#yes his eyes are unfocused On Purpose

[cockroachesunite]

[arcielee]

Devotion

Summary: You are a Targaryen princess with an infatuation on a certain White Cloak. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Targaryen!Reader Word Count: 5.7k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, neglect, angst, unrequited love?, kissing, fingering, unprotected p in v, more angst, oral sex (m and f receiving), a mother's reprimand, lots of blood, death, more angst Author’s Note: Thank you my beloved beta reader @zaldritzosrose for looking this over and helping me this story. I Mushroom-tweaked it to fit the angsty plot. This started as an anon request and unfolded into so much more. It is dedicated to my darling @opheliax98 who encouraged "all the drama" of this piece. I hope it you enjoy it. 💜 You can also read it on ao3.

Your mother decided that you would return to the Red Keep as an envoy, because of your ability to hide in plain sight despite the poisoned word that first followed your steps–ilībōños, bastard. It was the same that was thrown towards your half-brothers, but with a tone as bold as their brown curls and brown eyes; they did not have the fortune of their Valyrian roots to hide under, their features often speculated as too Strong. 

You, however, were the first, albeit illegitimate, born of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, conceived the same night that her virtue was called into question. 

There was a bitter speculation of your origins that faded away with your birth; you were another nameless Targaryen princess that would decorate the family tapestry, another egg that turned to stone in the crib. Life in the capitol was lonely for you; your father was away in Pentos with his new family, while your mother remained preoccupied with her White Cloak, and then her Gold Cloak and new husband. There was an age gap between you and your brothers, your nephews and your niece, and it was an isolating chasm that placed you as an outsider, a spectator, with the unfocused eyes of the court looking through you. 

Your only company was your handmaiden, Elinda, but her loyalties reported back to your mother, and then your Septa, but her complaints were ceaseless, especially as you learned the pathways that Maegor the Cruel had carved into the Keep; they became your escape from her lessons. 

It was then your mother requested a knight from the Kingsguard to watch over you, and you mourned the little bit of independence acquired, assuming you would be assigned someone old, doddy, who served as another set of eyes that would only look through you. 

You were not expecting Ser Erryk Cargyll. 

To begin, he was only three years older than you–it was said his swordsmanship so impressed the Lord Commander that he also recruited his twin brother, bringing them both to King's Landing to serve in the Kingsguard. He was handsome, standing tall behind your mother, long and lithe. His ruddy complexion brought out the blue-gray of his eyes that showed unsure, almost shy with the introductions. 

You smiled at him and his lips curled upwards in response, a rose dusting to his cheeks. 

You liked him at once.

He was devoted to your shadow, almost rapt to your beck and call. The attention fed your girlish infatuation with the young knight, and you were always teasing him in a way that teetered on the edge of his duty and his oath with your coy questions and smirk. Ser Erryk was rarely rattled by you, but seemed more amused–he would answer you with a frank tone, a welcomed honesty, that ended with your title: it was always, “Yes, princess,” or “I shall see to it, princess.” 

It continued on for months until one evening, as he escorted you to your room, you asked him to call you by your name, to set aside the formality. You saw the brilliant blue of his eyes, bright amongst the flush of his features; his tongue wet his lips, searching for his voice. “I could never do that, princess,” he started slowly, his eyes flickering up again to look at you as if for the first time. You saw the dust of his freckles that burned bright against his skin. “My purpose is to keep you safe.” 

His voice was low, so serious, and it made your blood rise to the surface. You tried to laugh it off. “My purpose is to wait around until I am able to marry the highest bidder.” It was something that weighed heavy on your heart; your eyes fell away and your fingers grasped into the fabric of your skirts. “I know I will not be missed within these walls once I am gone.” 

“That’s not true, princess.” 

It startled you, and you peered back up from underneath your lashes, your heart vibrating against your skin. You watched Ser Erryk choke on his boldness, his regret knotting into his face before he settled on silence. You watched him go, the muted ensemble of his armor as he returned to the barracks below. 

That moment created something palpable that pressed overhead. You were too young, too rash to even know how to tactfully touch the subject again. The forced return to your norm left your bones aching; Ser Erryk doted on your steps, and you rambled on to drown out the incessant screaming of your heart within your chest. 

It spilled over at Driftmark. Your family went for the Velaryon funeral procession for Daemon’s wife, feeding further into the resentment that rifted within the house of the dragon. You slipped away and found Aegon in his cups, deciding to steal some of the liquid courage. When Ser Erryk found you, your eyes were glassy and your cheeks flushed. 

He sighed, shaking his head, reaching to help you stand, but you swore you saw the hint of a smile touching his lips. Ser Erryk said nothing, but wrapped his arm around your waist and matched his gait with your staggered steps to your room. You rested your head on his shoulders, enjoyed his smell of olive oil used on his sword and how it mixed with his perspiration. 

At the door, you felt his breath tickle your ear, “I will not speak of this to the crowned princess, but you should get some rest–” 

You spun to face him, your hands pushing on his breastplate to steady yourself on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to meet with his. Ser Erryk froze with your kiss, his White Cloak tightening like a vice. His palms were rough, but he was gentle to wrap your elbows and pull you back, his gaze rooting you to cobblestone. 

Moments ticked away with your beating heart that was now bruising against your bones before he finally said, “I cannot give you what you truly deserve, princess.” 

He said nothing else and your embarrassment fed the fire in your blood. You pulled away from him and slipped into your room, careful to close your door. Your back pressed against the carvings of sea creatures into the oak and you melted to the floor, your tears spilling to ease your girlish heartache. 

Elsewhere on the island, a dragon was claimed and bloodshed followed. The walls rattled as the king proclaimed his true loyalty and it ended with you being whisked away to Dragonstone. It was for the best, you decided, to leave your broken heart behind. You felt the tinge of hope when you learned that your mother and your father were finally together, and decided to set aside your infatuation of the White Cloak, but instead focus to aid your mother, to help solidify what your grandsire, King Viserys, had proclaimed to the Seven Realms. 

That she was to be queen. 

It had been six years since you last been at King’s Landing. It was now a place both familiar and strange. The same architecture rose above, shadowing over Blackwater Bay, though inside your ancestry of Old Valyria had been replaced, the Keep becoming a shrine to the new gods who had not yet paid their dues for such a show of devotion. 

As you entered through the Barbican, you smirked at the memory of the girl you were before, only ten and five, on the cusp of womanhood that required your gowns to be stitched to fit your slender frame. Now your figure filled your dresses, your curves pressing to the seams and your hair twisted and styled to showcase the dragonblood in your veins, that shined in the amethyst of your eyes. 

The queen was first to come and greet you. The handmaidens selected were controlled by Elinda, who watched their flurry to unpack. You looked up to see her lips pursed, her dark brown eyes washed over like you were a specter coming to haunt, like she wished for the earth to swallow you whole. 

“It has been requested–” her tone was queenly, but you noted that she would not mention how it was your mother that penned her a letter, “–for you to have a knight assigned. I was advised that Ser Erryk has served this role before.” 

His name caused your blood to roar in your head as you turned to watch him enter the room. Ser Erryk seemed taller, or perhaps that was how he now held himself, his pride set on his shoulders and onto his features that sharpened. He was still sinewy, though he seemed to fill out the armor hammered to fit his frame, polished and gleaming in the sun that streaked through; it burned bright in his copper hair that was brushed back to show his beard trimmed to fit his jaw. 

The coloring brought out his blue-gray eyes that shined almost unsure, almost shy. 

It kindled something within you that you believed to be gone, a feeling that washed away on the shores of Dragonstone and swept to the depths of the bay, buried in the sand. 

Ser Erryk looked at you and you could not help your smile. His lips ticked upwards and you felt your pulse flutter anew, seizing your heart again. 

Your iron-clad shadow followed after your steps, a devotion renewed, and it returned the muscle memory of his constant and comforting presence as you reacquainted with the old castle. Ser Erryk accompanied your rounds to visit with Helaena and her children, watching your brief exchange with each prince, and even briefer with the king who smiled when he called you Rhaenyra. Your knight then escorted you back to your room without a word, just the chink of his armor with his steps, echoing off the stone. 

You paused in the doorway, looking back to see his stance. As he watched you, your mind flittered with words but none could knit together. “Sleep well, princess,” he finally spoke with a small bow, excusing himself. 

The room had also been stripped of your Targaryen history, almost unfamiliar despite your chests unpacked. Elinda and the other handmaidens helped prepare you for bed, and a cup of wine was poured but your stomach would not hold it down. They left you alone and your quarters were now a gilded cage to contain you; you pulled on your pale, silk robe and finished half of the goblet, summoning your old courage to slip away.

The same panel opened with ease, but inside, basked in the amber light of torch set in a sconce, stood Ser Erryk with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Your mouth fell open and he grinned at you. “I take my oath with my heart, princess,” he reminded you. 

“How did you know–?” You stammered, licking the wine from your lips. 

He only shrugged, his eyes glittering in the fire. “You seem so very different, but also are still the same.” 

You pulled the panel closed to silence his chuckle. You finished the rest of the wine poured and returned to your bed.  

Your days at Kings Landing were idly filled. Your old Septa returned with her scrutiny of the woman you had become, her brow furrowing to find fault as you showcased your refinement of a lady mastered over the last half decade. Your afternoons were spent in the company of Helaena and her children, the only ones welcoming your return, with the littlest one, Maelor, especially taken with you. 

The time was spent in the gardens with a blanket sprawled out. Helaena would hum songs while the twins played their games. Maelor was content to sit in your lap, his eyes wide to discover whatever came within his chubby grasp. 

And Ser Erryk, your shadow, would stay close by, always. 

“He will draw his own blood to protect you.” The princess spoke suddenly, jarringly–it was a common happenstance with Helaena, you learned. Her every impertinent thought spilled off her tongue in riddles. 

Maelor’s eyes widened with his beginning grasp of the spoken word. You blew a raspberry onto his cheek to distract him, and he fell into a fit of giggles. “He would draw blood, but only if it was needed,” you corrected her, your voice low. 

Helaena only hummed in response, falling back into whatever song as she looked over the flowers that surrounded you both, watching the insects that lived amongst them. Her words remained with you, echoing in your head long after the moon began its silver stretch overhead. It guided your steps back to the panel in your room and you pushed it open. 

Ser Erryk straightened at once, his hand back on his pommel. “Princess? Why are you still–” 

You stopped him with a gentle touch on his breastplate, steadying yourself to rise on the balls of your feet until your lips pressed to his once again. But this time he responded, melting against–his lips were soft and warm, and his beard tickled your skin. 

You fell flat-footed to the floor with a smile spreading across your face; he was enraptured to watch the words that spilled from your lips. “I thought I had forgotten that night at Driftmark, but it seems what you said has embedded into my bones.” You felt light-headed, but also embolden by his gaze and the black that swallowed his murky cobalt eyes. “You once said that you could not give me what I deserved, but did you ever think you could give me what I want, what I desire?” 

It was a dam broken and he surged against you, pressing until your back touched the other side of the corridor. He reclaimed your mouth with a honeyed fervor that warmed your blood. Your fingers pull away the tie that held back his hair and combed through his silky copper spill. His fingers bruised into your hips, holding on as if you would slip away. 

You broke the kiss, breathless, your fingers knitting with his own and pulling him back into your room. It was a quiet exchange, littered with soft kisses, as you helped him remove his iron armor piece-by-piece, stacking the plates aside. 

He draped the white cape over a chair and looked to you. Underneath he wore a pale tunic and cream slacks, his outline pressing to the seams in a way that made your thighs clench. He stepped closer, his desperation more controlled, and pulled you into his chest, his thumb pressed to tilt your chin for a slow and searching kiss. 

You sighed and his tongue curled to taste, his fingers peeling away the bedtime silk that covered your skin. He worshiped every inch shown with his mouth, blooms of color decorating your skin. 

You helped him pull his shirt over his head, wanting to feel the heat of his skin, to feel the golden hair across his chest. His heart was vibrating beneath, and his arms wrapped around your waist with another kiss that pulled the air from your lungs. Ser Erryk tightened his hold to lift you and walk you backwards until you felt the edge of the bed touching the back of your knees; you sat down, your thighs plush and pink.

His hands cradled your jaw, tilting your head back to look at you. “Beautiful,” he whispered before leaning to capture your lips again. 

Your fingers curled at the nape of his neck to pull him towards you, moving back against the mattress. He followed, his skin flushed red and his eyes wide as you laid back into the pillows. He moved on top of you, gentle to touch you with soft caresses and lingering kisses, following your guide as you led his hand lower towards the intimacy between your thighs, wet and wanting. 

He trembled with his exhale as his fingertips split apart your velvet folds, his calloused touch careful to map the bloom of nerves above. You gasped with his testing touch and his smile curled into his blood stained cheeks; he moved softer, but quicker, until it elicited a sweet sigh. 

Ser Erryk was responsive, attentive to you. He was aware of your breathing and soft sounds, matching his ministration to pull something deeper within you, sparking at the base of your spine. It felt different from your own touch, this passion he pulled without your control, and you squirmed from the pressure building in your core. 

“Erryk,” you whined, your hips lifting against his hand.

He grinned, shifting to press a kiss underneath your jaw, and your skin rippled over in response to the contrast of his lips and his beard. “That’s it princess,” his husky tone was hot against your skin; your hands moved to hold him close, another pitiful mewl spilling. He shifted his hand, moving to curl two fingers within your cunt while his thumb pressed to your swollen pearl.  

“Erryk–!” you gasped, and your nails pressed red crescents into his shoulders. 

His brow was knitted with his concentration, moving to litter kisses along the column of your neck and to your collarbones–a gentle nip that bolted the length of your spine. He does not stop, his fingers coated with your slick with his rhythm that curled upwards into you, sparking a euphoria that poured white-hot into your blood, your heart bruising until you feel it rattling your bones. 

His other hand touched to return you back to your body; his palms rough but kind, following the curve of your stomach and resting to feel the rise and fall with your bated breath. You felt dizzy, blushing, and you blinked, looking down to see him watching you. He moved to give you another searing kiss that rekindled the same warmth pooling between your thighs. 

You kissed him back and spread your legs for his slender waist to slot in-between. He pulled his slacks lower, allowing the underside of his cock to spread your velvet folds, a heady but delicious pressure against your cunt. You pulled him in for a kiss and he groaned into your mouth as you canted your hips, your heart pulsing against his heavy cock. 

He was flushed. “I will be gentle, princess…”

You swallowed his words with another kiss, your legs knotting around to rut your hips against him. He panted into your mouth, his arm dipping to line himself with your entrance, and you clenched with your anticipation. 

Erryk pressed into you with a trembled control as your heat enveloped him fully. You were split apart with the most delicious fill; you mewled, pitiful, and his head fell forward, tucking into the curve of your neck. “Gods be good…” he rasped. 

Your fingers dimpled into his waist, encouraging his thrusts. His pace filled you sinfully, a slow roll of his hips that spurred a pleasure coiling within. You gasped against his chest, your nails biting into his skin as he quickened, going deeper, almost bruising. You felt your walls flutter around him, pulling another guttural groan from the back of his throat, his rasped whisper of your name buried into your hair. 

The euphony trilled your spine and you clenched with your second release. It pulled him over that precipice of pleasure, crashing like a tidal wave. Erryk melted against you, hot, pulsing deep within you, and you breathed in his skin, the same intoxicating scent mixed with olive oil and wax. 

He pulled away, the tender moment passing as duty resurfaced. 

You made a noise, pushing to sit upright and your head tilting to watch his heavy sway between his thighs as he walked back from the basin with a clean cloth in hand. Your eyes met with his and his brow arched in return, teasing; you caught his wrist and pulled him back into the bed, against your heart. 

Erryk twisted his face until it pressed into your skin, licking and kissing whatever his mouth could touch. You giggled, squirming until you could rest your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you. 

You did not want this night to end. “Do not leave me, Erryk.” 

“I am sworn to you, princess.” He reminded you, pressing his lips to your hairline. 

It was not what you wished to hear, but it was all you would get at this moment. You hummed, burying your face until his chest hair tickled, listening to the low thrum of his heartbeat. 

That night changed the monotony of the Red Keep. You thought of any reason to pull Erryk away from prying eyes; stolen kisses and touches that lingered, heating your skin. Your eyes now would flit to find him and see that he was always standing close, his gaze piercing through, settled onto you. 

When the sun tucked away into the horizon, he would slip through the passageway and back into your embrace, the intimate tangle of bare limbs abed with breathless kisses and secrets shared. He learned your body, an instrument to be mastered and a passion to taste you on his lips, staining his beard. He became your confidant, sharing the mutterings of the court; he was the one to warn you about the claimant for Driftmark. 

You wrote your mother at once.

It had been months since you left Dragonstone and you were excited to see her, your father and your siblings again. You were deciding on what gown to wear while Elinda was cleaning up, pulling your sheets away with a scowl on her face. 

You laughed at her expression. “What is it?”

She was perplexed. “I cannot recall your last moonsblood, princess,” she admitted, her lips pursed. “I feel that time seems to run itself together within these walls.” 

Her words ripped through you, but you said nothing, your expression as solid as the stones stacked to create the walls she referred to. Elinda finished tucking the corners before she noticed. “Princess! Are you okay–?” 

“I am fine,” you lied. “Help me with my dress.”

Underneath you were rattled, frightened with the revelation of life within you. Your disquiet settled away, disappearing once your mother arrived. You rushed to greet her, seeing her swollen with another heir in the making. Her silver brows knitted as she looked over the state of the Red Keep, and you wrapped an arm around your side, pulling you close to whisper: “It is even worse than what you described!” 

There was comfort in your mother’s arms and you pressed a kiss to her cheek. She looked at you a moment before her gaze fell back to Erryk, your ever dutiful-shadow noted. “Good ser, you have my eternal gratitude for keeping her safe.”

He was pink with her words. “Thank you, princess.” 

Her focus remained on him another moment before she looked back to you, her eyes now careful to comb over. You swallowed, unsure, and she said nothing as her attention was whisked away to her purposeful return to the Keep. 

The days that followed were tumultuous in the least, with a tension that spilled crimson on the floor of the Throne Room. Your stomach dropped from the wet sound of the two halves of Ser Vaemond hitting the stone floor, the smell of iron thick around you; Erryk moved in front of you to shield you away. 

King Viserys called for a supper that evening to mend the ever-growing rift, but instead emotions imploded, splitting the room in half. 

Erryk moved to wrap his hand around your arm at your mother’s command. Your father escorted your siblings and their betrotheds back to their rooms, his silver brow furrowing at you and your knight. 

Your footfalls echoed to keep with his pace, a numbed process of what had just happened. “I will have to return to Dragonstone,” you whispered when you felt certain it was just the two of you. “Wait for me.” 

Erryk looked at you before he stepped closer, cupping your jaw. It rooted you as he leaned to give you a chaste kiss, the warmth of his mouth searing through you. You stifled a sob when he pulled back to place another kiss to your hairline, another secret whispered against your skin. “I always have, princess.” 

Dragonstone was gray and dreary as you remembered, becoming a beacon for awful when the news came that the king was dead and that Prince Aegon II Targaryen now sat upon the throne. 

It wrenched through your mother and her hands pressed to her abdomen. The day waned with your father plotting at the very table the Conqueror laid plans, while your mother’s screams echoed throughout. You waited in the shadows, your hands pressing to protect your stomach; you prayed fervently to the gods, the old ones and the new, but they did not answer. 

A pyre was stacked for the bloody swaddle and you watched the flames swallow it, the heat licking your skin. Your mother was pale, her eyes empty as she watched the curl of smoke rise above, her morbid farewell to her child unborn. 

It was the swords unsheathed that pulled your attention, your heart pounding at the sound of his voice: “I mean no harm, brothers.” 

You swallowed your tears, watching as Erryk kneeled to the earth with his vow renewed. The setting sun gave an amber aura that reflected off the crown he pulled from his satchel, the same as King Jaehaerys’ and your grandsire after, the same that was placed on top of your mother’s head that commanded a rippled bow of respect from everyone around. 

Back inside, any unease was settled once Princess Rhaenys spoke of how he helped her escape from the Red Keep. Your mother forced a smile, her pain still haunting her features. “Your vow is to me, and to my family. You are to keep them safe, like before, like always.” 

And he nodded. 

With war burning on the horizon, its imminent threat that would swallow the Seven Realms, there was no moment spared where you could speak of the life created. You kept it cradled to your chest when you saw how war-wearied Erryk was already. His heart had been cleaved in two and one-half remained in charge of the usurper. 

It allowed a new desperation in the passion shared, a clash of teeth and tongues to taste whatever intimacy could be spared amidst the bloodshed. This ever-threat of life so fleeting is what pushed you to be bolder, which was why you were waiting for him outside the bathhouse one evening. 

You reached as he moved past you, your fingers tucking into his waistband to pull him into the shadows. Your royal apartment had a path that weaved as an escape, and tonight you used it to bring him back with you, to allow a moment to forget the inevitable that was coming. 

“Princess…” he started, but you stopped him with a kiss. 

“I missed you,” you confessed against his lips. “I need to feel you.”

Your room was basked in candlelight and you pulled him through the passageway, turning to dip your hand below his waistband, your hand pressed on his half-hard cock. It pulsed against your palm and you moved closer to place a kiss on his neck.

He sighed his pleasure and his torment. “Princess,” he tried again, but you would not let him. 

You nipped at his skin, halting his words, and he smothered a groan while your other hand pulled at his drawstrings. “Let me,” you breathed, and his skin rose in response. 

He felt heavy in your hands that wrapped around him. You stole another kiss before your chin dropped to your chest, your spit falling from your tongue and onto his cock. 

Erryk hissed as you stroked his length, watching as he jerked with another low moan. Your hand held onto his hip to lower to your knees, your other wrapping around the base and bringing his flushed cockhead against your tongue. You pressed a kiss and were rewarded with a groan that rumbled through him; your tongue trailed the side of his cock, feeling every vein and ridge, and you placed another kiss on the underside. 

His fingers combed through your hair, watching as you pulled back to watch you take him inch-by-inch, with your hand holding onto what could not fit. His hips bucked into your mouth, bruising the back of your throat, and you groaned, a heat pooling between your thighs. 

Your mouth and hand worked in tandem, working his cock until you felt it twitch with his pearly spend, his briny taste against your tongue. He shuddered, pulling back to sink to his knees, cupping your face and pulling you close for a messy kiss. 

“My turn,” he whispered, standing and pulling you to follow, his eyes lust-blown. 

You sank into the mattress and Erryk kneeled before you, an altar to be worshiped. His palm pressed to your cunt and his fingers spread your folds, allowing his tongue to run along your slit. You shivered as he pressed further, his tongue now carving into you with a well-known intimacy that made your toes curl. 

Afterwards, Erryk curled into you and your fingers ran through his still damp hair, the occasional pause to press another kiss to his scalp. “I am sworn to you,” he was quiet, his voice barely above your heart beat. “But you are so much more to me.” 

Your heart swelled in your chest. “I know,” you kissed your knight again. “I… love you too, Erryk.” 

He hummed against you, burrowing into the softness of your skin. His words replayed in your mind, giving you the courage that you needed, but your mother already called you to her chambers the next night. 

When you entered, she dismissed Ser Lorent, who locked the door behind him. Her eyes settled on you and your throat tightened. Her face was drawn, thinner, a woman shattered by all the blood spilled and plagued by the fact that more was yet to come. 

You remained standing, waiting as her eyes poured over you. She took a breath before she said, “I already know.” 

It was a relief, it was terror. Your stomach dropped and you looked to see Elinda busying herself with whatever her hands could find. Damn her. “I wished to tell you myself,” you admitted, your fists balled at your sides until your nails pierced through to the bones. 

Her eyes steeled in return, her jaw set. “Who is he?” 

Instead, you answer with, “I love him.” 

“That was not what I asked,” she snapped in a way that both you and Elinda flinched with her words that were scalding with her anger. “Your queen asked who is the father of the child that you carry.” 

But you saw her tears were threatening to spill, her face blotched with her anger. You pressed your hands to your stomach, the new habit formed over the last few weeks. “It is Ser Erryk Cargyll.” 

She closed her eyes, a fury now thrumming. “I should have fucking known…” 

“And how is it any different from what you shared with Ser Harwin?” You could not stop your tongue, her temperament reflecting. 

“You truly wish to repeat the follies of my heart, you daft girl?” She hissed, her tears spilling. “We are on the cusp of a civil war because… I allowed my heart to choose instead committing to the duty that I am bound to by my blood, the very same within your veins.” Her hand pressed to her chest, a sob caught in her throat. “And that choice is the consequence that I now suffer every day.” 

You wanted to glare, to fight back, but you saw her torment. Her tears spilling called to you and you moved to her bedside, melting into her. She fell into your arms with sobs that wracked her body. She held onto you and you remained, allowing her grief to pour over. 

Behind, you heard the other door opening. Your mother looked up from your chest, wiping her face. “Ser Erryk?” 

A cold-fire twisted into your stomach when you saw him, knowing at once that he was not the man you were in love with. The imposter knight stepped closer, unsheathing his sword. He sounded pained. “Believe me, I had no choice.” 

“Brother!”

Over his shoulder, you saw Erryk, his sword drawn and his eyes wild. “Do not do this. I beg you.” 

There was a clash of steel, of heartbreak and betrayal. Your mother screamed at Elinda, but she remained cemented to the cobblestone, stricken with her fear. She grabbed your hand to pull you from the bed, your legs buckling and your heart screaming to stay. You followed after your mother, remembering too late that the door was locked, and you looked over the room for a weapon, an escape. 

Erryk yelled when the sword cut through his thigh. 

Your fear pulled you outside of your body to see your hands resting to shield your stomach, the smell of blood rich in the night air. You prayed to the gods, a cursed habit, and again, they ignored you. 

You blinked to focus. Arryk fell first, a sword splayed through his stomach, and you looked to Erryk, your relief fleeting when you saw the dagger buried between his ribs. He looked at you, his knees buckling, collapsing to the floor with the clatter of iron. 

Your mother ran for the door, screaming for the maesters, for anyone to come and aid. You rushed to his side, your slippers slick in the blood that was pouring out on the stone, staining the pale silk of your nightgown. You lifted his head to rest on your lap, your trembling touch unsure if you could even staunch the scarlett flow. 

“I cannot do this without you,” you pleaded, your hands pressing around the hilt; his blood bubbled between your fingers. “I need you, Erryk. Our babe needs you!”

Erryk looked at you as if you were the sun itself, a dawning realization that washed over with your words. Your heart wrenched from your chest when you looked at him, a choked sob when you saw the red that stained his smile. 

His lips parted, but no words would come. Instead you watched as the blue of his eyes faded to gray with his last breath.  

You leaned over him, your tears spilling, and you pressed a kiss to his brow, your blood-stained fingers gentle to cradle the head of your devoted knight.

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[dragonsholygrail]

The Mist Switch

Male Fairy x Elf fem!reader— aphrodisiac mist, dub con, nipple play, bondage (vines), clit play, tentacle penetration (vines again), voyeurism

As Elves, neither you nor your elf friend you were secretly crushing on knew just how long your prank war had been going on for. You had started it, of course, after chickening out of your attempt to kiss him and instead pushed his face into a pie.

Ever since then you two had been pranking each other every now and then whenever the mood strikes. The last prank was done by you when you put meat in his trousers and got a beast to chase him around for a bit.

Now was his time to prank you back. He had it all planned. He hired a little fairy to spray you with a magical mist that for 24 hours would turn you into the size of a fairy. Oh he’d torture you until you cracked and finally confessed your love for him.

Could he just admit he loved you too? Yes. Would he? Not when this option was so much more fun.

The little fairy flew and flew until he found you frolicking in a nearby meadow. You looked so beautiful, your soft curves glimmering in the sunlight. As he flew closer he couldn’t stop himself from imagining the way he’d suck on your hard nipples, bringing you to release from that one touch alone. Before he’d move down and stuff his face against your entrance just so he can taste how sweet you are straight from the source.

His mind was hazy with lust as he reaches you, his eyes unfocused on anything beside your gorgeous plump body. Blindly reaching into his bag of magic he sprays some mist in your face at the same time you spot him.

“What just happened?!” You ask in alarm, looking at the unknown fairy who’s staring at you like he wants to devour you.

A warm buzz begins to flood through your body. Making you tingly and aroused. Your eyes widen as you rub your thighs together for some friction. Your pussy gushing with arousal.

“W-what did you do? Who are you?” You ask breathlessly, wanting nothing more than to take this strange fairy suffocate him with your pussy.

The fairy looks at you in shock over your reaction, having no idea what went wrong. You’re not shrinking at all! He looks down at his hand and only now notices he sprayed you with the aphrodisiac mist instead of the shrinking mist! His cheeks burn red from embarrassment.

“I-I was hired to prank you with a shrinking mist but it seems as though they got mixed up,” he explains bashfully, showing you the bottle.

You internally curse your friend for hiring such a dumb fairy but also god do you wish he was here to take care of you. Your eyes fall back on the fairy… the incredibly sexy fairy. Fuck, you just needed something to ease the fire burning hot inside you and soaking your panties.

“Well you caused this so you need to take care of it. Now!” You say with a huff.

You lay in the bed of flowers, throwing your robes off recklessly. Not caring about anything other than this fairy getting you off. The fairy looks down at you in awe, all his recent fantasies coming true. He wonders if he subconsciously did this on purpose just so he could fuck you, but he wouldn’t think about that right now. Not when you need him so badly.

The fairy’s wings flutter and he’s flying down on top of you before you can change your mind. Not that you would with your need so unbearable. He lands on your soft belly and he could just melt into you, your skin is so warm and lovely. You hiss the moment he touches you, you’re so sensitive you could cum just from his little body grinding onto you.

Using his strength he picks up your breast and opens his mouth wide to suck on your hard nipples just as he imagined. You moan loudly, hips jerking in the air. The little fairy holds on tight and sucks greedily on the bud, basking in the way you writhe against the grass.

“P-please! I need more,” you beg, your mind lost to the lust that rages through you.

The fairy releases your nipple with a loud pop. He flies down to your glistening cunt, your folds all lovely and wet and waiting for him. His cock tents in his small pants, getting harder and harder the longer he touches you. Using his body he spreads your fat lips and you moan, trying to rock closer to him. He cries out, holding onto you so he doesn’t fall off.

With a bit of his own magic he commands vines close by to wrap around your arms and legs, tying you firmly you to the ground. You gasp and squirm against them, their rough caress only turning you on even more.

The fairy pulls down his pants and lines his aching cock up against your clit. He grinds into you and you both release long ragged moans. His own mind begins to cloud over and all he can focus on is giving you both the pleasure you need so bad.

Your body twitches and shakes with deep pressure of the fairy’s cock rubbing your clit so nicely. You can feel his hips snap against your core, short grunts leave you every time his balls slap against your over sensitive clit. The vines stopping you from moving with him or moving away from the unrelenting pleasure.

Yet you still have a deep rooted need to be filled to the brim and you throw your head back, the fire inside you only getting hotter without your release. Sensing what you need, the fairy uses more of his magic and a second later you jump as long thick vines slide deep inside your hot wet cunt.

The fairy and his vines work in tandem to bring you higher and higher. The fairy digs his fingers into your wide waist and ruts into you like a madman, wildly desperate to feel you come undone because of him. All while his vines plunge deep into your depths, brushing along your gummy walls and hitting you just right.

You cum with a fierce scream that echoes throughout the meadow. The fairy releases soon after you, his hot cum jolting outward and spraying all over your delicious belly.

The fairy sags against you, completely spent. The two of you lay there, your limbs still tied to the ground as you both shake with the force of your release. You can feel the heat inside you start to settle a little yet it’s still there, just waiting to ignite.

The sudden sound of a branch snapping in the distance has your head jerking up in surprise. You come face-to-face with your elf friend, a smug smirk on his lips. He crosses his arms and leans against a nearby tree. Looking up and down your plump form you can see his own eyes cloud over with lust.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” He asks, pushing off the tree and heading toward you both.

[maikissed]

post euro Jude Bellingham oneshot felt like writing something like this again, but it's a fluff (I guess?) sorry for typos, was writing like crazy!!!

ps. they’re best friends

A very early morning in Tokyo and you were glued to your laptop, attentively following the occurrences happening on the pitch on the other side of the world. Your eyes bloodshot, your head heavy. You did not get enough sleep since you’ve woken up on very not your usual hour to watch the European Championship final. And to add to that you went to sleep rather late. Sorrowfully, you were not prepared for it’s outcome, as you started picking at your nails, watching the minutes reach the end of the short added time. The final whistle, the final breath that left your lungs as the pictures of true euphoria kept flashing with bright colours at your tired eyes, bright red colours, happy screaming and whistling faces amongst the colour white, shrouded in sadness and defeat. You could not believe it. You were devastated. You were searching for his face but to your dismay the whole attention focused mostly on the true smiles of the cheerful winners. You waited a little bit more and there it was, an icy pain spilling inside your guts at the sight of his gaze, shocked, lost, unfocused. You were sure yours was the spitting image. Quickly you grabbed your phone laying on the nightstand to your right and looked at the last messages exchanged.

“Good luck, big boy. You got this!!!!”

“💪❤️”

You started to type. You stopped for a second and thought about it. What one say at such circumstances? Seemed easy but in fact was not. You knew how Jude was after losing any game, a damned one of the biggest events final must have been a disastrous blow. And he gave his all to it.

“Head up. You were wonderful”

You knew you would not get any more sleep this morning, so you decided to start your day at 6. After two hours of desperately trying to find a purpose in this day, you finally searched for a closest flight home.

Breathing in the England air felt different every time you came back. At some point the same, freshening, enlivening, moist whiff filling your lungs with longing; different with the way you were accepting it each time you were strolling down the very known streets. Every other time it seemed more feeble than before, like you’ve turned into a stranger. Like you did not belong anymore. You wondered why, since it was still your home, your roots. Were you distancing yourself? From home? From family? From him? Were you too preoccupied with all these new, different things? You felt downhearted at the thoughts. 

You reached the doorbell with your slightly numb fingers. Just a minute later Mark opened the door for you. You smiled from under your cap.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” his face bright and smile honest, he reached for you to pull you into a greeting hug.

“Hi” your voice croaky so you cleared your throat “Took a quick flight. Wanted to check on you” 

“Quick? Thought it’s about fourteen hours” his expression amused, yet amazed.

“Something like that” you shrugged.

He nodded at your answer, gently in a thought.

“Please come in, want something to drink?” he turned around vigorously after a second and you followed him into the sitting-room connected with a spacious kitchen.

“I’m alright, thank you”

Not much changed around this house since your last visit, you thought to yourself. And it was quiet.

“Is he with you?” you murmured, almost like a whisper.

“Yes, upstairs”

Still very quiet.

“Asleep?” you asked.

“No, not yet” he commented, smiling at you with solicitude to it “I mean he struggles, more than usually. Mostly spends his days actively but alone, with no space to think too much. Running during the night, training for hours since early morning, sometimes visits the grandparents” his voice calm and stable, simply voicing out the facts but it added to your worry nonetheless.

A process of healing, you thought. But it broke your heart a little bit. You realised there must have been a sign of concern showing on your face because his lit up once again, his eyes smiling at you.

“He’ll be very happy to see you” you watched him beginning to collect some dirty dishes from the kitchen island “You happen to visit during his short rest so I guess he’ll be in his room or the gaming room”

You nodded before silently heading to the corridor leading to the stairs. There was an awful feeling gnawing at you because of your decision to not stay for the rest of the tournament to cheer for him, and leaving back to work after just 2 matches. Despite that he assured you it’s alright, you had your duties after all.

The doors to his room were opened and you took a quick peak around but he wasn’t there, so you turned to the other room, as Mark informed. The doors opened silently, the first thing you spotted was the back of the couch, the big TV in front of it turned off. The top of his head visible as he was sitting comfortably on the said couch. You took a few steps. A book in his hands, you realised and smiled amusingly at the sight. His head still down as he didn’t notice you.

“What’s the book about?” you started circling the couch to come closer.

His eyes shot up from the lecture and the first expression on his features that met your unsure gaze was surprise. He opened his mouth, with no sound at all, no words to voice out, his eyes always big and sparkly now smaller and tarnish. He reached out his hand for you to take it, his face softened. The corner of your mouth rose up as you placed your fingers in his gentle grip, sitting down next to him. He placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles and that’s when you reached for him to pull him in a hug.

“When did you arrive?” his voice raspy like he did not speak at all for the last few hours. You wondered.

“Two hours ago” you murmured into his arm before he pulled away.

“You crazy girl” he whispered, a bit of light entering his eyes as he examined you in amusement.

You granted him with the softest smile.

“Wanted to see you and tell you I’m proud of you” you shrugged.

Your sight turning blurry in a span of a second. You indeed were more sensitive than you would ever like to admit.

“Flew fifteen hours to tell me you’re proud of me?” he joked, his lips flexing in that funny smirk you knew so well.

“Fourteen” you corrected, making him chuckle in answer “You look tired”

“I am tired” he turned to lean back on the sofa.

“You did a great, invaluable job, you do know that?” after few seconds of silence.

These words made him tense, you could see that. His fingers shot up to his face, to the corners of his closed eyes, he sighed. Your intention was not to stress him, but it seemed it was still a very delicate subject. You reached with your own hand to his face, gently pressing on his cheek so he looked at you. Vulnerable and drained, your touch brining him peace.

“What would you say about a nap?” you asked.

As kids you used to love doing two specific things together during your free time. Playing outside all day, just the two of you or with your friends, until there was no more energy left in your limbs. And then coming back to yours or his to take a nap together. Sometimes short, sometimes lasting few more hours. Cuddled together or him resting on the pillows that were spread out on the floor and you on the bed, sometimes the other way around. Most of the times you were absolutely drained and it happened spontaneously, whatever space you reached first. But you loved to nestle into him, you rested well with his heartbeat palpable on your side. You never confessed. When you were kids it was simple and held no more into it than affection and happiness of two carefree souls.

And now you desperately yearned for him to have some good, cleansing sleep. You wished it could help, to go back a few years and feel it the way it used to made you feel. Safe and calm.

He silently agreed, so you stood up, his hand in yours when you started to walk in the direction of his room. There was a bit of awkwardness to it as you both laid down on the mattress next to each other. There never used to. But you weren’t kids anymore and it didn’t feel as natural as before. Many things didn’t feel like it used too anymore.

You turned your head to look at him, his eyes opened, staring at the ceiling.

“Come here” a whisper, a bit unsure but you hoped he didn’t notice that.

He turned your way and you rose up slightly so your back rested more on the backrest. He looked at you questionably.

“You want me to crush you?” he smiled.

“I’ll be fine” you rolled your eyes at his mocking smirk.

You’ve never been nervous around him, but when he placed his head on your stomach, gently and considerably, and his left hand reached around your waist to rest on your hip, there was a burst of funny sensations inside your belly. Affection, you held so much of it for him.

“Close your eyes” you whispered when your fingers reached his nape to scratch it gently, going down his back slowly and then back up.

“That’s nice” he hummed, his breath hot on the material of your shirt.

“Take some rest”

Minute by minute you could feel him relax more, his weight more prominent, his breathing evening – fifteen minutes later it turned deeper. He did fell asleep, you felt lighter at the realisation.

But after few more minutes you noticed the doors opening silently and you stressed that whomever decided to invade this peace might woke him up. You frowned when you noticed Jobe’s tall figure entering the room. Your expression dangerous as you shook your head at his brother because you were ready to murder him if Jude wakes up now. He smiled widely at the sight and despite your silent threats he circled the bed with an index finger placed lightly on his lips, as a sign that he’ll remain quiet. You followed him with your gaze. Bending over you he placed a quick kiss on your cheek in greeting, your features softened.

“He’s hopeless without you” Jobe whispered in your ear and you did not expect it “Don’t you dare leaving him again” his face funnily serious when he leaned back, turning away to leave you as you were.

You looked down at the boy resting on you, deep in a peaceful sleep, and you started to think heavily how would your life look like if you sacrificed all for everything you felt for him.

A sharp jolt startled you, you opened your eyes realising that sleep quickly overcame you as well. You looked around you quickly, the room turned darker, hours must’ve passed. Jude still laid on you, your legs entwined, but his grip on your side harsher, his body stiff against you. He jumped again, a distressed groan leaving his throat, followed by a quiet whimper, his face pressed hard onto your stomach. He was having a bad dream, you comprehended. You placed your palm on his arm.

“Jude” you whispered, shaking him delicately, but to no avail “Jude, wake up” louder.

He shuddered, his head rose up. After a second he turned to you in a little confusion.

“Y/n” he spoke your name more to himself, like an reassurance.

“I’m here” you confirmed watching his sleepy face, eyes a bit puffy, a few sleep wrinkles created by the material of your shirt visible on his skin.

“Good” he nodded.

He still looked disorientated, like he hasn’t fully woken up from a very deep slumber.

“Come here” he muttered, motioning for you to lay lower next to him.

You did as he asked, noticing a soft ghost of a smile on his lips, while his eyes kept closing involuntarily. You almost laughed out fondly at the sight. You had no time to correctly process his next move when he leaned closer to you and put a quick, sweet peck directly on your lips before whispering:

“Thank you” 

His head rested down on the pillows, his face in the crook of your neck, arm wrapped around you. He fell asleep on the spot and you smiled to yourself, for the deepening darkness to see only. You felt lighter than you’ve felt in years. You belonged, just not where you believed you did in these last few years. You belonged back home.

[moralesluvr]

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

୧ ‧₊˚ arguing with your boyfriend, miles, was always your least favorite thing. but when he accidentally raises his voice at you, accusing you of something you’re not, he'll do anything to make it up to you. so, he decides to come to your work. pairings & aus. earth42!miles morales x fem!black!reader warnings. angst | established relationship | fluff at the end | arguing | slight toxicity | arguing | reader owns a cafe author's note. changed the aesthetic of my posts!

"MAMI, PLEASE, IAN MEAN IT LIKE THAT."

The way your glossy eyes roll to the back of your head only further induce your oncoming headache, but you don’t care. Something about your boyfriend elevating his tone at you made you crumble, brown irises boring into his own as he pleaded for you to listen.

You hear him breathe softly, and then he picks at the calloused skin of his thumb as his mouth contorts into an almost-pout. It’s apologetic, you think— by the way his eyebrows are furrowed and his face somberly melts into a softer expression, contrasted to his normal stoic one. But his look isn’t enough. You want something verbal, something pleading, something so desperate for your forgiveness that it’ll be inevitable for your answer to be ‘Yes, Miles, you didn’t do anything wrong and I would love for us to be back to normal.’

But that’s not what you were getting.

Instead, he had yelled at you, and not just a normal yell, one that he would normally let out if you were pestering him or were about to run into an unknown danger. No— this yell was authentic and real, raw, on purpose. And his lips still couldn’t find themselves to say that he were sorry.

The argument wasn’t even your fault, and Miles had told you so, therefore it was verified that you weren’t in the wrong and that it was just some huge misunderstanding. Your phone had been left unlocked on the kitchen counter, and Miles being Miles, he picked the device up and snapped a couple of stupid pictures when he saw a notification pop up.

malachi: Yo u still wit yo man? I was thinking we go get sum to eat. Lmk!

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that the message wasn’t from another girl, it was from a man. So he angrily swiped the device up and waltzed up to you, waving the florescent screen back in forth in your face, accusing you of cheating.

“YN, what the fuck? Why you tryna go out with this nigga, huh? He hittin’ it or sum’? Shoulda known you had me buyin’ them lil’ dresses for other reasons.”

Your shoulders dropped at him, tears clouding your unfocused vision as Miles’ words circulated in your head, swarming your conscience with emotions that you were unable to decipher yourself.

“Mami—“

“Don’t call me that.” You seethed, “It’s not what you called me when you was accusin’ me of lyin’ and cheatin’, right?”

“Ay, Dios Mío.” Miles mumbled, his footsteps filling your ears as he drew closer to you. He wanted to reach out to you, to pull you close and kiss your cheeks, but he just stood idly in front of you as he watched you cry.

It was almost like he was stuck. Guilt, maybe?

But either way, the effort was still vacant. His actions weren’t just mundane, he was shaking your phone at you angrily, spit flying and hands snapping as he tried to grab ahold of the messy situation. And what he realized what he had done, his mouth ran dry, eyes fluttering closed as he cursed underneath his breath.

What he didn’t know was that you were speaking to your friend’s boyfriend, and when he said ‘we’— he meant the four of you, Miles included. He was trying to set up a double date at a restaurant and wanted to confirm if you were with Miles to insure that you guys were on.

A stupid mistake.

A mistake so ignorant that it drove you to raise your hand at him, withdrawing it before slapping him on the cheek, hard. The sting that blossomed throughout your hand spoke of triumph, that he truly got what deserved, and your lips nearly curled into a smile when you heard him wince in pain.

You didn’t want him hurt, you just wanted him to understand what happens when you assume stupid shit. He turned around slowly to look at you, left hand massaging the flesh of his cheek as he gave you apologetic eyes.

It all feels like an emotional whiplash now.

“Get out.”

You finally spoke, lips trembling and hands balling at your sides so tight you were sure your fingers would snap.

“Baby, please, can we just talk about this?”

“Get the fuck out, Miles!” You shouted at him, body forcefully colliding with his as your hands met his shoulders, pushing him into the woodwork of your front door. He opens it without hesitation, fingers curling around the doorknob shakily as he walked through the doorway.

You hold the door and shove him, your boyfriend stumbling down the porch steps as you cock your head to the side,

“And don’t come back.”

With that, you slam the door.

It’s been three days since you’ve seen your boyfriend.

Which is extremely out of the ordinary.

He’s texted you numerous times, your phone nearly exploding from how often it rang with new texts or phone calls. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t, Miles’ words still prodding at your heart strings as you tried to go on about your morning.

Your bright pink polo slides it’s way over your head, thick curls bouncing against your shoulders as you smoothed out a tiny wrinkle at the collar, eyes picking apart your outfit in the mirror.

A flick of your wrist tells you that you’re nearly late for work, so you swipe up your phone and purse and make your way outside, strutting to your car as you drove to your shop.

You opened your own pink themed, healthy cafe a couple months before you and Miles started dating. It was a real hotspot— business booming more than ever in the hot, humid summer of Brooklyn. People mostly ordered juice or açaí bowls, which you didn’t mind because it was your personal favorite on the menu and you recommended it to anyone who waltzed into your shop.

Pulling up, you stepped out of your vehicle and opened the door, greeting your employees with a flutter of your fingers and a superficial smile painted on your face. You were broken on the inside and it was a fact that even you couldn’t deny, and no amount of concealer and fake grins could conceal that.

“Everything OK, girl?” One of your employees chirped at you over the loud sound of a blender. And you just shrugged at her, faux smile still possessive over your lips, persuasion eventually casting her spell on your favorite girls as you covered your sadness up with ‘I’m just tired.’

Opening was running smoothly, and you were calming working register when you heard the sweet bells above your front door chime.

“Welcome i-“

Your sentence fades, dying off as you see your boyfriend walk through the door, walking up to the counter that you were standing behind.

“Can I get a matcha and that toast with the…what is that…the green shit on it?”

You grit your teeth at him, “Miles, what the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t say anything, he just grabbed your hands and squeezed them, “Baby, I know you don’t really wanna see me here, but I need to say sum’, and it’s that I’m sorry. Ian mean what I said, I was dumb, jumpin’ to conclusions and shit. That’s not okay. You my girl and there’s no reason why I was treatin’ you like that. I’m…mami, I’m sorry.”

Miles stares at you, waiting for your rebuttal to his formal apology. No matter how much you wanted to be mad at him in this moment and hold out, you couldn’t by the way his eyes flickered at you, licking his lips as he shot you an apologetic smile.

“Miles….” You started, “What you said really hurt me, I can’t lie to you. But…despite all of that, I forgive you. And y’know, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you or nun’ like that. I was just…angry.”

“Understand.” Miles told you, kissing your hand as he gave you a cheeky grin, “I love you, pretty girl.”

“I love you too, asshole.” You giggled as your boyfriend leaned over the counter to deliver a kiss to your cheek, a couple of your coworkers giggling behind the counters, but you didn’t care. You were just ecstatic that you had made up, a laugh tumbling from your throat.

“Y’know, Miles…” You started, earning a hum from your lover.

“I just want you to know, although you be actin’ hard…you’re actually soft as shit.”

tags!: @queenesther996 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie // @tanakaslastbraincell // @simp4miguell // @nyrovi3 // @aziulsworld // @enchantingfoxsparkles // @mancerseedu // @cafehyunji // @personofyou // @mcdvsr // @calliarlerte // @pr0wlerpunk // @tzuyuzzs // @clearskiiiess // @vienreina // @pixqlsin // @stvrgrl // @zerosinterweb // @mookiebut // @urmotherswhor3 // @cumbermovels // @asmobeuses // @yanghees // @popeheywardssecretgf // @mxspiderman2099 // @scryarchives // @rksses // @mmst4rz // @ilyless // @milesmolasses // @laylasbunbunny // @all444miles // @thecoloredpages // @bl00dsuccker // @adoremvney // @anikaluv // @qtdenks // @art-598

[cerise-on-top]

König Teasing Reader in His Dialect

I finally got around to writing for König being sappy with his S/O in his native tongue! Native dialect, in fact!! I'm not gonna include any translations for this one! And don't bother putting it in Google Translate either, it won't work :3c

“Du host so a liabes Gschau.”

A gentle twilight it was, the sky donning a beautiful coat of orange. With the few fluffy clouds floating by, you watched your boyfriend glow in the soft evening light. It was almost magical, the way the sun set behind the mountains, the way it created a halo of utmost pulchritude on König. He was a rough man, who found it within himself to be as gentle as one would never imagine. His hands were calloused, but the way he caressed your face made it seem as though he was a lover by nature. Although he may have killed more people than you have ever known in your lifetime, that fact barely came to mind when his voice would call for you. Strong his accent, yes, but with it came a sense of familiarity that you would get nowhere else. König was a beautiful man. If you could have, then you would have knelt in front of him, allowing him to tread his fingers through your locks. If you could have, you would have slung your arms around him, burying yourself in his warmth and scent. But alas, all that came to mind was confusion. What did he say this time?

“You know my German isn’t that good just yet. You gotta be patient with me. Can you translate?”

With a certain glimmer in his eyes, he smiled as he shook his head. “No, I’ll let you figure this one out. It would be boring if I translated everything for you.” But even so, he walked towards you, quiet as a cat, hunting for its prey. All there was to devour was you, unity through the purpose of consuming one another. He stood still in front of you, eyes almost hazy as he seemed a little unfocused. He was a hunter, but whenever you were around he laid his weapon to rest, craving your attention more than he felt the bloodlust. You calmed him more than any restful night ever could. Your touch was the remedy for his loneliness, his fear, his anger. And this time, it was his turn to repay you, gently running his thumb across your cheek.

“Du bist mei ois. Für di leib i. I bin dir so vü schuidig. Söbst wenn i dir die Wöd gebn darad, warads ned genug. Danke für ois. Bitte bleib bei mir so laung wies nur geht. Hah, i reid grod so vü Scheiße, aba des stört mi ned. Du mochst mi so fertig, aber i hob di so lieb. Eigentlich wuid i heite schiacha zu dir sein, oba i kauns afoch ned. I bin so verliebt in di.”

Should you feel angry at him? For all you knew he could have been cursing you worse than any string of English words ever could. And yet, his expression betrayed him. That gentle smile, that soft gaze, that tender touch. König let out a content sigh, placing his hands atop your shoulders. It was evident he wanted something, he wanted more, but all he could do was stare as love overtook every fiber of his being. In that moment, he wasn’t a hunter, he wasn’t a fighter, he wasn’t a soldier. If there was one thing he could call himself, it was yours. Your boyfriend, your partner, your loved one. It didn’t matter as long as it was in relation to you. He pulled you into a tight embrace. His pride was a wall made of steel, but you burned yourself through the metal and settled down in his heart. All you knew was that he was so much kinder towards you than he gave himself credit for.

“Love, I’ve got no idea what you’re saying.”

“Brauchst a ned. I wü afoch nur so mit dir bleibn. I mechat di für imma so hoitn. Du bist so liab. I hob so vü Scheiße im Militär durchgmocht, oba es wor’s ma ois wert wal i di kennanglernt hob. I darad ois no amoi so mochn. Bitte sei ma ned bes, oba i glab es is gscheita wennst ned wast, wos i grod sog. Du suist mi ned als schwochn Maun sehn. Oba nur damit du’s wast, es gibt kan Menschn auf dera Wöd, den i liaba hob als di. I hoff, dass ma ewig zaumbleibm kennan.”

“Are you being sappy right now?”

But the only response you got was him holding onto you as though you were a beautiful, fleeting memory. Wrapping your arms around him in return, you resigned yourself to your fate. He could so very easily snap you in half, and yet he chose to use his strength to make you feel protected. Indeed, König was a different man with you. You knew him as the anxious colonel that was still capable of leading people. Deadly precise, viciously efficient, always successful. And today he felt as giddy as a child watching its first rainbow, all because he was with you.

“Ich hab dich ganz doll lieb.”

Finally, some words you could understand.

“Love you too, König.”

[juletheghoul]

Ache

Gif by @userkeery

Authors note: It's 3:30am and I am posting Joel smut because just like all of you, that show ruined me. It's literally pwp because.. well you all saw it. lol. Hope you enjoy! (Thanks to my wife for literally talking me through this @foli-vora)

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 800

Warnings: 18+ no minors, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, feelings? let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

-

He walked through the door with an air of determination, his mouth seeking out yours with pure purpose. He licked into it, barely giving you time to close the door behind him.

“Someone’s happy to see me.” Your words come out breathy, his passion flowing through him and now into you as you’re herded towards your couch.

“Been thinkin’ bout you all day, couldn’t wait to get here.” He punctuates his words by grabbing a meaty handful of your ass, low enough to pull the lips of your sex apart and it makes you gasp into his mouth. 

“Jesus Joel-“ he doesn’t let you finish, his tongue fills your mouth again and all you can do is try to keep up, your hands find the gap between his shirt and his jeans and you sweep your hands up the broad expanse of his back—lifting it up and off relishing the golden skin on display for you now. 

He grins and then your shirt is off and tossed onto the floor, your bra joins it soon after and within a few minutes you’re both naked and on your couch, mouths fused together, sharing the same panted breaths. 

“I missed you too.” You thread your fingers into his dark hair, guiding him towards your breast and he gifts you with a groan from deep in his throat, his tongue eager on the stiff bud of your nipple. 

He hums his acknowledgement onto your breast before moving to the other and his desperation is currently hard and weeping against your hip, sliding against your skin with every movement but he doesn’t get to it. Instead he keeps a steady suck at your nipple, moving from one to the other until you open your thighs underneath him, hoping he’ll slip in to soothe the aching emptiness he’s created.

“Come on baby, you gonna make me beg?” You tug at the dark waves of his hair, gasping when he lets your nipple go with a pop.

“I have half a mind to let you, love it when you beg.” He kissed your sternum quickly before grasping his cock in hand, giving himself a few strokes against the slick pooled at your entrance. “You think she’s ready for me?” He bites his lip, drunk on the way your hips tilt up to help him. 

“Yes Joel, put it in already.” He laughs at your tone, his dark eyes lively and lust blown.

“Yes ma’am.” He slides in with a moan. The smile morphs into something almost unfocused as he pumps himself slowly in and out, coating himself in your liquid heat before he speeds up. 

The stretch of him is exquisite.

You’d thought about him all day, waited with baited breath from the moment he’d called during his break, knowing he’d have you wet and mewling for him just like he always does and yet this is so much better than your daydream. It’s always better.

He shifts, kneeling on the couch and pulling your hips up with him. His big, calloused hands hold onto your hips with a grip hard enough to bruise but it doesn’t matter because his cock is pressing up against something sacred, something that makes your eyes roll back, something that lights a fire in the base of your spine. And then it strikes like lightning, a scream and a wet clench and you're falling off the cliff.

“You’re not even gonna make me work for it huh?” He’s triumphant, proud of the way he’s made you see stars but it’s not enough for him, he speeds up, fucks you through your climax and just when you think you might pass out he’s pulling you up to wrap your arms around his neck, grinding his come deep. 

-

Your hands slide across the smooth skin of his back, enjoying the press of his lips in the crook of your neck. Your legs are tangled up together, a rare cool breeze envelops you both as you catch your breath and savor the afterglow. 

“Where’s Sarah today?” You press the tips of your fingers into the knots of his shoulders, wanting to take some of the pain he complains about away.

“She’s at—oh, fuck that’s nice—the Adlers, Jesus Christ, right there-“ he winces but leans into it, letting you work the ache away. “I should get goin’ soon.” 

“Am I ever gonna meet her?” It’s not an uncomfortable question, with the way things were going between the two of you it was only a matter of time.

“Actually, yes. My birthday’s comin’ up. Thought it would be nice if you came over then. You can meet my shithead brother Tommy too.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, moving to find your mouth again before he inevitably had to go.

“I’d love to.” 

-

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[izvmimi]

cw: minors dni. oral giving and receiving. threesome. fem!bodied reader. vaginal penetration. suggestion of double penetration. spanking.

a/n: bakudeku threesome. a repost.

there’s a harsh groan that leaves bakugou’s throat as he pushes the last few inches of himself through your already wet and beaten hole, digging his fingers into the fleshy part of your hips for purchase. it takes one powerful stroke to bury himself to the hilt, and the breath is nearly knocked out of you as you’re pressed hard against his pelvis. you’re not new to rough sex but no one's ever handled you nearly as carelessly as this. 

izuku tenses a little - you can feel it in the twitch of his hands that had previously been caressing your face as you adjusted to bakugou’s size.

“careful,” he warns sternly. 

“she can handle it,” bakugou hisses back. through teary clouded vision, you watch your boyfriend’s expression sour ever so slightly. but rather than stop the whole operation, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“remember you can use your safe words,” he whispers into your skin. you nod.

you can practically feel bakugou roll his eyes. he’s getting impatient, but knows if he starts ramming into you unkindly now, he might never get to taste you again.

“ready?”

izuku hums in assent as he presses down gently on your back to bend you into an L - you can feel bakugou’s cock twitch agitatedly inside you.

“yes or no?”

izuku’s cockhead presses against your lips and he taps at the side of your mouth with his thumb. he’s taking his time on purpose, being petty. 

“open up.”

you obey, and he too presses in, seating the heavy, hot length onto your tongue and further down your throat. you gag a bit, and steady yourself by holding onto deku’s muscled thighs. he glances down at you and you look up, nodding. you’re ready.

“we’re ready,” izuku says, more cheerfully than you would expect and bakugou’s already started the first thrust before he’s even ended his sentence. 

push, pull.

bakugou moves hard and fast, but izuku refuses to be overpowered, giving it right back at the same pace. 

you gasp, sputter and choke, but the drag of warm, thick cock up and down your esophagus and along the walls of your cunt makes your head spin. perhaps you don’t need air, willpower and hedonism is enough.

“you really kept your slutty girlfriend away from me all these years, huh?” bakugou practically growls through his teeth. he’s comfortable and steady enough to talk now, no longer frenzied by the clench of unfamiliar pussy but in a good rhythm, and he releases his hold on your ass to grab your arms, pulling hard to arch your back. you whine, not imagining he could go even deeper and shake as his cock explores your insides far too effectively. 

“yours would be worse if you had one,” izuku quips. bakugou slams into you particularly hard in response to that, and you see stars.

your mouth opens around izuku’s cock and he pulls you off of him, hands clasped at the side of your face. your eyes are crossed and unfocused. maybe bakugou’s right. you do look kind of stupid, slutty and ridiculous, limp and mewling incoherently with every lewd and wet slap, slap, slap. your face is flushed and sweaty, you’re drooling and tears run down your cheeks in a disgustingly erotic fashion.

he kisses you anyway and puts you right back where you belong.

this time, izuku pushes your head harder against his cock, so that you can inhale deeply of his scent while you contemplate what it feels like to have cum seep into your lungs. hot, thick jets fill your throat and you can hear him shudder with each spurt. he pulls you off to breathe again and you gasp for air. 

bakugou murmurs something about low stamina but cums mid-sentence in an embarrassingly loud moan, his arms wrapped so tightly around your waist you think you might vomit.

izuku laughs as bakugou lets go and you fall into his arms.

“i... i want more,” you beg in a small, warbled voice, legs wobbly. izuku grins, then glances at bakugou, who’s fallen backwards into bed. he’s absolutely red in the face, trying to figure out what to say to distract the two of you but his friend’s offered him an out.

“stay right there, kacchan since you’re apparently down for the count,” izuku insists. you take a look in his eyes, and he points his chin towards his direction.

“can you get him back up, love?”

your eyes widen. “i thought-” izuku isn’t usually found of letting anyone else penetrate your mouth - something about your kisses only belonging to him, but he seems keen to try it this time.

“just this once,” izuku encourages.

bakugou’s cock is covered in your slick, and its taste is comfortably familiar on your tongue. leaning over the edge of the bed, you take him in eagerly, bobbing up and down. this time bakugou is a little gentler with pushing your head down his cock, perhaps realizing what a gift he’s being given.

“god, like that, please... fuck-”

he’s way more vocal too, so you get excited, gripping the shaft back and forth with your hand, playing with his balls. his legs twitch around you and there’s excitement in your eyes with the renewed ability to make him crumble but as soon as izuku’s tongue makes its way between your parted cheeks, you shudder and your head spins. 

and as you slow, he slaps your ass hard enough to make you gasp.

“focus, honey.”

how can you when his tongue flicks in and out of your cum-filled hole, wraps around your clit, and sucks each lip with gusto? 

every time you stall from pleasure, izuku spanks you, and soon bakugou’s fingers tighten into your hair, bobbing your head back and forth for you. 

“if you’re too fucked out to multitask, i’m glad to do it for you.”

the slurping and sucking noises are deafening and increase in sound, as you slobber all over bakugou while izuku slobbers all over you. bakugou cums again, the sound this time less of a strangled sudden cry, but appropriately built up and loud, and once you’re done swallowing every drop that spills down your throat, izuku nudges you to shift positions and climb onto the bed.

“do you think you can take two?”

you’ve always been a trooper.

[dollwritesarchive]

Can I request dio, mindbreak, and you're the cutest when you're fucked all the way out 💖

i am screaming minus the s i love him so much. part three dio fits this soooo well 😵‍💫 thanks for the request bubs!!

for doll’s bizarre birthday blurbs !!

cw : smut ( minors dni ), mindbreak & mentions of sexual conditioning / manipulation, dio’s follower!reader so power imbalance, overstimulation mention, creampie, cum marking, dio being a menace

“Look at you, fighting the losing battle.” Dio would’ve chuckled, had his mouth not been twisted in a pleasured grimace. you certainly looked pathetic, and he liked it. “You’re trying to keep it together, aren’t you?” you try to nod, whining hapless and incoherent, and then he does laugh. “Don’t.” he barks, gruff, one hand raining a hard swat against the underside of your thigh. “You know I think you’re the cutest when you’re fucked all the way out.”

crumbled on the floor, your shoulders your only contact for supporting the rest of you, your chin had previously been forced into your chest so you could witness your own decimation, but you had recently traded it to allow your head to roll around on the floor, eyes glassy and unfocused. Dio had one, massive foot on the back of your right calf, pinning it parallel with your head on the cold, stone floor, and he held the other in a tight grip, keeping you spread wide for him even after you’d cum so many times your psyche started to fracture.

“Who’s my favorite braindead, little fuckhole?” he coos, content to taunt you in this dazed state. it was getting him off.

your eyelids flittered, a drunken half smile teasing your lips, and you somehow found the words within a breathless mewl, “I— I am, Lord Di—Dio…“ it was an easy role to fall into, serving him. becoming his property to use as he desires and discard when he bores of you ( though, you were determined never to bore him ). and Dio had pounded the sentiment into you over and over; your purpose was his pleasure and nothing else.

you were amazed, in awe, of just how virile Dio was. he’d been at it for hours, fucking the brains out of your head, twisting you up in any position he wanted, and he’d cum, too. it had to be at least three times, if your full belly and the spurts of alabaster that bubble out of you with each, brutal thrust of his herculean hips was any indication. the creamy cocktail of both of your releases coats his cock, too. if your eyes could focus, you’d watch it slide in and out of you, and feel butterflies in your tummy when you took every inch. you were driven especially mad when he probed deep, because you could see the shape of him pressing against your belly button, and feel him throbbing in your guts.

Dio exhales, pulling himself free from your body with a sickening pop, your canal gripping him so tightly that you’re surprised he could even withdraw. and just in time, because his fourth release drizzles over your sex, dribbling down over your belly. “And to think, I almost sent you out to fight for me,” golden locks wild, he tilts his head to one side, smearing his twitching cock head between your tender netherlips, rubbing over your swollen clit just to watch you whimper and squirm. he drops your leg, which falls forward, mirroring its twin. “I would’ve wasted your true potential as my breathing sex doll.”

you’re panting, babbling nonsensically, but you reach up with shaking hands and spread your sex without being told to. a true, broken whore, you brandish your destruction.

Dio grins, watching as more of his spunk oozes out each time you clench around air.

“But you like this arrangement so much better, yes?” he asks, worming two, thick fingers into you— pushing his releases deeper inside. you moan, weak and submissive, nodding before he’s even finished asking the question. “You much prefer being your lord’s sloppy toy?”

nodding again, you bite down on your lip. you can’t say no to him. you couldn’t even consider it. “I— live to serve you how—however I can, Lord Dio…”

Dio chortles. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

[gracemain919]

Illusionist (oc) short story:

(The fungus universe)

Tw: Yandere, non-human, captivity, no ‘you’ in this story like your character ain't here.

Hello Friend

“Illusionist do you hear me?” a man asked over a microphone. The other end of the call was dormant before a sizzling sound, that could resemble bees, blared into the man’s ears. The sound could annoy anybody and they knew that for that reason the noise stopped quite quickly.

Firm hands gripped the phone placing it on their ear. “Yes sir. What happened?”

“Great” the voice said sounding relieved, “Just giving you the permission on a wandering survivor. An enemy site member slipped their way into the lower levels. I don't know how they survived the cannibals but the main three don’t want to deal with it. Have fun.”

The call was ended leaving the person with the words ‘Have fun’ lingering through their thoughts.

Who could this new person be?

The room felt lighter as the faint sound of wings fluttering filled the room in a soft harmony that was later interrupted by a frantic bang on the door. The doors have been weakened over the years making it very easy to manipulate the metal locks, so the soul messing with them was successful on a ‘break-in’.

“Hello?…” they asked pointing a gun on every inch of the empty room. It was a square with many holes and shelves covering the walls not including the metal ‘crates on the floor’. It was supposed to be an old storage closet but its purpose was quickly changed thanks to the illusionist.

No one… the survivor checked every loose box and corner. Nothing. Lowering their gun they took a breath of relief before looking up at the squares carved into the high ends of the concrete. Why are they there?

They were very symmetrical so it wasn't an accident. It definitely was made with intent, but it was too high for them to peek. Maybe it was fine, they doubt a bomb will fall on them because of a square hole.

Nodding to their reasons the survivor sat down letting their back rest against the metal of the box. There was no telling where they were but this room seemed secure enough for them to catch their breath after fifty heart attacks.

Just a quick rest… for a few minutes…

“Hello, friend. Are you lost?”

What? Unfocused eyes quickly opened to reveal a man. White lab coat that lead straight to his ankles, grey pants, brown longish hair and a green bandana that was placed close to his hairline. The man seemed normal but anyone in this damn site can look ‘normal’.

Raising their discarded gun the individual pointed at the man causing him to quickly raise his hands. “Woh there! I'm safe” they explained frantically not easing the survivor’s nerves one bit. “Who are you?”

“Albert! Just a worker here”

Standing up, the gun was still pointing at him, but his terror was enough to ease a bit of doubt. Whoever this corrupted was seemed weak.

“Who is your leader?” they asked stepping closer to the man his eyes following their every move. “I work for the entertainers you gotta believe me, but I don't wish you any harm. The mold doesn't have such a strong hold on me unlike the others”.

“So?”

“I would like to help you. You want to kill the Obsession right?”. Albert lowered his hand once the words left his mouth as it was very obvious the survivor was in thought. Did they make their intentions too obvious? Most people who got into the site were idiots, bystanders, or professionals.

The survivor was sent in to kill the Obsession since their death could make the rest of the corrupted go mad and eventually cause their own demise. It was really needed.

“You can move,” the individual said lowering their gun eyeing the man who let out a loud sigh of relief. “Thank you really,” he said seeming sincere but that was the problem. The entertainers and their workers are proficient in the act of pretend but it isn't like they have any choice.

“So,” Albert fixed his hair while speaking, “to get to them you need to go lower. I know the way there just follow me”.

Ok, simple enough. The man led the survivor down a few halls leaving the safety of that random room, but soon the halls felt like a maze. Like an endless labyrinth. What was happening?

“Tired already?” Albert chuckled quickly skipping through another hall not seeming to break a sweat.

“You humans are you slow,” he added laughing harder.

“Humans…” their eyes widened. No no no, why were they so stupid!?

“What a problem” his walk stopped as he watched the individual panic, but his sight was quickly stolen as they ran. They really bucked it trying to find the original room while being followed by the sound of a very ‘sweet’, “Friend, where are you going?”. The words trailed off the walls as they kept repeating endlessly.

“Huh… interesting. Maybe we should stop calling them humans. We forgot” Albert muttered to himself before disappearing from the hall, a pack of butterflies flying past it like a moving car. The walls around the pack of insects melted by their presence and in seconds small waterfalls of creatures morphed from the concrete and soon followed them.

It was really a fun show, a chase of cat and mouse in an endless maze. This is their domain haha…

[mistywaves98]

yfsdtydcstshegwsvjhgv hear me out hear me out,,,, yandere!scara controlling reader like he did Haypasia but instead of just making her follow him, he turns the reader into his personal cumdump- reader tries oh so hard to fight back, watching as if its a movie as her body is used as a fucktoy for the ex-harbringer- but the thing is, after a while of this, the reader begins to believe everything he says, that her only purpose in life is to bring him pleasure and becomes scara's perfect obedient little pet <3

-super duper cool anon

This is such a juicy idea anon!

Edit: I think I strayed a bit from what the ask said, sooo uhh, really sorry about that anon 😬😔

✧･ﾟ:* Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

✧･ﾟ:* ¡Warnings!: Not proofread, Yandere themes (but not that intense), Non con, Degradation, Lots of repetition of words, collaring, rough sex, Mean! Scaramouche, Kidnapping, I think that's it!

✧･ﾟ:* Minor writing smut! DNI if uncomfy!

✧･ﾟ:* Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

As another one of the scholars who dedicated their lives to trying to connect their consciousness to Irminsul, that is what you spent all of your time doing. Yes, you knew of the tales of what happened to most of those who did manage to accomplish such a task but your desire for the kind of knowledge you could potentially gain blocked out any protests against your actions.

One time you actually saw something while meditating, visions of some sort and although they were blurry and barely distinguishable, it excited you. Since then, you've been training hard, hoping to experience that again.

You heard from somewhere that the Palace of Alcazarzaray was a good place to practice your meditation, so that's where you could be found as the days followed. As you meditated more and more, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your goal, it was only a matter of time, you told yourself. However, you also realized that during the rare times when you weren't meditating, you felt dazed and unfocused and often times you swore you saw something, or glimpses of someone. Though this worried you to a very small extent, instead, you thought you just needed to work a little harder. Eventually it got to a point where you spent all your time meditating, evoking worry from your relatives. In fact, the only thing that stopped you from meditating full time was them coming to 'snap you out of it' as they said. This annoyed you very much and although you knew they meant well, you were too close now and you had already accepted the risks this journey was accompanied with.

So, taking a small choice of possessions, you went to a remote, isolated part of the forest where you would meditate for days on end, not sleeping, eating or drinking. Strangely enough, your body seemed fine with it too, you weren't fatigued at all, it was just the haziness and hallucinations.

Now you were sitting on the floor of the cave, face relaxed but at the same time fixed with an expression of concentration. You focused....and focused.....and focused.....

Yes....

You could feel it, just a little more....

Your eyes suddenly shot open.

Scanning your surroundings you immediately realized something was off. The earth seemed to be layered with a gray tint and there was someone standing right in front of you with their back turned.

"Have...I...finally done it once more? Is....my consciousness.... connected to Irminsul?" You hesitantly ask, "Hmph. Not even a 'hello' at least? I expected better from my first follower."

What? What is he talking about? But wait.... He seems familiar..."Who...are you?" It's difficult to talk, your mind feels heavy and your vision is blurring momentarily. "Me? They call me Scaramouche or 'the Balladeer.' I am a member of the eleven fatui Harbingers but soon I will be known as the god of Sumeru. For now, however, you will address me as 'master,' understood?" He turned around and you were met with two purple eyes glaring down at you. The Harbingers? You've heard of that before, back when you were in the Akademiya, they're from Snezhnaya, right?

Scaramouche's voice brings you out of your thoughts,"I said, 'is that understood?' " "U-uh, yes....master..." His frown turns into an expression of smugness. "Good, I suppose you're pretty baffled by the situation you've found yourself in, but I'll have some mercy and explain it to you."

Your eyes widen when he reveals that he had been watching you ever since you had that experience with the indescribable visions. Those were...his memories? And apparently he's going to become a god? And he has chosen you as his first follower? "Why, you may ask? Well, no one has ever managed to connect directly to my consciousness before, so I took this as a sign. A sign that you are the chosen one." Huh, so you didn't connect to Irminsul after all and instead you're peering into the consciousness of one of the Harbingers? This information is hard for your now unstable mind to process. It hurts...You bring a hand to your aching forehead and try to soothe the pain. "...Can't...focus.."

Suddenly, a hand grips your jaw and tilts your head up so that you make eye contact with him,"You look so dumb right now, but it's alright, you won't need to think much from now on." You gasp as he kisses you roughly, pushing his tongue into your open mouth. His hands grab both of your wrists in a painful grip as he shoves you into the ground, lips still connected. You try struggle under his grip, only to find you can barely move. You try breaking the kiss but not only does he push harder, you can't even move your head and when he pulls away, you cringe at the strings of saliva between you two.

"Why...?" Is all you can manage as you gasp for breath,"Don't ask questions, all you need to know is that you are going to be my little stress toy from now until the day you die." His tone is snappy and you shut up at once, mind hazy. Scaramouche looks as your flushed face and chuckles darkly,"Your mind is weak, you can't even think straight, can you? And without the ability to properly process things you leave your body in a very vulnerable state, don't you know that? Hehe, I'm going to have so much fun with you..." He was right, your mind was under so much strain during your intense meditation sessions, now you don't have the brain to fight back.

His hands let go of your wrists and began to trail down your body, stopping to cup your breasts. You couldn't help but moan as he massaged the soft flesh through your clothes. Then, without warning he tore your top apart, exposing the white bra confining your chest. He made quick work of that two and as soon as the piece of fabric fell to the ground, his fingers went up to flick your now-hard nipples. Suddenly he gave them both a particularly harsh tug, grinning when you yelped in pain. With one hand playing with your left breast, he used his free hand to hike up your obnoxiously long skirt.

"You don't even wear a pair of shorts under this? Such a whore." He smirked at the help you let as as he smacked your pussy. You bit your lip as whimpers threatened to leave your throat as he used his slender fingers to circle your clothed clit. "Please....stop..." "Stop? When you are this wet? Just admit it, you're getting off on your god fucking you." "No...I—" You gag as Scaramouche stuffs three fingers deep down your throat "Stop talking and suck if you know what good for you."

When he finally decided you're wet enough, he slipped your panties off and pocketed them despite your protests. He then flips you unto your stomach before taking his cock out of the confines of his pants,"Now we move on to my favourite part."

A ragged scream is ripped from your throat as he immediately bottomed out inside of you. The situation doesn't get any better when he starts moving right after, barely giving you time to adjust to his size. His pace is fast and his thrusts are brutal, your body rocks back and forward with each slam of his hips. Your own hips feel bruised from the grip he has on them. The burn of his cock abusing your insides has tears streaming down your face and choked out sobs and moans leaving your mouth. A sadistic smile is plastered across his face, clearly enjoying your discomfort and pain,"You look so pretty with tears flowing down your face—hah—you feel so good, these virgin walls are squeezing me so tightly. Yes, cum of my cock, on your lord's cock and show me that only I can pleasure you like this."

Until that moment you didn't even realize you were getting closer to orgasming but you did as he said and the knot in your stomach snapped as you released all over him with a cry. That didn't stop Scaramouche from continuing to fuck you though, his pace barely faltered and his thrusts were just as hard as before,"Please—ngh—stop...no—more..." "Shut up. Your master hasn't had his pleasure yet and you will take everything he gives you until he's satisfied."

He then proceeded to bury his teeth into your neck, biting down so hard the skin broke, causing blood to leak from the wound. You shiver as his tongue darts out to lick a long stripe up your neck, gathering the warm liquid on it in the process. The way his cock is pistoning in and out of you has you weakly clawing at the dirt beneath. You continue to helplessly moan as his breathing gets more ragged and heavy, he must be close. Said assumption proves to be right when you suddenly feel a burst of hot liquid shoot straight into your pussy. Scaramouche finally stops and pulls out of your sore cunt, watching as the white substance leaks out of your abused hole, past your trembling thighs and onto the ground. A pleased look adorns his face,"Hehe, seems like I forgot to mention that I was about to cum, but that's alright, you couldn't anything about it anyway even if you knew."

You sat on the bed situated in the corner of the room, staring at the wall. Your eyes eventually landed on the chains binding your hands to the bed posts, restricting your movements. They were so short, you couldn't even walk a few inches away from the bed.

It had been months since Scaramouche kidnapped you from the cave you originally resided in after fucking your brains out. Since then he has kept you here, occasionally coming to 'check up' on his little pet which mostly consisted of him manhandling you till you were about to pass out. Everytime he came to you, you could see how he was gradually falling into madness. His words became more cruel, more unghinged, more obsessive.

It made you afraid of him and you were worried that someday he might snap and do something unthinkable.

Your gaze shifted to the mirror on the dresser right across from you. A collar was tightly looped around your neck with the name 'Scaramouche' in bold letters. Your hand came up and you tugged it slightly. It didn't budge. Tears filled your eyes at the humiliating memories it brought back. When he first showed it to you, you absolutely refused to wear it and after a lot of resistance from you he was able to secure it, he also fastened it so tightly it choked you at first. And he never bothered to loosen it. Sometimes, on the days when he was feeling it, he would attach a leash to the collar and use it to suffocate you if you were being to bratty.

Your eyes went lower to observe your attire. You'd been forbidden to wear anything besides a town that barely covered your thighs. That is, unless Scaramouche demanded otherwise. The material was so thin and you weren't even allowed to wear anything under it. For easy access, he said.

You've gotten over your dizzy, hallucinating state a long time ago and since you're usually locked up in the room, it's given you a lot of time to think. What has happened to your family? Have they noticed your disappearance? Are they looking for you? Did Scaramouche kill them? But he has no reason to do such a thing, but then again, you wouldn't put it past him to kill innocent people.

You flinch as the door opens. He's back already?

Your eyes widen in fear and you can't help but back up little by little when he approaches you. Soon you're pressed against the headboard and he gets on the bed and crawls over you. You stare into his dull eyes with your frightened ones. You can't see anything but obsession, lust and insanity in them.

"How's my little servant doing? Have you been enjoying your time here? You better have been. Why do you look so afraid? Hehe, you thought I wouldn't notice? You can't hide anything from your god you know." His cold hand rested on your cheek, slowly going down to trace the letters engraved on the collar you were forced to wear. A maniacal smile stretched across his face as he looked at it, pupils dilating with lust. Suddenly he hooked his fingers under it and gave it a sharp tug, briefly laughing when you gasped and instinctively grabbed his arm, as he pulled you forward.

Now he was so close that you could feel his hot breath against your lips. Without warning he kissed you with so much force your head hit the wooden headboard of the bed. This caused your mouth to slightly part in surprise and Scaramouche's tongue was practically down your throat instantly.

His knee made it's way between your legs, pressing up against your bare pussy and rubbing against it. You felt him smile against your mouth as your thighs squeezed his own in a futile attempt to conceal your now aroused state.

When he finally broke the kiss, you gratefully inhaled the much needed oxygen as your face burned with humiliation. You hated being in such a vulnerable state, you hated being so easy to take advantage of. But there was nothing you could do about the way the Harbinger's hands snuck under your gown to roughly grope your chest. No matter what you did or wanted to do, you could only moan in guilty pleasure.

Soon enough, you found yourself in a familiar but unwelcomed position: face pressed into the pillow with your 'lord's' dick thrusting in and out in an attempt to get off. Your hands held onto the sheets for dear life as you came for the 3rd time. Tears rolled down your face and drool stained the pillow as Scaramouche laughed cruelly at your fucked out appearance,"Need a break? Too bad, you won't get one."

You could only mumble inaudible phrases in between gasps and moans in response,"Ngh—please master—hngh—please cum in me—!" "What's that? You want me to fill this slutty hole of yours with my cum? That's right, fill up you like the cumdump you are?" He smirked as you only panted small, breathy 'yes'' to his degrading words. Moments later he finally reached his high and shot his load into your tight pussy.

Scaramouche didn't bother to pull out and instead pressed his chest against your back and whispered into your ear, possessiveness evident in his tone,"No one else can or ever will make you feel like this, only I can bring you this kind of pleasure. You're mine, mine to fuck how I want, mine to do with whatever I please. Right, my little servant?" You nodded dumbly to his statements, mind too mushy to think straight.

You really were just a cumdump for him.

[strsburn]

sngä'ikrr [begin] ━ ˓𓄹 ࣪˖  neteyam

pairing - neteyam x fem! na'vi reader

synopsis - in which you do not realize how your life began the moment you met neteyam.

see also - in which neteyam is enthralled by you, and you are just trying to do your duty and fulfill your sense of purpose.

warnings - tba

notes - i am so excited to write about this, i would like to turn this into a series but that depends on how well this does and my motivation lol. hope you enjoy and thank you to @anm3mi for your enthusiasm to read this!!

full disclosure, in this fic, the events of the second movie have already taken place, however neteyam survived, and instead of staying with the metkayina, the sully's have returned to the forest. neteyam and reader are age eighteen. i will not write smut for these characters however bc it doesn't make me comfortable at all, please respect this and do not ask for it.

Growing up, you had felt a disconnection between yourself, and the other na'vi kids. You didn't find any enjoyment in playing their games, nor did you feel like joining with the weavers and singers of your people.

You felt shamed as your mother, Ninat, a clan favorite, and beautiful singer, expressed her disappointment in you constantly as you did not show signs of following in her footsteps. Instead, you talked of becoming a warrior, sneaking off to train with a handmade bow you had made from the remains of a kelutral.

As a result, your mother and your relationship splintered, leaving you to become independent.

You continued to train, leading you to becoming apart of the 'tìhawnu si' a group of warriors that defended your clan from harm and more importantly the Olo'eyktan and his family.

Ta'hlu, leader of the tìhawnu si, had taken you under her wing, raising you as her own, and continuing to watch you flourish under her tutelage, for one day you would take her place as leader.

"Are you paying attention, 'evi?" Ta'hlu questioned, pulling your attention away from the tree from where you had been staring blankly, deep in thought. You felt heat rise to your cheeks in shame, at losing focus especially during such important tasks and you stood up straighter, tail flicking behind you with nerves.

"Yes, sa'nok. I became distracted, it will not happen again, I swear it." The smile that Ta'hlu wore at the title you gave her, dimmed as she saw how tense you were, your ears flailing with nerves as your tail curled around your leg.

While she admired how mature you had become, you were still just a kid, eighteen and striving to make those around you proud. Little did you know how proud she was of you, just for who you were. She wanted you to not grow up too fast. Sadly, war took everything from the na'vi, including the innocence of children who should not know loss.

"That's enough practice for today, 'evi. Go have fun." She dismissed you, causing your ears to flatten as you sheathed your blade.

Before you could protest, a familiar na'vi who you recognized as Pa'yi broke through the clearing, her ears pinned down in worry and tail lashing with distress. At her expression you stood to attention, Ta'hlu turning towards the na'vi with a confused frown.

"What is it, Pa'yi?"

"Please, hurry. Tuktirey te Suli Neytiri'ite is in trouble, she strayed too far past the barricades of home tree and we can't find her." The na'vi announced, you immediately looked to Ta'hlu who was already staring at you, gaze expectant and trusting.

You pushed down a smile as your tail relaxed and your ears stood alert. Pa'yi seemed surprised that the leader was waiting on you for command, but relaxed as she saw the determination painted on your face.

"Gather the other warriors, we will meet at hometree and discuss our strategy with Olo'eyktan'." You decided, meeting the pleased gaze of Ta'hlu.

"Oel ngati kameie." You greeted the Olo'eyktan and his family, hand meeting your forehead before curving down towards your chest. The Chief did the same, eyes unfocused and ears down in worry for his daughter. Not wanting to waste any more time you cleared your throat and walked forward to meet him, the warriors following behind you, spears and bows at the ready.

"With your permission Toruk Makto, I plan to lead the tìhawnu si, to find your daughter." You spoke clearly, meeting his eyes. You could see the worry in his gaze, just as he could see the resolve in yours. He knew of your strengths, having heard much praise from Ta'hlu and he decided to trust her, and her training, that you would find his little girl.

With a nod, you stepped back, gesturing towards your fellow sisters, protectors of the clan and your people.

"We will split into three groups, I will lead my group north, and the other two groups will head east and west. We will not rest until Tuktirey te Suli Neytiri'ite is back with the clan, understood?" You directed, feeling a deep happiness as your fellow sisters watched you with pride in their eyes, nodding in respect to show that they would fight by your side.

You took one glance back, catching the gaze of Neteyam te Suli Neytiri'ite, his eyes frustrated at most likely not being able to seek his sister, and while he did not say a word, his eyes relayed everything he could not.

Find her

You dipped your head into a nod and turned, your hair swinging with the movement as your heart beat steadily in your chest. Everyone was counting on you, you could not, would not let them down.

tìhawnu si - protector(s)

'evi - kid (affectionate)

sa'nok - mother

sngä'ikrr - begin

[novaursa]

Part 6

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Final

As Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their family prepared to leave the Red Keep before any further incidents could occur, Alicent made her way to the king’s chambers. The dinner had taken a toll on Viserys, and she needed to see how he fared after almost collapsing. Her steps were quick and purposeful, her mind racing with concern for her ailing husband.

Entering his chambers, Alicent found Viserys lying in bed, his breathing shallow and labored. She moved to his side, gently fixing his covers and checking his pulse. Her touch was tender, her heart heavy with worry. As she adjusted his pillows, Viserys began to speak incoherently, his words a tangled mix of dreams and memories.

“Aegon… the prince… promised…” His voice was weak, barely a whisper.

Alicent leaned in closer, trying to make sense of his fragmented words. “Viserys, what are you saying? Aegon? Our son?”

Viserys’s eyes fluttered open briefly, his gaze unfocused. “The dream… the prince… promised… the Iron Throne…”

Alicent’s heart pounded in her chest as she tried to understand. “Are you saying Aegon should’ve been promised the throne? Not Rhaenyra?”

Viserys groaned, his strength fading, and his one good eye slowly closed. “The prince… the promised… the throne…”

Alicent shook him gently, desperation creeping into her voice. “Viserys, please, wake up. What do you mean?”

But Viserys did not respond. His body went still, his breath ceased. The realization hit Alicent like a blow. Viserys was dead. Her husband, the king, was gone, and with his dying breath, he had seemingly changed his heir.

She stood slowly, the weight of the situation settling over her like a shroud. Her mind churned with possibilities and implications. Had she heard correctly? Was Viserys naming Aegon as his successor instead of Rhaenyra? She replayed his words in her mind, her thoughts racing.

Was this because of Vaella? A daughter who had stood by him all these difficult years while Rhaenyra fled to Dragonstone, hiding from the consequences of her actions. Did Viserys want his younger daughter to ascend the throne with his eldest son?

Alicent steadied herself, understanding the gravity of her duty. She knew what she had to do. She closed the chamber doors quietly as she exited, her face set in determination. Approaching the Kingsguard who stood outside, she spoke with authority.

“Nobody is permitted to enter the king’s chambers until I return. Do you understand?”

The Kingsguard nodded, their expressions grave. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Alicent nodded in acknowledgment and turned on her heel, making her way to find Otto. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, but she knew one thing for certain: the king was dead, and his last words could change the course of the realm.

As she walked through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, her mind raced with the implications of what she had heard. If Viserys had indeed named Aegon as his heir, everything would change. The delicate balance of power, the succession, the future of the realm—all hung in the balance.

She found Otto in his study, deep in thought. He looked up as she entered, noting the intensity in her gaze. “Alicent, what is it?”

Alicent took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Father, Viserys is dead.”

Otto’s face fell, but he quickly composed himself. “I see.”

Alicent’s voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her turmoil. “He spoke of a dream, of Aegon being the prince that was promised, the one destined to sit on the Iron Throne.”

Otto’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Are you certain of this?”

Alicent nodded. “I am. He mentioned Aegon, the prince, the promised, and the throne. I believe he was naming Aegon as his heir.”

Otto stood, his mind already calculating the next steps. “This changes everything. We must act quickly and decisively. The realm must know of the king’s wishes.”

Alicent nodded, her resolve firm. “Yes. We must ensure that Aegon’s claim is recognized and upheld.”

Otto placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We will.”

As the gravity of the situation settled in, Otto sprang into action with a swiftness that took Alicent by surprise. He moved with purpose, his demeanor shifting from measured to urgent. Alicent watched him, a dawning realization creeping over her as he began to outline his plans.

“We must act swiftly,” Otto said, his voice decisive. “Rhaenyra has left, and we cannot afford to waste any time. No word of the king’s death will leave this room until I say so.”

Alicent frowned, a sense of unease growing within her. “Father, what are you saying? You have prepared for this… behind my back?”

Otto turned to her, his eyes cold and calculating. “This is not the time for hesitation, Alicent. We have prepared for this moment for years, regardless of what Viserys said on his deathbed. We must ensure that Aegon takes the throne.”

He stepped to the door and called for Ser Criston Cole, who had been guarding outside. Cole entered swiftly, his expression serious.

“Cole,” Otto commanded, “secure the Red Keep. No one is to enter or leave without my explicit permission. Do you understand?”

Cole nodded sharply. “Yes, my lord.”

“And round up the smallfolk in the Dragonpit,” Otto continued. “We need to control the narrative from the very beginning.”

Alicent’s face paled, her horror growing as she listened to Otto’s commands. “You planned all of this… without telling me?”

Otto turned back to her, his expression unyielding. “It was necessary. We must be prepared for every eventuality. Now, come. We need to speak with the others in the council chamber.”

As they moved through the corridors, Alicent’s mind whirled with the implications of Otto’s words. The ease with which he issued his orders, the efficiency of his plans—all pointed to a long-standing scheme that she had not been privy to. She struggled to reconcile the father she knew with the calculating strategist before her.

When they reached the council chamber, guards were already rousing the remaining members of the small council. Alicent and Otto entered, the latter’s presence commanding immediate attention. 

Otto didn’t waste any time. “Gentlemen, we have a situation. King Viserys has passed, and we must act swiftly to secure the succession.”

The council members exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from shock to grim determination. Lord Lyman Beesbury, always the voice of caution, spoke first. “Should we not notify Princess Rhaenyra? She is the named heir.”

Otto shook his head. “Rhaenyra is on Dragonstone, and we have reason to believe she will contest any decision that does not favor her directly. We must ensure the stability of the realm. The king’s final words, as relayed by Queen Alicent, indicated that Prince Aegon is to take the throne.”

Alicent’s mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. She found herself nodding in agreement, almost by reflex, as Otto continued.

“We must control the information,” Otto pressed. “Ser Criston Cole is already securing the Red Keep, and the smallfolk will be gathered in the Dragonpit. We need to present a unified front and ensure that Aegon is crowned without delay.”

Lord Tyland Lannister leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. “And what of Rhaenyra’s supporters? They will not take this lightly.”

Otto’s gaze was steely. “We will deal with them as necessary. The stability of the realm is our priority. Now, we need to focus on the logistics of the coronation and securing the key points of the city.”

Alicent felt a chill run down her spine as she realized the extent of the preparations. This was not a reaction to Viserys’s final words but a meticulously planned coup. She glanced at the other council members, seeing the resolve in their eyes. They were ready to follow Otto’s lead, regardless of the consequences.

The council continued its tense discussion as Ser Criston Cole returned, having begun to secure the Red Keep. Alicent, still present, felt a gnawing unease as the conversation took a darker turn. Lord Lyman Beesbury, sensing the direction of the discussion, stood up, his voice filled with conviction.

“I have known King Viserys the longest,” Beesbury declared, his eyes scanning the room. “I refuse to believe he changed his mind about the succession in the presence of the queen alone. This is a travesty!”

Several lords, including Otto, exchanged glances, their expressions hardening. Lord Jasper Wylde spoke up, his tone cold and pragmatic. “Perhaps the best course of action would be to eliminate the threat altogether. Assassinate Rhaenyra and her children. It’s the only way to ensure stability.”

Alicent’s eyes widened in horror. “No! Viserys would never have wanted his daughter and grandchildren killed. If it comes to it, send them to the Wall. We cannot stain our hands with their blood.”

Lord Beesbury nodded vigorously. “I agree with the queen. This talk of murder is despicable. We should be ashamed even to consider it!”

Otto’s face remained impassive as he weighed the options. “Alicent, I understand your sentiment, but we must be realistic. The safety of the realm is paramount.”

Beesbury, growing increasingly agitated, pointed an accusing finger at Otto. “You are overstepping, Lord Hightower. This is not what Viserys would have wanted. I will not stand by and watch you usurp his will!”

Alicent, feeling both defensive and alarmed, tried to interject. “Lord Beesbury, please, calm down. We are trying to find a solution that preserves—”

Before she could finish, Ser Criston Cole moved swiftly, smashing Beesbury’s head into the table, silencing him with a brutal finality. The room fell into a stunned silence as Beesbury’s lifeless body slumped to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.Alicent gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Ser Criston, what have you done?”

Cole’s expression was cold and unyielding. “He was refusing to see reason. We cannot afford dissent.”

Otto, seemingly unperturbed, continued as if nothing had happened. “We must proceed. We cannot let this derail our plans.”

Commander Harrold Westerling, his face a mask of disgust, stood up and removed his white cloak, throwing it onto the table. “I will not be part of this. This is not the honorable service I pledged myself to.”With that, he turned and left the room, his departure a stark reminder of the cost of their actions.

Otto remained composed, turning to Ser Criston Cole. “Cole, find Aegon and Vaella. Apprehend the princess if you have to. She will undoubtedly react badly to the news of the king’s death and the usurping of her sister’s throne.”

Cole nodded and left to carry out his orders, leaving the council members to process the gravity of the situation. Alicent felt a cold dread settle over her as she realized the depth of the betrayal and the lengths her father was willing to go.

The council meeting concluded, and the members began to disperse. Alicent, still reeling from the events, stood for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. The reality of Beesbury’s death and the treacherous path they were on weighed heavily on her.

As the others left, Otto approached her. “Alicent, we must stay strong. This is for the good of the realm.”

Alicent nodded mechanically, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

Determined to take action, Alicent decided to pay a visit to Rhaenys, who was still in the Red Keep, now locked in with all its inhabitants by Otto’s orders. She needed to speak with her, to seek some semblance of control in this chaotic moment. As Rhaenys word carried weight and much needed support if she could gain it.

Alicent made her way to Rhaenys’s quarters with determination, hoping to gain her support for Aegon’s claim to the throne. She needed allies, and Rhaenys’s influence could be crucial. The corridors of the Red Keep were eerily quiet, the weight of the recent events pressing heavily on her mind. 

Reaching Rhaenys’s chambers, Alicent knocked gently before entering. She found Rhaenys standing by the window, her posture tense as she looked out over the city. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words and rising tension.

“Rhaenys,” Alicent began, her voice a mix of urgency and plea. “We need to talk.”

Rhaenys turned to face her, her expression stern and unforgiving. “Alicent, what is happening? Why am I being held here like a prisoner?”

Alicent took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Viserys has passed. The council is moving swiftly to secure Aegon’s claim to the throne. I need your support, Rhaenys. Your influence could help prevent further conflict.”

Rhaenys’s eyes narrowed, her anger barely contained. “You expect me to support this usurpation? My husband, Corlys, and I pledged our loyalty to Rhaenyra. This is treachery, Alicent. You are playing with fire.”

Alicent felt a pang of desperation. “I understand your loyalty to Rhaenyra, but the stability of the realm is at stake. Aegon is here, ready to take the throne. We need to present a united front.”

Rhaenys stepped closer, her voice cold and cutting. “And what of Rhaenyra and her children? What of the oaths we all took? This is not just about the throne, Alicent. This is about honor.”

Before Alicent could respond, the sound of bells began to ring through the city. The solemn tolling signified the passing of the king. Rhaenys’s face darkened further, her anger palpable. “You announce his death while holding me here? Like a prisoner?”

Alicent’s eyes widened with realization. “Rhaenys, please. We had to act quickly. The realm cannot be left in chaos.”

Rhaenys turned back to the window, her gaze distant. “I will not betray my oaths, Alicent. I will not support this treachery.”

Alicent’s heart sank, but she tried one last plea. “If you change your mind, if you decide that Aegon’s claim is the best way to ensure peace, ring the bell. It will signal your support.”

Rhaenys did not turn around, her silence a clear dismissal. Alicent watched her for a moment, feeling the weight of her failure. She turned and left the room, the echo of the bells following her down the corridor.

As she walked away, Alicent couldn’t shake the sense of impending doom. She had hoped to secure Rhaenys’s support, to create a semblance of unity in the face of the coming storm. But now, it seemed that the rift within the family was only growing wider.

Rhaenys remained by the window, her thoughts racing. The bells continued to toll, a somber reminder of the king’s passing and the chaos that was sure to follow. She felt a deep sense of betrayal and anger, both at the actions of the council and at Alicent’s attempt to manipulate her loyalty.

As the sound of Alicent’s footsteps faded, Rhaenys closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew that the days ahead would be filled with danger and uncertainty. But she also knew that she had to stay true to her principles, to the oaths she had sworn. No matter what, she would not be swayed by fear or coercion.

Watching the dowager queen leave, Rhaenys felt a new resolve within her. The realm needed leaders who would stand by their word, who would fight for what was right, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

As she turned back to the window, the city below seemed shrouded in a shadow of foreboding. The bells continued to toll, a stark reminder of the changing tides. But Rhaenys knew that she could not, would not, be a pawn in this game of power. She would stand firm, and whatever came next, she would face it with courage and conviction.

…

Meanwhile, Aegon and Vaella had retired to their shared chambers after the tumultuous dinner and Rhaenyra's departure. The atmosphere was charged with unspoken tensions and unresolved emotions. As soon as the door closed behind them, Aegon clung to Vaella, his lips finding hers in a fervent kiss. Vaella tasted the lingering flavor of wine on his tongue, a reminder of the evening’s events.

She broke the kiss reluctantly, her eyes searching his. “Aegon, why did you and Aemond start a fight during dinner after Father was carried away?”

Aegon's expression darkened. “Luke took Aemond’s eye, and he parades around with his bastard brother, entitled to everything with no consequences. It’s infuriating.”

Vaella frowned, conflicted between her love for her nephews and the truth in Aegon’s words. She sighed, trying to find the right response. “Aegon, I understand your anger, but fighting among ourselves only makes things worse.”

Before she could say more, Aegon kissed her again, silencing her concerns. “Let’s not dwell on this now,” he murmured against her lips. “How about we continue our fun in the city?”

Vaella raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly what he meant. This wasn’t the first time they had escaped the confines of the Red Keep. In fact, it had become quite a frequent adventure. They would use secret passageways and disguise themselves to roam the city, laughing, drinking, having fun, and making love in the darker corners of King’s Landing.

She sighed, her resolve wavering. “Are you sure it’s safe? With everything happening?”

Aegon grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “We need this, Vaella. A break from all the madness. Just the two of us, like always.”

Vaella couldn’t resist the excitement in his voice. She nodded, allowing him to lead her as they donned their disguises. Aegon handed her a cloak and a simple dress, while he put on a hooded cloak and plain clothes that masked his royal identity.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Vaella smiled, the thrill of the adventure beginning to take hold. “Ready.”

They moved quickly and quietly through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep, the familiarity of the route bringing a sense of nostalgia. These secret escapes had always been their way of finding solace and freedom amidst the burdens of their roles.

As they reached the final hidden door that led to the outside, Aegon turned to her, his face serious for a moment. “Vaella, whatever happens, remember that I love you.”

She touched his cheek, her heart swelling with emotion. “I love you too, Aegon.”

With that, they slipped out into the night, the cool air of King’s Landing hitting their faces. The city was alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and distant chatter. They blended into the shadows, moving with the ease of practiced adventurers.

The thrill of their clandestine escape filled them with a heady mix of excitement and freedom. They roamed the narrow streets, stopping at taverns to drink and laugh, shedding the weight of their responsibilities for a few precious hours. In the dimly lit corners of the city, they found moments of intimacy, stolen kisses, and whispered promises.

As they made their way through the bustling city, they reveled in the anonymity and the simplicity of being just Aegon and Vaella, not the prince and princess of a fractured realm. For a few hours, they were free from the constraints of their titles and the looming shadows of political intrigue.

The city, unaware of the royal escapade, continued its rhythm, a temporary haven for the young couple seeking solace in each other’s company. 

…

Aegon and Vaella had lost themselves in the vibrant, chaotic energy of the lower parts of King’s Landing. They strolled hand in hand through the narrow, bustling streets, their disguises allowing them to blend in with the common folk. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the laughter and music that echoed from taverns and street performers.

They stopped at a bustling tavern, the warmth and noise enveloping them as they found a quiet corner to share a drink. Aegon ordered a pitcher of strong ale, and they clinked their mugs together, toasting to their temporary freedom.

“To us,” Aegon said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“To us,” Vaella echoed, her smile matching his.

They laughed and talked, sharing stories and jokes, their worries momentarily forgotten. The tavern was filled with all manner of people—sailors, merchants, and townsfolk—all caught up in their own revelry. Aegon and Vaella reveled in the anonymity, savoring the rare chance to be themselves without the weight of their titles.

As the night wore on, they ventured deeper into the city, exploring the winding alleyways and hidden courtyards. They danced to the music of street performers, Aegon twirling Vaella under the dim glow of lanterns. They shared kisses in shadowed corners, their passion ignited by the thrill of their adventure.

Around dawn, they found themselves in a secluded corner of the city, the sky beginning to lighten with the first hints of morning. Aegon pressed Vaella against the cool stone wall of a narrow alley, his hands tangled in her hair as their kisses deepened. 

“We should do this more often,” Aegon murmured against her lips, his voice husky with desire.

Vaella smiled, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’d like that.”

Just as their intimacy grew more urgent, the sound of bells began to ring out through the city. The clear, solemn toll cut through the quiet of the dawn, breaking the spell between them. Vaella’s eyes widened, and she pulled back, her breath catching in her throat.

“Father,” she whispered, her voice filled with dread. “The bells mean only one thing.”

Aegon’s face paled as the reality of her words sank in. The bells signaled the death of the king. They shared a look of panic, the gravity of the situation crashing down on them.

Before they could react, rough hands grabbed Vaella, dragging her away from Aegon. She screamed, struggling against her captors. “Aegon!”

Aegon fought back, trying to reach her. “Vaella! Let her go!”

But more hands pulled him away, his struggles growing frantic. He could see Vaella being dragged further into the shadows, her terrified eyes locked on his.

“Aegon, help!” Vaella’s voice was desperate, filled with fear.

Aegon’s captors forced him to the ground, their grip unyielding. He continued to call out for Vaella, his voice growing hoarse. “Vaella! No! Vaella!”

Despite his best efforts, Aegon was overpowered, his captors working quickly to incapacitate him. A sharp blow to the head sent him reeling, his vision blurring as darkness began to close in.

The last thing he saw was Vaella’s form disappearing into the distance, her cries echoing in his ears. The panic and helplessness overwhelmed him as he lost consciousness, the reality of their situation crashing down around them.

…

Meanwhile, in the Red Keep, Alicent approached Aegon and Vaella's chambers with a growing sense of urgency. She held the extra key in her hand, her mind racing with concerns about the state of the realm and the impending chaos following Viserys’s death. As she unlocked the door and pushed it open, a wave of panic set in when she found the chambers empty.

“Aegon? Vaella?” she called out, her voice trembling.

The room was eerily quiet, their absence glaringly obvious. Otto Hightower, who had followed closely behind, turned on the two Kingsguard stationed outside the door, his face a mask of fury.

“How did this happen?” Otto demanded, his voice cold and menacing. “You were supposed to be guarding them. Where are they?”

The two Kingsguard, looking confused and worried, exchanged nervous glances. “We have been here all night, my lord,” one of them stammered. “Nobody came in or out.”

Otto's eyes narrowed, his anger barely contained. “Then how do you explain their absence? They must have slipped past you somehow.”

Alicent, her face pale with worry, turned to Ser Criston Cole and the twin brothers Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk Cargyll, who had arrived on the scene. “You need to find them, quickly. Bring them back here immediately.”

Aemond, approaching the group with a calculated calm, interjected. “We should split up to cover more ground. I have an idea where they might be. Aegon and Vaella have their… habits.”

Otto nodded, his face a mask of steely resolve. “Very well. Arryk and Erryk, you search the lower parts of the city. Aemond, you go with Cole. Find them and bring them back to me. We cannot afford to have them missing at a time like this.”

The twins nodded in unison, determination etched on their faces. “We’ll find them, my lord.”

Aemond and Cole exchanged a brief glance, a silent understanding passing between them. “Let’s go,” Aemond said, his tone decisive. “I know where they usually spend their time.”

The groups dispersed quickly, each pair heading in different directions with a sense of urgency. The corridors of the Red Keep felt unusually quiet, the weight of the king’s death and the impending succession crisis pressing down on everyone.

Arryk and Erryk moved swiftly through the maze-like lower levels of the Red Keep, their eyes scanning every shadow and hidden passage. “They couldn’t have gone far,” Erryk muttered, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

“Agreed,” Arryk replied. “But we need to find them before anyone else does. The city will soon be in turmoil.”

Meanwhile, Aemond and Cole made their way through the more familiar haunts of the city, their knowledge of Aegon and Vaella’s usual escapades guiding their steps. They checked the taverns and alleyways, questioning those who might have seen the young couple.

“They were here earlier,” a tavern keeper said, recognizing Aemond and Cole despite their attempts at discretion. “But they left some time ago. Seemed in a hurry.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “We need to find them. They can’t have gone far.”

As the search continued, frustration grew. Each lead seemed to lead them in circles, and the urgency of the situation weighed heavily on them. The city’s labyrinthine streets and hidden corners provided ample hiding places, complicating their task.

Aemond and Cole, moving through another crowded marketplace, paused to reassess their strategy. “We’re missing something,” Aemond said, his voice tense. “They wouldn’t just vanish.”

Cole nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd. 

Back at the Red Keep, Alicent paced nervously, her mind filled with dread. Otto stood nearby, his face a mask of grim determination. “We’ll find them,” he said, more to himself than to Alicent.

The search continued into the early hours, the city slowly awakening to the news of the king’s death. As the sun began to rise, the bells tolled solemnly, their sound a constant reminder of the urgency of their mission.

…

Otto Hightower’s frustration mounted as the search for Aegon and Vaella continued fruitlessly. Suddenly, he remembered a whisper he had heard from his sources—someone known as the White Worm had eyes and ears all over the city. He decided to arrange a discreet meeting, hoping for a breakthrough.

In the dimly lit back room of a nondescript tavern, Otto waited. The air was thick with tension, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. The door creaked open, and Mysaria, the White Worm, stepped inside. Otto recognized her immediately—Daemon's former whore, now a formidable figure in the city’s underworld.

Mysaria’s eyes were cold and calculating as she approached. “Lord Hand, I was told you needed information.”

Otto’s gaze was equally sharp. “You know where the prince and princess are. I demand you tell me their location.”

Mysaria tilted her head slightly, a smirk playing on her lips. “Demand? In my domain, you do not demand, Lord Hightower. You ask, and then you pay.”

Otto’s jaw tightened. “What do you want?”

Mysaria’s expression turned serious. “I want a better life for the people of Flea Bottom. I want an end to the fighting pits, the ones where children are forced to fight and die for sport. I want food and medicine to be provided for the needy, and protection from the city watch’s brutality.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe you care about the people of Flea Bottom?”

Mysaria’s gaze hardened. “I lived among them. I see their suffering every day. You need your prince and princess. I need a promise.”

Before Otto could respond, Mysaria signaled, and her men brought in Vaella. She looked disoriented, her face tear-streaked, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor.

“Vaella!” Otto exclaimed, rushing to her side.

Mysaria stepped forward, her voice firm. “You will have the location of Aegon only if you grant my requests. Do we have a deal?”

Otto looked at Vaella, then back at Mysaria. He knew he had no choice. “Very well. I promise to grant your requests. But know this, Mysaria—you remain a threat, and threats are dealt with accordingly.”

Mysaria’s eyes glinted with a mix of satisfaction and wariness. “I’ll be watching, Lord Hand.”

Otto took Vaella’s hand, guiding her gently out of the tavern. The journey back to the Red Keep was swift, and Vaella remained silent, her mind clearly racing.

Upon their arrival, Otto brought Vaella to Alicent. Alicent rushed to her stepdaughter, her face a mask of concern. “Vaella, my dear, are you alright?”

Vaella’s voice was barely a whisper. “Is it true? Is Father dead?”

Alicent’s eyes filled with sorrow as she nodded. “Yes, Vaella. He has passed.”

Vaella’s tears welled up again. “Where is Aegon?”

Alicent looked helplessly at Otto, who shook his head slightly. “We’re still looking for him, but we will find him soon, I promise.”

Vaella’s shoulders trembled as she fought to control her emotions. “And my children? Where are they?”

Alicent placed a comforting hand on Vaella’s shoulder. “They are safe and being well cared for. You don’t need to worry about them.”

Vaella nodded, her gaze distant. The weight of the situation bore down on her, and she sank into a nearby chair, overwhelmed by grief and fear.

Otto and Alicent exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. The challenges ahead were daunting, but they had to remain strong for the sake of the realm and their family.

Otto left the room, leaving Alicent alone with Vaella. Alicent's face softened as she approached her stepdaughter, trying to find the right words for the delicate situation. 

“Vaella, something has changed drastically upon Viserys’ passing,” Alicent began gently. “Before he died, he told me something. He changed his mind and chose Aegon as his heir.”

Vaella’s head shot up, disbelief etched across her face. “What? That’s impossible.”

Alicent repeated, “Viserys chose Aegon as his heir.”

Vaella cut her off, her voice rising. “I heard you just fine the first time, but that cannot be true. Father would never change his mind about Rhaenyra’s right to succeed him.”

Alicent’s expression remained firm. “But he did, Vaella. He saw reason. The realm will never accept a queen, especially after everything that has happened. He made the right decision for the stability of the kingdom.”

Vaella stared at her, horrified. “You expect me to believe that? To accept this? You’re asking me to support the usurpation of my sister’s throne!”

Alicent’s eyes were pleading. “Vaella, you are Aegon’s wife. You need to stand by him in this. The realm needs unity, and you can help provide that.”

Vaella’s mind raced, grappling with the reality of what was happening. The Hightowers had finally done it; they were going to place their blood on the throne, and with Aegon, that meant her. She would be the one to steal her sister’s birthright through Aegon. 

“No,” Vaella said firmly, her voice shaking with emotion. “I will not support this. I will not betray my sister.”

Alicent’s expression hardened. “Vaella, you no longer have a choice. This is about the future of the realm. You need to get ready for Aegon’s coronation.”

Vaella felt a cold dread settle over her. “You’re asking me to stand by and watch as you strip my sister of her birthright? How can you expect me to do that?”

Alicent’s tone turned stern, her patience wearing thin. “Because it is what needs to be done. The realm is at stake. You are part of this family, and you have a duty to it.”

Vaella’s eyes filled with tears, her voice breaking. “I can’t believe you would do this. Father would never have wanted this.”

Alicent stepped closer, her voice softening slightly. “Vaella, I know this is difficult. But we must do what is necessary. For the good of the realm.”

Vaella shook her head, her mind swirling with anger and betrayal. “This is not for the good of the realm. This is for your own power. You’re using Aegon to secure your position, to push your family to the forefront.”

Alicent’s eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and desperation. “This is not about power, Vaella. This is about ensuring stability, about preventing chaos. We need to act swiftly and decisively.”

Vaella’s voice was icy. “At what cost? At the cost of my sister’s birthright? At the cost of my family’s honor?”

Alicent’s resolve hardened. “You need to get ready for the coronation. This is happening, whether you like it or not.”

Vaella stared at her stepmother, the weight of her words settling heavily on her heart. She realized with a sinking feeling that there was no turning back. The Hightowers had set their plan in motion, and she was caught in the middle of it.

…

Aegon woke up being dragged out of a small stone space beneath the old altar of the Sept. His eyes darted around, quickly taking in the faces of his brother Aemond, Ser Criston Cole, and the Cargyll twins. Realization struck him like a blow: he was in trouble, and memories of what had happened to him and Vaella flooded back. They had been found outside the Keep, and now, he feared for her safety.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Aegon struggled out of Aemond’s grasp and bolted, running away from the Sept and down the stone steps. Panic fueled his flight, but his brother and the knights were quick to pursue him. Aemond, faster and more determined, caught up first, pushing Aegon to the ground. Aegon thrashed and fought, trying desperately to break free.

“Aegon, stop this!” Aemond commanded, pinning him down with a firm grip.

“Let me go!” Aegon yelled, his voice hoarse with fear and desperation. “Is it true? Is Father dead?”

Aemond’s expression softened slightly, but his resolve remained firm. “Yes, he’s dead. And we’re going to make you king.”

Aegon struggled again, but Aemond was stronger, his grip unyielding. “I don’t want this, Aemond! Vaella and I, we don’t want any of this. We just want to be together, in peace, to love one another. I am unfit to rule, and I have no taste for it.”

Aemond’s face remained impassive as he hauled Aegon to his feet. “It doesn’t matter what you want, Aegon. This is your duty. The realm needs a king.”

Aegon’s struggles intensified, his voice growing more frantic. “I don’t care about the realm! I want my wife! Where is Vaella?”

Aemond tightened his grip, pulling Aegon along with an iron will. “She’s waiting for you, back at the Red Keep.”

Ser Criston Cole and the Cargyll twins moved in, securing Aegon’s arms and ensuring he couldn’t escape again. Despite his protests and thrashing, they maintained their hold, dragging him back towards the Keep. Aegon’s cries echoed through the empty streets, a mixture of anger, fear, and desperation.

As they made their way back, Aegon’s mind raced with thoughts of Vaella. He couldn’t shake the image of her being taken, the fear in her eyes. He needed to find her, to make sure she was safe. The weight of his unwanted destiny pressed down on him, suffocating in its inevitability.

Aemond’s grip never wavered, his determination a stark contrast to Aegon’s reluctance. “You need to accept this, Aegon. The sooner you do, the easier it will be for all of us.”

Aegon shot him a furious look. “Easy for you to say. You’ve always wanted power. This isn’t a game, Aemond. This is our lives.”

Aemond’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “And our lives are bound by duty. You have to understand that.”

Aegon’s shoulders slumped in defeat, the fight draining out of him. He knew he couldn’t escape this fate, not with his family determined to see it through. But his thoughts remained with Vaella, and the desperate need to protect her.

As they approached the Red Keep, the towering walls and imposing gates loomed ahead, a reminder of the burden he was being forced to carry. The reality of his new role began to settle over him like a shroud, heavy and unrelenting.

As the gates closed behind them, the weight of the crown seemed to press down even more, and Aegon’s thoughts remained focused on Vaella, the one person who had always been his solace in a world filled with chaos.

…

Aegon was delivered to the Red Keep with no chance for further struggle. Under Otto’s stern watch, he was quickly dressed in the regal attire befitting a king, his protests falling on deaf ears. Despite his constant pleas to be taken to Vaella, they refused, hurrying him towards a carriage where his mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, was already waiting.

As Aegon was pushed inside, the carriage began to move, surrounded by a royal escort. The streets of King’s Landing were filled with people, all making their way towards the Dragonpit where the coronation would take place. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation and uncertainty.

Aegon looked at his mother, his eyes wide with panic and defeat. “Mother, what are we doing? This isn’t right.”

Alicent’s face was calm, but her eyes betrayed a hint of worry. “Aegon, your father changed his mind. He chose you as his heir.”

Aegon scoffed, his voice bitter. “I doubt that. He didn’t even like me. Nobody does, except Vaella.”

Alicent’s expression hardened, her tone turning stern. “This is your duty, Aegon. The realm needs a strong leader, and your father saw that. You must accept this responsibility.”

Aegon’s eyes filled with desperation. “What about Vaella? She surely didn’t accept this.”

Alicent’s gaze softened slightly, but her voice remained firm. “She has no choice, Aegon. None of us do. This is for the good of the realm.”

Aegon’s shoulders slumped, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He looked out the window of the carriage, the city passing by in a blur. The reality of what was happening felt surreal, a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

As the carriage approached the Dragonpit, the crowds grew thicker. The roar of the masses gathered outside was deafening. People from all walks of life had come to witness the coronation of the new king. Green banners bearing the gold Targaryen sigil fluttered in the wind, and the air was filled with the scent of incense and flowers.

The carriage came to a halt, and Alicent reached out to her son, her hand resting gently on his arm. “Aegon, you must be strong. For all of us.”

Aegon nodded numbly, his mind racing with thoughts of Vaella and the burden he was being forced to carry. The door of the carriage was opened by a royal guard, and Aegon stepped out into the bright sunlight. The scene before him was overwhelming.

The Dragonpit loomed large, its ancient stone structure imposing and grand. The courtyard outside was packed with people, nobles and commoners alike, all craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the new king. The murmur of the crowd grew louder as Aegon and Alicent made their way towards the entrance, flanked by guards and followed closely by Otto.

Aegon’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and dread settling over him. He glanced at his mother, seeking reassurance, but Alicent’s face was a mask of determination. The weight of the crown felt heavier with each step he took.

The Dragonpit’s interior was dimly lit, the air cool and filled with the scent of ancient stone and dragonfire. The grand hall had been prepared for the ceremony, with rows of seats for the nobles and a raised platform at the far end where the Iron Throne stood, waiting for its new occupant.

The atmosphere was charged with expectation. The nobles whispered among themselves, their eyes fixed on Aegon as he made his way down the aisle. The high septon stood ready, his robes immaculate, a solemn expression on his face.

Aegon’s thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and fear. The reality of what was happening crashed down on him, and he struggled to steady himself. His mind was filled with thoughts of Vaella, her face haunting him with every step he took.

As they reached the platform, Aegon turned to his mother one last time. “Mother, I’m not ready for this.”

Alicent’s gaze was unyielding. “You must be, Aegon. For the sake of the realm.”

Aegon took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. The high septon began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the grand hall. The words washed over Aegon, their meaning heavy with the weight of tradition and duty.

…

Vaella stood on a stone-illuminated platform next to Aemond and Helaena, her face set in a mask of pain and resignation. The reality of what was happening overwhelmed her, the sheer scale of the betrayal unfolding before her eyes. Thousands of smallfolk were rounded up below them, their murmurs filling the air with a sense of anticipation. Rhaenyra had no idea what was happening back on Dragonstone, and when she found out...

Suddenly, the trumpets sounded, announcing Aegon's arrival. Alicent and Otto were already upon the platform next to Septon Eustace. Vaella watched as her husband arrived under raised swords, his figure striking against the backdrop of the morning sun. Their eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between them, conveying more than words ever could.

Otto stepped forward, his voice clear and commanding. "People of King's Landing, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of King Viserys I, the Peaceful. A king who has led us with wisdom and grace."

A hush fell over the crowd, the weight of Otto's words sinking in. Vaella could see the sorrow and uncertainty on the faces of the smallfolk, their lives hanging in the balance as the power shifted within the Red Keep.

Otto continued, his voice steady. "But as one reign ends, another must begin. In his final moments, King Viserys named his son, Aegon, as his successor. Today, we crown him as our king."

Septon Eustace stepped forward, holding the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. The ancient, iron circlet gleamed in the sunlight, a symbol of power and legacy. He began the ritual words, his voice echoing through the Dragonpit.

"By the grace of the Seven, I anoint you Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of Your Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

As Septon Eustace placed the crown upon Aegon's head, the weight of the Conqueror's legacy settled upon him. Aegon turned, Blackfyre held high in his hand, his eyes meeting Vaella's once more. She could see the transformation in him, the realization of power and responsibility mingling with a growing sense of ego.

Otto and Alicent had played their parts well, she thought. The Conqueror's name, crown, and sword—all symbols of legitimacy and strength. Vaella could still hear the screams of the lords and ladies executed in the Red Keep for refusing to betray their oaths to her sister, their cries haunting her even now.

Gradually, the murmurs of the crowd turned to cheers. The people began to chant Aegon's name, their voices rising in a crescendo of approval. Vaella watched, her heart heavy with fear and sadness. She could see Aegon's ego growing with every cheer, his posture straightening, his eyes gleaming with newfound confidence.

As Aegon raised Blackfyre high above his head, the crowd's cheers reached a deafening crescendo. The sight of their new king, resplendent in his regalia, holding the legendary sword, filled them with awe and excitement. The city roared its approval, the sound reverberating through the ancient stones of the Dragonpit.

Vaella's heart sank. She feared he liked this all too much, that the power and adoration would consume him. She prayed silently for strength, knowing that the days ahead will bring both peril and strife. As Aegon basked in the adulation of the crowd, Vaella remained a silent witness, her mind racing with thoughts of her sister and the dark path that lay before them all.

Suddenly, the ground beneath the Dragonpit began to shake violently. Vaella, her heart pounding in her chest, knew all too well what slept in the caverns below. She glanced around, seeing the panic spreading among the crowd. Without thinking, she rushed to Aegon, grabbing his arm.

“Aegon, we have to move!” she shouted, her voice barely audible over the growing rumble.

Aegon looked at her, confusion and fear in his eyes, but before he could respond, the floor beneath them began to crack and shatter. The shaking intensified, and it felt as if the very earth was splitting apart. Vaella and Aegon embraced, clinging to each other as the floor collapsed beneath them, sending chunks of stone and debris crashing down, killing hundreds in the chaos.

Shrieks filled the Dragonpit, the air thick with dust and terror. From the gaping maw of the broken floor, a red dragon emerged, its scales gleaming like molten lava. Princess Rhaenys sat atop Meleys, her expression fierce and unyielding.

Alicent, seeing the dragon’s intention towards the huddled forms of Aegon and Vaella, stepped in front of them protectively, her arms spread wide. “Stop!” she cried, her voice shaking but resolute.

Meleys came closer, her massive form towering over them. The dragon’s screech was deafening, and Vaella closed her eyes, her grip on Aegon tightening. She waited for the flames, expecting to be consumed by the dragon’s fury.

But instead of the expected inferno, there was silence. Vaella opened her eyes slowly, her breath catching in her throat. Alicent still stood before them, unharmed, her gaze locked with Rhaenys’s. The air was thick with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

Aegon held Vaella close, his own fear evident. “What’s happening?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Vaella shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving Rhaenys. “I don’t know…”

Rhaenys’s gaze was fierce, filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. For a moment, it seemed as if the world had stopped, the chaos around them fading into the background.

Then, Otto’s voice broke through the silence, shouting a command. “Open the gates! Now!”

Rhaenys sensed her cue to escape. She raised her hand, signaling to Meleys. The dragon obeyed, her powerful wings beating the air as she took off, flying out of the Dragonpit and towards the open sky. The crowd parted in fear and awe, watching as the red dragon soared towards Dragonstone.

Alicent turned to Vaella and Aegon, her face pale but determined. “We need to leave. Now.”

Vaella nodded, her mind still reeling from the close encounter. She helped Aegon to his feet, their movements hurried and shaky. Together, they followed Alicent, making their way through the chaotic remains of the Dragonpit.

As they exited, the devastation was clear. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, the once-celebratory atmosphere now replaced by fear and grief. The tremors had ceased, but the scars of the event would remain.

…

Rhaenys flew with Meleys over the sea to Dragonstone, the wind whipping around them as they soared through the sky. Her heart was heavy with the news she carried, knowing the impact it would have on Rhaenyra and Daemon. As they approached the looming form of Dragonmont, Rhaenys guided Meleys into the cavern connected to the castle. The familiar scent of dragonfire and sea air mingled, a stark reminder of the tumultuous times they were in.

Dragonkeepers rushed to tend to Meleys, their practiced hands deftly handling the massive beast. Royal guards approached Rhaenys, escorting her inside the castle. The atmosphere was tense, everyone on edge, sensing that something monumental had occurred.

As Rhaenys was announced, she entered the great hall where Daemon and Rhaenyra awaited. Rhaenyra greeted her warmly, her face lighting up at the sight of her cousin, but Rhaenys’s expression was grim.

“Viserys is dead,” Rhaenys stated bluntly, her words slicing through the air like a dagger.

Shock and sorrow washed over Rhaenyra and Daemon. Rhaenyra’s hand instinctively moved to her pregnant belly, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Father… dead?” she whispered.

Daemon’s face darkened, his voice filled with rage. “Viserys has been slain, hasn’t he?”

Rhaenys stood still, her voice steady but filled with sorrow. “There is more. The Hightowers have crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit before the masses. I witnessed it myself before I fled on Meleys.”

Rhaenyra visibly shook, her face contorted in pain and anger. “What of Vaella?” she asked slowly, her voice trembling.

Rhaenys hesitated, her eyes filled with empathy. “She was there as well, forced or not, I could not be certain.”

Daemon’s fury erupted. “Those Hightower cunts killed my brother, stole the throne, and hold my niece hostage, and you could’ve burned them all for it?”

Rhaenys’s gaze was fierce. “Vaella was right there beside Aegon. If I had let Meleys attack, Vaella would have died with them.”

Daemon huffed in frustration, his eyes blazing with rage and sorrow. Rhaenyra suddenly hunched over in pain, her hand gripping her belly tightly. Rhaenys looked at her alarmed, noticing the bloodied hand emerging from the folds of Rhaenyra’s dress.

“The baby is coming,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice weak and strained.

Chaos erupted as servants and maesters were called, rushing to aid Rhaenyra. Daemon’s face twisted with a mix of anger and helplessness as he supported his wife, guiding her to their chambers.

The next few days were a blur of pain and sorrow. Rhaenyra’s labor was grueling and premature, and her screams echoed through the halls of Dragonstone. Daemon never left her side, his face a mask of anguish and rage. Rhaenys stood vigil, her heart breaking for her cousin.

When the labor finally ended, Rhaenyra gave birth to a stillborn daughter, whom she named Visenya. The tiny body, lifeless and fragile, was a stark reminder of the cruelty and betrayal they faced. The Black Queen’s grief was immeasurable, her pain palpable as she held her stillborn child.

As they prepared Visenya’s pyre, the mood in Dragonstone was one of mourning and simmering rage. The flames danced high into the night sky as the pyre burned, casting flickering shadows on the gathered mourners.

Rhaenyra stood before the pyre, her face set in a mask of sorrow and determination. “They have killed my only daughter,” she whispered, her voice filled with venom. “And they have taken my sister. For this, I will have my revenge.”

Daemon stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder, his eyes burning with a shared fury. “We will make them pay,” he vowed, his voice low and dangerous.

Rhaenys watched them, her own heart heavy with grief and resolve. The Hightowers had ignited a fire that would consume the realm, and the Blacks would not rest until justice was served.

Visenya’s pyre burned against the night sky, the flames a symbol of the Black Queen’s fury and determination. The air was thick with the promise of vengeance, the stage set for the conflict that would soon engulf the realm. Rhaenyra’s oath echoed in the hearts of those who stood with her, a chilling reminder that the cost of betrayal would be paid in blood.

…

The days following the death of her father, King Viserys, his funeral, and Aegon's coronation passed in a haze for Vaella. Each moment blurred into the next, her mind struggling to process the whirlwind of events. At night, she could hear Cannibal's roars in the dark recesses of her mind, a reflection of her own unrest and unsteadiness.

She was momentarily brought back to the present as her handmaiden, Lyanna, addressed her. “Queen Vaella, are you well?”

Vaella looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her once-vibrant indigo eyes now seemed dull and lifeless, framed by pale skin and loose strands of her pale blonde hair. The title of Queen felt hollow, a cruel mockery of the dishonor done to her sister. She turned her head slightly towards the girl, forcing a small smile. “I am well, just reminiscing.”

The handmaiden offered a sympathetic nod. “The Dowager Queen wishes to see you in the sunroom.”

Vaella nodded, rising slowly. “Thank you.”

She made her way to the sunroom, her steps heavy with the weight of the past days. Upon entering, she found Alicent waiting, her own servants discreetly dismissed as Vaella approached.

“Vaella,” Alicent began, her tone measured. “We have had little chance to talk following the events of the coronation.”

Vaella's voice was cold. “There is nothing to talk about.”

Alicent’s expression hardened slightly. “On the contrary, there is much to discuss. Soon, you will have to choose a side, and I need to know that it is Aegon's.”

Vaella met her stepmother's gaze, her voice trembling with a mix of love and defiance. “I love my husband, but I also love my sister. I will not be forced to strike at either of them.”

Alicent's eyes narrowed. “You will have to choose, Vaella. Your children with Aegon are a threat to Rhaenyra now.”

Vaella's voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes wide with horror. “You are insane.”

Alicent grabbed her arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “You will come to see that your sister will stop at nothing to gain her crown. She will view your children as rivals, and she will not hesitate to act against them.”

Vaella pulled her arm free, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Rhaenyra would never harm her own blood. She is not the monster you make her out to be.”

Alicent's gaze softened slightly, but her resolve remained firm. “I do not wish to see you hurt, Vaella. But you must be realistic about the dangers we face. The realm is on the brink of war, and we cannot afford to be divided.”

Vaella turned away, the weight of her stepmother's words pressing down on her. The conflict tearing at her heart was almost unbearable. She knew she loved Aegon deeply, but her loyalty to Rhaenyra was equally strong.

As she left the sunroom, her mind raced with the implications of Alicent's words. The choices she would have to make were terrifying, and the thought of her children being used as pawns in this deadly game filled her with dread.

…

At the same time, Aegon sat in the small council meeting, feeling the weight of his new responsibilities pressing down on him. Otto, now Aegon's Hand of the King, stood at the head of the table, informing his grandson about their next steps. The council chamber was filled with the murmur of voices, each advisor contributing their thoughts and strategies.

"We need to reach as many Houses as we can to pledge their fealty to us," Otto stated firmly. "The more support we gather, the stronger our position will be."

Aemond, standing tall and confident, added, "I can fly with Vhagar to the Stormlands to get Borros Baratheon's attention. He will be a crucial ally."

Others around the table nodded in agreement, voicing their own advice and suggestions. Aegon, meanwhile, played with the council meeting ball in his hand, his mind wandering.

"I don't see the urgency," Aegon said, a hint of irritation in his voice. "My half-sister is stuck on Dragonstone, cut off from the mainland with the rest of her supporters."

Larys Strong leaned forward, his voice calm and measured. "Your Grace, she calls herself Queen Rhaenyra now, and some traitors from the Red Keep stole Viserys' crown and placed it upon her head."

Aegon stopped playing with the marble ball, his expression darkening. "She can't do anything. Both Vhagar and Cannibal would destroy everything she throws at us."

Otto looked at Aegon thoughtfully. "There is a concern, Your Grace. Queen Vaella has been apprehensive about showing her support. I am doubtful that her dragon is fully at our disposal."

Aegon bristled, his voice defensive. "Vaella loves me. She'll come around. She's just upset about her sister losing her claim."

Otto's expression remained serious. "You need to understand, Aegon. Your children and Vaella herself are in danger as long as there is a threat from Dragonstone."

Aegon stared at his grandfather, stunned. "Are you saying Rhaenyra would harm my children? Maybe even Vaella?"

Tyland Lannister, seated nearby, chimed in. "It is better to be prepared, Your Grace. In times of war, emotions can drive people to desperate actions."

Aegon's protective instincts flared, fueled by the thought of his wife and children being in danger. Otto observed his grandson carefully, seeing the shift in his demeanor. The perfect ploy to motivate Aegon had worked.

"We need to ensure our safety and strengthen our position," Aegon said, his voice now filled with determination. "What do we need to do?"

Otto nodded approvingly. "First, we must secure the loyalty of the major houses. Aemond's mission to the Stormlands is crucial. We also need to send envoys to the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands. We must remind them of their oaths and the benefits of supporting the rightful king."

Aemond's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "I will leave for Storm's End at first light."

Tyland added, "We should also fortify our defenses here in King's Landing. Ensure that the Red Keep is impenetrable."

Larys spoke next, his voice smooth and persuasive. "And perhaps it would be wise to keep an eye on any potential dissenters within the city. We cannot afford any surprises."

Aegon nodded, his focus sharpening. "Agreed. We need to be vigilant. What about Vaella?"

Otto's gaze was steady. "You must gain her favor, Aegon. Her support is crucial, and so is her dragon. Show her that she and your children are safe with us, and that our cause is just."

Aegon felt a surge of resolve. "I will speak with her. She will understand."

Otto watched his grandson, a small smile of satisfaction on his lips. The council continued to discuss their strategies, each advisor offering insights and plans. Aegon, now fully engaged and attentive, contributed more actively, his determination to protect his family and secure his throne driving him forward.

As the meeting drew to a close, Otto stood, his gaze sweeping over the assembled council. "We have much work to do. Let us ensure that we are prepared for whatever comes."

Aegon rose from his seat, the weight of his crown heavy on his head, but his resolve stronger than ever. The thought of Vaella and their children gave him purpose, and he knew he had to do everything in his power to secure their future.

[madelee]

Short lil' fanfic my dears

An impression of a shifting dynamic.

They learn as they become closer… Zim is at least.

His current state made it hard to heed Zim’s uncharacteristic plea— a plea born from newfound... empathy.

The Setup. All ready. Gripped tightly waiting for use.

Zim’s expression hardened, a rare seriousness taking over his usually overblown demeanor. 

“You can’t harm it, Dib.”

“YOU were the one that annoyed ZIM with your annoying— 'no harming others just because they bother us' –ANNOYINGNESSES!”. His voice was laden with the weight of never ending didacticism, of pesky moral codes THE DIB had been trying to drill into his head. 

“YOU said that we have to respect others 'Integrity', even if they’re… inconvenient.” Zim used that voice he knew Dib hated for mimicking him.

“—I’m NOT sounding like that… I —”

Dib’s face twisted with frustration, carelessness flaring up. “THIS IS DIFFERENT, ZIM!” 

“You can't understand this!” Belittlement. He promised to stop with that. “Understanding this creature could lead to... incredible discoveries!”  –Dad

Zim stepped closer. Eyes narrowing. His voice cold. intense. 

“Zim does understand.” Take me seriously

“You are the one that CORRUPTED Zim… with your pesky and RIDICULOUS human-morals.   Zim knows, if they apply to those dirty children, they apply to this…crypthingy too!” 

Overblown, clearly displeased with those newfound considerations 

Dib’s frustration grew, his words cutting deeper and deeper with each refusal to yield. 

Certainly going too far. Zim didn't understand...!

Zim, despite his own little history, stood firm, clutching at new principles like fragile lifelines. 

Now of all times?!

And then. Unexpectedly. 

in a moment both pivotal and precarious.  Zim uttered the words that shifted the WORLD between them.

“IF YOU MUST STUDY SOMETHING!  ZIM, would let you… study himself.” mumbled almost timidly. he DID understand 

Dib’s eyes widened.

breath catching as the implications sank in.

A loud clink sounding in the silence

Tool falling to the ground, forgotten. Unimportant. His hands lose. Shaking.

The air thick. 

Dibs gaze shifting. Something long and distant.   His eyes unfocused, but present. 

Always present. 

On Zim.

Zim was always so relentlessly defensiv about any investigations. Any exploration. Denying Dib again, and again.  

This was finally happening. Zim let him.  

Then suddenly— zeroing in.  

A predator to its prey.  Mad gleam, sharp edges.   The corners of his mouth tense with an overwhelming smirk. glee

Forgetting himself. again  His facade cracking... spilling free.     Tendrils grasping on his edges. Intensely. again  Dark eyes never wavering.  Big and black. Warm browns. gone 

Taking it all in. into... the black pits. Manic. Bordering on madness. Nothing new  

Getting kinda old Dib~ 

Ever true to himself.  Cruel in its intensity.  Staring Zim down. down. down... 

taking them both into the abyss 

"Yes" he whispered.   Followed by some incoherent mumbling. 

Ever true to his character.   

"You would let me."  A fact. Simply stated. Finally  Gaze never wavering.

Unyielding.

"We’re getting ready. Now."

.

.

.

.

 They settled on 'ZIMS arm only'. 

Zim wouldn't go down without a fight. a compromise still  

Dib didn’t really care.

"I'm gonna bind your arm" 

A pause. Awkward.

"So uhm, you can't pull away” He's wavering again. Shrill on the edges.  Voice breaking cracking... embarrassingly.   But there was no time for being hindered by such trivial things.   Embarrassment, being too much, it being too much. And never enough...   it all blurred together anyway.  

A scalpel glinted under the harsh lights. Dib’s hands steadied, driven by purpose. The first incision was slow, deliberate. 

Alien skin parting with a sickening ease. Child's play  Pink, unnatural hues.  Inhuman and oh so beautiful. 

Just like me 

Zim winced, but remained still, pride and pain mingling.  Afraid. 

Don't let it show 

Face stoic.  Cheeks discolored, giving it away, still. 

Just as excited. Just as overwhelmed.   

Praise tripping on Dibs tongue, "you're doing so good "  He was mumbling again.  

ever true to his character   Voice soft. unsettling.  These words were a lifeline, a twisted form of praise that Zim always soaked up, desperate for any form of validation.

From Dib    Dib.

Blood glistened, pooling around the wound. Dib’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling mix of curiosity and something darker still.  

His hands moved with precision. Cold and efficient. He felt so hot 

Something perverse 

Obscene and only for them 

Opening up, like the void.  

Pink and bleeding. Spilling. Quelling and overflowing. 

Oh the Sweet release 

[cookeybg]

Love's Stain

Okay, okay, I know I have my other fic to finish but I just couldn't sleep and get rid of this idea.

Title: Love's Stain

What if Damian was a dragon? What if he became soul bound? I don't think he would like that.... (Another JonDami fic)

Main Characters/pairings: Jon Kent / Damian Al Ghul

Other Characters: Batman, Superman, Nightwing, Robin, Talia Al Ghul, Ra's Al Ghul

Stuff to know: This will be dragon fic so it is not cannon compliant, nudity, blood, magic, it might not be a happy ending? Not too sure yet. As always this is not edited or Beta read

Chapter 1 - Blood on White

The white shell pulsed green illuminating a curled figure within. It pulsed again and the figure stretched, it’s limbs hitting the shell from within. “He will soon be born.” “Father, he will need training.” “He will know how to fight innately.” “We cannot send him yet, his mind will be too easily molded.” A pause. “You are right, after we make him perfect we shall send him. He shall succeed where the others failed.” By the third pulse, cracks formed on the pristine white surface and green liquid dribbled down towards the soft material that kept it upright. With a shatter the figure of a fully formed man oozed out. “Yes, father.”

A loud boom echoed from above, Jon looked up to see fractures and symbols littering the sky. A green hue took over the blue and an eerie sound like bones rattling assaulted his senses. A giant fissure formed and from it stepped a figure of a man with flaming white wings but just as the opening closed a flash of red and black lightning struck him. The figure fell like a comet. A giant crater formed upon impact, incinerating the nearest part of the corn field in the Kent farm. Jon rushed towards it, still holding the pitchfork he had been using. When he arrived he saw a man in white struggling to get up. Jon moved in quickly to help, bet when he grabbed the man’s arm to pull him up an intense wave ran through him unlike anything he had ever felt before. It made him freeze, his muscles tensing while his heart escaped him. The man looked up at him shocked, still kneeling on the ground. He had patches of golden scales where the impact caused abrasions on his face. Dazed green eyes stared back at him and Jon’s heart picked up its already rampant pace. “Jon, stay away from him!” Clark yelled. Jon turned to his father. On instinct he dodged out of the way from a white glint he saw in his periphery. Flying back a few feet away, he clutched at his stinging cheek and to his surprise, blood stained his hand. “You dare touch me?” Snarled the man, his tan skin golden under the the bright Kansas sun, “I am Damian-“ he winced clutching his head with one hand, “I have purpose, a destiny-“ one unfocused green eye glared and he took shaky steps towards Jon. Jon stared at the man named Damian. He stood hunched and dangerous, like a predator. One hand held a white sword with glowing green symbols and the other pressed against the left side of his face. Fiery white wings, that had not been there a second before, flared menacingly. Jon’s heart hadn’t stopped drumming, the man was breathtaking. With a start Jon noticed blood staining the white leather armor he wore. “You’re bleeding-“ Jon started to move forward but a firm hand stopped him from advancing. “Batman’s on his way. We shouldn’t get near.” Clark said grimly, his expression serious. “But, what if he dies while we wait?” Jon asked, his anger rising. What was the point of being super if he couldn’t help when he wanted to? “Jon-“ Before Clark could finish his sentence a cough was heard from Damian. Jon watched as blood gushed out of the man’s mouth, his green eyes losing their glow, he fell onto the blackened earth.

“He looks just like you, B.” “We still need to wait for the results.” “Nightwing’s right, does that mean he’s your kid?” “We won’t know until its done analyzing.” The unconscious man lay in one of the med bay cots. He was strapped down in case he awoke before they could move him into one of the batcave’s holding cells. Jon watched him through the curtains using his x-ray vision, the man’s chest moved up and down. His armor had been removed to prevent him from reaching any hidden weapons, which he had plenty of. Jon tried not to look at his naked form and kept his attention on the man’s beautiful face. The cuts and scrapes he had received from the impact had already healed. “I wonder what his name is?” “It’s Damian,” Jon turned to look at Nightwing, “his name’s Damian. He announced it when he tried to attack me.” “Jon, he did attack you and he did cut you.” Clark frowned at Jon, concern lining his face. “It’s a really cool sword.” Robin said while examining the sword on the table, it was long and bone white. “When he wielded it,” Jon pointed along its length, “it had green symbols. The color similar to kryptonite, but I don’t feel anything strange about it now.” “Neither do I.” Clark affirmed. “He must use a form of magic,” Batman nodded, “the sword is not laced with any form of kryptonite.” Jon’s attention snapped in the direction of the med bay cot when he heard the change in Damian’s breathing indicating that he would soon wake. Batman noticed and ordered Nightwing and Robin to help wheel the man to a holding cell that had magical protections, courtesy of Constantine and Zatanna. They placed him on the new bed with a folded pile of new close he could wear. Once out they activated the runes, red web-like lines appeared in the large window dividing the cell from the room and then disappeared. Jon held his breath in anticipation while Damian stirred from his resting place. Hi eyes opened slowly and just as slowly he moved to sit up, the white blanket slipping of him to land on his lap. His green eyes glowed in the dim enclosure and his shoulders hunched ready to attack any who neared him. Luckily for the onlookers they were safe on the other side of the window. When Damian noticed that they would not approach, he stood, unashamed of his nakedness. He walked the small perimeter of the cell without touching the walls. His green eyes roamed all over but his attention never left his observers. Jon could feel heat rush up his neck, burning his ears, he crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to distract himself. He tried his best to not look below the waist but the attempt was futile as strong thighs and a firm butt showed Damian’s exceptional control of his body. When Damian reached the window and faced them, he snarled, the beginnings of white flamed wings and golden scales started to form but were harshly stopped by black and red flashes. Damian wailed, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to touch his back. He fell to his knees twitching. Jon had rushed forward in concern connecting with the barrier. It shot him back with such force he crashed into the opposite cave wall causing the bats to swarm out of the cave from the reverberation. “Jon!” Clark screamed in surprise. He helped Jon up, but all Jon could see were the glowing, glaring green eyes of Damian, who still knelt hugging himself. Staring directly at him.

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 6 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

AO3 Link is here, my dear.

Word Count: 3104

Act I, Chapter 6 - The Reveal

Another day passed with only wounds and tired adventurers to show for it. They seemed to be getting closer to their goals, but the goblins were so many, and they were so few.

You noticed that Astarion seemed particularly tired, his eyes looking a bit unfocused.

Before he left on his usual evening walk, you approached him.

“Yes?”

You just pointed at your neck.

He smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. I’ll come to you later tonight,” he said, his voice dipping a bit lower. You knew he was trying to sound sultry, but to you, he just sounded a little exhausted. You just nodded and walked away to clean around camp.

You weren’t excited about feeding him, but you also couldn’t let him go hungry. Not after what you felt last time.

***

"You bastard!"

You were sitting on your bedroll, Astarion sitting beside you. He was taking a long sip of your blood when you both heard Shadowheart yell. You both turned to see her glaring at Astarion, her stance ready to tackle him. Her yell had awoken the others, who were all coming out of their tents and gathering close. Seeing you, with blood running down your neck, and Astarion, your blood smeared on his lips, made everyone panic.

Gale held out one hand to you, his other hand clearly preparing a spell. “Don’t hurt her.”

Everyone else was reaching for their weapons.

You couldn’t let this misunderstanding continue. “No, wait!”

The others stared at you in varying levels of disbelief and dismay.

“You’d defend him?”

“He just bit you!”

“Are you under his thrall?”

“We should stake him.”

You purposely put your body between Astarion and everyone else. “Listen, he’s helped everyone so far, hasn’t he? And he’s done all this in a weakened state. So I’ve been feeding him.”

There was dead silence. Then the group looked at the pale elf.

“She’s a valued member of our group,” he said, turning his charm up to twenty as he shifted slightly out from behind you. “I would never jeopardize her wellbeing.”

“How do we know you won’t go too far?”

“I’ve never fed on sentient beings before,” he explained. When they all gave him a disbelieving glare, he amended, “except for our dear hearth witch, who volunteered.” He tipped his head, as if he suddenly had a thought. “And now that you all know, I could bite our enemies. No more concerns about going too far."

You looked at everyone. “Will that be acceptable?”

After a few more questions and answers, they all finally agreed to leave Astarion be. Some of them gave you one last worried look before turning away, returning to their tents.

You finally let out a sigh of relief. Turning back to Astarion, you found him staring at you, a curious expression on his face.

“If you can’t find any prey, you can still feed on me, if you like.”

He blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered. “Why darling, how generous of you."

You reached out and touched his upper arm, his sleeve protecting you from direct skin contact. “It’s my job to make sure you’re all fed. Even if it’s in unconventional ways.” You watched him look over at your hand, and then back up at you, a strange look in his eyes.

"Even though it hurts?” he asked quietly.

“Even though it hurts,” you repeated softly. You remembered what you felt through his touch as he fed on you. “I don’t want you to go hungry.”

There was something calculating in his expression. You reached down and squeezed his hand and you felt a flicker of gratitude. That was all you needed to confirm, and you let go of him.

“Well, good night,” you whispered.

“Good night, my sweet,” he purred.

Something about the change in his tone felt off, as if he had just put on a mask and was speaking behind it. But you didn’t have the energy to figure it out.

***

The next morning, nearly everyone seemed a bit on edge. You supposed that the reveal of having a vampire spawn in their midst had shaken the others, at least a little bit. On the contrary, Astarion seemed rather calm, as if he had been relieved of the burden of carrying such a secret.

You were wearing your scarf around your neck, as you had begun to do since Astarion first bit you, and now the others were eyeing it with new found understanding.

“So that’s why you cover up so much, even in this weather,” Gale said understandingly, nodding his head as if he were praising his own (incorrect) theory.

No, that’s not the only reason, but I’m not about to tell you that.

You discovered that everyone was getting ready to leave, for once. Usually one of them stayed behind to guard the camp. It must have been something big.

“We’re going to take on the goblin camp leaders,” Shadowheart explained when you asked.

You nodded. Maybe that's why everyone seemed tense earlier, not just about Astarion. You immediately began thinking of the herbs you would need to gather today to make the potions and nourishing stew that you knew they would need when they all returned.

As everyone began to head out, you wished them all good luck and to be safe.

I should probably prepare. And hope for the best.

***

You had been out gathering herbs and making potions all day, and a piping hot stew was cooking over the fire. Volo had told you that he would be staying at the druid’s grove for a bit to gather research for his new book, and to not expect him back tonight. That left only Withers and Scratch for company. Neither were much for conversation, so you got a lot accomplished.

The sun was setting as you filled your pot full of ingredients, the reds and oranges painting the sky, the golden light washing over the trees and rocks. A crisp breeze gently reminded you that autumn was just around the corner. You lit the campfire and watched the wood burn, lost in thought as you stared at the growing flames. Part of you worried about your adventurers, but another part of you trusted that they would return, safe and sound. At least, that was what you kept telling yourself to keep you from wringing yourself out from worry.

When your bell chimed, you jumped up and immediately headed towards the main pathway into camp. Seeing your party return, clearly tired but mostly hale and whole, filled you with a sense of relief. And as per usual, they had a new member in tow.

The tall, large elf introduced himself as Halsin. You recognized the name from a previous night’s conversation during supper.

“So you’re the archdruid,” you replied.

“Indeed I am. And you must be the hearth witch. Everyone seemed very keen to return to you, and your meals. I hear they are quite good,” he said with a smile.

You couldn’t help but grin back. It was nice to hear that your work was appreciated.

Leading everyone to the campfire, you pointed out the hot water rune around the corner in the river, away from prying eyes, if anyone wished to relax for a bit before they slept.

“Leave any dirty clothes outside of your tent, I’ll take care of them,” you said as everyone sat down around the fire. “You lot have had a long day.”

As you handed out bowls of stew, Astarion politely excused himself and left to patrol around the camp. Everyone had just accepted it as normal, and Halsin seemed to be either aware of his nature or tactful enough to not ask.

“Oh, do you have a tent?” you asked Halsin as you returned to the campfire after preparing the other tents.

He shook his head. “No, but I am content sleeping under the stars. Being one with nature is where I feel most comfortable.”

Definitely a textbook example of a druid. I bet he doesn’t even like clothes. “Still, I think we might have an extra bedroll somewhere.”

You went off to look for one in the pile of random loot that the party liked to bring back to you. Most of it still needed to be sorted for use or for trading, but you managed to find a bedroll, though it was ragged and a bit smelly. Bringing it over to an empty spot, you cast a cleaning and warming cantrip. Then you stared at all the rips and tears in the fabric, frowning.

Halsin came up to you just as you were working out how long it would take to mend the bedroll. “Thank you for letting me stay in your camp. Your stew was excellent. Had two helpings.” He patted his stomach.

“You’re very welcome,” you replied. You glanced at your companions, who were beginning to wander away from the fire towards their tents. “I just hope you can help them.”

He nodded. “I will do my best. They have done a great deed this day. The goblins should disperse.”

You felt relief. Maybe you could return to your cottage now, if the goblins were no longer a threat. But the thought of leaving the group now brought on a pang of sadness. Did you really want to leave them behind? 

He patted your shoulder, breaking you out of your inner thoughts. “This is more than enough,” Halsin said as he gestured towards the frayed bedroll. “After all, I came barging into your camp unannounced.”

You grinned. “I’m not done yet,” you said as you took a step back and put your hands out. You took a deep breath and sang the mending cantrip, stronger and faster than you had before. This wasn’t the delicate mending that Astarion’s shirt had been. The bedroll was made of rough cotton and hide. It could take a stronger song. Your arms and hands and fingers moved as if you were detangling a giant knot of yarn. Strings of orange light formed between your fingertips, creating a patterned weave that floated down, settling on the material and making it whole once more. 

When you finished, your throat felt parched and your hands felt strained, but the bedroll looked new.

You looked up to see nearly everyone else watching you.

“Wha-what?” you squeaked, suddenly shy.

“I’ve never heard you sing like that before,” Gale commented.

You shrugged. “I just hum for most of the little things around camp.”

“You should have been a bard,” Wyll said with a soft smile.

“Will you sing me a lullaby?” Karlach asked.

You shooed everyone away, feeling self-conscious and shy from their positive attention.

But inside, you were absolutely thrilled.

***

Late at night, while the others were asleep, you awoke to the soft chiming of the small silver bell that you had placed by your head, the one that was magically linked to the tripwire you had placed near the camp’s entry.

Getting up, you met the vampire at his tent, a bucket of heated water, a washcloth, and a soft, fluffy towel in hand.

He looked a little ragged, but healthy. His eyebrows raised at your presence. “Were you waiting for me?”

You nodded. “Figured you’d want to wash down after your meal before going to sleep. Or trance, I suppose.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up and he raised an eyebrow. “I see you have some knowledge.”

You shrugged. “I’ve known a few elves.”

“I see,” he said. He looked at the wooden bucket of steaming hot water in your arms. “So, are you going to wash me?” he asked suggestively, leaning in and giving you his best seductive smirk.

Aghast, you had to keep yourself from yelling. “No!” you rasped. You shoved the bucket at him. “Wash yourself!”

“But I can’t reach my back,” he said, pouting oh so perfectly.

You gawked for a moment. Was he being serious? No, he was just teasing you. Come now, you weren’t going to fall for that face of his again, were you?

But… What if he actually needed help?

“Fine,” you huffed.

He stared at you in shock for a moment. “I was only teasing,” he replied, suddenly sober. He took the bucket from you and started to duck into his tent.

You had whiplash from having to deal with this man’s moods. But you had caught the slightly wistful look on his face before he had turned away.

Dammit.

“Wait.”

“Hm?” He turned back to face you, halfway into his tent, holding up the flap with one hand, cradling the bucket in the other arm.

“Erm.” You let out a breath. Why do I keep doing this? “I can help. If you can't reach.”

He considered you for a moment before slowly stepping into his tent, keeping the flap open for you.

You had warmed up his tent before going to bed, and once the flap was down, the sounds of the outdoors became muted, leaving a peaceful, quiet space, perfect for winding down after a long day. He knelt down and placed the bucket by the entry. You touched the fabric of the tent to cast a light cantrip, and a soft glow lit up the room just enough to be comfortable, almost romantic.

Then he took off his armor and his shirt. You held back your gasp, but you couldn’t help but put your hand over your mouth in shock.

His back was marked by scars, a circular pattern with lines and dots.

Silently, he soaked the towel in the hot water and handed it to you. 

Realizing that you had come to him in your sleeping clothes, you swallowed. Just don’t touch him directly. Keep the towel between my hands and his skin. Oh gods, this was a dumb idea.

“Well?”

You knelt down beside him, took the towel, and began to gently scrub his back. Beneath your touch, his muscles felt stiff. When the towel went lower toward his waistline, he tensed, as if he was bracing himself. You couldn’t help yourself; you were so curious about his mental state that you tentatively touched his shoulder with your bare hand. A very muted sense of tiredness came through, nothing more. He's guarded tighter than a bank.

You continued to wash the rest of his back, but your eyes kept tracing on the pattern on his skin. You ran your hand along lines of his scars before you realized what you were doing, and quickly moved to soak the towel once more, hopefully hiding what you had done. 

"Curious?" 

Dammit, he caught me. "I didn't want to pry," you said. 

"Your touch gave you away." After a moment, he asked, "What do you think?" 

You stared at the symbols and patterns. You had seen something like this before, long ago. "I… I think it's infernal."

He suddenly turned to you. "What?" 

"What?" you asked in return, equally confused. “I thought you were testing me.”

“No, I…” He looked away. “I was told it was a poem.”

“Who the hell would carve a poem onto someone’s back?” you rasped in anger.

Astarion was quiet for a long time. You waited patiently, wondering if he would tell you, as you continued to wash his back, then his shoulders. Finally, his head dipped down, and he took a deep breath.

“Cazador. My… master.”

Suddenly words came spilling out from him. He told you what happened the night he got his scars, who his master was, and what he was. A vampire spawn. Just a tool to be used for his master’s whims, with none of the powers and all of the setbacks. You hadn’t needed to touch him to know that he felt vehemently bitter about it. 

You understood, perhaps not completely, but to some degree. Your ten years of servitude felt like a drop in the bucket now. Two hundred years. You couldn’t even imagine it.

“You’re quite admirable,” you mumbled as you put the washcloth back in the bucket.

“Whatever for?”

“You survived,” you said simply.

He was quiet for a few moments. “I suppose I have,” he finally said.

“Have you ever seen your scars?”

“Difficult to do that without a reflection,” he sniped.

“Right, sorry,” you mumbled, berating yourself for the dumb question. Then you had an idea. “What if I drew it for you? Do you have ink and paper?”

“I— this isn’t your problem, you know.”

You nodded. “I know. So do you have any?”

He pointed to his stack of books, and next to it were a quill and an inkwell.

“No paper?”

“Just… write inside one of the covers,” he said, a little impatiently.

You grabbed the book on top of the stack. The title was The Quarta Sune. You raised an eyebrow at the cover before you flipped open the back cover. The last page was blank. Settling yourself in for a bit, you carefully drew the pattern on his back, every line, every dot, perfectly in place. You blew on the ink to dry it and handed it to him.

He stared at the drawing, his brows furrowed. “What in the hells? What did he do to me…”

“Perhaps Karlach can read it.”

“Perhaps. But what will it say?” Then he looked up at you. “Thank you, by the way. This is… well, it’s something.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Will we? How…” He paused, his expression changing. “...sweet.”

He had that calculating look on his face again, and it made you uncomfortable. You started to get up, but he touched your arm. Once again, his emotions were muted, so you couldn’t sense much of anything.

“Darling,” he purred, “Why don't you stay awhile?”

You looked at him. He didn’t seem hungry, so you didn't think he was subtly asking for a drink. His fingers slowly moved up and down on your bare arm, a whisper of a caress, nothing more. You could have easily moved your arm away, but honestly? Having a physical touch without the emotional baggage was nice.

No, no, he’s shielding for a reason, and it can’t be good.

You touched his hand again. There was no emotion, nothing at all. It was like he had completely hidden behind a rock solid fortress in his heart. 

Something was deeply wrong and it was going to take more than a few paltry words from you to help him. You suddenly felt the urge to run away; you didn't know how to handle the situation.

“I'm a bit tired… so, erm, good night,” you blurted out as you fled from his tent.

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Chapter 6 End notes: Definitely manipulating some of the existing in-game dialogue to suit the situation! I’ve got the next couple of chapters written up, just need to edit and make sure I keep posting regularly. Did you find the Quatra Sune book in your game? Let me know! And please comment, I very much enjoy seeing your feedback! (And please reblog, help spread my story around so other people can read a cozy story!)