto 

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult. 

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even  skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses. 

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat. 

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

~H

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing. 

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back. 

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No." 

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland. 

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but... 

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon. 

Your fingertips curve inward and dig. 

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities. 

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain. 

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute. 

"Ah!" 

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed. 

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place. 

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose. 

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them. 

He can't hurt me here. 

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter. 

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter. 

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then." 

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?" 

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

-

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols." 

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call." 

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message? 

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance. 

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks. 

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight. 

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox. 

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!" 

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately. 

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling. 

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag. 

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone. 

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?" 

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.” 

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit. 

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?” 

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.” 

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours. 

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore. 

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?” 

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion. 

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange. 

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face. 

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on. 

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear. 

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious. 

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers. 

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads. 

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield. 

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back. 

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear? 

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds. 

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses." 

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question. 

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react? 

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse. 

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house. 

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see? 

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore. 

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now? 

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

-

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him. 

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all. 

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling. 

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair. 

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair. 

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

[maybeiwasjustjade]

This is the last time I’m gonna talk about this topic, mostly because it’s hiatus era and I would like to be able to write fics without outrightly bashing s2 Alicent, but I do think it needs to be said.

There’s nothing defendable in what Alicent did when she gave up her entire family on a silver platter for Rhaenyra.

So many takes about how we—the ones who found that scene abominable and abhorrent—misread the scene, or purposefully misinterpreted just to hate her; that what Alicent did was a good thing because it would have spared her entire family if only she let Aegon die. Giving up Criston and Gwayne’s location to be slaughtered (in what is most likely going to be Butcher’s Ball) wasn’t the intention; Alicent would never do that to her family and this was the only way to ensure survival en yada yada yada.

Yet the only person she said anything about saving was Helaena and Jaehaera, the latter of which is still continued to be dehumanized by no one referring to her as anything but ‘child’. Alicent put no thought towards Daeron—her innocent 16 year old son, who has done nothing—who was now joining a war that she started by declaring his brother king. Daeron, who’s flying alongside the Hightower army, in a war that will not end just because the Dowager Queen decided enough was enough. Who might die, and actually will die, before he ever sees his family again.

And even if she believes Rhaenyra executing Aegon would end the war (which it won’t), what made s2 Alicent think that the deaths would stop there?

A son for a son? Rhaenyra didn’t even remember that Jaehaerys had already been murdered for Luke. What made Alicent think that Rhaenyra would spare fucking Aemond of all people??? Aemond, who killed Luke and Rhaenys, who’s now Prince Regent because Aegon’s heir is dead? Who rides Vhagar, and would rather burn the world down than cleave to Rhaenyra? Who’s committed the majority of the crimes that make up Team Green? No, Aemond will have to die.

Daeron will have to die.

Jaehaerys, had he lived, would have to die anyway.

Maelor if he existed too.

Otto, Criston, Gwayne—all dead by virtue of being active participants and commanders in TG.

The only way Rhaenyra can claim that throne and ensure she can hold it is by eliminating the rival claimants, down to the youngest son.

That was something s1 Alicent knew, had raised her son on the belief they would die if their sister ascended, before the writers butchered her to a million pieces and left a caricature in her place. The claims go down son to son before it reaches daughters, which meant killing Aegon wouldn’t stop Rhaenyra’s troubles. She’d have to go after his sons and brothers too before the throne is legally hers.

There is no version of this story, where war has already started and a king crowned, that would end with little bloodshed beyond the death of said king.

In a different world, an argument could be made to spare some of them. If Rhaenyra had ascended untouched, then perhaps deals could’ve been made. Aegon would still have to die, I’d imagine. Take the Black at minimum, with Jaehaerys following in his footsteps as an adult or perhaps the Citadel. As long as Aegon’s line persisted, there would always be a chance of rebellion happening once Jace becomes king. So that whole line would have to be removed.

Aemond and Daeron would be less dangerous, but there would be little chance they’d be spared. The Black for Aemond, because I can’t see him agreeing to be a Kingsguard. Daeron would go to the Citadel without question. Jaehaera would either be married into the main line via Aegon III like in canon, or Rhaenyra would arrange for her to marry Jace to solidify his claim. He’d have a better claim through Jaehaera than Baela, after all.

And even then, that was still best case scenario. Worst case they’re all executed to protect Jace. Because Rhaenyra’s reign might somehow be mediocre and peaceful (really she has no makings of a great queen), but Jace’s will be a landmine. Between two legitimate brothers and no sisters to marry them to and trueborn cousins and uncles, Jace’s ascension was going to be a massive clusterfuck that would make the Dance look like a play.

[veloursdor]

the thing about larys strong is that i think he's been lonely his entire life, lonelier than even he realised/admitted to himself. he craves connection, someone to see him for who he is. and that's what's been guiding most of his actions throught the entire time we've known him.

when he saw alicent being unheard and unseen, he tried to form a connection with her as he saw himself in her (through manipulations of course, but his intention there when saying "i could be your ally" were sincere). but she rejected him (by refusing to see him as a man, by being horrified at his true self (the harrenhal fire), etc) and thus he grew to resent her and want to control her/humiliate her like she "humiliated him", probably thinking it was enough because of the power she gave him.

but then viserys died and alicent's power died with him.

spoilers for season 2 of house of the dragon below the cut

i think his "love" for her... changed or was put on the back of his mind after 2x04, especially after he sees the moon tea and she's in pain. when he asks her about criston, his reaction to her words is as if he is confused, as if he's recalculating what he thought of her because he's seeing her in a whole new light.

and maybe he is seeing her truly for the first time ever.

he said "you and i are the same", was always listening in on her conversations to gather information, maybe even convincing himself by doing so that she truly was like him. but, i think that, when larys says "you have not been yourself" is his way of saying "who are you? are you who i've always thought you were or someone i do not know?" and has to change his view of her, of what he convienced himself he saw in her.

maybe he sees that he's been living in a lie made of his own words.

so, when the council scene happens, he pities her and rejects her idea, because it has no ground and she's grasping at straws. (i do think he does feel sorry for rejecting her but he also doesn't have enough solid ground with aemond as regent (his position in the small council is fairly new) and slighting aemond would cost him the power he has, so he stays quiet and looks away).

however, he also manages to drive a nail to alicole's coffin but he walks away without looking back at the mess it left.

they then don't share a scene at all for the rest of the season.

from then on all his scenes are with aegon, and we see a side of larys we haven't seen before.

ageon gave him power (of course larys manipulated aegon with the Hand comment) because of his "loyalty" following blood and cheese (i still believe larys "let it happen") and made him his master of whispers. he placed larys in the small council (when alicent never did in the 6 years she acted as regent) and gave him status outside of the dungeons. he "brought him [larys] out of the shadows" in a way.

the show has made a point to tell us, since episode one of season two, that larys has been looking at aegon the same way he used to look at alicent in season one, staring him down as if he could see what he's made of, constantly analysing and calculating how to best approach him.

he made small attempts at conversations and funny lines ("that castle is more crippled than me") as the whole alicent thing is going on.

and then the battle of rook's rest happened.

with aegon barely holding on, we have a scene where larys is honest, vulnerable, sincere maybe for the first time ever (yes there's manipulation, but also genuine compassion). he sees the struggles aegon will have to face because he lived them himself.

like with alicent in the weirdwood, he tried to form a connection with aegon. but where alicent "rejected" his true self, aegon instead listened to what larys was saying, saw the truth in it and raged, which made larys feel seen and heard, beyond manipulation and twisted words, probably for the first time in his life

larys, for all his talk that love is a downfall, craves connection, the desire to not be alone in the world. he does feel love.

and whereas alicent rejected his love and was disgusted by his true self, aegon welcomed his help, invited his advice, and embraced his aid to become stronger

i think larys will be loyal to him as long as aegon allows his love and it does not fester into resentment, like his love for alicent did

[lovings4turn]

୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 don't delete the kisses . . . (l.n.)

— you and lando walk a fine line between ‘just friends’ and something more. but sometimes, it seems like love just isn't meant for you (2.6k words)

+ mentions of drinking and clubs, a lot of miscommunication and pining but i promise it's somewhat fluffy. based on don't delete the kisses by wolf alice.

+ part two | divider from cafekitsune

lando: where r u???? 02:43

lando: y/nnnn:(( 02:45

lando: charls told me you left 02:48

lando: get hmome safe 02:49

you didn't mean to pull an irish goodbye, honestly. but the club was far too loud, and you were nowhere near drunk enough to tolerate the remixed house music and overpriced drinks for any longer.

the easiest option was simply to slip out unnoticed, send a quick text to let everyone know you were okay, and head home alone. if you'd mention your wanting to leave early, no doubt at least three of your friends would decide to leave with you in solidarity, no matter how much you insisted they stay and enjoy their night. that way, everyone was happy.

after confirming that the car you were about to climb into was your uber, you sank into the plush seat, offering your driver a tired half-smile through his rear view mirror. you were thankful that he seemed to understand you weren’t quite in the mood for conversation, and the rest of the ride was silent save for the music playing from his radio.

pressing your forehead to the glass of the window, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed as you thought over the events of the night, replaying every last detail in your head.

it had all started with the fucking shirt. 

official galas and nice dinners meant that you were no stranger to lando wearing nice shirts, the sleeves cuffed and a tie usually hanging around his neck. but when lando greeted you with a hug, his ironically named black button-down unbuttoned to the point that it could be considered obscene, you almost forgot how to function. warm skin pressed against your own, and you hated yourself for realising just how perfectly you moulded against his chest. 

never had you been more thankful for the presence of max verstappen, whose offer of heading to the bar allowed you the perfect chance to slip away and regain your composure. the red bull driver made small talk with you as the bartender took your orders, and you responded politely, nodding when you were supposed to and laughing along to the odd joke. 

but like a moth to a flame, you couldn’t keep your eyes from falling back onto lando. 

somehow even in a packed, lively club, lando’s presence shone the brightest out of all the partygoers. worst of all, he didn’t even have to do anything special. he was simply standing there, nimble fingers wrapped around a cup that you assumed contained a vodka soda as he laughed with his friends. dark curls had started to slip into his eyes, whatever he’d used to style them clearly wearing off as he began to sweat a little. 

even doing nothing, he managed to look like he’d fallen from heaven right into your life. 

someone up there clearly had it out for you, as lando scanned the room and caught your eye. to look away would only incriminate you further, make it look like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t be, so you smiled. lando shot you a toothy grin back, eyes scrunched shut with the enthusiasm of it. 

a cold glass thrust into your palm stole away your attention, and you turned to meet the knowing smirk of max. he nursed his own drink, and one thick brow was raised in a silent question. though he never spoke, it was clear that he knew something was going on between you and lando.

maybe he didn’t want to embarrass you, or maybe he truly didn’t care, but whatever the reason max didn’t vocalise any of his thoughts to you. he simply nodded back over to where your group was standing and gestured for you to walk ahead of him. as you made your way back to the group, you suppressed the urge to worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

to anyone else, the interaction wouldn’t be much to think about. max had caught you, what, smiling at your friend? it was hardly criminal activity. you were just overthinking, the rational part of your brain insisted. but the other part took max’s expression and ran with it.

if max had noticed you harboured certain feelings for lando, then who else had drawn the same conclusions? the last thing you wanted was to be caught staring longingly over at lando, stars in your eyes and a far away look. 

in circles like these, people talked, and where formula one drivers went, gossip’s eye was never far around the corner. you’d seen it happen before to other drivers, countless tweets and headlines about who they were caught talking to or dancing with, and the last thing you needed was the speculation of the public on your relationship with lando.

sobered by this thought, you brought the paper straw to your lips, taking a long sip of your gin and tonic and hoping the alcohol would calm you down a little. much to your relief, almost upon arrival you were dragged into a nonsensical conversation with george, alex and lily. george’s slurred speech and alex’s loud laughter granted you a distraction, though it would be a lie to say that your eyes didn’t constantly wander back to lando.

but the heart wants what it wants, and so you couldn’t ignore him forever.

not even a second after an upbeat, bass-heavy song reverberated through the club’s speakers did lando appear by your side, grinning wildly.

“y/n! i’ve been looking for you, come dance w’me!” he shouted, dipping his head down to position his mouth next to your ear.

hot breath tickled your skin, and you shuddered slightly as lando’s larger hand enveloped your own, allowing him to drag you through the crowds towards the dance floor. every now and then, he’d peer over his shoulder to ensure you were still with him, the smile never leaving his lips. everything around him seemed to fade, the bright lights and crowds eclipsed by his radiance. 

the crowd seemed to open up around him, blooming like a flower to grant you both more than enough space to dance comfortably without the threat of being hit by stray limbs. lando didn’t even let you get your bearings before he spun you around, high pitched laughter managing to meet your ears even over the pounding music. 

it was impossible not to laugh too. you reached up onto your tiptoes, hand still in lando’s own, and spun him around in return. thanks to his height advantage, lando had to duck a little to make the move work, but his hair still brushed against your bare wrist as he passed under it. the tickle travelled along your skin like lightning, leaving goosebumps. 

dancing had never been either of your strong suits. even after years of clubbing together, it seemed that each night out was another chance to try to learn exactly what it was you were supposed to do on the dancefloors of clubs and bars, yet you never cared too much.

around lando, everything felt right.

you two continued to dance, mirroring each other's sloppy movements. lando shot you a faux insulted look as you imitated his default dance move, awkwardly moving one arm around to the beat and pointing to the ceiling.

"i do not look like that!" he protested, struggling to keep up his irritated act.

you only shrugged, smirking slightly as you continued to mock him.

another bass-heavy, sultry song began to play, and you dropped your hands. a re-evaluation of how you were supposed to dance was much needed, but lando was one step ahead of you.

without a second thought, lando's hands came to rest on your hips. he took a step closer to you, moving to the beat and prompting you to move along with him.

how you were still breathing was a miracle. 

lando was so lost in the music that he was oblivious to your abrupt change in demeanour. suddenly, everything was heightened. even the slightest brush of lando's thumb burned through the fabric of your dress, and you'd gladly bear the marks of the searing touch if it was proof he'd been there at all.

delight soon turned to nerves, as the butterflies in your stomach quickly evolved into wasps, prickly and angry. you'd gotten carried away, dancing with lando like this, and it was beginning to catch up with you. 

"i need some air!" you blurted.

lando's eyes snapped open, roaming over your face in concern. he lifted his hand to your face, but to do what, he was unsure. you cursed inwardly at his reaction, his kicked puppy look making you feel even worse.

before he could question you, you forced a wide smile, waving your hand dismissively. "i'm fine! go have fun," you promised, patting his shoulder firmly.

after lando had turned his back, you’d wasted no time in making your way to the club’s exit. just before you could slip through the doorway, you made eye contact with charles. the man only gave you an understanding nod, deciding it wasn’t worth it to pester you to stay.

cold wind whipped your cheeks, and for the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe properly. haphazard texts were sent to a handful of people you’d seen tonight, and you’d ordered an uber straight after.

all that was left to do now was sit with your thoughts.

maybe romance wasn’t meant for you. maybe lando wasn’t meant for you. like some sort of divine intervention, your apartment came into view before you could spiral too far.

the familiar sight broke you from your daydream, as your focus now lay on getting out of the car and into your apartment without falling over or dropping anything. it was a welcome distraction from the thoughts of lando that plagued your mind.

it’s like your own head was conspiring against you: even when he wasn’t physically around, you still found a way to gravitate towards him.

there were few sights better than that of your freshly made bed, the sheets practically begging you to slip beneath them and go to sleep. unfortunately, you still needed to change out of your club outfit. and take off your makeup. and text lando back. 

fumbling around in your bag for your phone, you let out a triumphant noise and perched on the end of your bed to type out your reply.

y/n: sorry lan, i just-

[MESSAGE DELETED]

y/n: i'm home! sorry for leaving like that, it was-

[MESSAGE DELETED]

you groaned, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. there was no reason you should be overthinking a text to lando, of all people. after a deep sigh, you let your fingers dance over the keyboard, rewriting yet another poor excuse for leaving unannounced.

y/n: home safe! sorry for disappearing, couldn't find u before i left and the uber was outside xx

your finger hovered over the 'send' button before you made one final, crucial revision to the text.

y/n: home safe! sorry for disappearing, couldn't find u before i left and the uber was outside:( 03:24

checking the time at the top of your screen, you figured that lando probably wouldn’t respond until morning. well, afternoon, more likely.

you’d been on countless nights out with lando before; by now his drunken behaviours were engraved into your brain.

like clockwork, lando would hit a certain level of drunk and abandon his phone altogether, opting to sling an arm around someone’s shoulder - usually yours - and drag them off to dance. he wouldn’t even think about his phone until the next morning, checking his messages after finding the device tangled somewhere within the sheets of his bed.

sleep quickly became your top priority. as tempted as you were to just lay down in your current state, you knew that the future, sober you would regret it. in your eyes, you deserved an award for dragging yourself to the bathroom and removing your makeup carefully, not without performing a shorter rendition of your skincare routine and brushing your teeth.

yes, your clothes were bundled up and thrown into the corner of your room, and you opted for an old t-shirt - frustratingly, one of lando’s - instead of a set of pyjamas, but you were only human. 

exhaustion seemed to take over you the moment that your head hit the pillow, and you let out a soft sigh of relief as sleep began to take its hold. messy curls and a bright smile was the last thing on your mind as you finally lost consciousness.

meanwhile, the other drivers were still in the club with no intentions of slowing down.

lando squinted at the bright screen of his phone, vaguely able to decipher the letters that made up your text. a sigh of relief escaped him as he realised you had gotten home safely, but disappointment still sat heavy in his chest.

“she’s home,” he shouted in oscar’s ear, though his teammate hadn’t asked.

oscar didn’t have to ask who lando was talking about to understand. he’d noticed that lando’s head had operated on a swivel from the moment he’d realised that you were nowhere to be found. he was like an owl, spinning around in a way that dizzied him, all in the hopes of catching a glimpse of you.

if ever questioned about the pout that settled on his lips, lando would probably blame the alcohol for causing his dramatics to be heightened. of course he wasn’t actually that upset that you’d opted to leave a little earlier, not at all.

“that’s good! she say why she left?” oscar shouted back, dipping his head down so lando could hear him a little better over the chaos of the club.

his question made lando frown further. 

“no.”

though it was in response to oscar’s question, lando’s answer was directed more towards himself, voice barely above a mumble. he’d only just realised that you hadn’t actually mentioned why you’d left the club early, just why you didn’t say goodbye.

deep in thought, lando’s brow furrowed as he tried to piece together some sort of timeline. last he’d seen you, you had been dancing together, having what he thought was a great time. okay, maybe his hands had wandered a little further than he’d expected, but it didn’t mean anything. he just got caught up in the moment, the fabric of your clothes beneath his hands far too tempting for him to be able to think clearly. 

fuck, what if he’d made you uncomfortable? 

lando knew that he became more touchy when he was drunk, his desire for affection growing exponentially as his propensity for shame decreased. your personal space became his, too. it was common for him to sling his arms around your waist, or rest his head on your shoulder as the night grew longer, but he’d never gripped your hips like that until tonight.

it would explain why you were in such a hurry to leave, not stopping to say goodbye to anyone and give them the chance to persuade you to stay for just one more dance. he’d overstepped an unspoken boundary in your friendship, and panic began to bubble in the pit of his stomach. 

lando swallowed thickly before standing up, garnering a confused look from the australian sitting next to him. 

“i need another drink. i’ll be back.”

before oscar could even speak, lando had disappeared into the thronging mass of the party without another word.

🏷️ tags : @faerieroyal @starriesworlds @itscrzy @srrcsm

[tallulah477]

Feral

Survive The Night Day 2: Predator/Prey

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Dark!Neteyam, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Oral (female receiving), P in V, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Chasing, Primal Play (Predator/Prey Kink), Creampie, Hair Pulling, Knife Play, Restraining Holds (i.e pinning/holding reader down), Fear Kink (?), Alien Genitalia (not really the focus, but its there), Knotting, Belly Bulge

Word Count: 7.3K

A/N: Based off a dream I had where Neteyam chased me through my house and I was running for my fucking life. Why didn't I let him catch me, you ask? Cause dream Talie is stupid.

Summary: You never understood why the Na'vi don't use this particular plant in their healing practices. It's a miracle plant for the humans - cutting healing times nearly in half when used as a topical paste. You would think it would have some similar benefits to the Na'vi. You would be wrong.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Tawtute - Human

Kehe rikx - Don't move

Rutxe ftang - Please stop

Kehe - No

Even considering he’s a nine foot tall blue alien, Neteyam Sully still looks extremely out of place standing on the clean, white tiled floor of the lab. 

His siblings don’t look so out of place when they visit - comfortable and familiar enough within the confines of the lab to make themselves at home among the multitude of beakers, whirling machines, and thick observation glass that make up your day-to-day workplace. Their large bodies twisting and contorting with ease when necessary to accommodate for the smaller space. 

Neteyam isn’t so lucky. He doesn’t like the human facilities, opting to follow in his mother’s footsteps and stay as far away from the skypeople as he can. He’s only here because he was ordered to be, sent by his father to fix his broken throat comm before they head out with the hunting party on a three day hunting trip.

He looks uncomfortable as he stands behind you, back stiff and arms crossed across his broad chest as he watches you tinker with the comm. Repairing tech has never been your strong suit, so it’s taking you a bit longer to figure out than it probably should have, but since you're currently the only person left in this half of the base, the responsibility has unintentionally fallen to you. 

You should be out there too. The thought forms bitterly in your head as you poke at the small opened compartment of the comm with your tweezers. Your favorite part of research is going out into the world and finding the specimens. The lab is great, a fine place for breaking ground and learning new things, gathering knowledge and data about a flora and fauna in a way that no other humans had ever had the opportunity to do before. Pandora is your home, where you grew up and lived your whole life - and yet, it’s still a mystery, and you learn something new and beautiful about it everyday. 

But the real fun is outside the lab. It’s when you're out there, in the thick of it, stepping over breaching roots and feeling the moss of the ground between your toes when you take off your shoes during a rest break. It’s feeling the gentle breeze of air along your skin and hearing the trees rustle in the canopy above you as a result, and pretending that - just for a minute - you can feel the breeze of alien air brush against your face instead of your mask.

Usually one of the older scientists, Alice, offers to stay behind at the lab to run tests and be on call for the Omatikaya should human tech ever be needed. But she’s the most knowledgeable when it comes to locating the elusive and seasonally grown plant that’s come to be known as the Rust Plant. 

So, that leaves you here, on your ass and pouting while everyone else gets to go off and have their fun. 

As far as you know, the plant doesn’t have any special properties or spiritual significance to the Na’vi. But when the red dust-like powder is collected from the center and manipulated into a liquid, the result is a miracle paste that significantly reduces healing time with human injuries. You asked about it once - why the Na’vi don’t try to make the paste for themselves to see if it will work on them - but the only answer you got back was that it had some ‘unintended consequences’ when used by the clan, so they stay away from the plant altogether. 

You don’t think about that when Neteyam walks in. 

The plant mixture, once rust red, is now a beautiful glowing purple inside the beaker - a reaction from the solution added to the powder to form the liquid base. It’s been on the hot plate for a while now, but it’s only just starting to heat up enough to provide small spirals of smoke inside the clear glass. 

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear Neteyam sniff slightly behind you. You don’t turn around, ignoring the little puffs of air that somehow sound like bullet shots in the silence, but a part of you is instantly insecure. What is he smelling? It can't be the mixture in the beaker. Despite the smoke, it doesn’t give off any kind of smell. Subtly, you press your chin to your chest, trying to see if you can smell yourself to find out if maybe it’s you giving off some kind of stench that his overly sensitive nose is picking up on, but you don’t smell anything off about you either. 

The purple liquid is still thin inside the container, needing several more minutes of constant heat in order to bubble and thicken slightly before it can be considered a usable product, but you pause your tinkering on the comm to note the time for the smoke in a small notebook. 

Neteyam lets out a loud sigh when you drop the tweezers to grab a pencil, the annoyed huff nearly ear piercing in the quiet of the lab. This time you can’t help but glance towards the harsh noise, a slight tilt of your head towards the large Na’vi and your eyes meet amber for just a second before they drop again to the paper as you scribble. 

A part of you wants to be snobby, ask a prissy ‘can I help you?’ just because you feel like he’s being so unnecessarily rude when you're just trying to help, but you keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn’t. 

“Are you nearly done?” He grunts, accented tone pitched with agitation as his feet shuffle on the tile. 

“Yes, just a few more minutes,” You say, picking the tweezers back up. “Be patient.”

You think you’ve almost got the comm fixed, just a minor replacement to the tiny inside panel, and you're thankful that’s all it is. It shouldn’t take too long. You’ve nearly got the replacement piece in place now, so all you should have to do is solder it in and it should be fine. Which is good because the sooner you can get this fixed, the sooner you can get the huffy, oversized, unfortunately very handsome despite being an incredible dick of a Na’vi out of the lab so you don’t have to feel him breathing down your neck anymore. 

It only takes another couple minutes for the smoke to consume the rest of the empty space in the beaker, thick white wisps swirling inside of the glass and spiraling out of the top. You drop the tweezers again, cutting the power off to the hot plate and grab the pencil again to log the time. 

Neteyam sniffs again, this time audibly louder and longer, before it sounds like his breath gets caught in his lungs. 

Immediately, your head spins around to stare at him wide eyed, surprise and concern flooding your chest when you notice he’s backed up a few steps. He’s staring at the bubbling beaker, yellow eyes set with suspicion and what almost looks like distress. 

“Are you o–”

“What is that?” He interrupts, voice gruff as his three fingered hand points to the beaker. 

“It’s… the mixture for our healing paste,” You reply, confused. 

“No! What is it?”

“The Rust Plant? The one that grows on the sides of river b–”

You’re cut off again by a sharp hiss, and you have just a second to register Neteyam’s dagger-like teeth as he stalks forward, spitting out a frustrated “You stupid–” before he’s jerking back, hand immediately covering his nose as if to stop himself from breathing.

He looks wild, eyes frantic as he stares at the beaker, and every muscle in his body looks tense, stung up tight like a bow ready to shoot. You’re a scientist, you’re meant to be observant, so you don’t know why you didn’t see it before. But it’s clear as anything now. The smoke doesn’t have any kind of smell to you, but to him - with the way he’s backing away and covering his nose to keep from breathing it in - it must be horrible. 

His tail is trashing behind him, so upset that you think you can almost hear a swish from it cutting through the air like a whip. 

“I need to leave,” He says suddenly. Instinctively, you back up into the desk at the sight of the large and angry Na’vi coming at you again, but he just grabs the still broken comm and turns around to storm out. 

He’s big though, too much for the small space of the lab, and his frantic tail is still thrashing as he turns. The thin appendage accidentally snaps against the side of the still smoking beaker, sending it flying off the desk and onto the ground. 

The glass shatters against the tile, glowing purple spreading across the white floor in a large puddle as the smoke spirals up into the air. Neteyam’s hand instinctively drops from his nose to grip onto his tail, holding the end of it close to him as if to keep it from swinging and smacking into anything else. But you watch, shocked and frozen in your spot as he takes one shuddering breath, and then another, tense back muscles shifting under his cobalt skin with each inhale and exhale of air. 

“Neteyam?” You ask, timidly. Dread shoots through your chest and you have the feeling that something very serious just happened, but you don’t even know what. 

He’s just standing there now, back towards you, but he’s not moving towards the door anymore. It’s like something is keeping him from moving, some unseen force that exploded out of the glass container when it burst and wrapped its tendrils around him before he could take another step. 

Whatever he was smelling from the beaker wasn’t good for him, and now it's in the air, invisible signatures swirling through the small space of the lab, and it's affecting him - the ‘unintended consequences’ of the Rust Plant on the Na’vi.

Your every instinct is telling you to stay away from him, that he’s dangerous. But he’s one of the Omatikaya, and regardless of how he views humans, you know he would never hurt you and disobey his father like that. 

“Hey,” You say, gently. You force yourself away from the desk, slowly moving around him to try to not startle him as you attempt to make your way to the airlock door. “Just relax, okay? Let’s try to air this pl–”

His deep growl has you frozen again, cold ice shoots through your veins at the predatory sound. It’s not a normal growl - not a low, quick sound made in anger or frustration. It sounds dark, a deep dangerous rumbling that came from his chest. A warning. 

You watch in horror as he slowly tilts his head towards you, the pointed tips of his sharp teeth visible under the snarled curl of his lips, glittering in the bright fluorescent lights of the lab. Your brain screams at you to run - danger, danger, danger, it shouts, but you can’t move. The realization hits hard: he’s not Neteyam anymore. The Na’vi in front of you is not the same human-indifferent, scoffing, fearless warrior son of Toruk Makto.

He’s an animal. A predator. 

Feral. 

His golden eyes are now just a thin band of dark honey encircling two endless black holes. And in their reflection you see yourself - tiny and weak. Scared.

Prey.

His body shifts slightly, just the most minuscule movements as he angles himself towards you that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had your survival instincts not been ringing alarm bells in your brain. Without thinking, you grab the hot plate, gripping it tightly at its base and holding it in front of you as your only form of weapon.

“Neteyam Sully!” You shout, and you can’t even believe how out of your mind you are to try to use his full name like an upset mother. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you stop it right now!”

There’s not even a second after the words leave your mouth, not a beat or breath or anything before he’s coming at you. 

Your body registers his sudden movement before your brain does, the roaring snarl bouncing off the walls of the lab as he lunges at you. The hot plate is out of your hands in an instant, the hard base of the plate smacking into his face with a loud cuh-thunk. His snarl is interrupted with a grunt from the hit, body jerking back a step from the impact, and you don’t wait around to see the way his eyes zero in on your retreating form again in rage. 

You can’t think - your body is moving without your brain telling it what to do. Pure panic mixed with raw survival instincts is what drives you through the door behind you, nearly smacking into the wall as you barrel down the main hallway. You hear Neteyam’s footsteps close behind, bare feet smacking against the tile. 

It’s a sound you never thought you would find terrifying. You think of little Mae, the daughter of the staff nurse and one of the science guys, and how the sound of her tiny footsteps stomping on these same tiles floors always brought a smile to your face. You could always hear her coming before you saw her, just a few seconds before she rounded the corner with unsteady steps ready to cause havoc as she tries to run from her exhausted and overstimulated mother. 

These ones are louder though. Heavier, but somehow more quiet as they rush at you from across the unobstructed hall. Your body doesn’t wait for your mind to catch up, and that’s probably a good thing considering you have no idea how the fuck you knew to take the split second turn to your right the exact moment Neteyam tried to pounce. 

You hear his snarl of anger as he rights himself, loud and echoing through the hallway. You’ve managed to best him for a second, but he’s still on your ass - gaining ground on you with his long Na’vi legs despite the cramped human-sized halls. 

Your heart is racing in your chest, pounding with fear, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins is the only thing keeping you going. You can’t breathe - shallow, panicked, quick puffs of air rip from you as you run, your high pitched gasps sounding against the hall walls as a foil to Neteyam’s predatory growls. 

“HELP!” You scream, voice cracking with how loud you're trying to scream. The desperation and pure terror are evident in your voice and you know if someone were around they would hear you for sure. Someone has to be around. They have to be. “SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!”

No one responds. No one steps in to intervene. No one even opens their door to try to take a little bit of a peek. No one to run to for help even though it feels like you're about to get mauled to death by a Thanator. 

You’re truly alone. And that thought makes you somehow even more desperate. 

Most people have a tendency to close the doors of their bedrooms, trying to keep as much privacy as they can in the small base. Norm has no such desires, often too excited or too focused on getting to his studies that he outright forgets to close his door. 

It’s a god send now that you’re sprinting through the residency part of the outpost. Your room is one of the last down the hall. You won’t make it. Not with the way you’re shaking right now, body feeling like it's somehow both freezing over with ice and lighting on fire as the fear and adrenaline fight for dominance for your immediate attention. Neteyam’s right behind you, long stride more than twice the size of yours cutting any distance you gained through your miracle of a move back down to barely anything at all. 

He’s going to catch you. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

Throwing yourself at a random door is dangerous. Just the extra second it takes to turn the knob and push the door open could almost certainly be the difference between life and death if you even still have a chance at life at all. And even then you run the risk of it being locked. Your eye catches on Norm’s door - open and shining like a beacon of hope amongst the fluorescently lit hallway. 

You don’t have another choice. 

You turn. 

As soon as you make it through the threshold, you slam the door behind you as fast as you can. 

You don’t know what you expected, naively hoping that the door would somehow succeed in protecting you and keeping Neteyam out. It’s not even locked. 

You scream as the door explodes under Neteyam’s weight, the wood splintering as it bursts apart, smaller bits of fragmented wood spraying towards you as the feral Na’vi shoulders his way in. The bathroom to your left is the only option, and you lunge for it just as Neteyam lunges for you. The tears pouring down your cheeks burn your eyes and blur your vision, your loud hyperventilating cries make your throat raw. Another door just barely slammed in his face and your back presses against the opposite door, your panicked hand trying to jiggle the knob but your brain not reminding you how to twist it. This other door hasn’t been used in years - the bathroom that once connected these two rooms together is just used by Norm now since Mary had her baby and her and her husband moved into a larger room to accommodate the crib. It’s locked, and your fingers are struggling to twist the mechanism up to unlock it when Neteyam breaks through. 

Even through your blurred vision, you see it clearly. His arm reaches through the hole his shoulder has made, and the bathroom is too small, too fucking small because that arm looks like its reaching across the entire length of it, fingers splayed out like if he can just get one of the tips to brush you, he’ll snatch you up. 

“HELP!” You scream again. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re going to fucking die. “HELP ME!”

You watch the door in horror as Neteyam pulls his arm back, head dropping to glare at you through the opening, and your veins fill with ice. 

He looks murderous - pupils blown so wide you can’t see the golden ring wrapped around them at all. You want to drop to the ground under that stare, beg for mercy even though the look in his eyes makes it clear there won’t be any. 

“N-Neteyam,” You stutter. Your heart is pounding so fast, blood sounding like it’s rushing in your ears so fast you don’t know how you haven’t had a heart attack yet. “P-please s-stop. P-please.”

His eyes stay locked on yours through the hole in the door, dark and glaring but for some reason he’s paused his attacks. A part of you wonders if your begging is making it through to the non-animalistic part of his brain. Whatever the smoke from the mixture of the Rust Plant did to him, it has to be only temporary. He’s still Neteyam. Neteyam is still in there somewhere. 

“Please,” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re scaring me.”

He leans forward, one hand curling around the broken wood from the open hole in the door. When he speaks, you don’t know if you’re relieved to hear that he can despite the overwhelming feral actions, or if you’re horrified at how his voice comes out. 

He doesn’t sound like himself at all. His words are clipped, short words made sentences that you don’t understand as both the gravely and growled way he says them as well as overall meaning. 

“Tawtute,” He growls. “Mine.”

“Wha— I-I don’t understand,”

You scream when he hisses at you, long canines and sharp teeth on display through the damaged opening and you have a front row seat to the show as your back presses harder against the door behind you. The hand wrapped around the edge of the hole pulls back suddenly, taking with it a huge chunk of the center and the loud crack and snap of wood snaps your body back into gear. You twist the small lock on the door behind you, unlocking it and wrenching it open when Neteyam throws his body against the opposite door again. You’re out the door and into the next room, slamming the door shut behind you just as you hear the telltale crash of the wild Na’vi breaking through the other barrier. Without thinking, you round the side of the bookshelf that stands on the side of the doorframe. You push with all your might, tipping the bookshelf on its side so that it falls diagonally across the door. A dresser sits just on the opposite side of the door, the bookshelf catching on the edge of the dresser so that it blocks a good portion of the bathroom door. 

Any other time you’d be heartbroken to see the books that fall off the bookshelf in your mishandling scatter along the floor and at your feet like they were nothing more than trash. Today, though, you can’t give a shit about that. 

Your hands grip your hair in frustration as you hear Neteyam’s body barrel into the door, hot tears racing down your face as you waste valuable seconds staring at the bending wood behind the tipped bookcase. It won’t keep him back for long. He could probably easily push it out of his way, but it's something. Your only hope now is that it keeps him long enough for you to get away and that his instinct driven brain doesn’t realize he can just go back the way he came to get around the obstacle. 

Turning on your heel, you sprint out the bedroom door, heading back down the hallway towards the lab. The sound of the loud crash echoing through the empty hall makes you run impossibly faster. Was it the door finally giving way under his weight? Or was it the bookshelf being tossed to the side like it was nothing and he’s about to barrel down the hallway to finish the job that you’ve somehow managed to postpone until now?

You make it back to the lab, foot smacking against the forgotten hotplate still laying on the ground in your haste to get to the airlock. Your hand smacks against the button on the side wall, fingers practically choking the heavy handle as you go to yank it open. The oxygen masks lay forgotten on the shelf next to the door. You don’t care about them, don’t care about breathing right now because what’s good about breathing when Neteyam could end your need for it in just seconds if he catches you. 

The airlock door hisses as the seal breaks and for a split second you think you’ve done it - have somehow managed to survive this deadly game of cat and mouse you’ve inadvertently been forced to play. You can grab a mask and slip inside the airlock. Keep Neteyam locked up here in the lab while you sit safely outside until the others get back or he comes to his senses enough to remember how to open the airlock door himself. 

But no sooner than the thought crosses your mind, an arm wraps tightly around your waist and pulls you from your death grip on the thick metal door. 

You scream as you’re tossed to the floor, body pressed against the cold tile as Neteyam straddles you. His hips pin your legs down, leaving them useless and unable to buck or kick under his massive weight. You beat at his chest with your fists as hard as you can, trying to ignore how they hurt from your balled up fists trying to hit against pure solid muscle. 

Panic manifests in your desperate cries and you aim for his face too, trying to hit or slap or scratch - anything to get him off of you. You feel like an injured animal caught in a trap. And you suppose you are. 

“Get off!” You cry. “Get off me, Neteyam!”

He snarls as one of your hits lands too close next to his eye and he grabs your hands tightly in one of his, pinning them above your head.

Your screams stop, catching in your throat when the bright fluorescent lights of the lab catch on the knife on his hip. The light caresses the blade as he pulls it from its sheath, the sharp tip sparkling as he brings it to press against the base of your throat.

His face is in front of yours in an instant, so close you feel like you can barely breathe in the wake of the knife resting at your throat and the way his huge eyes feel like twin black holes threatening to suck you into their depths if you move even a single centimeter. 

“Kehe rikx,” His words are hardly more than a whispered breath against your face, but their translation rings loudly in your ears. 

Don’t move. 

The point of the knife drags against your neck, scratching lightly as he draws it down your collarbone. It pulls at the fabric at the neck of your t-shirt as he moves it down your chest, stretching and bunching it down as he scrapes the tip through the valley of your breasts. Your heart pounds under the deadly tip of the weapon and your body wants to fight, keep fighting for your life that you know could be taken from you with just a quick movement of his hand, but your fear keeps you frozen. 

Something hard presses against your trapped thighs and your eyes automatically rip themselves from the knife down to the space between your bodies, and your breathing catches in your throat again for a whole other reason. 

Neteyam’s cock is hard in his loincloth, having escaped its sheath and filling out under the thin material enough to raise a sizable tent inside it. 

He doesn’t give you time to react as his head bends down and latches onto the swell of your breast through your shirt, sharp teeth digging into it just enough for marks to surely be left even through the layers of shirt and bra. You yelp, back arching instinctively against the pain, and your body unfreezes as his teeth scrape against your breast before digging into the material of your shirt and ripping.

The loud sound of tearing fabric rips through the room and Neteyam releases the torn fabric from his mouth just to grip it with his hands instead, pulling up and out and exposing your bra clad torso to his darkened crazed eyes. The knife is still in his hand, but the blade is pointed sideways now as he uses the fingers around it to rip your shirt apart. It’s not smart, not a smart idea at all to try your hand at smacking at him again, but you have to do something. 

You don’t know what he wants anymore. What did that mixture do to him? He was chasing you through these halls, growling and snarling like a predator on the hunt for its next meal, and now he’s on top of you - hard and tearing your clothes off like he wants to fuck you. 

You only get a couple smacks in before the knife is back at your chest and you’re forced still again. Neteyam’s eyes are locked onto your chest, following the tip of the knife as he slides it under the band of your bra directly between your breasts. It cuts easily under the pressure of the sharp knife and the covering falls on either side of your chest, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. 

There’s a mark on your breast from where his teeth had dug into it and he pauses to stare at it greedily. 

“N-Netayam,” You say, slowly. He seems a little calmer now that he has you trapped under him. You need to talk him to his senses. He’s still in there somewhere. He has to be. He’s not all animal. He can be reasoned with. “You don’t wanna do this. Plea–”

Your plea is cut off as he rises off of you, crouching back just enough to give himself room to flip you roughly over on your stomach. You grunt as your bare chest hits the cold tile, arms splayed uselessly on either side of you as you try to get your bearings from the quick movement before he’s using his knife to cut through the denim of your shorts. 

“Neteyam! Rutxe ftang! Kehe!” 

You don’t know why you think pleading in Na’vi will be any different than English, but desperation punches the frantic words out of you before you can even think about deciding to say them. Your hands finally find purchase on the ground beneath you and you try to push yourself up in hopes of crawling away, but Neteyam’s dropping the knife and taking hold of your hips before you can. 

High pitched squeaking sounds hit your ears as he drags your body across the tile. Your hands scramble frantically against the floor as you’re pulled backwards, but there’s nothing to hold onto. They just slide uselessly, voicing their protest in the way the tile screams under your grasping fingertips as you’re hoisted up with your lower half in the air. 

Your back arches against Neteyam’s hold, legs kicking in the air but doing no harm despite their efforts. The hole he’s created in your shorts is enough to have your pussy on display for him, and you can feel his breath on it - hot puffs are the only warning you get before his mouth is on you. Your voice is raw from all the screaming you’ve done, the sound crackling and almost pained as you shout again - shout for him to stop and to let you go as you kick and squirm and beg. 

You want to cry more, any drying tears of fear you have still tracked on your cheeks are replaced with tears of humiliation. Your clit pulses under his relentless tongue, pussy subconsciously clenching around nothing as he licks and sucks over the puffy folds. 

You’re wet. 

You’re so wet already, body confusing the adrenaline caused by fear and desperation and flooding it with the adrenaline that comes with arousal instead. His textured tongue slips across your sticky cunt, licking up your wetness, and a reluctant moan escapes your lips at the rough feel on your sensitive parts. 

A gleam to your right catches your attention and a flicker of hope rushes through you at the sight. Neteyam’s knife is laying on the ground next to you, scattered just far enough when he dropped it that it's a stretch for you to grab it, but not impossible. He’s distracted by your cunt, chest rumbling in what you can only describe as a more aggressive type of purr and your face contorts in unwanted pleasure as the vibrations pulse against your clit. 

You reach for the knife, using one hand pressed against the tile to gain any kind of leverage you can while your other arm stretches out towards the forgotten blade. You're not even sure what you’re going to do with it when it’s in your hand. Would you just threaten him with it? Tell him to back off and that you’ll use it if he doesn’t? Would you cut him a little to show that you’re serious? 

Would you stab him if it came to it?

Your fingers graze along the hilt of the knife, fingertips brushing along the part that it can touch and curling in, trying to coax the knife just a bit closer so you can grab it. Neteyam growls into your cunt, and you let out a gasping curse when his foot lands on your wrist, pinning it to the tile before you can work your hand around the knife. 

“You son of a bitch!” You yell, anger burning through your desperation, but all Neteyam does is push his face deeper into your pussy. His large hands rip at the back of your shorts more, fingers digging into the exposed curves of your ass to spread you apart. 

The pressure in your belly intensifies as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves before wrapping his lips around it in what feels like an almost pleasured punishment. 

You’re going to cum. Fuck fuck you’re going to cum on the tongue of the practically feral Na’vi who just chased you through the halls of your own home and made you think he was going to rip you to shreds and leave you to die on the floor for your coworkers to find. It feels so good, so so good and you wail as your pussy spasms against his relentless tongue, contracting against the wet muscle as the coil in your belly bursts in an explosion of uncontrolled pleasure. 

Neteyam groans against your core, lapping up everything you have to offer as you whine and shake. Your legs, still suspended in the air, are becoming numb - the tingling sensation of your limbs losing their life combining with the dramatic pulsing over your oversensitive cunt. 

You grunt as he drops you to the ground, his foot lifting off your wrist as he crouches back up, and you pull it to your chest, cradling it there and quickly checking for any injury as your body automatically tries to curl up in a protective ball. 

His hands are back on your hips in an instant, pulling you back again across the floor until your ass is pressed up against his front. Your blood runs cold when your bare ass meets bare skin. The bulge that was once blocked by the thin layer of his loincloth is now free - large, dominant, and demanding of attention as it presses tightly against you. 

Demanding of your attention. 

The hand on the back of your neck is uncaring as it pushes you down, forcing your face against the white tiled floor as he lines himself up with your entrance. 

“Neteyam, no! Please!” You beg, even as your back is forced to arch from the exposed position he has you in.

And maybe if this was a different situation, a different circumstance, he would have used this opportunity to tease you. Tell you to stop fussing and stay still. To be a good girl for him while he fucks your tight cunt and maybe if you’re good enough, he would let you cum again. You would let him. Neteyam is beautiful, more handsome than any other Na’vi you’ve ever seen. If he would have been kind to you and shown interest in you like that, you would have agreed to fuck him in a heartbeat. 

But he’s not himself. Doesn’t even have his mind enough to acknowledge your pleas with anything more than agitated snarls and frustrated growls. 

His cock feels monstrous as he rubs it between your soaked folds. Thick and hard as the wetness of his own slick mixes with the sticky mess you have already between your thighs. The head of his cock rubs against your tender clit and you can feel how the sheer size of it forces your pussy lips apart.

You can’t take it inside you. Fuck. You can’t. You can’t. 

You whimper when the tip makes its way back to your entrance, nudging against it before the blunt tip presses forward. Your hands press into the tile on either side of your head, mouth falling open in a silent scream even as he presses your cheek further into the floor as he pushes his cock further into you. You feel every thick inch of it as it spears you open, and you expect it to hurt. It should hurt, especially with the way you’re clamping down around him, body automatically trying to keep it out even as it bullies its way deeper inside you.

There’s pressure, so much pressure. He’s too big, large alien cock way too much for your tiny human body to take, but somehow it is. Your brain is trying to tell you to panic, that the pressure is pain and you should scream and cry and try to wiggle away from it. But it's not. He’s stretching you so much, filling you up - but it doesn’t. hurt.

And that realization hurts you more than the cock currently rearranging your guts ever could.

You know it’s the slick. Despite never being with a Na’vi yourself, you know that the wetness that coats a male’s cock to aid it with slipping out of its protective sheath has something in it that eases the pain of penetration. It’s a good thing. Inherently helpful for any relationship, especially for those between a human and a Na’vi to curb the extra struggle of the size difference. 

You always thought it was sweet. A way for Eywa to reward the loyalty of the good sky people who are lucky enough to find everlasting bonds with her own children. 

Now, the idea of it leaves a bad taste in your mouth as the cock inside you pulls out only to thrust in harder. The texture on his cock scrapes against your slick walls as he starts to fuck you, the bumps and barbs rubbing and pressing against the sensitive spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had. 

A waterfall of moans and whines rip from your throat as he moves faster, your higher pitched pathetic sounds a stark contrast to his deep guttural grunts. His hand is off the back of your neck now, instead finding a place at the side of your face as he keeps you pinned to the floor. It’s so big compared to your head that it spans the entirety of it, thumb hooking just under the edge of your jaw while his fingers curl around the top of your head as he holds you down. 

Your thighs shake underneath you as he pounds into you, thick cock so far inside you that you know there has to be a bulge in your belly. There is, you can feel it. The way the head of his cock pushes against your lower abdomen roughly with each thrust and you know that if you could move your hands from the death grip press they have on the tile, you could feel it disappear and reappear under your palm. 

He adjusts behind you, both feet planted on the ground as he crouches behind you to try to push in deeper. Pleasure soaks into your brain as you subconsciously push back against him, pussy clenching and squeezing around him trying to suck him in. 

“N-Neteyam,” And you have more to say, you do. But you can’t form thoughts anymore. Nothing else will come out other than little punched out breathless gasps. 

It takes you a long time to realize that he’s speaking, and even longer for your fucked up and fucked out raddled brain to register what he’s saying. It’s not normal sentences, it’s not even English. His words are still animalistic, growled through gritted teeth as he spits out broken Na’vi between his groans of pleasure. You grew up with the language, but you’re so distracted, so overwhelmed by him and the cock inside you that your brain can’t seem to latch on to what he’s saying. 

You think you hear the word for ‘whore’, maybe ‘take it’, something ‘baby’ but you can’t be sure. 

And then he’s leaning forward, body curving overtop yours as he covers you completely. It’s only then you feel what you’ve been too distracted to notice. The thick knot at the base of his cock, fully engorged now as it prods at your entrance. 

Your hands finally leave their place pressed against the floor as you throw them behind you in newfound panic. One hand pushes against his abdomen as best as it can, trying to slow his thrusts while the other grabs at his wrist in an effort to pull his hand away from your face. The hand on his abdomen doesn’t do anything to slow his relentless pace, but the hand on the side of your head moves to tangle in your hair, gripping it in his fist close to your scalp just hard enough to burn a little as he yanks your head back. 

You gasp at the sharp sting and your gasp quickly turns into a whimper as his knot presses tighter against your soaking hole. He’s unforgiving as he digs it against you, holding your hair tight and forcing your back to arch as you stretch even further around it. You’re too wet, pussy too wet and almost greedy and it takes him in, determined despite the obscene size of the engorged ball of tissue.

“Please!” You squeal. Please stop. Please more. “Neteyam, fuck!”

Your eyes roll back into your head when the knot slips inside you, sheathing itself within your heat with another solid push of Neteyam’s hips against your ass. His cock hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars, your vision whiting out and there feels like there’s cotton in your ears as you cum around him, squeezing him tightly as you soak his length in your juices. Your breath catches in your lungs when you feel his cock pulse inside you, twitching and feeling like it’s expanding even bigger as his own orgasm hits him. 

He holds you close, keeping you pinned and still underneath him with the savage hand in your hair and the firm grip he has on your hip - fierce and unmoving as if to keep you from running away.

As if you even could with the knot locked inside you. 

His growl of pleasure reverberates off the walls as he paints yours. Long, thick ropes of release coating your insides and it's so much, so so much that you feel like you can’t fit anymore. Like if he cums anymore, you’ll burst. The knot is still lodged inside you, locked in and refusing to let you free, but there’s no space left inside you, no space, and you feel the excess cum seep out of your hole from around his knot to trail down the insides of your thighs. 

You don’t remember blacking out, and you’re not sure when Neteyam was able to pull free from you or when he passed out next to you either. But when you wake up next, it’s to voices.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Y/N!”

“What the fuck happened?”

The bright florescent lights of the lab are blinding when you try to open your eyes. Exhaustion seeps from every pore of your body and fuck, you feel so sore. 

Norm’s shocked face is looking down at you when your eyes finally adjust to the light, Max and a few of the other scientists are behind him, faces an equal mixture of shock and horror as they stare at you with wide eyes. 

It takes you a moment to remember what happened - why you’re here, waking up on the cold floor of the lab. Naked. You scramble up, hands clutching at your chest as you desperately try to cover yourself. A deep groan to your right steals your attention from your group of onlookers, and your eyes fall on Neteyam, just waking up from his own sleep.

His eyes are back to their normal gold as they open, groggy at first and then alert in a heartbeat as it registers where he is. He’s up in a crouch in an instant, looking ready to fight but not really sure what he’s supposed to be fighting. Those golden eyes catch on the group, confusion twisting on his face and you can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to figure out what’s going on. 

Then his eyes meet yours, taking in your torn clothes and near nakedness, and you sit in horror as it clicks for him what must have happened. 

And you watch as the horror in your eyes becomes mirrored in his. 

**Special thanks to @quicktosimp and @itchaboi-itchyboy for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @minnory @localjasmine @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @vampirefilmlover @aria-tempest @pocky444 @bambithewriter @xylianasblog @anemonelovesfiction @criticallybella

**Comment here to be added to/removed from my taglist!

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once

Pairing: aemond targaryen x reader (wc: 2.4k)

Summary: Learning about Aemond’s indiscretions hurts more than you thought it would, and leads you to accepting help from an unlikely source.

Warnings: gaslighting and manipulation on Aemond’s part, reader being slightly naive :(

A/N: I love rewatching certain eps or scenes for inspo. I got inspo for this watching the iconic knife scene. Very interested lately in writing women that eventually (and rightfully) snap after being actively harmed by patriarchy/the men in their lives. Also alys and aemond meet after the dance starts but let’s pretend they meet right before viserys passes. This will have a slightly ambiguous ending… for funsies 🫶🏽

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Fmo Masterlist

You consider yourself a forbearing person. Your resigned nature was natural to you, but also the way you’ve been bred to be. Your mother especially preaching that good things come to those who not only wait but keep their heads while waiting. This idea only got compounded once your family arrived at court in King’s Landing. Now you had septas, on top of your mother, teaching you the ways of a ‘proper’ lady. Demure, well read and groomed, and obedient. You did was expected because what else could you do. Your parents were in your ear telling you do not waste the opportunity in front of you. An opportunity for a better life.

For a time, you thought your mother had a point. You did as you were told, and good things fell into place. Princess Helaena and you became fast friends through your lessons. Your interest in plants crossing over with her interest in insects and arachnids. Through your friendship with her, you caught the eye of Queen Alicent.

Despite your shy disposition, you managed to get in the good graces of the most powerful family in the Seven Kingdoms. You trusted the process.

But the cracks in the restrictive facade started once the discussion marriage entered the picture. You knew marrying for love was not something everyone was afforded, but you thought maybe you had a chance. There were tries for courtships here and there, but it was something you kept putting off. The clock was ticking, and no one let you forget it. Especially after your friends, including Helaena, started getting married and having families of their own.

You still remember the thrilled smile on your mother’s face when Queen Alicent not so subtly suggested a union between Prince Aemond and you.

The One-Eyed Prince. He had been nice enough towards you. But you were sure most of that was out of sheer obligation because his mother and sister liked you. Despite the love you have for Helaena and the respect you have for the queen, the idea of marrying into the family terrified you. You saw the burden and hurt each of them carried. Even with the possibility that Aemond wasn’t as bad as Prince Aegon or King Viserys, his brooding nature still made you nervous for what a marriage with him would mean.

“Your work has paid off my sweet girl”

It took a simple sentence from your mother to change your mind. The ever growing need to be validated spurred you into a decision you’d later question.

The courtship was quick and to the point, much like Aemond. He wasn’t thrilled with the decision. Then again, happiness was not an emotion you’d seen him exude very often. You did not know what it looked like.

Throughout the courting, wedding celebrations, wedding itself and after, you two had a mutual understanding or so you thought.

You saw the change in him. When you’re all but forced to spend your days with someone, you notice their behavior more. He’s lighter it seems. You don’t know how to explain it, but he moves different.

The only feeling you can compare it to is when you were pregnant with Daella, your daughter. For all his faults, you can acknowledge that Aemond is a good father. He was from the moment the maester told you two the news. He was attentive and uncharacteristically warm to you during your pregnancy. And then he acted as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders when she was born. Even now, he indulges her rambunctious antics and playful conduct in a way he wouldn’t for anyone else. His precious byka zaldrīzes

His devotion never wanes when it comes to her. It was a different story for you and him.

It was foolish, but so typical of you. You had done your duty so well that you’re now in the position of having genuine feelings for him. Wanting your husband shouldn’t be a problem. But craving the love and affection of an enigma like Aemond is not for the faint hearted.

“Is my brother with his whore tonight,” his words were cruel, but he genuinely seemed curious. Aegon and you always had a strange relationship. He wasn’t rude though certainly not kind. You remember overhearing the way he described you after you two first met: pretty but terribly dull. You didn’t know what hurt worse: him saying that or the lack of pushback from Aemond.

“Aegon!”

Alicent gives you a pained look before pulling Aegon to side during dinner. You can tell by her scowl and his now sheepish facial expression that she’s using some choice words.

You thank the seven that Daella was asleep after a long day of playing with her cousins and wasn’t at dinner. The empty spot next to you feels vast. This is the third dinner he has missed. It never occurred to you that Aemond would seek companionship elsewhere. Now that it’s on your mind, you can’t forget it.

His whore

Aemond and Aegon are not the same. You know Aemond is not the type for frivolous intimate moments with silk street brothel women. You also know the intimacy he seeks requires knowing someone. He requires way more stimulation. Whether that is a blessing or a curse… you don’t know.

Aegon’s comment had you on high alert. Paranoid even. When Aemond is away, you wonder what he’s doing and who with. It only gets worse the sicker King Viserys grows. It shows on everyone in the family. Queen Alicent gets more anxious for what’s to come, Aegon lashes out, Helaena becomes more cryptic and silent, you wonder how this will impact your already complex relationship with this family, but then there’s Aemond. He shrugs off any ill feelings towards the situation.

At first you wondered if it is because he’s the only one that’s made peace with that relationship never being mended. He didn’t seem to seek out the same approval or explanation for Viserys’ bad parenting that everyone else still craves. With the King dying, meant the chance of change dying as well. But really his mind is elsewhere.

You know you’ve reached a new low when you try to pry information from Ser Criston. If anyone knows where Aemond sneaks off to, you assume it would be Criston. But in the end, it was wrong to go to him. Criston is fiercely loyal to Alicent and in turn fiercely loyal to her children. Though he has treated you kindly, he would never give up more information than he had to.

The idea greatly backfires when then you find yourself the one being questioned.

“If you want to know where I go, you could simply ask,” Aemond’s tone is cool and composed. It makes you uneasy.

He leans leisurely against the wall. You freeze hearing that declaration. Criston must’ve told him about your worries. It feels a bit surreal now having the opportunity to confront him about your thoughts. The words run through your head but never seem to make it out of your mouth.

“You know I like going for long rides with Vhagar,” he starts walking towards you. “She’s older; she needs to stay sharp.”

You do know that. It’s something you found endearing about him, despite how you feel about dragons.

“I just feel like I haven’t seen you much,” you manage to get it out with a forced smile. “Like you’re always away.”

He tilts his head to the side in question. You feel like one of Helaena’s bugs. Inspected and poked.

“You don’t like being around Vhagar,” he points out. “I’d love to take you with me, but you don’t want that now do you.”

You look down at your hands. He doesn’t get it. He has the blood of the dragon flowing through him. For him, Vhagar is a symbol of pride and declaration of love for his ancestors and house. To you, she’s an unpredictable power that you still think humans should not mess with. It’s better to chalk it up to you fearing versus bringing up how you really feel about them. How you share the same skepticism many people across the Seven Kingdoms do. It scares you to think about Daella getting a dragon of her own. You see the awe in her eyes when she looks at her egg or when Aemond tells her stories of the past and present that include them.

Oh, the irony of you being weary of dragons while bounded to a man who rides the biggest of them all.

“No, I don’t,” you mumble. You finally work up the courage to bring up what you really want. “It’s just Aegon said something about you, and I guess it made me think about where you go so often.”

The words adultery or whore make your tongue feel heavy, and don’t come out He sighs once he reaches you, grabbing your face in his hands making you look at him.

“My wife do not let the thoughts of the small minded people cloud your judgment,” he leans his forehead down to yours. “You’re smarter than that.”

He’s not wrong, it is like Aegon stir things up. Aemond has a way of doing this. A way of making you feel silly with his self-assurance. He makes it easy to doubt your gut instincts. His affection has a similar debilitating quality. It’s why your head gets a bit fuzzy when he kisses you. A warm and gentle kiss that left you a bit weak in the knees. You sigh when his lips move to the sensitive spot under your ear.

“We should have another babe,” his whisper makes your eyes shoot open. “Give Daella a sibling.”

You pull away, eyes wide. As much as you loved how Aemond doted on you while you were with Daella, you also remember how difficult the experience was. How towards the end, you were basically confined to the castle as to not risk your health or the babe’s. Your every thought being on the life in your stomach.

“A little warrior would be nice, no?”

Aemond had told you he’s not picky about how many children you two have or even the sex of them. But you’re sure like any noble man, he wants his blood and name passed on as much as possible. Especially as a Targaryen. You’d be lying if you said the thought of a little boy didn’t make you happy. Your children hopefully having a strong bond.

You look at the seemingly earnest look in his eye. You nod with a nervous smile, and he kisses you again. That night being the first of many he tried to put an heir in you.

He wouldn’t want another child while his heart is not it… right?

You gingerly rub your stomach while leaning your head back against the seat. Ever grateful that you have Queen Alicent and Helaena to keep you company and help. Taking Daella off your hands during the day while you rest, your pregnancy making you more tired.

Before you can fall asleep, your lady in waiting peaks her head in the room.

“I’m sorry to disturb you princess, but Lord Strong has requested to see you.”

Your brows furrow. You have seen Larys Strong around, but outside of that he’s been a mystery to you. A figure looming in the background but never someone you interacted with regularly.

“Send him in.”

Lord Strong comes in, small smile on his face. You motion for him to sit in the chair next to you.

“Princess, you’re glowing,” he starts as he sits. “The halls are buzzing with excitement about a new babe.”

You raise a brow. Maybe you outwardly look better than you feel because you don’t feel positively glowing. Not in the slightest. You didn’t feel this exhausted till later when you had Daella.

“Thank you Lord Strong,” you try to keep a kind smile on your face. “What can I do for you today?”

“I just wanted to check in. Let you know that if you need anything, I am always of service.”

You nod slowly, confused about where this is all coming from. What service?

“I know how stressful being with child can be, especially when the father is… busy,” he continues, leaning back in the seat.

Your smile drops. For a time, you did think things were getting better. Aemond seemed excited when you two found out you were with child again. Things were good till they weren’t anymore. He’s not around again, and now you are going to bring another life into an unstable situation. The tone of Larys’ voice makes you uneasy. He smiles like he knows something you don’t.

“I appreciate the kindness, but I do not think your um services are needed.”

He nods at that before reaching into his pocket and handing you what you assume is a letter. He motions you to read it. You stare at the outside of letter. recognizing your husband’s handwriting.

My Alys

Your hands shake as you open the letter. Your vision gets blurred with tears as certain words and phrases stand out. Miss you, need to see you, miserable at King’s Landing, love you. Your squeeze your eyes shut when you see words mistake, baby, and your name in the same sentence.

“Those pesky ravens, sometimes they do the maddest things,” Larys whispers softly. “My princess, the woman the letter is for is an… old friend of mine. If you need me to keep an eye on this or even take care of anything, just let me know. I am always here.”

You look at him as he gets up to leave, lip trembling. Your eyes move stare at the fire in front of you. Fire, blood, and dragons have all consumed your life now.

Is this why you don’t under the understand the obsession with dragons. You hate the ludicrous insistence that you can control them. That if you give them enough love and patience that they will need you the way you need them. Good behavior has gotten you nothing. Doing right by the dragons in your life has gotten you nowhere. Aemond is not yours despite the vows you took, or sacrifices you’ve made for him. The same way your children will never be yours despite the pain you take to have them.

You’ve been burned by the very dragon that’s supposed to protect you.

“Lord Strong,” you blurt before he gets to the door. He turns to you expectedly. “There is something you can do for me actually.”

[bietrofastimoff23]

An idea that has been spinning in my head for a long time.

(in book) towards the end of his life, Aegon gained enough strength to walk on his own with the help of a crutch. and I would kill i want to see the scene of his last walk through the castle, during which he is overcome by memories and for a few seconds the images of his loved ones come to life.

he hears the sounds of their voices, in the corridors he sees Jaehaerys laughing, running away from the nanny along the corridors, in Helaena's room he sees her singing for a giggling Maelor in her arms, in the window he notices a proudly smiling criston who approvingly slaps the shoulder of a joyful Aemond, who defeated him for the first time, in front of the entrance to the dining room there are images of the cargyll twins, hotly arguing about something. he opens the door and a picture flashes before his eyes of the dinner hosted in honor of Daeron's arrival. he sees his younger brother saying a toast with a wide smile on his face, next to him he notices the dark top of his uncle's head and a little further away the figure of his grandfather, on the other side of daeron sits Alicent, looking at her son with tender longing. this image didn't last more than a few seconds, but it was so vivid and full of life, as if everything was real now.

at the end of the journey through the past days of the rare serene happiness of the family, traces of tears and a bitter smile are visible on Aegon's face. the past has never let him go, but now he stops running away from it. for the first time in a long time, there is no struggle in his eyes, but quiet humility. he does not know the future, but he feels that this is the end of it. and he gives the order to take him to the sept in order to find peace in his last prayer in the name of the living and the dead.

[zaldritzosrose]

Bring Me To Salvation (Criston Cole x Whore!Reader)

Summary: Ser Criston was nothing if not dutiful, steadfast in his dedication to his role as protector and knight. All to the detriment of himself. A chance meeting with a Silk Street woman began to open his life to delights far outside his usual tastes.

TW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mentions of sex work, submissive Criston, edging, orgasm denial, handjob, Criston being a sad, pathetic, whimpery mess.

There will be a part two.

Words: 3859

The life of a Kingsguard came with rules. Rules on how one must act in public, how to live one's life. No marriage, no titles. But what had become Criston's downfall was one rule.

Abstinence.

Well, a Kingsguard was not forbidden from sex itself, but from fathering children of their own. But Criston took his vows to heart. Complete abstinence reduced the risk of siring a child, a logical path. Duty meant everything. For the most part.

That was until he was chosen to protect Princess Rhaenyra. He had done his best, resisted for as long as he could. But every man breaks. And Criston’s resolve broke one night, letting the princess entice him to bed.

He had foolishly hoped she may feel more than lust for him, but he was left with nothing but bitterness instead. Years passed, and he watched her not only fawn over Prince Daemon, but also Ser Harwin.

That hurt him most. It weighed on him and turned his countenance sour. Something akin to hatred burning in him as he watched the princess birth bastard after bastard. Criston did his best to push his focus elsewhere. Swearing himself to Queen Alicent and helping her sons train and learn to be men.

And it worked. For the most part. He was not quite the same man he had been, he was highly strung and tense more often than not. But the two princes were a distraction he welcomed.

Until Rhaenyra and her sons returned. Walking through the Keep as if nothing had changed. The two dark haired princes joining Aemond and Aegon in the training yard as though they belonged there.

To make matters worse? Ser Harwin was there to greet them.

Criston held his ground as he sparred with Aemond, the younger prince having grown to be an excellent swordsman. His brother however, had taken the role of spectator. Sitting on the sidelines and pouring cup after cup of wine down his throat.

“Well done, my prince,” Criston praised, as Aemond once again proved himself skilled.

He could feel eyes on him. Jacaerys and Lucerys watched intently, but those were not the eyes Criston could feel. He turned slightly to find Ser Harwin glaring.

“Is there a problem, Ser Harwin?” Criston asked, motioning for Aemond to take a break.

Criston rolled his shoulders, frustration rising in him as Harwin smirked.

“You seem a little tense is all, Ser Criston,” Harwin called back, smirking wider as Criston scowled.

Even Aegon snorted a laugh in response, earning him a glare from Criston. Tense was an understatement. Criston could not remember a time where had actually been relaxed.

“And you seem far too relaxed, ser, do you not have better things to be doing?”

The tension was clear, so thick it could have been sliced. Harwin simply shook his head and walked closer, clapping Criston on the shoulder.

“You need to enjoy yourself more. Spend a little less time playing knight.”

Harwin walked away before Criston could respond, and with a tight jaw, Criston turned back and began sparring again. The words ringing in his head.

Weeks passed and the words Harwin had spoken continued to bother him. It was not the first time anyone had told him he took his duty too seriously. But it was the first time it had bothered him so much. Maybe it was because the words came from Harwin, a man whose mere presence was enough to frustrate him beyond belief.

But at the same time, maybe all those people were right. Did he take himself too seriously? Surely it would not be too out of the question for him to take some time for himself?

Those thoughts were soon knocked from his mind when he was called to the Queen’s chamber.

“Ah, Ser Criston,” Alicent smiled, though the expression seemed strained.

“I have a request, that needs the utmost discretion.”

Criston nodded and listened to her instruction. And what he heard did not surprise him at all. He was to retrieve Prince Aegon from one of King’s Landing’s brothels, yet again. The prince had a taste for all kinds of depravity and Criston knew it was not about to be an enjoyable endeavour.

He was dismissed and made his way through the city as the sun fell. And it was not long before he found the right place. Whispers of the silver haired prince led him quickly to his destination.

With a sigh, Criston entered the whorehouse, finding the Madame and demanding Aegon be brought to him. The woman did not hesitate, disappearing to search for the prince.

Criston waited patiently, two Kingsguard behind him as he averted his gaze from the debauchery around him. He was not a prude, but at the same time he was not as comfortable here as other men may be.

But in averting his eye, he found the gaze of you. There was no doubt you were one of the girls working here. The soft silks draped around your body were not something he saw many noblewomen wear. The second he caught your eye you smiled, making your way through the crowd and towards him.

There was something about you that had him entranced. Eyes that seemed to bore into his, see into his very soul. It was like you knew just what he desired the most.

"It is not often we get Kingsguards in here, ser..." you almost purred the words out to him.

Just by looking around the room he was in now, this place was built for the deepest and most depraved sins. So, it was no surprise Aegon had ended up here. People were draped over every available surface in every possible state of undress and debauchery.

Criston simply nodded at your words. Aegon has already been dragged out to him, already demanding to be left alone. Criston broke eye contact with you momentarily to glare down at the prince.

“Your mother wants you home, my prince. There are two guards outside for you.” Criston said simply, and Aegon wailed profanities at him as he was dragged away.

But you were not deterred. He did not know when you had closed the distance between you both, but soon your rounded nails tapped his armoured chest. Kohl lined eyes gazing up at him and he internally chastised himself for the desire that pulsed down his spine and through his cock.

"We cater to all tastes here, ser...I am sure I can find something you will enjoy."

Criston’s mouth felt dry at those words. The way you let every syllable roll of your tongue, the feeling of your hand on his chest. No, he could not let himself break so easily again.

“A pleasant offer, I am sure, but I must return the prince.”

He did not wait for your response before turning to join his fellow Kingsguard at the door. But that did not stop you calling out to him before he left.

“The offer will always stand, ser, should you desire it.”

Weeks passed before Criston even thought of you again. He put his focus on serving his queen and keeping the royal children safe and protected. But when he was alone, his thoughts would drift back to you and what you had promised.

But nothing came of it until Princess Rhaenyra and her children returned to King’s Landing again. Bringing back the anger and bitterness that seemed to linger and simmer within him whenever he saw her. Reminding him of everything he almost had. What was worse? She now had Prince Daemon at her side. Not only now as her uncle, but as her husband. A custom he never understood, but it only deepened his resentment further.

The King organised a ‘family’ dinner, something that every member knew would not end well. But when the King made a choice, no one was ever truly willing to go against it. Tensions were high as it was.

Criston took his place in the dining hall, where he could easily watch each member of the family he was sworn to protect. And he did his best to ignore Rhaenyra and her family entered the hall, barely acknowledging his presence as they sat.

The dinner passed with little consequence, save for the childish remarks passed between the four young princes. Criston did his duty and escorted them all back to their chambers before returning to the Queen’s side.

“Is there anything you need from me, Your Grace?” Criston asked, standing just inside the doorway to her own chamber.

Alicent looked at him with a smile.

“No, Ser Criston, you may retire if you wish,” Alicent replied, but Criston could sense that she had something more to say.

“Thank you, Your Grace, I will see you again in the morning.”

He turned to leave but Alicent, as expected, called him to stop.

“Actually, Ser Criston, there is something,” she said, walking closer to him.

He stopped, turning back to her and waiting. Her face was coloured with concern and it had him on edge. But he said nothing.

“I have one request to make, and a concern to raise.”

Criston nodded and Alicent continued. Explaining how she felt the tension that had settled in him recently. Whether it was due in part to Rhaenyra’s arrival or something else, she did not press him for an answer, but it was her request that surprised him.

“Please, take some time for yourself. Find a way to relax.”

The knight was silent. He could hardly deny his Queen’s request, though it was not phrased like an order, it felt like one. He made a promise that he would take her request to heart. But he had little idea on how to do that.

He soon left for his own chamber, making quick work of stripping himself of his armour and settling into his bed. And it was only then that his thoughts began drifting back to you.

"We cater to all tastes here, ser...I am sure I can find something you will enjoy."

“The offer will always stand, ser, should you desire it.”

He could not get those words out of his head, combined with Queen Alicent’s suggestion of finding something to relax him. His mind went back even to Ser Harwin’s jibe about his tense demeanour.

“You need to enjoy yourself more. Spend a little less time playing knight.”

He knew he should not. His honour and duty warred with his desire to take up your offer. Would it be so bad? To visit you once, to see if you could be the ‘something to enjoy’?

It took only mere seconds more of thought for Criston to pull a cloak from his wardrobe and make his way quickly down the quieter side of the Keep and out into the city.

Tonight was a quieter night, for a brothel. A few regular patrons were in attendance, but none had yet to call for your services. Yet.

You heard the heavy swing of the door, and the Madame calling your name over the soft chatter of patrons and whores. You fixed your silken robe, making a smooth path through the room and out to the entrance. You assumed it would be one of your regulars, your talents were quite…specialised.

What you did not expect was the Kingsguard, Ser Criston, stood before you. He looked so different, unencumbered by his armour. He seemed to shrink in on himself, as if he was already regretting coming here.

The Madame nodded to you and left the pair of you alone.

“I see you took my offer, ser?” you said softly, closing the distance between the two of you.

Criston seemed to stiffen a little, making it clear he did not frequent these places often.

“Please, do not make me regret it.”

You simply smiled, taking his hand and noting the coin in the Madame’s hand as you passed her. The knight had paid, you were his for the night. Criston’s eyes drifted over the room around him, seemingly the main area of the brothel. It was quieter than when he had been here last, and he felt himself relax a little with that knowledge.

And thankfully, you continued to lead him down a corridor and to a private room. You both entered in silence, yet it was not uncomfortable. Your hand was soft in his, and nothing about you made him feel as though this was a mistake.

It was only when you crossed the threshold did you let go of his hand, urging him gently to sit down on the bed as you closed the door and lit some of the candles littered about the room. Criston took this opportunity to take in his surroundings. The bed was large, dressed is plush fabrics in deep tones, the headboard half covered with plump pillows.

The rest of the room, however, took his interest.

The wall to his right was home to a large glass fronted cupboard, showcasing a plethora of oils and scents that he knew immediately were what you used to ready yourself. The wall to his left was something entirely different. Locked chests that had him wondering what was hidden inside. Something about you told him that you were more than just a typical woman of the Silk Street.

“Now, my sweet knight, what have you come here for?” You asked, walking back over to him and reaching gently up to run a hand through his hair.

Criston, despite himself, leaned into the touch. Eyes closing as he let a soft sigh escape him. What exactly had he come for? He did not really know himself.

“I was hoping you could help me…relax.” His voice was quiet, a low rumble that was tinged with the faintest hint of shame.

You realised then, that you would have to start from the beginning. Bring him out of whatever cloud of shame he seemed to be hiding in. You made quick work of his cloak, taking your time and letting him ease into the whole situation.

“Shall we start with some wine?”

Criston nodded and gladly took the cup when you handed it to him. Letting the sweet liquid ease his mind. You sat beside him on the bed, your hand moved back to his hair and began to rub soft circles into his scalp. Criston could not stop the way he leaned back into your touch again, soft sighs leaving him as your lips soon latched on to the skin of his neck.

The pleasure you gave him was slow, but intoxicating, seeping into his veins and pulsing down through his cock. He felt you smirk against his skin as you noticed the prominent bulge in his breeches, watching it twitch as you pressed a firmer kiss to his throat.

“We will start simple, kiss and touch until you are comfortable…”

Criston could only groan in response, all thoughts leaving him as your palm found his cock. Palming him through the fabric, the heat of your hand and the plump flesh of your lips sending his mind into a void of nothing but pleasure.

His hips chased your hand, desperate for whatever friction you could give him. But at the same time, you could tell he would need instruction. Permission to give in to his desires.

“You can touch me, sweet knight.” You whispered into his ear, taking one of his hands and placing it on the swell of your breast.

Your now free hand untied your robe, letting the smooth silk fall from your shoulders and exposing your bare skin. You revelled in the soft groan that left the knight as his eyes opened, widening as he took in everything that was happening.

The bare skin. The warmth of it beneath his palm. The gentle friction of your hand against his hardened length. But he wanted more.

“Please…”

He could not seem to form any more words. While he was not the most eloquent of men, he could barely process that you had him speechless from the first touch.

“Please what, my darling? Tell me what you want, and you shall have it.”

His fingers tugged at the soft bud of your nipple, the way he licked his lips giving you a good clue as to what he wanted. Your hand in his hair guiding him down and letting him bury himself between your breasts. He may not know it yet, but everything he was doing told you one thing.

The stoic knight was submissive. Desperate for affection, no matter where it came from. In need of having someone else take control away from him. And you were more than happy to do that for him. It was your specialty really. Taking powerful men and reducing them to panting, begging messes of themselves.

You tugged his head back, already seeing the damp and wide-eyed look in his eye. Telling you, your assumption was right.

“Stand up and take off your shirt.” You ordered, letting your voice taking a little more of a commanding town and smiling when you saw his cock twitch in response.

Criston hurried to remove his shirt, throwing it behind him and waiting for your next instruction. Just the idea of being at your mercy, at his pleasure being held solely by you, had his skin heating and his cock already leaking onto the fabric of his breeches. You licked your lips, letting him wait just a little longer before your next command.

“Now, strip bare. Let me see you, Ser Criston.”

He had never removed his clothes faster, near tripping over himself as he kicked away his boots before pushing his breeches down his legs. He could tell immediately that this was what you enjoyed. The smug expression, the commanding tone, it suited you perfectly. Your eyes roamed his now bare form, watching the flush that coloured his chest and moved higher under your gaze.

You stood from the bed, letting your robe fall entirely from your body as you closed the distance between you. He held his breath as you touched him, soft hands starting at his shoulders and working their way down, mapping every inch of his muscled form.

But when you reached his cock, his knees felt like they would buckle. It had been a long time since anyone but himself had touched him so intimately and he was already on the brink of overstimulation.

“Now, we can do this two ways. I can be gentle, bring you to your release with my hand, my mouth or my cunt…” you whispered, pressing your lips to his jaw between words.

“Or…I can do what I know you really need. To surrender. To relinquish the control, you hold on so tight to.”

You punctuated your words now with gentle squeezes to his cock, not quite enough movement to make him come, but enough to have him grunting under his breath. He did not know what to answer. Deep down, he knew that the second option was what he wanted but he was too embarrassed to say the words.

His silence, however, was not acceptable.

“Words, I need your words.” Your hands stilled on his cock, and he could not stop the whine that left him when your movements stopped.

“Please…the se-second…please…” Criston was verging on incoherent, and you had barely started.

A mix of shame and desire surged in his veins, a war raging in him between grabbing his clothes and fleeing and staying at your side and following your every command. You could see it, his eyes flicking still between the door and you. You resumed your movements slowly, working up to pumping his cock faster and faster and watching how he slowly but surely folded under your touch.

You pressed your lips to his, feeling him melt under your touches.

“You will not come unless I say. You will only touch me when I say.”

Criston nodded quickly. He may not have known it, but his body did. Relaxing into your touch and surrendering completely. You released his cock, another whine leaving him, but he knew from the look you gave him that he would not be without your touch for long. You ordered him to lay down, walking over to the cabinet and taking out a small bottle of oil.

“We will start slow, ease you into it. Let your body get used to the feeling of submission…”

Criston’s head fell back against the sheets, feeling the heat of your body as you crawled up to lay beside him. Your lips kissed a trail down his body, supporting yourself with an arm on either side of his torso. His moans were soft, the evidence of just how much control he had already let slip.

Your kisses covered his entire body as your hand sped up, working his cock until Criston was panting and begging beneath you. And when you felt him twitch in your palm, you stopped. Denying his orgasm and forcing a harsh whine from his lips.

“I..I..?” Criston stammered, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.

“You will come when I tell you to. Not before.”

Criston sighed in frustration, but the combination of the denial and your words sent a rush of desire through him. He nodded, and you began your ministrations anew.

Four times. Four times you denied him before his body was so flushed, so sore, so slick with sweat that he began to give in and beg you.

“Please, it hurts…I need to…please...” His voice was pathetic almost, he could hear it. If he was not so deep into his arousal, he would have been embarrassed.

Your hand wrapped him tight, the other slipping down and adding pressure around his stones, massaging and squeezing until you could feel his cock twitching again. His eyes searched for yours, waiting for the permission he needed.

Those sad brown eyes, wet with tears and filled with desperation. If you were crueller, you would have denied him a fifth time.

“So good, well done, you can come, my sweet knight.”

That was all he needed. With a rough, strained moan, his orgasm ripped through him. Leaving him panting and gripping tight at the sheets beneath him. You could not help but smile. There was something quite satisfying watching strong men like Criston fall apart at your hand.

Eventually, your hands slowed, moving from his cock to his stomach and hips. Stroking soft circle into his skin as his breathing slowed. He sat up on his elbows, wiping a hand over his face to clear the tears and sweat.

“I am impressed, ser, not many submit so easily.” You praised, planting a kiss on his hip before sitting up between his legs.

Criston huffed out a laugh, his mind still in the throes of pleasure and almost unable to form any answer except for one.

“Thank you.”

Criston left your side in the early hours, but not without the promise of his return. And your promise of more means of…exploration.

Even after one meeting, Criston could feel himself walking lighter, less tense.

Maybe, just maybe, you would be his salvation.

@bucknastysbabe @elaratyrell @fairyslunaluna @towriteloveontheirarms @aemondsbabe

[justinalovee]

𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Targaryen reader x multiple characters

Word Count: 2468

Warnings: Incest, oral, threesome, P in V, masturbating, fingering, lactation kink, spit kink, possessiveness

Summary: Rhaenyra and her lover have different sexual encounters with characters in the HOTD universe

A/N: All characters are 18+! minors DNI. Alicent isn’t married to the king. Although there is incest, Nyra doesn’t have sex with her siblings

Aegon

Rhaenyra beckons her brother, who is sitting on a chair at the foot of the bed, with the index finger of her free hand, “Aegon, come closer.”

Aegon downs the rest of his cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Nervously, he kneels between your legs, leaning down to get a closer look at your glistening cunt.

“Do you see?” Rhaenyra asks, opening your folds with two fingers. “This is how wet she needs to be each time you lay together.”

Aegon looked lost in a haze. He had staggered into his bedchambers, hoping to sleep off his drunken state, but instead found you waiting on his bed with Rhaenyra by your side. Rhaenyra wasn’t happy when she heard of your betrothal to a green, but you assured her that Aegon had been led astray by his mother and grandsire.

You wanted him to fall in love with you.

It was the king's idea to have you marry his eldest son, despite his daughter and Queen Alicent’s protest. The king hoped that marriage and children might bring his son some happiness. In truth, you wanted that for Aegon as well. If he was happy with you, then he’d follow you to Dragonstone. Not only would it mean you would have another dragon and its rider on your side, but he might have a chance of a better life away from the poisonous vipers he currently lives with. You believed that you could live in harmony by each other's sides in Dragonstone once you reached his heart.

But the way to a man like Aegon Targaryen's heart was through his cock.

Having been your lover for some time, Rhaenyra offered to help you gain his interest the night before your wedding. A tiny part of her was jealous as well that she was no longer going to be the only one who touched you, but she could make peace with sharing you.

Aegon nodded. His shyness confused you, as he was known to have slept with many women before. Maybe the shock of seeing Rhaenyra show him how you like to be eaten out had him temporarily frozen.

Rhaenyra smirks. “She truly is divine. Do you want to taste her?”

The mere thought of Aegon and Rhaenyra taking turns licking and sucking at your most sensitive area sent a shiver down your spine.

Rhaenyra shuffles back in the bed until her knees are behind your head. She watches with wide eyes as Aegon grips your thighs with his hands, pushing your legs open further to accommodate him. Gently, he licks through your folds, causing you to let out a soft moan.

You glanced up at Rhaenyra and pouted; you wanted to repay the earlier favour of her giving you pleasure. While she’s distracted, your hands snake up to the front of her dress. You pinch her nipples through the material, pulling her down close enough so you can touch her with your mouth. Rhaenyra pecks at your lips and says, “Tell me, sweet girl, how does it feel?”

"So good; Aegon knows what he’s doing."

You tug at Aegon’s silver locks, holding him in place, when he rubs at your clit with his thumb. You gasp, looking down at the sight of him between your legs. "Gods, I’m so close... I’m going to cum in your mouth."

Aegon smirks before quickening his movements. You pull the grey fabric of Rhaenyra’s dress down at one side so her breasts are exposed. You latch your lips around her nipple, licking and sucking on her skin.

Feeling your inner walls start to flutter around your betrotheds tongue you pull his hair tighter, “fuck! I think we are going to be very happy together.”

Aegon gives you a devilish smile before pushing his tongue further inside you.

Aemond

Aemond drives his cock into you faster and harder. He was determined to make you cum multiple times after reading that a woman having an orgasm helps her become pregnant. He licks two of your fingers then rubs them against your clit, saying, “You're going to look like a goddess when you are swollen with my child.”

“Our gorgeous princess,” Rhaenyra adds.

A chesty growl erupts from Aemond, who continues to slam into you, his hands roughly pinning you down by your hips. His hatred for Rhaenyra seems to spur him on.

Usually you hate being caught in the middle of your husband and his elder sister's spats, but right now you are enjoying this.

Aemond had returned from dragon riding earlier than intended to find Rhaenyra between your legs in your shared bedchamber. He knew of your relationship with the heir to the throne but hardly mentioned it. He excused himself and was about to leave until Rhaenyra made a snide comment about being able to fuck you better. Minutes later, he had pulled you away from his sister and shoved his cock deep inside you.

You couldn’t see your husband, but you were sure he was glaring at Rhaenyra. She pinches your nipples and moans as you tease her slit with your finger. Watching you get fucked turned her on more than she thought possible. “Good girl,” she praises. “You're doing such a good job pleasing me while getting stuffed full.”

You nip at the side of her thigh before smacking a hand on her clothed cheek. Rhaenyra had wanted you to make her feel good but wouldn’t go bare in front of her brother, so to compromise, she removed her small cloth and held the bottom of her dress up high enough so she could place her thighs on either side of your head.

You found it erotic that your husband couldn’t see what you were doing to the other women, and likewise that you couldn’t see what he was doing to you.

“Qogralbar! harder, kostilus!” Fuck! Harder, please!

“Such a needy girl,” Rhaenyra remarks.

You flick your tongue over her clit while bringing both hands underneath her dress to feel her skin. You link your arms around her thighs to bring her down until she’s sitting on your face. You spread her cheeks, gathering wetness from her core. You use it to lubricate your finger, then slide it along her slit until you reach the hole. Slowly, you insert a finger into her ass while devouring her cunt with your mouth.

“You have a very dirty wife, brother; you must be very happy.”

“Very,” he snaps. “Just remember, she is mine! Mine to play with, mine to lay with every night, mine to fuck heirs into.”

Not taking the bait Rhaenyra just hums in agreement. “Her breasts will be so full and swollen when she’s pregnant.”

Aemond sends you over the edge when he flicks at your clit, causing you to moan loudly into Rhaenyra’s pussy. As she starts to rock her hips, she’s fucking herself against your finger and mouth. Feeling you squeeze around his cock, Aemond twitches inside you and then groans as he spills his seed.

You try to wrap your legs around his waist to keep him closer to you, but he leans back, collecting the cum that’s spilled out onto his fingers, then pushes it back inside you. “We are going to be here all night, wife,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “It appears you’ve forgotten who you belong to. So I need to remind you that you will not be leaving this bed until I’m sure you’re with a child.”

Ser Criston

After relentless teasing from you, Ser Criston finally snapped and let you push by him, making your way into your cousin's bedchamber, knowing you spent most nights in the princess room. Of course he followed you inside the room to scold you for acting like such a brat, but what he didn’t know was that Rhaenyra was already waiting for you both.

Now the knight stood palming his crotch, watching as two of your fingers disappeared inside of Rhaenyra. Her back was pressed against your chest, with her legs wide open, facing Criston, giving him a full view of all her glory.

You had never felt Rhaenyra so wet before; her slick left a wet patch below. You had made her cum twice already, once with your mouth and again with a cock made out of siltstone. She was quickly on her way to a third orgasm, but you didn’t want it happening around your fingers. You wanted to see her cum around the knight's dick.

Rhaenyra leans her head back against your chest and moans, “Care to join us, Ser Criston?”

The knight doesn’t reply with words but swiftly lowers his trousers enough to pull his hard cock out. You remove your fingers from Rhaenyra’s pussy and bring them to her lips for her to lick clean. You remove your fingers from her mouth with a pop, then move to the side so Rhaenyra can lay on her back. You gently take Criston’s cock in your mouth and bob back and forth, taking in as much of him as you can. You smirk as he grips your hair, holding it out of your face as he starts to thrust it into your mouth.

Rhaenyra whines as she grows impatient.

You remove your lips from Criston’s cock. You begin to massage his balls with your hand and turn your head to the princess, watching as she squeezes her own breast.

“I’m so dry,” she pouts.

Smirking, you open your mouth and let saliva fall onto her breasts. You stay like that for a few moments before turning your attention to her glimmering pussy and spitting on it, causing the knight to let out a grunt. You lick the tip of his penis, then spit on it, before guiding his cock into Rhaenyra. You feel slick running down your thighs, watching as he disappears inside her, both of them groaning loudly as he does.

Criston grips you by the jaw and pulls you in for a rough kiss. When your lips part, he pushes you back so you're lying beside Rhaenyra and thrusts his fingers into you. Your lips clash with Rhaenyra’s own, as she cups your face gently.

The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping together and moans. Rhaenyra comes first, and Ser Criston follows shortly after. He pulls out of her quickly, spilling his seed onto her stomach.

“Hey!” You protest when he suddenly withdraws his fingers from you, “I haven’t cum.”

He leans down and kisses your cheek. “I know, princess, it’s not nice to be teased, is it?”

Ser Harwin

You moaned pitifully, “Gods, that feels good.”

“You feel so tight, my love,” Rhaenyra says, smiling at you before taking your husband's cock back into her mouth while her fingers that are coated in your slick slide in and out of your pussy easily.

Harwin chuckles into your breast before continuing to suck on it. He loved nothing more than sucking, biting, and squeezing your breasts since the day you were married, but his infatuation grew when you became pregnant for the first time. He quickly discovered that fucking heirs into you and fucking you while swelling with his seed was the prettiest sight he'd ever seen.

Sensing he was getting close, Harwin withdraws his cock from Rhaenyra’s mouth and looks up at you, traces of milk still on his lips. “You taste amazing as always, my dear wife.”

Rhaenyra gets off the bed, goes to the other side of you, and crouches down, taking your other breast into her mouth. Having children herself, the princess knew the relief that came from breastfeeding, although she found it pleasing whenever she saw Harwin suckling from you.

After licking your breast for a moment, Rhaenyra places herself in a different position again, this time in front of you, and begins to worship your cunt with her mouth, careful not to hit her head against your large bump. You tilt your head to the side to get a better view of her bare body, watching as her own hand disappears between her legs.

You grip Harwin’s cock in your hand and begin to stroke him, enjoying the way he twitches in your hand.

Harwin pants, “Soon as I spill my seed, I’m going to spend the rest of the evening making you cum.” He kisses up your neck to the side of your face, “and watching you make Nyra come apart with your beautiful mouth while I fuck you full of my seed again, and again.”

He returns his attention back to your leaking breasts, and your body squirms in delight at the promise of what’s to come.

Alicent

“She’s so pretty, isn’t she?” Rhaenyra coos in your ear before kissing the back of your neck.

You look down at Lady Alicent, who is beneath you. You brush her thick brown hair out of her face, admiring how shiny it is as she sucks on your clit.

The first time Alicent caught you and Rhaenyra in a compromising position together, she was horrified; her cheeks blushed red as her eyes came together in fury. She insisted the Targaryens had queer customs before storming off. A few days passed before you approached her in the gardens and explained. Ever the lady, she agreed not to speak of it again; however, curiosity got the better of her. The same evening she visited Rhaenyra’s chamber, and now Lady Alicent would become jealous if you and Rhaenyra explored each other's bodies without her present.

When Alicent moans, sending vibrations onto your cunt, you look over your shoulder to see Rhaenyra has pushed two fingers inside her. Your eyes briefly flash to the bedroom door, and you wonder if your cousin's sworn protector is oblivious to the noises he hears.

Alicent continues to flick her tongue over your clit, saying, “I’m close.”

Rhaenyra slows the pace of her fingers so Alicent can focus on you, making you cum first. You gripped the sheets beneath you, clenching them as your orgasm approached. Your hips sway slightly as you start to bounce against Alicent’s fingers when she slips them into you.

“Do you want me to cum in your mouth, Lady Alicent?” You ask.

She nods.

Your legs begin to tremble as the coil tightening in your lower stomach snaps, and you cum hard. Your slick is soaking Alicent’s fingers and face.

“Fuck,” you pant, moving off her to lay down beside her. You pepper kisses on Alicent's face, saying, “My pretty girl, you did such a good job. That was truly remarkable.” You look over at Rhaenyra, who is grinning at you. “I think our Lady should be shown the same treatment, don’t you?”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

I'm thinking of turning a couple of these into miniseries, but I'm not sure which ones😂

[xxsp3llb0undxx]

The Pack Imprint

Fem!Reader x Uley Pack {2.9k}

Requested - Unknown

DO NOT POST MY WORK TO OTHER SITES OR CLAIM AS YOUR OWN. I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS OF TWILIGHT.

Summary: Reader is Bella Swan's neighbour, having lived beside the Swan's her whole life. The once close pair, now hate each other all because of the group of shifters that reside in the rainy state of Forks, Washington.

WARNINGS: BELLA SLANDER // SWEARING // NOT PROOF READ

Forks, Washington - February 19th 2005

It had been a month since Bella came back to town, she was the centre of the school gossip, everyone trying to either be her friend or get a date with her. All but one person - Y/n L/n. Bella and Y/n grew up together, they were childhood friends along side Jacob Black. But after her parents divorced and she went to live with her mom, Bella had grown distant with the young girl she once saw as a sister. Two letters a week turned into one a month, which then turned into nothing. Y/n was heartbroken, her best friend had up and left. Jacob tried to be around more often but with school on the res and his dad nagging at him to help around the house, he couldn't fit Y/n into his schedule. Which in turn, made the pair grown apart from each other as well. That was until she came back.

The last month in Forks had been hell. Everywhere Y/n went, whispers about the Swan girl being back was all she heard. Every time she would enter through the school door the chatter about her once best friend would swarm through the halls, Y/n had enough. She was sick and tired of always hearing about her, Bella this and Bella that - it was giving her a headache. Jessica and Angela had gave Y/n's seat at the lunch table away to Bella, that was until she started sitting with the Cullens. It was infuriating, she's been back a month and she's already pining after the only Cullen available, it was pathetic. Bella was like a plague coming to ruin Y/n's life all over again, but she wouldn't allow it to affect her.

When lunch came around, Y/n found an empty table near the back of the cafeteria. Jessica and Angela tried to invite her back to their table but all they were met with was Y/n's middle finger held up in front of their faces, the two girls turned and walked away but not without Jessica muttering a not so quiet 'bitch' under her breath. Y/n had enough of Jessica's shit; the sly things she'd say about everyone, how she would point out peoples insecurities and worst of all - how she victimised herself all the goddamn time. Y/n had got up out of her seat, the screech from the metal legs dragging against the floor grabbed the attention of everyone in the cafeteria. "Hey Jess?" Before the girl could respond, Y/n had grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her back - the scream she let out was loud, almost deafening the Cullens; who were on the other side of the cafeteria. "Don't you ever call me a bitch again, do you hear me? I'm sick and tired of your bullshit. You just never learn to fucking shut up." With that said, Y/n had let go of her and walked out the double doors leading into the parking lot of the school.

The Cullens had watched the whole thing unfold, Bella clinging onto Edward's arm saying she was scared. Emmett had the biggest grin on his face, he was enjoying himself too much, quiet little Y/n had turned out to be a badass and Emmett loved it. Rose had to stop her mate from joining in, a firm grip on his bicep - enough to hurt anyone that wasn't a vampire. Alice, knowing what would happen, had excused herself before the fight broke out. She wanted to see if Y/n was alright, so the pixie like vampire had decided to wait beside Y/n's car, hoping she would show up soon. But she didn't, at least not for awhile. Alice had gotten tired of waiting, she turned to leave when she heard the car door behind her shut with a soft click. Before she could do anything, the car had reversed and turned out the parking lot - heading as far away from the gates of Forks Highschool.

March 5th 2005

It had been at least a week since the whole incident between Y/n and Jessica. No one had seen or heard off Y/n, people had started to spread rumours around saying she was expelled or she had ran away after what she had done but none of it was true, only no one would really know the truth at least not yet. Bella had rang Jacob after it had turned into two weeks of not seeing Y/n, at first the young wolf sounded unfazed, like he didn't care but in truth, it was all an act. He knew about what had happened, he heard it straight from the horses mouth the day it all occurred. Y/n had drove all the way to Jacob's house, he was in the garage when he head the screech of tires pulling up in front of his house. He had poked his head out the garage door to see who it was, not really in the mood for anyone to come rushing into his house when he was busy. The sight of a distraught Y/n had panicked the poor boy, he rushed over to her scanning her body for any signs of injury but he turned up with nothing. Y/n was on the verge of tears, he could hear her heart hammering in her chest. Jacob brought her in to his arms, the warmth radiating off of him helped calm the girl down a little though she was still shaking.

Y/n had brought Jacob up to date with what had happened, he was proud of her for finally standing up to Jessica but he was also upset that it had to get to this point for Y/n to finally step up and confront her about it. Y/n had stayed with Jacob and his dad for the last couple weeks, begging them to not send her back there. A couple weeks had then turned into a month, Jacob had started to ignore everyone and started to hang out with Sam Uley and his little pack of mutts. Y/n wasn't having it, she was sick and tired of waiting for Jacob to come home but he never did, no matter how many times Y/n had asked Billy where Jacob had disappeared to he never told her. She waited for as long as she could until it was too much, she had trekked all the way over to Sam's place; her hands clenched and face red hot with anger. She was going to get her answers one way or another.

When Y/n had made it to Sam's house, Bella just so happened to be there too. Her fiery orange truck parked in the drive. There was a indescribable feeling in the pit of Y/n's stomach, a mixture between anxiety and full blown hatred. She stomped her way over to the group, Sam was telling Bella to leave but she wasn't having any of it, like always. Paul was the first to notice Y/n, her h/l h/c whipping around with the wind. Before he could tell Sam she was here, Bella had shouted at him. "What did you do to him? He didn't want this. He just up and left without telling me anything because he's scared of you." Paul had laughed at Bella, Jacob wasn't scared of anyone and yet she still thought that. Paul was calm until Bella had gone and slapped him across the face, she clutched her hand to her chest, it was surely broken after that hit. Paul had started to shake violently, Sam had pushed Bella back telling her to back away whilst simultaneously trying to get Paul to calm down. Y/n had the dumbest idea ever, we all must admit she's not the smartest. She had slowly started to step towards Paul right as he had shifted.

Bella's screaming could be heard but that didn't bother Y/n, what did though was the huge dark silver furred wolf right in front of her. It's teeth bared, snarling at her. Though, she felt no fear. Her hand slowly reached up and gently lay upon it's muzzle. The wolf huffed, he wasn't entirely trusting the girl in front of him but he also felt no fear towards her. He looked into her e/c and everything stilled. The noise around him had calmed, all he could focus on was her. Paul felt like the centre of the earth had shifted, like he was finally where he was meant to be. Before he knew it, he had shifted back. Y/n's body flush against his own, protecting him from the eyes around them. Soon enough, a blanket had been given to him to cover up until he was able to make it back to the house and put a new set of clothes on. Paul was confused, how was he able to imprint on Y/n when he had already imprinted on Rachel, Jacob's sister?

After the events of earlier today, Bella had told Jacob to never speak to her again and she left, just like that. Jacob was sat on the steps of Sam's porch, he just wanted to be alone but he knew that was impossible. Jacob felt a shift of weight beside him, he turned his head and saw Y/n wrapped up in one of Emily's blankets, she must've given Y/n the blanket to stay warm. Jacob threw his arm over the smaller girl, the warm his body provided her, soothed the chill that made a home in her bones. "You know, Bella doesn't deserve you Jake. You're too good for her." They both sat there in silence for awhile, the soft chime of the trees rustling in the wind settling in to the comfortable silence around them. The door to Sam's house opened, revealing the older male. "Come inside, we're having a pack meeting." The pair looked at each other before Jacob got up and walked inside, leaving Y/n to sit on her own to watch the trees dance around in the soft breeze.

Inside Sam's house, the pack was all sat around in his living room. Embry, Paul, Jared and Quil were sat on the sofa, Leah and Seth took up the two arm chairs while Sam and Jacob were stood; everyone waiting for Sam to start the meeting. "We all witnessed what happened between Paul and Y/n earlier, Paul imprinted for the second time. What we need to figure out is why that happened." All eyes were on Paul, he felt smug about having two imprintee's but it felt wrong, as if he were betraying Rachel. The meeting had gone on for the last hour, the pack had decided to try and see if they would all imprint or if it was only Paul to be lucky enough to have two imprintee's. The pack had left the house, Y/n completely unaware of what was about to happen. Jacob held his hand out to Y/n, pulling her up on her feet and leading her over to the small field where Paul had initially shifted. "I need you to be as calm as possible, okay? We need to see if what happened to Paul earlier will happen to all of us, I promise I will explain it all later." Y/n only nodded her head, giving Jacob the all clear.

The pack had lined up beside each other, Paul was the first to shift. He felt all the feelings from earlier flood back, his heart pounded as he stepped closer to Y/n. She reached out to run her fingers through this fur, earning a soft grunt from the silver wolf. Next was Embry, he was scared to look up at Y/n, he felt sick to his stomach; what if he didn't imprint? Y/n took careful steps to Embry, his fur was gray with black spots; he was slightly smaller than Paul. Y/n crouched down to be eye level with the gray wolf, his eye's locked with hers and it was like his whole body was set alight. Slight tingles coursed through his bones, he felt complete. Embry nuzzled into Y/n, small giggles erupted from the girl, the sound was like wind chimes clashing together. Embry left with Paul to shift back and change back into their clothes. Quil and Jared were next, Quil's wolf had chocolate brown fur while Jared had light brown fur with black markings around his eyes. The pair had imprinted instantly, their tails wagging behind them as they accepted the affection off their imprintee. Seth had imprinted fairly easy, though he was still scared. The sandy brown furred wolf cowered at the attention of his imprint, too overwhelmed by the feelings bubbling inside him. The young wolf left as quickly as possible, wanting to shift back and put this behind him for now.

Leah imprinted soon after Seth, she finally knew what it was like to have someone meant for her. The tingling coursing through her body was welcomed, Leah stayed beside Y/n refusing to leave the girls side. She would not leave her imprint, not now - not ever. Jacob and Sam were the only ones left, they had decided to shift at the same time, afraid of being rejected. Sam was a black furred wolf, he was like a shadow while Jacob was a rusty brown colour, almost like Seth. Sam was the first to look up at Y/n, her e/c stared straight back at him. His heart was pounding in his ears, he didn't feel anything at first. He knew what it was like to imprint and yet, he felt nothing. Sam was about to give up and just walk away, until Y/n sat in front of him and ran her fingers through his fur, an electric shot went straight though him. Images flashed behind his eyes, growing old with her, having a family of their own, loving her till his very last breath. Sam now had two imprintee's, what was he going to tell Emily? The black furred wolf walked off towards the house, his ears pinned against his head.

Jacob still had his head pointed down, his eyes trained on the dirt under his paws. "Jake? Look at me, please." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. Jacob listed his head, his pupils blew as images of them laughing together, cooking dinner together, messing around with the pack flashed before his eyes. It was like his ears were flooded with water, he knew he would do anything, be anything for her. His whole world was centred around Y/n and what their life would be like together. A blanket of warmth wrapped itself around his heart, he felt content knowing his best friend would be his forever.

Once everyone had shifted back and back in their clothes, they had all settled in to the living room. Y/n sat on the sofa, squished between Jacob and Leah, while Seth sat in front of her on the floor; his back pressed against her legs. Paul and Jared were fighting over what to watch, while Quil and Embry made popcorn for everyone. Sam was the only one missing, he was sat in his shared bedroom with Emily. They were arguing, everyone could hear it. "Is it my fault? Them fighting, I mean." Y/n felt guilty, she didn't want to tear apart Sam's relationship, she would gladly show herself out if it wasn't for Jacob and Leah physically holding her in place. Paul was the first to say anything, he had crouched in front of the sofa, his hand linked with hers. "Hey.. it's not your fault doll face, no one could've seen this happening. You are our imprint, you are what matters the most to us, it could never be your fault, okay?" Paul kissed Y/n's knuckles, his lips ever so lightly grazing her skin. She sniffled slightly as she nodded her head. Y/n couldn't have been more happy to have the pack, she finally felt loved and included for once. The rest of the night consisted of watching random movies and eating too much junk, Y/n had passed out on Leah's shoulder after the second movie had started. She was soon followed by the rest of the pack, all spread out in the living room. Seth cuddling into Y/n's leg, Jacob flung half on Y/n while Leah was now hanging off the sofa, Paul laying beside Seth on the floor; his head on Seth's arm. Jared and Embry passed out on the arm chairs, their bodies thrown across them like they were dolls tossed to the side. Quil was the only normal one out the bunch, he was cuddled into a blanket away from everyone else, a pillow under his head as he snored.

Y/n had made a family for life, she would not give this up for anything.