🪷⛓️⚔️

[bwfambi]

zuko having one child is insane i would’ve been pregnant every damn year

#KeepPounding

[residentevilweirdo]

I'm tired of hiding it, boyfriend reveal I guess..

[portagas-chan]

Yander Doflamingo x Yander fem reader, even better if Y/n is more possessive then Doflamingo, I couldn’t find your rules to see what you are comfortable with so just in case NO nsfw please. Fic or headcanons your pick

I’m comfortable with anything, honestly. But sure! I will write a fic for this one.

Sick Bliss

Yandere Doflamingo x Yandere F!Reader

In which Doflamingo tests your devotion… and found his equal in obsession.

He shouldn’t have smiled when he told you to leave.

But he did.

“Get out,” Doflamingo said lazily, flicking his wrist as if dismissing a servant instead of the woman who had carved her devotion into her own bones for him. “You’re no longer part of my crew.”

You stared at him.

Waiting for the punchline.

It never came.

The crew went silent. No one dared speak. They never did when he wore that expression — the one where his grin stretched just a little too wide, a little too sharp.

“Doffy…” Your voice trembled. “I— I did everything for you.”

“Yes,” he hummed, adjusting his glasses. “You did.”

That was it.

No explanation.

No anger.

Just… dismissal.

You fell to your knees before him, pride shattering like glass beneath your palms. “Please. I’ll fix whatever I did wrong. Tell me. I’ll kill whoever it was. I’ll— I’ll do anything.”

His foot tilted your chin up.

He looked down at you like a king observing a particularly entertaining pet.

“That’s the problem,” he said softly. “You’d do anything.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

You had killed for him before.

The woman who giggled and said, “Doffy told me he loved me last night in bed.”

You remembered the sound she made when you slit her throat. The disbelief. The fear.

You’d wiped the blood off your hands and told yourself it was loyalty.

It was love.

It was survival.

He knew that.

He always knew.

—

He found you hours later at the top of a tall building overlooking the city. The wind tore at your clothes, your hair whipping around your face, but you didn’t move.

You didn’t turn when he landed behind you.

“You’re persistent.” he chuckled dryly.

You finally looked at him, eyes red from crying.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why are you doing this?”

He stepped closer. Slow. Measured. Like approaching something fragile — or dangerous.

“Tell me,” he said, voice lowering. “If I told you to die for me… would you?”

Your breath hitched.

He smiled.

“Would you die for me?”

Silence stretched between you.

He expected hesitation.

A crack.

A flicker of doubt.

Instead—

“Yes.”

Immediate. Steady.

Terrifying.

His grin faltered for half a second.

You stepped closer to the edge, tears still clinging to your lashes but your expression… calm.

“If that’s what you want,” you continued, voice shaking only slightly, “then I will. Because if I can’t be yours, I don’t want to belong to this world at all.”

That wasn’t desperation.

That was possession.

He could see it in your eyes.

You didn’t want his love.

You wanted ownership.

You wanted him caged in your devotion the same way he tried to cage everyone else in strings.

Interesting.

“Then jump,” he said softly.

He expected you to wait.

To cry.

To beg one last time.

You didn’t.

You stepped back—

—and fell.

No scream.

No hesitation.

Just trust.

Absolute, monstrous trust.

—

For a moment, Doflamingo stood there.

Wind rushing upward from the building’s edge.

He walked forward.

Stopped at the ledge.

Then—

He turned away.

Took a few steps as if he truly intended to leave.

As if this had all been a simple experiment.

As if he could watch you fall and feel nothing.

His grin twitched.

“…Tch.”

Annoyed.

At you?

No.

At himself.

Yes.

He sighed.

“I really can’t abandon you, can I?”

And then he jumped.

—

The wind roared in his ears as he descended, pink feathers flaring around him like a predator diving toward its prey.

He spotted you below — eyes closed, a small smile, a peaceful expression on your face.

Like you’d already accepted death.

That irritated him.

His grin widened.

Strings shot from his fingers, anchoring to the buildings around them. His body slowed midair as he reached you.

He caught you effortlessly, pulling you against his chest as his threads held you suspended between earth and sky.

Your eyes snapped open.

You were floating.

Alive.

In his arms.

He laughed — loud, wild, unrestrained.

“Fufufufu… You really would’ve died.”

You clutched at him instantly. Not in fear.

In possession.

Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly — almost desperately — fingers fisting into his coat like you were afraid he’d disappear.

“You came,” you breathed.

Of course he did.

He tilted your chin up again, studying your face carefully.

“You didn’t hesitate,” he murmured. “You didn’t even question me.”

“Why would I?” you replied, brows furrowing like the answer was obvious. “You’re mine.”

His grin froze.

Mine.

Not I’m yours.

You leaned closer, pressing your forehead against his.

“If I died, you’d follow,” you whispered. “You wouldn’t let me leave you alone in this world.”

There it was.

The truth.

You were just as sick as he was.

Maybe worse.

He laughed again, softer this time.

“Let’s get married,” he said suddenly.

Your eyes widened — then softened.

“Yes.”

Immediate.

Certain.

You pulled him down into a kiss.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t shy.

It was claiming.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as your lips pressed to his with desperate intensity, as if sealing a contract in blood rather than breath. The kiss was heated, consuming — not sweet, but devoted. You kissed him like he belonged to you, like the world itself would burn before you let him go.

For a moment, even Doflamingo stilled.

Then he kissed you back — slow, possessive, hand tightening at your waist.

When you finally pulled back, you didn’t let go.

You hugged him tighter, burying your face against his chest as his strings kept you both suspended high above the city.

“You and I,” you murmured against his lips, your voice steady — certain.

Your grip tightened.

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

Your eyes locked with his.

And in them, he saw it — that same dark hunger, that same devotion twisted into something dangerous.

“Till the day we die.”

[crimsonbubble]

backshots from dilf kennedy might fix me

[witchsamlizzie]

i love u leonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn <3

[beljude]

[dolcefloral]

i want him and the others too. 🫶🏻

[beljude]

[nastyakotsk]

#73

[theoneaboveallll]

[faelinda]

Sub-Rosa

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms: Prince Maekar Targaryen x niece!reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)

WC: 2.6k

Tags/Warnings: Targcest, age gap, canon divergence, infidelity, spanking, rough sex, blow jobs, nipple play, fingering, pregnancy, pregnant sex, possessive behavior, medieval version of daddy kink, reader is married to Aerion

A/n: This is the timeline from Beneath the Purple Sky where reader follows her duty over her heart. A special thank you to @raynetargaryan2 who helped give me this idea.

Summary: As you progress in your pregnancy, Maekar visits Dragonstone and reminds you that you’re his.

The winds shifted when the spring sickness claimed the life of your grandfather, King Daeron II, and instead of following your heart, you followed your duty. The Trial of Seven had left your father wounded, and you scarcely left his side, helping tend to him until the Gods smiled in his favor and he lived. Yet he would bear the scars and a limp in his left leg from where Maekar’s morningstar had landed, splitting the ill fitted armor. It had been a sight to behold as Ser Dunk held the wounded prince in his arms before his good brother, Maekar, sprang forth to carry him from the field with the strength of a thousand men.

You married Aerion as your father ascended the throne, understanding that family bonds needed to be strengthened, and you were now the daughter of a King. You could not afford to flaunt your affair in plain sight while you remained unwed. Besides, you had Maekar’s bastard slowly growing inside you, and you needed to be strategic. In the aftermath of the Trial, as your father floated between life and death, you bade Maekar between your legs as the two of you found comfort in each other.

Aerion was dutiful on the wedding night, rutting between your legs, and seemed delighted to find you with child. He would boast that it only took him one try to put a strong son inside you. You knew he was disgraced from his loss in the Trial, and so he took every opportunity he could to boast about his achievements. As you grew round, you longed to have your uncle’s hands on your body so he could feel how he made your body change as his son grew inside you. 

Your brother, Valaar, was given Dragonstone as his inheritance, but since he was oft at your father’s side while he served as Hand, he allowed you and Aerion to take residence there. You supposed this was your father’s doing, a reward for following through with your betrothal. You were content to make your home there, and so was Aerion, as his mood improved greatly. That only made you feel slightly guilty over the fact that his father’s child grew in your belly.

“A missive arrived from my father, he wishes to visit along with my sisters,” Aerion told you one evening over supper.

“That would be lovely, I would enjoy the chance to entertain them,” you smiled.

“I think he was expecting your father to appoint him as hand,” Aerion said, using his dagger to spear a potato into his mouth.

“Valarr is heir; he was simply following precedent set by our grandfather,” you said.

“Mmm, I’m sure it has nothing to do with my father’s mace striking him,” Aerion murmured.

“That field turned into a confusing blood bath. I can assure you, I do not fault your father for what happened that day, and nor does my father. Besides that, the mess was one of your own making.”

His face turned red as the Targaryen sigil. He dropped the matter, finishing his food and wine before departing. You were fine to be left alone, excited at the prospect of Maekar’s visit. You were kept busy making preparations for his arrival. 

Within a fortnight, Maekar arrived with Daella and Rhae from Summerhall, and you and Aerion stood on the bridge to greet them. You wore scarlet, rubies glittering on your fingers, ears, and neck. Your stomach was fuller and rounder.

“Welcome, father, sisters,” Aerion said, giving them each a polite nod.

Rhae ran into your arms, hugging you tightly. Your heart fluttered when Maekar’s lips grazed over your cheek.

“My father and Valarr are joining us for dinner this evening,” you murmured.

“And he knows I am here?” Maekar asked in surprise.

“He does, this tension must be eased,” you said.

You showed them inside to their prepared guest quarters before resting. You changed into a lavender gown, amethyst jewels adorning your flesh, as your father's and brother’s arrival was announced. Baelor used a cane to aid him, but it did not diminish the power he carried about him.

“Your Grace, we are honored to have you join us this evening,” Aerion said politely. You were certain Baelor had put the fear of the Seven into him once you were married, as he would not have his only daughter struck about by a fiend.

“Many thanks for hosting me. Brother, it has been too long,” Baelor said.

“Indeed,” Maekar agreed. The two embraced, and it warmed your heart.

Dinner was pleasant, with the two brothers exchanging barbs as they once did. Daella entertained in the Great Hall with her harp, and you took advantage to sneak away with Maekar.

“I have missed you,” you breathed as his hands glided over your round stomach.

“And I you, sweet girl. How beautiful you are, swollen with my child,” he whispered before his mouth claimed the curve of your neck.

His lips were fire against yours, hungry and passionate. Your flesh felt alight, you felt renewed.

“You are well tended to, I hope? My son has not been up to his old antics? I will toss him from the Dragon Tower if he has been,” Maekar said.

“A mood might strike him now and then, but he slinks off when they do. He has not laid a hand on me in that matter, rest assured, Uncle,” you smiled. “Find me tonight? In the privacy of my chambers, I need you.”

“Aerion does not bed with you?”

“I will tell him I’m not feeling well and he’ll leave me be.”

“I shall return to you later, sweet girl,” he promised, leaving you with another searing kiss.

You returned to the hall as Maekar lingered behind so as not to draw suspicions. You took a seat by Aerion as Daella continued playing. Rhae was half asleep in Baelor’s lap.

“Are you staying the evening, father? Shall I have a room prepared?” you leaned in to ask him.

“If it is not too much trouble. I fear my leg aches as night passes on,” Baelor replied softly.

“It would be no trouble at all,” you smiled. You instructed the steward and maids to prepare rooms for your father and brother.

“Where did you get off to earlier?” Aerion asked you, peeling a green apple with his dagger.

“The babe grows restless in the evening. I took a walk to settle him,” you smiled.

“And my father accompanied you?” he pressed.

“No, I was alone,” you lied, resting your hands in your lap.

“Hmm,” Aerion hummed before devouring the white flesh. “Shall I keep you company tonight, or am I banished once more?”

He spoke loud enough for your father to overhear and raise a brow.

“I cannot help that being with child makes me feel unwell, husband,” you replied curtly. You applauded Daella when she was finished, and Maekar returned to the hall and withdrew Rhae from Baelor’s arms and into his own.

The evening wound down, and your family was shown to their rooms.

“May I have a word?” Baelor pressed, taking gentle hold of your arm.

“Of course,” you agreed as he steered you into a private corridor.

“Is all well between you and Aerion?”

“As well as can be, I suppose,” you admitted honestly.

“I reflect on our conversation in Ashford from time to time. I hope you did not feel forced to marry Aerion due to the mishap I suffered.”

You swallowed. “I will not lie to you; it did affect my decision. But in the end, it was my choice.”

He sighed, drawing your hand between both of his. “If you grow miserable in this marriage, you must tell me. Promise me this.”

“I will, but do not worry. Aerion has not laid an unkind hand on me. I think he is rather excited over the babe.”

“A child is most welcome, joyous news,” Baelor smiled. “Good night, my darling.” He kissed your cheek, his guards following behind him as he retired for the evening, and you did the same.

You awaited with bated breath, slowly dragging your brush through your dark hair until it gleamed. You know Maekar preferred it down and loose. A few lit candles cast an amber glow around the room. A knock finally fell upon your chamber door, and you opened it to guide your Uncle inside. Your nightdress showed off how rounded your stomach was. His mouth crashed hungrily against yours as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Your fingers tangled in his silver hair, mussing it up as his hands grasped the curve of your arse, squeezing it through the thin material you wore. Your lips felt bruised and swollen when he finally pulled away. You took hold of his hand, grazing your lips across his knuckles before drawing his large finger into your mouth.

“Gods, must you tease me?” Maekar hissed.

You released his finger, slick with your saliva. “I cannot help it, you bring out an animal within me, Uncle,” you purred.

“Come here,” he rasped, pulling you closer as his hands tore at your clothing, ripping the night shift from your body. The sight of your rounder, softer, fuller body and swollen stomach made his cock stir most violently. You guided him over to your bed, your dark hair streaming down your back, and took care to undress him. You kissed his firm, thick chest, nuzzling the silver hair that decorated it. Your teeth nipped at his strong thighs as you sank to your knees, tracing your tongue over the tip of his cock.

You took your time, kissing and licking the swollen flesh before taking him deep into your mouth. He grunted, resting a gentle hand on top of your head as you suckled on him. Arousal pooled between your thighs, sticking to your flesh as your pearl throbbed. You whimpered around him, moving your mouth fast until his seed trickled down your throat. His neck was flushed red, and his mouth parted in ecstasy.

“I need you, Uncle,” you begged sweetly as he helped you to your feet.

His strong, calloused hands squeezed your naked flesh, one tender palm running over the curve of your stomach before disappearing between your legs. His touch was firm, commanding as he stroked your damp skin, thumb grazing over your swollen pearl. You whimpered again. He danced you close to the edge before withdrawing his hand, making you pout. Your knees trembled as you gripped his shoulders.

“Now who is the teasing one?” you sulked.

Maekar chuckled, pulling you onto the bed with him. His cock stood at half mast, so you used your hand to make him stiff again. He carefully helped you mount his cock as his hands reached up to cup your full breasts, teasing your nipples.

“Stop, they are sensitive,” you whined.

He ignored your pleas, teasing and tugging on your nipples while you thrashed on top of his cock. A deliciously blurred line between pleasure and pain. It had been too long, yet he had never forgotten how to make your body sing.

“How beautiful you look with my son inside you,” he whispered.

“He will be strong and handsome, just as his father,” you sniffled.

One strong hand gripped your thigh while his other dipped between your legs. His cock split you wide, and he used his fingertip to stroke your pearl. A wild scream fell from your mouth as you squeezed around him, bucking your hips as you came. He gathered up your wetness before shoving his fingers into your mouth. You licked them clean like a good girl as your body grew slack.

“I will take you every night I remain here, sweet girl. I can promise you that.”

“Yes, Uncle,” you purred, thrilled by his words.

“And you will refuse Aerion every night. The only seed dripping from your pretty little cunt will be mine.”

You nodded, his cock still nestled inside you as his fingers wrapped around your chin.

“I do believe it is time for you to start calling me father, sweet girl,” he lectured, widening your eyes, and your pearl throbbed again.

“Yes, Father,” you whispered, trembling on his cock, embarrassed as you released again. It felt shameful, and you loved it.

“Good girl,” he smirked. “And you will name our son, Aenor, understood?”

You nodded meekly, then received a sharp slap to your rump.

“I expect you to answer me, sweet girl.”

“Yes, father,” you whined before he took you apart all over again.

Maekar extended his visit, wishing to remain until you gave birth. Daella and Rhae were happy, stealing Aerion’s attention away from you and allowing you fall further into Maekar’s clutches. Not that you complained one bit.

On a stormy morning, you gave birth to a son with silver hair and purple eyes. The thunder began to settle once he emerged into the world.

“Should we name him Maegor?” Aerion mused, tapping the boy’s small nose. You had not expected him to be so smitten with the babe.

“Absolutely not,” you scoffed. “What about Aenar, after our ancestor?” You will name our son, Aenar.

“'Tis a strong name. Aenar it is,” Aerion agreed, then went to show the staff at Dragonstone his newborn son. Half-brother, you thought smugly.

Your father and brother arrived at Dragonstone a week later to welcome the newest prince.

“The Maesters say he is healthy and strong, well done,” Baelor smiled as he held the boy.

“He’ll be holding a sword in no time,” Aerion boasted.

“Have you taken residence here, too, Uncle?” Valarr teased Maekar.

“Well, this is my first grandchild,” Maekar replied.

“You are always welcome here or at court,” Baelor said. “We shall have to arrange for a nameday celebration soon.”

“Yes, Father,” you smiled, your eyes flickering over in Maekar’s direction. His fingers flexed, slowly curling into a fist.

The afternoon passed, and you found yourself in the solace of the solar with Aenar in your arms. You had dismissed the two nursemaids, letting your son latch onto your breast this time. He suckled softly and soothingly. You loved your son with every inch of your being.

“That is beneath a princess,” Maekar announced as he entered the solar.

“He is my son, and I shall nurse him if I see fit, Father,” you smirked.

“Do not test me, girl. You’re not too old for me to put over my knee,” he cautioned, sitting across from you and watching his son suckle. “He has a healthy appetite.”

“He does, which is why I have two nursemaids for him. I am not surprised, you and Aerion both have a voracious appetite, Father.”

Maekar cracked his neck. “Do you mean to provoke?”

“Just having a conversation.” Aenar released from your nipple, milk dribbling down his mouth, which you lovingly wiped clean. “Satisfied, sweet boy?” You could feel Maekar’s eyes fixed on your exposed breast. You fixed your bodice, calling for the nursemaids, who took Aenar off to the nursery.

You stood carefully, making your way over to your Uncle before straddling his lap. “Would you like a taste?”

“Do not be so vulgar.” 

“Aerion has enjoyed it.”

Maekar’s hand wrapped around your neck. “I do not wish to hear of my son’s proviclities with you.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” you pouted, batting your lashes at him.

He scoffed. “No, you are not sorry at all, little girl.”

“Then you should correct me, Father,” you said sweetly.

“You are not yet healed. I am no fool in these matters.”

“I do not think I need to be healed to feel your hand strike my arse.”

His hands settled on your waist, squeezing it. “In due time, dear niece. But you shall have to wait for now.”

You whined softly. One hand grazed over your breast before he unlaced your bodice, drawing your swollen breast free.

“I promise it will be worth it. But you must be a good girl for me? Can you do that?” he asked before wrapping his mouth around your nipple.

You gasped. “Yes, Father.”

Taglist: @ghostlybfgf

[ghostlybfgf]

AND I WAS TAGGED?! I feel honoured thank you so much for the tag and this masterpiece.. we’re deep into the targcest territory and I’m not ashamed to say Iam loving it. Also the end?? Gods I need him.

[beljude]

[splinteredbone]

sharp teeth

read on ao3 ⋆ masterlist ⋆ navigation

Pairing: Maekar Targaryen/Reader

Contains: SMUT! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, AND 18+ ONLY! Female!Stark!Reader. Arranged marriage. References to the Dance of Dragons and related events. Book canon, and what we know of it; therefore, possible spoilers for the TV adaptation, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Age difference (Reader is 18–20; Maekar is in his early to mid-thirties). First Time. Loss of Virginity. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Sexual Overstimulation. Creampie. Breeding Kink.

Word Count: 8.87K

Author’s Note: Hi all! There’s a lot of info dumping that mainly stems from the hard work of the folks on AWOIAF. Their calculations for the timeline and ages of all characters involved made this (and all my other fics) possible. This one-shot takes place sometime between 207 and 208 AC, before the events of the tourney at Ashford in 209 AC. It is also heavily dependent on my personal headcanons, so if you have any questions or doubts about how canonical something may be, it is probably from my head. (One of the characters mentioned is a borrowed name from a fic that is still a WIP!) This is the longest one-shot I have written in years, as well as an attempt to write actual smut and not just little drabbles that never see the light of day. I would like to continue this, particularly as an OC, but I may not have the time. As always, any reblogs and comments are appreciated!

After a tumultuous winter, the newly minted Lord of Winterfell takes a risky gamble and evokes a long-forgotten pact to form a union between a Stark and a Targaryen.

Winter was yet to be over. But it had proved itself cruel and brutal, taking a toll upon the North as the fiercest of houses felt its bite.

House Stark was unsteady since the passing of Old Man Cregan. Within the span of your own life, the lordship of Winterfell had changed thrice—it had not been through treachery or rebellion, but through misfortune and blood. The North was not disloyal—far from it—but the rules of Jonnel and Barthogan were troublesome, even if they had the best of intentions.

The Boltons were fond of saying, “a peaceful land, a quiet people.” And they spoke true in this—the North did not hunger for whispered plots; what mattered was endurance. That fires burned, that the granaries were full, that children lived to see the thaw, and that the wildings stayed north of the Wall.

Now, your grandfather, Brandon, sat as Lord of Winterfell, having outlived all his brothers through his father, Cregan—and with that, your place as a Stark had shifted.

There were few Stark girls or women left of marrying age. Most of your aunts and cousins had already been wed, widowed, or dead themselves. And there were no children to speak of between your uncle, Rodwell, your grandfather’s eldest son, and his lady wife, Myriame Manderly. Your sister, Berena, who had wolf’s blood in her veins, was far more likely to gut a man than bear his children. Your other sister, Alysanne, was already spoken for and betrothed to the young heir of House Locke, a vital vassal to House Manderly. It left you as the sole daughter yet unbethrothed, waiting to be bound in marriage for the strength of House Stark and the continued survival of the North.

There weren’t many Lords left in the North, not if Grandfather Brandon wanted you to be with child soon after the first bedding. Perhaps, you could marry within the Vale, for your mother had been a Royce at birth, and not many houses were willing to have their heirs bed a wolf, no matter how ancient the Starks’ lineage was. But that was only a hope, a childish one; what remained within you was confusion and doubt because Grandfather Brandon was planning something.

He spent hours in his solar and Winterfell’s godswood, alone and deep in thought. He would visit the crypts and only returned moments before supper began. And as the weeks passed, you could’ve sworn the lines in his face were deeper, his hair becoming grayer.

And you worried for him, naturally; he was your grandfather before he’d ever been the Lord of Winterfell, and some of your first memories were of him, holding you on his knee as he whispered tall tales. He made you proud of the North, of the blood of the First Men that ran through your veins, of the responsibilities owed to your people.

But you never asked what he thought of during those long weeks, what he had planned for you. You watched from a distance as you completed your duties alongside Mother—one day, you would be a lady of your own keep, and these duties would follow you there.

And then a single raven left, carrying a letter sealed with House Stark’s gray direwolf in its talons.

The days passed, and something tense fell upon your parents and grandfather.

Again, you remained in the dark—all you truly knew was that your grandfather had summoned your parents to his solar, and they had left, stony-faced, an air of certainty around them—but you had your suspicions, of course.

Lord Brandon, as your grandfather, as the head of household and Lord of Winterfell, was within his rights to dictate when and who you’d marry. But your grandfather was a good man and had considered your parents’ opinions: a good and worthy match for your station.

Or, at least, that was what Mother said underneath the blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree, for she was the chosen one to break the news to you.

You were to marry, and your lord grandfather had set his eyes upon House Targaryen. He did not explain why, and you lacked the courage that Berena had to seek answers.

Still, if your parents were truly displeased by your grandfather’s decision, they did not show it, not to you, and certainly not in front of the household.

Your lady mother was born as Lorra Royce and had grown up in the Vale, proud of her First Men ancestry, and became comfortable with the politics of the South, for before her troth to your lord father, Beron, she had split her time between the Eyrie and Runestone.

She had always been honest with you. There was no true love between your parents, not the sort of love that had reportedly occurred between your grandfather and Lady Alys Karstark, your grandmother, or in the songs performed during the harvest feasts. But she loved you, and all the children she had with Beron, and as husband and wife, they respected each other.

It was because of her that you and your sisters never entertained the stories of true love, knights rescuing and marrying their ladies. There would be no Florian and Jonquil for you. But you did earnestly hope for something like your parents’ relationship—mutual respect and trust.

“Did he say who?” you questioned Mother from your place on the twisting roots of the weirwood, its melancholy face hovering over your shoulder.

Around you, the snow was deep, except for the cleared footpatch of cracked stone. As you and Mother spoke, your matching breaths were evident in the air.

“No, only that he has his intention upon a prince.”

Something uneasy settled in your stomach. As isolated as House Stark was, word did eventually travel to Winterfell of the members of the royal family. There weren’t many members that you could marry—or would want to—and that was if the King and Hand agreed to the troth.

The leaves shifted in the wind, a gentle sound that whispered in your ears. You wished to hear the Gods’ guidance but heard none. Instead, your thoughts betrayed you: House Stark was royal once, too. Would it be so difficult to marry a Targaryen?

A shiver spread down your spine. It wasn’t from the cold—nay, it was from the sensation of being watched. You stared at the heart tree, perhaps for too long, as Mother called your attention away.

“Come, sweetling, you ought not to be here. It is too cold, and your hem is wet.”

You glanced down at that, and, yes, your hem was wet. Smiling sheepishly, you followed Mother into the Great Keep, the snow crunching underneath your winter boots.

The snows waned, but the cold remained, and Berena—who’d taken it upon herself to keep an eye on the rookery, taking note of everything that came and went—told you of the raven, bearing the royal seal, when you were busy swatting Errold and Rodrik for their insolence. Errold and Rodrik weren’t much younger than you—born in quick succession of one another—yet it didn’t stop you from terrorizing them into a tentative obedience. That was what older sisters were for, of course.

You were glad for Berena and Alysanne, whose steady hand was beginning to weave a maiden’s cloak despite your protests that it was too soon, for nothing was set in stone yet, as your confidants. You had yet to have conversations with your other brothers, but you were sure they might have already been told by your parents or Grandfather Brandon, for they trained harder, quipping about protecting you from “pompous Southron cunts.”

Mother had scolded them for their language, had even cuffed Artos’ ear for it, and you did not hide your laughter while she did so. You and your siblings were a riot, and the cause of the many grays that streaked Father’s beard and Mother’s hair.

“Have you heard anything?” you asked Berena while everyone’s attention was on Donnor and Willam, who were fighting with blunt iron swords. She slipped you a piece of dried fruit, and you accepted. The taste bloomed in your mouth, sweet and cold: winter peaches—your favorite.

“Nothing at all. You know how our lord grandfather is.” She chewed and swallowed her own peach slice. “But I did ask around in Wintertown.”

At this time of the season, Wintertown was at its peak population, a little over fifteen thousand. The town, just outside of the main gate, was teeming with northernmen from all corners; it was a sharp contrast from the spring and summer, when four-fifths of the homes were vacant. You were not surprised that Berena had been underfoot in Wintertown, taking advantage of the new pool of information awaiting her silver tongue.

“Well?” you prompted, curiosity taking hold.

“Prince Baelor’s son is the image of chivalry, but he’s married already. Prince Daeron is—well, he’s known as Daeron the Drunken. But we knew all that already.”

You nodded along to Berena’s words. “What of Prince Aerion? Or Prince Matarys?”

Berena winced, and you knew your answer well enough. A rumble was a rumble, and there was a reason some merchants spoke of drunken and ill-tempered princes. 

“Let us hope you’re to be trothed to Matarys; he may be younger, but there wasn’t a negative word for him, much like his father and brother.”

Prince Matarys—he was third in line for the throne, was he not? The thought made the hairs on your neck stand up. It was too close for comfort—perhaps you should begin preparing yourself to grovel for a match with your Royce kin or in the North. They would understand.

Wyman, Grandfather Brandon’s captain of the guard, approached, and he told you of your grandfather’s request for your presence in his solar. You bid your excuses to Berena, who waved you off without a care in the world, and Wyman walked with you, a step behind you like a loyal, protective shadow. An unnecessary doing, for even a nameless maiden could walk the kingsroad in her name-day gown and go unmolested while a Stark was in Winterfell.

You waited dutifully as Wyman announced your arrival to your grandfather, and you entered.

“You called for me, Grandfather?”

He did not smile, and the lines in his face were ever-so present, but his gaze was undeniably warm as he motioned for you to sit down. For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence. Your grandfather was a man of few words, but when he did speak, his words always caught your attention.

“Winters have gotten colder and longer since the dragons died,” he began, his fingers tapping on the large, ancient desk. “My father, Lord Cregan, would say as much. I hadn’t even been a thought in his mind when the Dance came and went.”

You agreed with the sentiment. No one in Winterfell remembered what winters used to be like before the Dance; you only knew what the Maestar taught, what the songs sang. All you knew of winter was the deep and unnatural chill that went down to your bones, the snows so deep that half your body could sink into it.

“My father made a pact with Jacaerys Velaryon during the beginning months of the Dance. It promised a union between a Stark and a Targaryen.”

Mother hadn’t mentioned this. Had your grandfather told them and then you, or was he reserving this just for your ears?

“It’s a gamble, is it not?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t scold you for speaking out of turn. Not when it was only the two of you in the solar. You had been thinking of this since your lady mother had told you of his intentions.

“It is.”

It would be amiss to call the thing that spread across your grandfather’s face a smile. It was too sharp, showing far too many teeth and pointy canines. You thought of direwolves—dangerous and untamed. Much like the North, much like your brothers and Berena. Was it too early to begin aching for your home?

“But I have their attention, and they’re coming northward.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Does that include the King?”

“Mayhaps. I have only corresponded with Prince Baelor, and he wishes to convene here.” There was a wry amusement in your grandfather’s voice. He continued, “They plan to sail from King’s Landing, and I’ve already sent word to White Harbor. I don’t trust the southerners to make their way through the snow, even if spring is imminent.”

You laughed because, frankly, you didn’t trust them either, even if winter was soon to be over. It would not do the realm well if the heir to the Iron Throne and his retinue disappeared on the journey, bodies to be buried and preserved in the snow until the spring thawed the snow and ice. It would be a nightmare, a scandal of the highest order.

The realm would say the same if the troth went through.

“I will make a good match for you, a deserving one. My son and your mother asked for it, and I wish for that as well.”

You stared at your grandfather. A certainty settled upon your bones, and you smiled—something similar to the one that’d spread over his face moments ago, but softened with your own warm, blind affection for your family. “I trust you, my lord.”

Throughout your life, you had never seen Mother so frazzled.

Since your grandmother’s death—and because Donnor was yet unmarried, not for a lack of trying—your mother had taken over the duties and responsibilities once belonging to the Lady of Winterfell.

But it was one thing to account for Winterfell’s finances, ensuring that your people were fed and warm in the depths of winter. It was another to accommodate Prince Baelor, his retinue, the Manderlys and their people, and Lords Cerwyn and Karstark, who’d arrived on the behest of your grandfather.

The Manderlys had sent a rider ahead, and they would arrive with Prince Baelor and his retinue in time for supper. While not a surprise, it caused quite a stir among Winterfell and Wintertown. 

“A Targaryen hasn’t set foot in Winterfell since the Dance,” Rodrik followed you to the godswood. He tried to catch up with your longer stride, for you were older and taller than he was.

“He was a Velaryon,” you corrected lightly, bringing the hood of your cloak up. It was snowing lightly, dusting the ground in front of you. It wasn’t anything powerful, not like the snows that had fallen two moon-turns ago, and it didn’t require you to seek shelter inside.

“Not if the stories are to be true.”

You stopped and turned to look at him sternly. “Listen, Rodrik. I won’t have any of that talk when they’re here. Do you understand? And don’t give me any cheek.”

“Will you tell Mother?” he challenged instead, a dark brow lifting upon an eye.

“No, I will tell Father, and he will turn you over on his knee because you aren’t too old for it despite your most ardent beliefs.” You resumed your pace, and Rodrik followed. “The Old Gods and the New know you need it.”

“I heard that,” Rodrik groaned.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a secret, Roddy.” Ahead, the gate to the godswood was already open, and you glanced at your youngest sibling. “Why are you following me?”

Rodrik gave you his best attempt at looking innocent. “Because I love my sister very much, and after she is married, I won’t know when I’ll see her again.”

It sounded more like a question than a statement, and you snorted. “Perhaps it may be for the best if you try again, brother. You’re a lousy liar.”

“Aye. We northernmen can be too honest.”

Rodrik sounded like your father then. You looped your arms with his, and you sat together underneath the canopy of the heart tree. “You can tell me the truth.”

“I will miss you. That wasn’t a lie.”

“I can accept that, but you must want something. It’s the only time you’re attached to my hip!”

Rodrik ignored you and seemed deep in thought. “Do you know of Arya Flint?”

You did know of her; you met the girl when she’d arrived at the beginning of winter. She was comely, tall for her age, and strong, which she had to be as she hailed from the high mountains of the wolfswood. Had Rodrik finally caught a fancy?

You did not say anything directly to Rodrik, lest he get agitated and curse you for your intrusiveness, but the amusement still leaked through your voice. “Aye, I do. Is something the matter?”

Beneath a messy shag of hair, Rodrik’s ears pinkened. He cleared his throat before his voice could crack. “I think… I like her…”

“Have you spoken with her, or have you been charmed by eye only?”

Rodrik glared at you in offense. “We have spoken—when she’s practicing archery.”

That would do it, you thought. Much like Berena, Rodrik possessed that infamous wolf’s blood, and he appreciated a good fight more than the regular northernman. You were not surprised that a spirited young girl like Arya would draw his attention.

“And do you wish to court Arya Flint?”

“How am I supposed to know that? ‘Tis why I ask you!”

You laughed heartily. “Roddy, I am not even trothed yet. You ought to ask Alysanne—she corresponds with Edd Locke quite frequently since the troth a year ago.”

“Alysanne is Alysanne, and Edd is Edd.” Rodrik shook his head, and you understood his meaning. They suited each other well—quiet and sensible, but not to be taken lightly or as a jest. “Arya is unlike them both.”

“Why not Berena? I know she spends time with the other mountain clan girls—Knotts, Liddles, and Harclays.” You paused. “Have you considered asking Inara’s opinion?”

“The Reed girl?” Rodrik’s face scrunched in disbelief.

“Or you can face Joy Mormont’s wrath. They’re all fighting girls, but Inara may be your best chance. She can be discreet, and she does not judge.”

At the mention of Joy Mormont, who was nearly Donnor’s height and just as ruthless with a sword, Rodrik seemed to consider the suggestion of Inara Reed more carefully. You had spoken to Inara plenty of times before, for you were of similar ages, and the crannogwoman had one of the purest thoughts you’d ever encountered. It was quite disorientating to see her practicing with her staff when hours before you’d spoken about the best ways of preserving berries for winter.

“What say you, sister?”

“I would say to throw all caution to the wind and to court her.” You gave his bicep a reassuring squeeze. “But you do have a choice in the matter.”

“And you don’t,” Rodrik added for you, and you grinned at him solemnly.

“Aye. We all have our duties, and to marry at the behest of our lord grandfather is mine.”

You stared at each other. Behind you, blood colored sap leaked from the heart tree’s eyes, and the wind blew through the canopy of interwoven branches of the godswood.

“You will make a good wife, a pretty one. I wish you weren’t bound for the south.”

“As I’ve said, nothing is certain… Prince Baelor wins respect easily, just like the King. For all we know, this is an excuse to reassure themselves that the North is loyal.”

“Because Grandfather finally deigned to remind them of the northernmost kingdom? They certainly remember us when they need men for a fight.”

You shushed him then, already feeling how quickly the winds could turn and Rodrik’s words could be viewed as treasonous by onlookers. He wasn’t necessarily wrong—the only thing tethering House Stark and the North’s men to the Targaryen dynasty was the steadfastness of their word since Torrhen knelt before Aegon the Conqueror on the banks of the Trident.

“Best to keep your opinions to yourself, Rodrik. Take your frustrations out on one of our brothers. Perhaps Errold or Artos? I believe you owe them a beating or two.”

That drew a chuckle out of Rodrik. “I shall try my luck with Donnor on the morrow. Errold and Artos are beginning to bore me.”

“Most of the guards have bored you, and now our brothers too?” you asked teasingly, and laughter leaked into your voice. “When will it ever be enough for you?”

“I am not sure, I may have to go to Essos. I’m running out of opponents.”

Rodrik in Essos—what a thought. You chuckled and tugged at his ear softly. “I came to pray, and you came with me to speak of impossible things.”

“You could’ve told me to fuck off!”

“Would you have listened?”

At your retort, Rodrik rolled his eyes and quietened. “Pray, sister. There aren’t any heart trees left south of the Neck—real ones anyway.”

You sighed and wondered if you had to leave Winterfell, if you would be allowed to take a weirwood sapling with you. Both of you sat in deep contemplation; you implored the Old Gods that you’d be trothed to a man who would be honest with you. There would be no need for flowery words and romantic notions, whether it be a Targaryen prince or not.

Rodrik returned you to your chambers, where he briefly hugged you before Alysanne forced you into your nicest dress and slippers, which the mess of mud and snow by the East Gate would undoubtedly soil.

Two simple bronze rings adorned your left middle finger and right thumb, both engraved with runes of the First Men. The rings were heirlooms from House Royce. The dress was fine work—silvery gray fabric and embroidered with dark gray and red with Alysanne’s deft hand, but most of it ended up covered by your cloak.

You and Alysanne joined your siblings, parents, and Grandfather at the East Gate, which led to Wintertown and the kingsroad, from which the Targaryens would come. Your siblings were arranged by age: Donnor, Willam, Artos, Berena, you, Alysanne, Errold, and Rodrik.

A tall knight, dressed in white armor and a matching cloak streaming from his shoulders, came through with a silk pennon on a tall staff. House Targaryen’s three-headed dragon seemed to spread its wings, breathing scarlet fire. Two other knights of the Kingsguard followed, as well as the retinue, hoofs kicking up the freshly fallen snow into the air.

You tried to identify the people coming in. You recognized the Manderlys easily enough, their blue-green banners hidden in the mess of royal heraldry. You felt Alysanne’s sharp intake of breath when catching sight of Edd Locke following Lord Manderly’s heir.

“He’s come,” she whispered to herself, and you couldn’t help the amused twitch of your lips, glancing at her with delight.

“Your grace,” Grandfather Brandon said when Prince Baelor Breakspear dismounted his horse and came forward. “Winterfell is yours.”

Around you, stablehands were darting about, taking the horses away.

Prince Baelor had the dark hair of his Dornish mother, the Queen Consort Myriah Martell, and two differently colored eyes. Behind Prince Baelor, another man came up; he was as tall as Prince Baelor and thickly built, his hair and beard silver with a hint of gold. He was Prince Maekar, for Princes Aerys and Rhaegel would not travel all this way.

Here they are, in Winterfell—you thought blandly—the hammer and the anvil.

“I trust that you enjoyed the journey, your graces?”

You heard the distinct sound of someone scoffing lightly. It came from Prince Maekar, and your eyes flicked to his imposing figure. He was busy greeting your lord grandfather, albeit with thinly veiled indifference; you thought that his eyes seemed tired and wondered how many times they’d stopped on the journey from White Harbor.

Small talk commenced between Prince Baelor and your grandfather, and then the introductions of you and your siblings began in earnest. It was then that you noted that a boy, not much older than six, was hovering in the shadow of Prince Maekar. Was he to be Prince Aegon? It could be since the little prince was around six now, if you remembered correctly.

When Grandfather Brandon said your name, you curtsied. You felt something sharpen in the air as you straightened, meeting the princes’ eyes. They knew who you were, and you knew of them as well.

“Well met, your graces,” you said, and then the introductions continued before your lady mother led the royals into the warmth of the Great Hall.

Supper began in earnest. Summerwine filled your stomach. It was warm, sweet, and fruity, and the alcohol buzzed in your blood pleasantly.

You had been initially seated with your siblings and little Prince Aegon, on a table below the raised platform, where Grandfather and your parents hosted the Princes Baelor and Maekar. But you had moved to follow Berena to play hostess with the other daughters of the North, now joined by Elwyna Manderly, who’d come with her lord father, an uncle to Myriame. Errold and Rodrik remained with Prince Aegon, and despite the loud conversations and laughter and music, you could hear your brothers’ distinct voices telling him some old northern tale appropriate for the little prince’s ears.

You did not drink heavily, for you were used to mead with your meals, but allowed yourself an extra cup when the flagon made its way back to you. You ate the freshly baked bread, dipping it into the remaining gravy on your plate as you listened to the chatter and took in your surroundings.

From your new position, with the young ladies of the North, it was easier than having your back the Princes and the Lord of Winterfell. The flagon moved on, and that was when you felt it: a prickle at the nape of your neck that came from being watched.

For a moment, you ignored it, laughing at Elwyna’s witty remark about how poorly one of the Kingsguard was handling the snow in his heavy armor. But you finally did—eyes sweeping across the hall, hazy with smoke—until it caught upon the raised platform and dais.

Prince Baelor was deep in conversation with your grandfather. Prince Maekar was already looking at you.

Your breath caught in your throat, nervous and surprised. You inclined your head, enough to acknowledge and not offend him if you did nothing. Prince Baelor suddenly addressed his brother, and Prince Maekar tore his eyes away before you ever did.

The music swelled, and Elwyna leaned toward you, her voice pitched low: “To have a Stark marry into the royal family will be a boon for the North. My father says it is long overdue.”

You did not say anything, fearful of what your voice would betray. Elwyna Manderly wasn’t wrong—she was just daring enough to say it out loud. Elwyna was much like Berena in that aspect.

“Careful, Elwyna,” Berena said. Her lips stained red by the summerwine, she rested her chin on her hand. If she was drunk, she was far better at hiding it than your brothers. “Words like that carry farther than you think.”

Elwyna laughed—loud and delighted.

A small hand suddenly tugged at your sleeve, tearing your attention away. You looked down to find Prince Aegon. Surprised, you shifted your attention to the little prince, “Your grace?”

“They’ve become too loud,” he announced. “And violent.”

You looked over to your brothers. Donnor had left the table and sang along to the music, wine sloshing out of his cup, while dancing with a Norrey girl, who swept him deeper into the crowd of bodies. Rodrik and Errold were arm wrestling, causing a flagon to fall from the table; Willam and Artos cheered on the shenanigans, elbows and arms jerking around in the air.

You smiled at the little prince, not surprised that your brothers’ continence loosened the more they drank. Most northernmen were a handful. “They always do that.”

He considered this, then climbed onto the bench beside you without asking. The ladies around you barely blinked, all of them turning the conversation to Prince Aegon like it was nothing.

Across the hall, you felt it again—that prickle of attention.

This time, you didn’t look, keeping your attention on the little prince.

Over two days, a snowstorm had dropped almost two feet of snow upon Winterfell.

Due to the natural hot springs underneath most of Winterfell, the snow did not accumulate much. And where it did, men had already cleared it before it could harden to ice, becoming a stone-like substance that would be impossible to move.

In the meantime, the little prince, Aegon, shifted his attention from following you and a brother who’d chosen to shadow you to watching the sons and daughters of the North training in the courtyard. Right now, he was with you and Rodrik.

“Does it always snow so much?” Prince Aegon asked, following you up the stairs to the library.

Rodrik was a step behind the little prince, and he replied, “Aye, even in the summer, your grace.”

Prince Aegon made a slight, neutral sound in his throat.

“Does it snow at Summerhall, your grace?” you asked the little prince, putting your weight on the library tower’s door with a soft grunt to open it. The door always swelled in the winter. You were curious; this was Prince Aegon’s first winter, and definitely the first time he’d ever seen so much snow.

“We haven’t been so lucky.”

You took the little prince’s cloak, hanging it on the hooks near the entrance. A soft breeze blew the powdery snow into the tower, which made you shut the door quickly, as you and Rodrik shared mirthful glances at Prince Aegon’s diplomatic answer. It was strange to hear someone describe your snows as a lucky happenstance.

“Come, your grace,” you told the little prince, subtly moving him further into the library. “We’ve got quite the collection of maps…”

Earlier in the morning, Prince Aegon had confessed his confusion about the many landmarks your brothers mentioned while regaling old—and contemporary—tales of the North during the first feast upon his family’s arrival. You had offered to show him the maps in the library—you were well aware that the southerners’ maps of the North were not up to par with your own.

You pulled out the most recent map, created after the census a few years ago. A necessary process for calculating population and food stores for the winter, one you’d become familiar with as older census calculations were used by the Maester to educate you and your siblings.

“You have more settlements than I assumed,” Prince Aegon said, little brows furrowed in thought.

He sounded so mature for his age. At his age, your brothers were more concerned about the next time they could sink their teeth into food than the population of the region.

“Our only true city is White Harbor,” you pointed to it on the map. “Wintertown’s population is dependent on the season; come spring, most of the people you see outside of the East Gate will return to their lands and work them. Barrowton holds a substantial population during all the seasons, and there’s little reason to leave.”

“Barrowton is House Dustin’s land,” the little prince added.

“That it is, your grace,” you confirmed with an approving nod. Very few southerners bothered to take the time to study the North beyond knowing that House Stark ruled as Lords of Winterfell and Wardens of the North.

The library tower’s door opened with a sudden bang, and a maid came through, barely curtseying to you and the others. “Lord Brandon wishes to speak with you in his solar, m’lady.”

You looked toward Rodrik, and your younger brother nodded and said, “I shall stay with his grace.”

“I apologize, your grace,” you demurred, but the little prince had none of it and dismissed you haphazardly.

Over Prince Aegon’s full head of silver-gold hair, you shot your brother a strict look. Rodrik barely restrained an eye roll.

“Ellyn, is my lord grandfather—?” you barely asked, rushing down the library tower’s stairs with the maid. You assumed she would finish the question herself.

Ellyn glanced at you. “He is alone, m’lady. The Princes have ceased negotiations.”

You considered her words. You did not want to ask her anything else, believing it would be better to ask Berena about any rumors occurring within the household. She and her silver tongue could contend to be your very own Master of Whispers if you were ambitious enough.

Returning to the Great Keep from the library tower did not take long, and Ellyn separated herself from you in the corridor leading to Grandfather Brandon’s solar. You slipped inside when Wyman waved you in, the door shutting behind your figure in finality.

Grandfather Brandon sat in his grand chair, hands clasped across his stomach. His eyes were closed, but opened when you neared. The stress lines on his face softened minutely.

“Grandfather,” you said, smiling hesitantly. “All is well, I hope?”

His face twitched in a brief grimace. He remained silent for a moment. “You are trothed now. Prince Baelor, as Hand, has agreed to the terms. Since the beginning, I told his grace that I will not have my granddaughter marry a drunk—or worse.”

You swallowed at that. Your grandfather wasn’t going to tell you; he wanted you to ask. “Who shall be my husband then?”

“It’ll be Prince Maekar.”

You blinked in surprise, paused, and reconsidered.

“May I be candid, Grandfather?” He nodded, and you asked the new question that gnawed at your mind: “Was Prince Maekar who you had planned all along?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Truly, Prince Matarys was, but he is to be betrothed to a Lannister. And with my conditions, it only left him.”

He stood up and approached you. “There was word that the court would press him to choose a second wife sooner rather than later. A keep with growing children needs a woman’s hand.”

“And Prince Maekar has agreed?”

“Whatever happened between those brothers and their father has already happened. They must’ve thought similarly to me.” Grandfather Brandon shot you an assuring look. “There will be no complaints—it helps that the youngest already clings to you.”

Cling seemed a too-strong word, but you kept your opinion to yourself. Nor did you deny your grandfather’s observation.

“He will not be gentle,” Grandfather said, his hand warm against your cheek. “But he will not be needlessly cruel to you.”

Amused, you grinned. “An Umber would be the same way. I will be fine, Grandfather.”

He stared for a moment and sighed. “I believe you. You may not be as wild as Berena, or honest to a fault like Alysanne, but you are candid. Prince Maekar will come to appreciate that.”

You hoped as much as well, and had prayed for such a thing when seeking guidance from the Old Gods. You leaned in and hugged your grandfather, aware it could be one of the last embraces you would ever give him.

There was no sept in Winterfell, and there surely was no septon or septa. But the septon from White Harbor came as soon as Lord Manderly sent a raven calling for his presence. You wondered if Lord Manderly ordered the septon to have his bags ready while the royal family was still in the city.

Allowing some time for the septon to travel to Winterfell also meant more guests could arrive for the wedding. Mainly, the few northern lords and ladies who remained in their own keeps, and those from the Vale, scattered cousins from House Royce from both branches.

In a perfect world, you would marry only in the eyes of the Old Gods. But the realm would not react well, your father had said, if Prince Maekar remarried in the Old Faith with no septon of the Seven in sight. You saw sense in the decision and kept any laments to yourself.

The morning of your wedding, you found yourself sitting along the weirwood heart tree’s roots. You were alone and deep in thought, taking a moment to absorb the heavy stillness of the Old Gods’ presence.

You heard the distinct sound of armor crunching over snow. It shifted your attention, and you turned toward the direction of the gate. At the sight of Prince Maekar, shadowed by a Kingsguard, you stood quickly, nearly stumbling into the pool of black water below the heart tree.

You hoped that the prince did not notice your lack of balance in the moment, and you met his gaze. “Your grace.”

“Lady Stark,” he rumbled. Prince Maekar shot a look at the Kingsguard, and the white-armored knight retreated to be close enough to chaperon, far away enough for a semblance of privacy. “We must speak.”

“Will here do, or would you like to go elsewhere?”

“Here will do.” His eyes flicked to the heart tree’s face behind your shoulder. “It is said that a man cannot lie in front of a heart tree.”

“So it is,” you replied neutrally, nodding to his words. You often thought the same, but you were not sure how much veracity the prince put behind the claim. However, there was something to be said for the fact that he was considering your faith.

“Then I will not waste any time,” Prince Maekar said. “We are to be married within the day, and I will not enter this marriage without speaking plainly first.”

You folded your hands, steadily, and wondered if this was his own decision, or one he was pushed to by his brother. Your face was solemn and still like winter. “I would expect nothing less.”

“I will assure you that this may not be my wish, but there will be no need to fear. Respect is all I ask for in return.”

You did feel wholly assured; the feeling settled itself in your chest, building a home in your ribs. You had asked the Old Gods for much of what the prince himself just said.

“You already have my respect, your grace,” you said carefully, measuring your words. Prince Maekar did not care for flowery words, much like a northernman; he was quick to judge and condemn. But perhaps he would appreciate your own particular strain of northern candor. “You did not have to speak to me, but you did, and I appreciate it.”

He did not say anything, merely observed for a few seconds, before turning on his heel and leaving you in the godswood. The knight of the Kingsguard followed the prince out of the godswood.

Hours later, Prince Maekar put his cloak around you and took you as his own.

The bedding was no more humiliating than you’d imagined.

You were not sure how, but your brothers had pushed forward and made you sure you remained with your shift as the crowd of groping men led you from the Great Hall to your chambers in the Great Keep.

Your chambers were now outfitted to host a prince as well. Maids had switched out your utilitarian linens for silk, and luxurious furs were carefully strewn upon your bed. Your chambers still smelled lightly of the soaps and oils used earlier in your bath. A small table had been set up as well, with a bottle of oil for lubricant, a pitcher with water, and cups.

The water was thoughtful. It must have been Alysanne’s idea; she was well aware of your personal aversion to alcohol.

Hoots and hollers from the corridor made you turn your head. It was just in time for Prince Maekar to arrive through your chamber’s door; he had not lost as many layers as you had, but noble ladies ruffled his collar and silver-gold hair, and his neck was tense with vexation.

You stood straight, the floor warm beneath your bare feet, and stared at him, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.

Without a word, Prince Maekar approached, and his hand came up to your face, and strong, calloused fingers grasped your chin. His thumb traced the slope of your upper lip.

It wasn’t a gentle touch, nor was it rough; it was calculated. You wondered what the prince must be thinking, and you looked up at him, waiting. 

Again, your eyes met, and you kept your face carefully blank. Prince Maekar’s brows furrowed, and you prepared yourself for a biting remark. You spent most of the feast listening to his scoffs and comments about dithering lords and ladies—some of it had been amusing.

Outside, you heard Donnor threaten to hang the entrails of anyone who deigned to stay to listen to the bedding. You would have laughed if Prince Maekar wasn’t before you.

“You are very young.” You blinked in surprise. Did men not like it when they had a young lady warming their bed? His hand dropped, and he stepped away. “Take off your shift.”

You hesitated and swallowed, wishing that you had partaken in the drinking much more than you originally had, and then heeded his command.

The sheer linen fabric pooled at your feet. You reached toward your hair, retrieving the pin that kept it away from your face.

Be not afeard, you told yourself, echoing your mother’s words from a fortnight ago, when the maiden’s clock was still in progress as well as the betrothal agreement negotiations. Your hand formed a fist around the long hairpin, and you did not realize it until Prince Maekar gave it a rather pointed glance.

“Are you afraid, Lady Stark?”

You were not surprised by the lack of endearment, but by the fact that he called you by your title of birth. You forced your hand to relax its grip. You met Prince Maekar’s eyes boldly, earnestly. “I am not, your grace.”

You wanted to ask him if the sight of you pleased him. You weren’t so bold, not like Berena and her wolf’s blood.

His eyes flickered down your body, from the hair that tickled across your chest and the curls that covered your maidenhood. Prince Maekar’s face did not betray a single thing.

“Lie on the bed, on your back.”

You exhaled at the order shakily and stepped backward, your legs hitting the bed and dropping the hairpin among the silk and furs. The silks and furs were soft and warm against your skin; you thought about how you were naked as the day you were born, yet Prince Maekar remained clothed.

“Your mother and aunts have told you what to expect, I assume.”

You watched him as he spoke, retreating to the table and pouring oil into one of his hands—strong, a large palm, and long fingers that wielded a mace that won a rebellion.

“They have,” you replied. There had been too many details at times.

Oil slick fingers dipped into your folds. Surprised, you jolted upward and away from the touch. With one hand, he wrangled you back, closer to the edge of the bed. “Do you want it to hurt, girl?”

“No,” you said with too much bite in your tone. You must have lost your senses because you continued, “Mayhaps, it may be better if you kissed me—as husband and wife do.”

His eyes flicked to yours in surprise. He hadn’t kissed you since the wedding ceremony, and even then, it had been chaste and quick. Prince Maekar’s head tilted, and the movement reminded you of that phrase of theirs: the blood of the dragon.

“Is that what you wish?” he asked you, body leaning closer. You felt his body heat, the smell of him; it enveloped you, and you thought about how you’d never had a man of no familiar relation so, so close.

You sat up and replied candidly, northern accent thickened, “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t.”

He considered this, and then he kissed you. He had to dip himself toward the floor, practically kneeling before you. It brought a warm thrill to your stomach as you tried to keep up, and his neatly trimmed beard tickled your skin.

Mouth hot, he opened you with his tongue. You hummed lightly, and Prince Maekar breathed sharply, pulling back and gauging your facial expression.

You stared unabashedly as he stood up and shed his remaining layers, revealing skin taut by battle-hardened muscles. There were some scars, long healed and pale in the candlelight, softened by time.

His fingers dipped toward you again, and his middle finger slipped easily into you. You inhaled slowly, hips wiggling with inexperience, as you felt your body begin to compensate, hole steadily becoming slick and damp.

“You’ll need to be ready,” he said, slipping a second thick and long finger into you, moving it gradually and stretching you out.

Your moan is a fledgling thing, fluttering in your throat, as the throb within your innermost self matched your frantic heartbeat. You wiggled the little that you could before Prince Maekar’s unoccupied hand grabbed your thigh, pinning it against your chest.

It opened you further, your thighs falling apart for his own broad ones, as he put himself between your legs. And his thumb suddenly circled the little pearl hidden by your mound of hair; a wanton, louder, whine escaped you then. You didn’t say anything—too full, beginning to feel too much—as he then pushed his palm up to the little pearl, grinding against your core broadly.

You felt it then—a flitting within you as drool gathered in your mouth like you were salivating over a piece of freshly hunted game. It embarrassed you, made you swallow it harshly as Prince Maekar brought you to peak.

Or at least you thought as much. Your body tensed briefly, and you felt a release of dampness as your eyes screwed shut. You twitched and hissed when Prince Maekar’s fingers continued moving inside of you—slower and more deliberate than before, palm no longer grinding against your pearl.

He had brought you to ruin with only his hand. You could not even begin to imagine once he was truly inside of you, and your eyes opened, falling upon the center of Prince Maekar’s hips and lower. The hair on his body was a shade darker than the silver-gold that covered his head; there was a light smattering of it across his broad chest, and it was thicker around his—it? You did not know what word to use—it felt too vulgar to use any of the words you’d overheard from the men in the keep, even in your private thoughts. But you thought of the song, “Country was in peril, the Anvil was a rock,” and concluded it described the situation at hand well enough.

“Do you know how pretty you are?” he asked, a deep rumble in his chest. It brought you out of your thoughts. “All pink and pent up.”

In your distracted haze, you imagined that praises did not come easily to Prince Maekar, if ever, but you were pleased that he, at least while bedding you, appreciated your visage. No matter how spent and sweaty you were.

“It’s too much, your grace,” you choked out, for his fingers slipped out of you and tapped your mound, making you twitch and mewl pathetically. Your body burned—embarrassment or passion, you knew not—and wished he would insert himself already.

“It shall not hurt for long,” he said, fingers slipping out with ease. He guided himself toward the cradle of your hips. His blushing, leaking tip moved easily along your damp slit. The sound was vulgar and obscene to your ears, and more sweat gathered along your hairline. “Lest you want that brother of yours to hang my entrails on your heart tree?”

A joke. Prince Maekar was almost inside of you, almost making you his wife, and he was joking. You huffed a laugh involuntarily, nails digging into his biceps when he began inserting himself, pressing against any natural resistance, in one long, steady stroke. Your hips moved, whether against or for his movement was unbeknownst to you. It didn’t hurt as much as it felt uncomfortable, your body stretching to accommodate a width and length you never had before.

You breathed through the feeling and found enough spirit to reply, “And give the realm more reason to believe we northernmen are all savages?”

His lips twitched, and you wondered if this was the first time you’d actually seen a smile grace the prince’s face. His mouth was on yours then—his groan yours, or your moan his. A short drag of his hips made your heels dig into the bed, thighs wrapping around broad hips.

The hand that had been inside of you moments ago was cradling your face, and you could swear you could smell your spent. Such a thought should mortify you, but it made you wetter, made you pant and moan in want. You were his wife now, and he could do as he pleased.

Prince Maekar settled into a slow, deep pace. It made your breath labored—so, so full—and you thought of how you touched yourself one time, hidden underneath linens and furs, tentatively exploring your own body. You echoed the memory, a hand traveling down to feel how he was splitting you open, and copied the way Prince Maekar’s palm grinded against you. Your hips bucked, and his stuttered—you felt him between your middle and ring fingers, hot and hard.

Show him what it means to bed a she-wolf, your Aunt Myriame had said, winking salaciously at you when tugging your hair into that earlier updo. You thought of that, then, when he grunted, wrangled your hand away, and maneuvered your limbs so your knees were hooked over his shoulders. Like this, he was impossibly deeper now, and filthy curses—ones that you would typically not even deign to think of—fell from your lips as your hips were brought off the bed. His hair tickled against your pearl with every thrust, every slap of flesh against flesh, and you throbbed.

“Oh, fuck, fuck—” you tried grabbing ahold of something, but ended up scratching the prince’s arms, leaving angry, red marks on the pale, creamy skin. How savage, how wolfish, you thought, perhaps it will not be Donnor that showed truth to the Southrons’ perspective of the north, but you.

You watched him, eyes boring into those strange violet eyes so uniquely his, and noted that his pulse fluttered erratically in his neck. A flush had built across his own skin, traveling up his neck. You were struck by the inane urge to bite and mark him red and purple with your mouth and teeth—perhaps you contained more of the wolf’s blood than previously believed.

His hips grinded with yours, almost like he did not bear the idea of pulling out too far, and the tension building in your body snapped like a cord. Sudden and fast. You closed your eyes, feeling too much, still wanting too much, and felt tears welling in your eyelashes.

His hand returned to your chip, a thumb dangerously close to entering your mouth. He commanded, “Look at me. Breath.”

Had you stopped breathing? You might have, and you returned to a body that felt different from the one it did that morning. He was still inside of you, grinding, and you twitched and throbbed around him.

Again, you just looked. Violet eyes, pale eyelashes, and pox-marked cheeks barely covered by that beard. He was so undeniably of the blood of the dragon, and he was between your legs.

He peaked with a harsh, definitive grunt, hands tightening on your body. You prayed to the Old Gods that his seed would quicken in your womb—a child as proof of your union’s consummation. It brought another wanton thrill to pulse through your body.

You expected him to roll off and sleep, but he remained inside of you, unmoving and catching his breath in time with you. You wondered if he was just as unwilling to waste a single drop of his seed, but you did not ask.

Slowly, Prince Maekar pulled out and released his heavy grip. You hissed lowly to yourself, a sore ache ruminating through your body, as you moved to your side of the bed, leaving space for him. You sat against your headboard and pillows.

Prince Maekar went to the table, serving himself water from the pitcher. He drank from the cup, sating his thirst.

“There is no godswood in Summerhall,” he said suddenly. He wasn’t looking at you and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to you, a cup in his hand. “But there is a garden, and there is space for a sapling if you wish.”

He turned to you then. His eyes drifted to your stomach, to your womb. He added, “I know it is important for you.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

He scoffed, but you took no offense, for it was a softer sound, and he echoed your words from earlier, “We are husband and wife. You need not use titles when we’re alone.”

You inclined your head, accepting his words as such. He offered the cup to you, and you took it, drinking from the same spot his lips touched moments ago.

In the rookery, a white raven arrived from the Citadel. Spring had come.

[beljude]

[nothanksofficer]

we are all sinners (imagine)

starring: you, remmick, and bo pairing: remmick/reader & bo/reader warnings: slight nsfw, open-at-your-own-risk, dark romance, vampirism, corruption, moral and literal seduction, temptation, sharing is caring(?), reverse harem(ish), hive-mind, manipulation summary: in this world, there is no grace chow. only y/n chow. and boy, does that have consequences word count: 1k+ list: 0.1 1.0

"because i know everything he knows now. and i want you to let us in there."

"Oh yeah, i know everything now. Even how you like to be licked. I can promise I won't bite too hard."

a/n: pls be kind. this was just a random idea. note that most of the lines are just what i vaguely remember/can find on the original script. for the most part, reader's race is up to your interpretation. bolded lines can be interpreted into any language you want

you are a budding artist who made a name for herself after becoming the town's unofficial sign maker/painter. colors were your art, and its not just how you earned your keep, but it's also how you met bo.

you and bo have been married for almost two years now (sorry lisa don't exist here...yet).

so when smoke comes in one day, asking for some supplies, help, and a new sign in need of painting, that's where you come in

you don't know the twins personally, but you trust bo. and the extra money doesn't hurt for your...future family planning

at the juke club, you and bo are a seamless team, alternating between working and partying. every time you walk by, he's always trying to pull you into his arms. Whether it's for a quick kiss or dance, he never passes on the chance

you briefly overhear the commotion at the door, followed by some singing. after getting a quick peek at the white folk, your eyes meet the banjo player's, who then gives you a wink as bo leads you away. neither of you notice remmick's eyes following you as he does

Remmick first motions at Mary. "How'd she get in?" "She here because she's family." Unconvinced, Remmick makes a show of looking at you and Bo next. "And those two?" This time, it's Smoke who answers. "They're family, too."

later on, when bo comes running over to tell you stack's been killed, you immediately want to leave. you get a really bad feeling and your gut tells you that you can't stay here. after some desperate convincing, bo agrees to get the car

"You wait right here, baby. I'll be right back before you know it," he promises, giving your forehead a kiss. Little do you know, that is the last time you will see your husband. At least the human version of him.

cornbread happens. and stack comes back to life. the entire group has to stop you from leaving to go find bo

"Let me go! I need to go after Bo!" "Careful now. You walk out there, Y/N, you might not walk back in." "I can't just sit here and do nothing! My husband is outside with those—those things!" But Smoke puts his foot down, stopping your argument in its tracks. "Bo can handle himself, Y/N. Besides, you know he wouldn't want to put you at risk either. Bo'd want you here. Inside. Where it's safe."

the group finds the 'dead' body. when sammie and smoke go to throw it outside, remmick's singing and the cheering of former friends and guests, lure you to the entrance, just enough to take a peek. (to your relief, you don't see bo anywhere near them)

after the garlic eating scene, you are left on watch duty at the main entrance. everyone else is resting, or preparing more weapons in the back. you hear gurgling form outside, and out of curiosity, you open the door, only to see cornbread tearing into the 'not-dead' body outside.

you nearly scream to warn the others. that is, until bo appears.

your first instinct is to pull him inside into safety. but...the way he swaggers past cornbread, smiling at you like nothing was wrong, made your heart stop (and not in a good way)

"Hey, baby," he grins, and for a moment, you can almost believe it's actually your husband. Keyword being, almost. "Come on outside. I got the car started for you. Let's go!" "Bo...?" The sound of flesh tearing and squelching makes you nauseous, and you take a step back. Bo frowns, but masks it with a charming smile. "What is it, Y/N?" "Cornbread...he's killing him—" "Oh, don't worry about him, baby. He's just a little hungry, is all," he says offhandedly. "Let's go." Bo winks at you, and you flinch. He's never winked like that at you before. The only one who ever has was— "Come on. I got the car all warmed up." But when you don't make a move to follow, he sighs before sauntering up to the door with a knowing look on his face. "Or...you let me back in there, and we can grab our things and head home?" Bo's eyes flash an inhuman silver as he looms over you from the doorframe. "We can even make a pit stop. Maybe even have some of our own fun on the way back."

when Remmick appears, you nearly sob, realizing this isn't your husband anymore

Still, Bo tries to convince you, nonetheless. "It's better this way, baby. So why don't you go and invite us in?" "You should listen to him, Y/N. Or listen to me. Because I know everything he knows now. And trust me, darling, he really wants you to let us in there," Remmick adds. "That's not true. Bo would never..." "Believe me, baby. I just want you to be free. Like him. Like me," Bo says almost reverently. Lovingly. As if the prospect of becoming one of them was a blessing, rather than a curse. "We can be together again. All you have to do is...Let. Us. In." "Listen to your husband now, darling. Can't you see that he—that we—just want what's best for you?" Despite Remmick's words, you can't tear your eyes away from Bo. "You're not...you're not my husband." Despite the cloudy glow in Bo's eyes, there is no hiding the hurt in them. Remmick, however, only looks at you with condescending disappointment. "Well, that's not very nice of you to say," he tsks. "You did this to him. You...you monster," you hiss. "Me? I just gave him what he wanted. Freedom. A family. In fact, this was his idea, you know. He wanted to change you first," Remmick reveals with a hungry grin. "And who am I to deny him?" "You're lying." "Am I? I know everything he knows. Every little thought. Every single memory. I even know how you like to be licked, darling." Remmick's words shake you. But it's Bo's follow-up that makes you choke. "And we promise we won't bite, baby. Not unless you want it."

a/n: and that's all i have for now. let me know if this is worth continuing. otherwise hope u enjoyed the story

[caileeflavoured]

one heart broke, four hands bloody

tyler harrison x fem!reader, bjorn x fem!reader

© caileeflavoured 2024, do not repost, modify or translate!

synopsis: A secret revealed in a moment of danger does more than just save lives.

a/n: this took forever cause it's been forever since i last wrote but how could i pass up this opportunity of writing a love triangle kinda thing for one of my fave horror movie franchises (and two perfect hunks)? also, please appreciate that i rewatched the scene where kay is stuck like 100 times to get the dialogue accurate

warnings: ANGST, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion (your body your choice guys!), no one's chest got burst open and everyone survives, yay!, mentions of injuries

wc: 2.7k

MAIN MASTERLIST | ALIEN MASTERLIST

“Oh my God, oh my God, Andy, open the door!”You begged them standing on the other side of the door, feeling the presence of the alien behind you. “Open the door!”

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me, look at me!” Tyler tried to get you to focus on him from the other side. “It’s alright, we're gonna get you out.”

He turned to Andy, telling him repeatedly to open the door, as did Rain.

But she noticed first that Andy did not make a move to unlock the door. “What are you doing?”

Tyler kept his eyes on you. “Don’t look over there, look at me.”

You noticed something was going on. What, you had no idea. Fear was coursing through your veins as you sobbed. “Tyler, what’s wrong?”

“Andy,” Rain looked at her brother intently, her hands gripping his arms. “I need you to open that door right now, okay?”

“That’s what the creature is waiting for us to do,” he explained in an unusually calm voice.

“No! What the fuck, Andy, open the door!” Tyler shouted over to the synthetic, trying to somehow change his mind.

“If I opened that door, we would all die,” Andy concluded in an almost detached manner.

“Andy, please, please, I’m begging you,” Rain pleaded with him, her hands planted firmly on his shoulders. “She’s pregnant! Andy, come on!”

Tyler’s gaze immediately shot to the two siblings, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Fuck!!” He screamed, his fists banging against the glass of the door before he walked over to Andy, getting on his knees as he held onto the synthetic’s hand, crying as he begged him to open the door. 

“Please, Andy, please,” Tyler sobbed. “Don’t let her die, man, please.”

And in a moment of sheer miracle, he didn’t.

The door slid open and you fell into the hallway, right into Tyler’s arms. Everyone pulled you away from the open door as it shut at the last moment, helping you narrowly escape the alien. 

However, there wasn’t much time for you to recover despite the many injuries you have suffered from falling down stairs and platforms, crashing into cold, hart metal. All four of you sprinted along the curved hallway towards the next best hiding place, eventually finding a small, empty office. Andy locked the door behind him while Rain helped you to the desk, shoving the clutter off of it.

“Fucking hell, Andy!” Tyler shoved the synthetic. “How could you risk letting her—“ 

“Tyler,” Rain warned him, looking over her shoulder as she tended to your injuries. 

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he paced through the office, visibly trying to calm himself down. His eyes landed on you, and yours found his, all the physical pain forgotten. All the emotional pain coming back. 

The dam you’ve been building so carefully now broken beyond repair, and all the water flooding back in. Nausea was rushing through your body when his voice turned to you

“When were you gonna tell me?” He echoed from the furthest corner of the office.

“I do not think this is the time to be having such a conversation,” Andy instantly stepped in, blocking him from your view. “Calm down, Tyler. And let her calm down, too.”

But with your throat constricted, you had no way of saying anything. Not even to Rain as she sent you a compassionate look that said ‘I am so sorry.’

“How bad is it?” You asked her to deflect from the commotion on the other side of the office.

“Pretty tough bruising, but I don’t see any broken bones,” she noted. “You think you can make it back to the Corbelan on foot?”

You swallowed hard, letting out a deep, compressed breath in an attempt to calm your nerves just enough to remain level-headed. At least for the moment. You gave her a nod, which she acknowledged with a small smile.

“You got this,” Rain said, though you didn’t know what exactly she meant. Only felt that she probably wasn’t referring to your bruises. 

⋆𖤓⋆ 

Back on the Corbelan, the rest of the crew all let out relieved sighs at the sight of their unscathed friends. “Oh, thank God you’re safe,” Kay let out a breath she'd seemingly been holding ever since you left the space ship. “We should get you to med bay just to be sure you’re all okay.”

It wasn’t more than a good amount of bruises for all of you, and trauma for the rest of your lives, but everyone made it out alive, and was ready to leave, which was the only thing that mattered right now.

“We’ll take care of everything at home, and then we’re out of there for good,” Tyler announced, and Rain nodded in agreement. 

“I’ll set course for Jackson’s Star,” Navarro said and left for the cockpit. 

“Come on guys, let’s get buckled in for the ride,” Rain said, pushing everyone else out of the exam room. Everyone except for you and Tyler. She gave you one last apologetic look before mouthing the word ‘talk’ and walking off.

With everyone gone to the cockpit, leaving you and Tyler in med bay, the room suddenly felt a lot less comfortable than it already did by default.

His stare was ice-cold, his arms crossed in front of his chest, moving up and down with each deep breath that filled his lungs and calmed his nerves. You knew this look, you’ve seen it enough times.

“I just can’t do it anymore,” his British accent bounced off the walls of the trailer.

“What are you talking about?” You asked. A beat. No reaction. “Tyler!?”

The silence sucked all the oxygen from the small mobile home, leaving you nearly gasping for air as the first wave of nausea engulfed you. The final telling sign that this is where it ends.

“This!” He spat, arms spread as he gestured around the room. “This whole me and you thing!”

But words failed you, and the silence gave him courage.

"This hasn’t been going well for months, and you know it. We keep pretending that everything’s fine, that somehow everything will magically get better once we do this, once we do that, but it won’t. I can’t fix this. I can’t fix us. I’m just trying to survive here, trying to make it through another day without losing my mind. And your expectations, your— your… plans and hopes and dreams, they’re just… exhausting. This is exhausting.”

⋆𖤓⋆

His arms had been the ones to hold you tight all night long as you broke down once and for all. His thumbs had been the ones to wipe away your tears despite them already having formed into an endless stream of salty liquid. His ears had been the ones to listen to your heartbroken attempts at understanding how he could so suddenly throw it all away when he’d been the one to promise you over and over again that he would rather die than live a life without you.

And his mouth had been the one to shut you up and make you forget about everything. Even if just for the night.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said as you got up into a sitting position, pulling your shirt back down and crossing your arms in front of your stomach as if hiding it from him. As if doing that will save you from having to deal with the implications of a small human being growing inside of you.

“How am I looking at you?” Tyler retorted in a hissy tone. 

“You know exactly how you’re looking.”

He uncrossed his arms, letting them fall to his sides in a dramatic gesture of annoyance as his eyes glanced around the room, then back at you.

“Well, care to have a conversation now?” He asked expectantly.

You huffed. “I don’t know why I should.”

“Uhm, well, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe because you’re pregnant and didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Tyler.”

“Oh, so you suddenly forgot how babies are made?”

“Haha, so funny,” you said with a stern look on your face, cocking your head to the side. “Patronising as ever.”

“So what?” He huffed in response. You were just gonna get rid of it? My child! Make that decision for both of us?”

“Who the hell said it’s yours, huh?” You snapped, the pain turning into anger and frustration.

“Yeah, cause there are plenty guys to choose from on the colony,” he scoffed, a pained grin on his lips.

That shut you up. You looked to the side as if avoiding his eyes would take the rising feeling of guilt away. As if it would undo what you did.

“You know what? You’ll never change,” he mumbled, turning around and storming off. 

On his way out of med bay, his shoulder bumped into that of his cousin. Annoyed at everything and everyone, he shoved him against the wall. “Get out of my fucking face, mate!”

You wanted to follow him, not giving him the satisfaction of blaming everything on you and then leaving you in silence. But upon rushing after him — or, attempting to — a sharp pain jolted through the side of your body, forcing you to stay behind after all.

“Fuck!” You hissed, then shouting after him before he disappeared into the hallway. “You’re one to talk, Tyler!”

It hadn’t been just one night.

It had become a habit. A nasty, disgraceful habit that left you ashamed of yourself, of what you’d become.

Of what he’d turned you into.

“We have to stop,” you said as you sat on the edge of the bed, turning your back to his laying frame on the other side. 

“What’cha mean?” He asked, his voice rough. 

“I mean exactly what I said,” you huffed. “This,” you gestured between him and yourself, “is not okay. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Come on, don’t— Let’s not have this conversation, alright? Don’t make this complicated when it doesn’t have to be,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“He’s your cousin!” You cried out. “And my ex! How is that not complicated?” 

You jumped up from the bed, hastily putting on your shorts and tee, ignoring your discarded underwear as you made for the door of his trailer, slipping on your shoes, and storming off without another word.

“You’ll come back anyways, luv. Just like you always do,” he shouted after you before you slammed the door to the trailer shut.

“You alright?” Bjorn held onto you before you stumbled. 

“Yes!” You hissed, aggressively pulling your arms back. “I’m fine. Just fine.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “God dammit, is everyone on this bloody ship on their period or what.”

“Just shut the fuck up, Bjorn!” You near-shouted. “Not everything’s a fucking joke.”

Despite the pain in your side, and the inability to storm off, you made for the door when, suddenly. his hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you back forcefully. You landed in his arms, chest to chest, face to face, your eyes pulling each other in like they did that one fateful night.

“Kinda tragic you always end up in my arms when he fucks up,” Bjorn mentioned. “Always me who has to pick up the pieces.”

“Let me go, Bjorn,” you said, your voice calm despite.

“Only if you tell me what that was about,” he motioned towards the hallway where Tyler had just disappeared.

“Nothing,” you replied shortly. 

He tsked, shaking his head. “Still the avoidant type.” His grip on your arms loosened, yet he moved closer to you, his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

“If only you were as open as your legs were two weeks ago,” his whispery voice echoed through your entire body.

“Oh, fuck off!” You hissed, shoving him back which did not amount to much because a) he was too strong for you and b) the sharp pain shooting through your side held you back. 

“Hey, sorry to interrupt you guys, but we wanna leave,” Kay timidly walked into med bay, letting the two of you know you needed to come to the cockpit.

⋆𖤓⋆

“Did something happen on the ship?” Kay asked, clearly having to force herself to bring up the topic that surely was on everyone’s mind at this moment. “I don’t know, there’s just this… this weird vibe ever since you guys came back.”

What followed was an even more awkward silence than before. Half of the crew didn’t know what to say, and the other half didn’t want to risk accidentally revealing one secret or the other. 

Tyler’s eyes landed on you, his gaze still dominated by that look of vexation and resentment. Bjorn looked from you to Tyler and back again, ultimately deciding to just stare at the ground. 

Like the rest of the crew.

“Great. Now you’re not even saying anything,” Kay tried again. “Which proves my point by the way.”

The oppressive silence was a clear admission of your guilt, and gave her trust to keep digging.

“Tyler? Care to explain what happened?” She turned to her brother. “Cause I know damn well something did happen on that ship.”

“Why don’t you start with the person who’s clearly the cause of it all,” he hissed, blaming you so aggressively you had trouble keeping your composure.

“Me?” You scoffed.

“Yeah, obviously,” he hissed.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

“You stop acting all high and mighty, alright?” He raised his voice, so you did too.

“What happened to the guy who fell to his knees begging Andy to save my life in there, huh? Where did he go? Why did he do such a 180?”

“You know exactly why,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“I know,” you retorted, “but I’m asking why you think that.”

He shrugged, and you kept shouting at each other, a constant stream of accusations and insults bouncing off the metal walls of the Corbelan.

“I’m my own person, I don’t need to fill you in about every single thing that happens in my life,” you fumed.

“Ah, yes, here we go again.”

“What?”

“Your whole ‘none of your business’ attitude,” he mocked. “Like no one’s involved in this, eh?”

“Yeah, because this has nothing to do with the mission!” You yelled, your tone gaining a desperate edge, just wanting him to drop it altogether.

“Course not,” he laughed. “Cause the mission’s not putting you in danger. Or the baby.”

But of course things always had dire consequences for you. The two lines looked up at you from beside the sink like the insides of a snake’s eye. Like they were a mirrored image of what you had become.

“You alright in there?” Rain’s voice sounded from outside the bathroom. 

“Uhh… Yeah, yeah, all good,” you reassured, and before she could say anything else, let alone do something, you stormed out of the room, bumping right into her.

“Oof— You had me scared there for a second,” she admitted with a tense chuckle, but you immediately played it down.

“You know how it is… Girl stuff. Such pain in the ass.”

A set of blue eyes immediately shot up from beside you. You could feel his stare on you, switching from your face to your stomach, burning into your skin.

“Tyler,” Rain said, her voice with an edge of disappointment. 

“What?” He exclaimed, gesturing with his arms held out in front of his body and his shoulders raised.

“Yeah, really not cool, mate,” Bjorn agreed. 

The fact that even Bjorn started defending you when he’d always been the shit stirrer of the group spoke volumes. And did not go unnoticed by Tyler.

“You,” he pointed at his cousin. “Don’t even start. None of your goddamn business!”

“Oh, really?” He accepted the challenge. “‘Cause you made it my business, mate.”

“Bjorn, don’t,” you warned, shooting him an alarming glare.

“No, no, no, he needs to hear this,” Bjorn stopped you. “You know what your girl did the night you dumped her like some piece of rubbish? You wanna know?”

“Bjorn!” You snapped, but he wouldn’t listen.

“You wanna know whose name she screamed that night?”

But Bjorn didn’t have to say more when Tyler already lunged at him.

[bakubabes-tatakae]

A Kunoichi’s Betrayal || Kakashi x Reader x Obito/Tobi

With the brilliant idea by @chidori-mint​ we bring you this (Kakashi x Reader x Obito/Tobi) collab! I hope you all like it. 🥰

Find Part Two Here!

Pairing: Kakashi x Reader x Obito/Tobi

Summary: Just when you decide to finally close a painful chapter in your life and to embrace a fresh start someone from your past will come to face you again.

A/N: Rin does not exist in the AU.

Warnings: angst, major character death in beginning, smut, unprotected sex, non-con, violence

Word Count: 4.8k

*Four Years Ago*

Ninja came back through the gates, your wandering eyes searched for one particular ninja, but the dark-haired weirdo was nowhere to be seen. You searched and searched, running frantically through the crowd of people that were flooding back in. No one would answer you as you begged for someone to tell you where he was. Obito had to be okay, you sat out one mission due to being ill before they left, there was no way that something happened to him. 

Finally, you saw the blonde hair of a familiar man. You ran to your sensei, Minato, and when he turned to you you knew. His face read nothing but pain, not physical pain, but emotional. Your arms immediately felt heavy at your sides. Your body was completely numb. The silver-haired ninja next to him saw you dropping and ran to your side. You dropped to your knees on the ground, falling into the arms of Kakashi Hatake. The only words that he could muster were something you didn’t want to hear. It would never make the situation any better. “I’m sorry.”

Kakashi pulled you into his chest, muffling the sounds of your sobs as the people around you started to stare. This was all a joke, Obito would come running out soon to apologize for how bad of a joke it was. He had to. But when no one came you couldn’t stop yourself anymore. Your screams made Kakashi cringe, he had never wanted to see you like this. He had done everything in his power to keep this from happening. He held you tighter as you shook in his arms. 

Minato walked up to you and knelt down beside you. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. We did everything that we could. I blame myself, if I had been there sooner, maybe I could have helped them.”

Keep reading

[marvelousbakugou]

It’s that time of year where I rewatch Teen Wolf/The Vampire Diaries/The Originals/Supernatural and feel like Y/N again.

Lmao!! It’s been a minute.

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part I 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking. (needs to be edited, so please excuse any temporary errors!)

word count: 5.3k

The ancient walls of Castle Caladan were a fortress, the long winding halls a labyrinth to those unfamiliar with its layout. You had tried feigning sleep when you had been made aware of the surprise guest’s arrival, a one “reverend mother”- as your mother referred to her. The cool air from the hallway nipped at your exposed arm, which currently hung limply over the side of the bed. 

“She’s even smaller than your son, Jessica.” The voice sounded more like a wheeze- and it certainly didn’t belong to anyone you had ever met before. 

“As I’ve already said, the Atreides are slow to grow.” Your mother’s tone didn’t hold even a semblance of a bite to it, not like you expected. She was usually fiercely protective of you and your brother. 

Your finger twitched, causing the woman to stifle whatever disapproving comment she was about to make. Being caught eavesdropping like this certainly wasn’t ideal, but you found it impossible not to be curious. 

“She really is just like her brother,” More like he was more like you. You’d always been the rowdy one of the two. Paul must have been listening in as well, and you imagined that he was more insulted at the comments of his lack of height and muscle than you were. “The little rascals.” 

There was a beat of silence before the woman began to crone again. This time you opened your eyes just a sliver, staring into the dark abyss of your room so that you could make out the shapes of your mother and the stranger. 

“Rest now. Both you and your brother need to be prepared to meet my Gom Jabbar.” The reason couldn’t be pinpointed, but there was something about her tone that filled you with dread.

Your mother woke you up the next morning, bright and early. 

Not even the breathing exercises that your mother had taught you had been able to calm you down last night. The darkness had swallowed you whole, which resulted in a dreamless sleep that left you feeling just as unrested as you had felt the night before. Your mother noticed your hesitations, the skirts of her dress dragging against the stone floor as she moved in the direction of your closet. The dress that she picked out for you was one of your more official garments, the red hawk of the Atreides crest proudly sewn onto the right breast. 

“Did you sleep well?” She questioned as she laid the dress neatly onto the edge of the bed, urging you to stand once her hands were free. 

You blinked at her, nervously brushing your hands along the soft cotton of your nightdress. Your voice felt stuck in your throat, but you still managed to lie. 

“Yes, of course.” Your tone was flat, and for once she didn’t question you on the reasoning. She knew exactly what had you feeling so uncomfortable in your own home. 

Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar. 

What exactly did the old woman want from your family? Lady Jessica was a Bene Gesserit, which could only mean that this woman was a higher up, sent to pay you and your brother a visit. You knew nothing about any “coming of age” rituals. 

Paul barged into the room, dressed in his finer clothes as well. He leaned against the wall of your room, lips pursed as if he was deep in thought. You tilted your head to the side, leveling him a worried glance. He simply shook his head, and you knew at once that he wasn’t trying to dismiss your worries. 

‘Not here. Later.’ His expression told you, and for once you obeyed. 

“The reverend mother is waiting on the both of you. Paul, get out of your sister’s room so she can get ready.” She commanded, her tone leaving no room for whining or disobedience. 

He groaned, pushing himself off of the wall so that he could head back out and into the hall. You shrugged out of your dress quickly at the hurried insistence of your mother, allowing her to do up the clasps of the dress for you. 

“Who is she?” You asked simply, brushing your hair to the side so that she could get a better grasp of the dress. 

“She was my teacher at the Bene Gesserit school and now she is the Emperor’s Truthsayer.” Your mother sighed out your name, turning you quickly so that you were facing her. “You need to do exactly as she says. There is no room to be prideful today, do you understand?” Her eyes were pleading, and you knew that she had your best interests in mind. 

You and your mother walked wordlessly out into the hall, catching up with your brother who was busy running his fingers along the uneven stone walls. You flashed a quick look at your mother before jogging to catch up with Paul, taking the hem of his sleeve into your hand. 

“What do you know?” You whispered, turning your head so that you could look at your mother. Much to your surprise she seemed to be in no hurry to separate the two of you. 

“I’ve had dreams about her before,” He whispered, and you had to pick up your pace to keep up with his strides. “And mother told me this morning that I have to tell her about my visions.” 

Your mouth went a bit dry at the realization that this woman truly was here just for you and your brother. What is the Gom Jabbar and what did it entail? There was no telling. 

“She’s in my morning room, you two.” She called out after you. 

Jessica caught up, leveling the both of you a disapproving motherly look that had the two of you slowing your strides to match hers. She seemed a bit hesitant, eyes flickering between you and your brother and the closed door. 

The “reverend mother” sat in one of the tapestried chairs, her arms perched on either side of the armrests as she watched the three of you come in. The view behind her was beautiful, the sprawling, green farmlands of the Atreides family holding on full display through the large windows behind her. You glanced at your brother, eyes widening when you realized that he was already looking at you. He bowed in her direction and you followed his lead. 

“They are a cautious bundle, aren’t they?” The witch-like woman croaked, looking between the two of you. 

“As they have been taught, your reverence.” 

In this room, here in front of this woman, Jessica was no longer the Duke’s concubine nor your mother. She was reduced to that of a pupil in the face of her teacher. You kept yourself from fidgeting, clasping your hands in front of you. You fought the urge to reach out and grab your brother’s hand, as the two of you so often did when faced with anxiety as children. Fear hadn’t regressed you to that of a blubbering child in years. 

Your mother also seemed to fear the woman before her. There was something in her tone that led you to believe that whatever she was here for, it surely wasn’t a pleasantry. Your brother was tense at your mother’s other side, jaw tense as he stared the reverend mother down. 

“Teaching is one thing, but there are some things that cannot simply be taught,” Paul’s eyebrows furrowed as she spoke, and as if she was dismissing a servant of the castle, she waved your mother off with a flick of her wrist. “You and your daughter leave us. It will be her turn soon.” 

For the first time that morning your mother hesitated, eyes softened as she looked upon her son.

“Your reverence, I-” She began, but was cut off before she could finish whatever it is she was going to say. Surely it was meant to be an objection. 

“Jessica, you know that this must be done.” Her voice held a tone of finality. There was no room for your mother to try and wiggle the both of you two out of this trap.

“Yes. . . of course.” Your mother straightened, turning towards both of you. 

“This test. . . It’s very important to me, you two.” She spoke in a hushed voice, eyes still fearful. 

“Test?” The two of you questioned at the same time, looking at one another in concern. You were confused, even more so than you were before. 

“Remember that you’re the duke’s son.” And with that your mother was grabbing your arm, pulling you in the direction of the door. 

“I suppose that it is my turn?” Your voice shook with anger as you practically tore the door off of its hinges, anxious to take your brother’s place. His cries and whimpers did not go unheard, even with the thick wood separating the two of you. 

Looking at him now, his right arm still shaking from the pain, was like being slapped across the face. 

“Right you are, girl. Jessica, please escort your son out of the room.” There was a silvery glint in her bright eyes- a challenge. She could sense it in you. 

Your mother didn’t interrupt this time, and without any words exchanged the door closed. Your brother was too shaken up by whatever had taken place in that room to fully comprehend that the same thing was going to happen to you. He tossed a terrified glance over his shoulder at you just before the heavy doors closed. The sound of it echoed around the room, pulsing in your chest as you tried to steady the adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

“Your future. . . do you know what is expected of you?” 

You eyed the black box that sat next to her as you began closing the distance between the two of you. The question she had asked. . . it was a touchy subject with you. Of course you knew. A day didn’t go by that you weren’t mortified by the prospect of your future. You only had three short years to live and enjoy before you would be forced to abandon your family to join hands with another one. 

“Of course I do. It is my duty to marry.” Your voice had a bite to it, your eyes unwavering as you stared her veiled face down. 

“It is your duty to marry a Harkonnen. It is an honor to be the only reason that these two great Houses are allies. Your heirs will be powerful beyond comprehension.” The way she spoke. . . she truly believed the shit she was spouting. 

It was impossible to consider marrying Feyd an honor. It was an ever-present looming threat. 

“Put your right hand in the box.” She commanded, nodding her head in it’s direction. 

It seemed harmless enough, nothing more than a metal box. You bent your head ever-so-slightly, trying to have a look inside. It appeared to be a pitch black, endless void. No beginning or end in sight. 

You did as you were told, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from muttering anything too disrespectful under your breath. If Paul’s screams were anything to go off of then this was going to be painful. Still, you were shocked by how cold the box was. You wiggled your fingers a few times, feeling the metal encasing them. Slowly a tingling sensation began, almost as if they were falling asleep. 

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? There’s an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain, feigning death that he might kill the trapper and remove a threat to his kind.” 

The tingling sensation somehow melded into. . . heat. No, not heat. Burning. It felt as though you had your hand held up to a bright flame. You flinched, but froze when you finally noticed that the reverend mother was holding something against your neck. Your eyes flickered the best that they could to her hand, not wanting to turn your head. 

“What I hold at your neck is the Gom Jabbar. The tip of the needle is dipped in poison. Remove your hand from the box and I will plunge it into your neck.” 

The palm of your free hand began to sweat, the gravity of the situation finally landing on your shoulders. You would be forced to endure the pain and there was nothing that anyone outside of the doors could do. No guards had come to protect your brother when it was his turn, and no matter how emotional your mother had gotten whilst hearing his screams she still hadn’t rushed in after him. You could truly die here in this room. 

“Why are you doing this?” You urged, wincing again as the burning continued to worsen. 

Now it felt as though you were almost touching a flame, fingers dancing dangerously close. It wasn’t just uncomfortable now but painful.  “To determine if you’re human. Now be silent.”

Meant for greatness, yet stifled before her prime. 

It was impossible for your clipped wings to take flight. The Bene Gesserit had instilled in you your purpose from a very young age, letting it be known that you were little more than cattle to be sold off to breed. The whole arrangement was dehumanizing, but this was the way of galactic high society. Every House had been developed by the close, watchful eye of the Bene Gesserit. Your mere existence was a result of a centuries long breeding program, so how could you ever expect for your own life to be any different? 

Every child, especially in their naive youth, dreams of greatness. There was a point in time where you had hoped to mean something. There were differences to be made, rules to be broken, wars to be raged- but you would never be at the helm of any of it. But Paul. . . Paul was different. 

“You know something that I don’t.” You weren’t asking Paul, rather telling him what you already knew. 

Where you were used to your brother pulling no punches, he had been overly cautious with his treatment of you during training today. For a second he just stared ahead blankly at the wall, and you wondered whether he would try to lie. The older you’ve gotten, the stranger other people’s treatment of you has become. Women were little more than something to be owned. It was a hard lesson to learn and was one you were still grappling with. 

Your femininity were the chains that bound you. And what of your ambition? It was currently acting as the flames licking at your boot heels. Soon you feared that it would fully engulf you; become your undoing. 

“Tell me.” Your lovely features crumpled, and as childish as it was you found yourself giving his arm a slap. 

He jumped at the sudden contact, eyes widening as he turned to face you after what felt like an eternity of prolonged silence between the two of you. The hard flooring felt cool beneath your legs as you stretched them out beneath you, and for a second you found it hard to keep yourself up in a sitting position. The world felt unsteady beneath you, both literally and figuratively. 

Paul didn’t have to say anything at all. You looked, you saw, you felt, you understood. Your shared connection had nothing to do with your genes, rather it had to do with your likeness. Two bodies, two minds, but one soul. Your twin’s features crumpled, mirroring that of your own as he pushed a few strands of dark hair away from his face. 

“So there is nothing I can do? My fate is sealed.” Your lips felt numb as you spoke. 

Your brother’s visions were more frequent than they had ever been before. “Horrors”, he’d described them.

“If there was something I could do. . .” He started, turning quickly to face you, tucking one leg beneath himself. “My hands are tied. Mother and father’s hands are as well.” 

Hiding you away or knowingly allowing you to escape your duties would be seen as an act of treason. You’d be putting your parents and their status in danger, and no matter how desperate you were to get out of any sort of marriage pact, it was far too late. Since the very moment you were conceived, this was what you were meant for. 

“When will the orders come down, you think?” You pulled your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them tightly. 

You wished that you could stay like this forever, protected from the rest of the world. If only you hadn’t been born as twins at all. You wanted so badly to be like Paul. 

But the galaxy didn’t work like that. You were not fortunate enough to get what you wanted. 

“Soon.” 

You felt comforted by the hand that he placed on your shoulder, and even more so when he kept it there until you felt as though you were able to stand up. 

You were to marry into House Harkonnen. That was your purpose; to unite the feuding houses and birth powerful offspring. You had met Feyd once before, but only for a fleeting moment. It hadn’t been awkward- no, back then the two of you hadn’t cared enough to pay any mind to the looming threat that was your betrothal. You’d been too young back then to fully grasp the severity of the situation. 

You remembered being shocked by his size. He towered over Paul, appearing to be years older than he really was. His hair had been dark back then, thick and slightly curly. 

He had only just been taken under his uncle’s wing at the time. The environment of Giedi Prime had yet to fully sink into the young boy. The Harkonnen’s looks had always been startling to you, no matter how many times you’d been exposed to it. They were dark creatures, brooding, hairless with skin as pale as milk- not to mention violent. 

The desperate way that Paul had clung to you was not lost on you. You let him squeeze you as tightly as he needed, your arms locking around his back. This meeting would change everything. In a matter of moments your life as you knew it would be taking a drastic turn, and not for the better. 

You’d made that very same trek to the parlor room a million times. This was your ancestral home- had been in your family longer than you thought was conceivable, and yet this felt new to you. Wrong. The shadows from the windows were casting strange lights on the wall beside you, and your footsteps sounded muffled in your ears as your pounding heart nearly deafened you. Your father’s hand brushed against your palm a few times, his attempt at showing you physical comfort without causing any sort of scene. You knew that this was Feyd-Rautha’s right. 

You were Feyd-Rautha’s right. That simple fact alone was enough to send you reeling, that morning's breakfast churning in your stomach. 

“It will be fine.” Your mother’s fingers shaped the words at her side, a comforting and silent presence. 

Your parents had always protected you. They had taught you well in all aspects of life. She was right. You had to trust yourself just as much as you trusted them. This will be fine. You will survive. 

But god, you wanted to live. 

Your worst fear was being locked up like a caged animal, only taken out to be played with or paraded around. You didn’t want to be somebody's little wife; you were no homemaker or bed warmer. 

‘I am better than this.’ You thought to yourself, your hands balling into fists at your sides. 

As the double doors began creeping open, you felt the sudden urge to run the opposite direction, your parents be damned. The feud between House Atreides and House Harkonnen would surely become deadly if you were to turn your back on the promise now, and that was the only thing that steeled your feet. You stood, back straight and hands clasped tightly at your front. 

You looked to be a pillar of strength, but oh- you were so close to crumbling. Your father took a step past the threshold, eyes hard as he bowed his head respectfully in the Baron’s direction. There was still time to turn around. The door was right there, and you were sure that you could commandeer a ship. You’d piloted a few times before in your life, and while you weren’t the best, you were certain you could get yourself the hell off of Caladan. You shuffled your feet, eyes wide as you looked up and caught your mother’s gaze. Her lips were parted, and you could tell that she was trying to decipher your expression. 

“What are you doing?” Her hand moved quickly at her side, the flowy gauze-like material of her skirts hiding her frantic movements from the visitor’s view. 

Nothing. You were doing nothing. There were no options yet. If you fled then the insubordination would fall back on your parents. If you downright refused then the outcome would be the same. There was nothing you could do but keep your mouth shut and try not to show the Harkonnen even a semblance of vulnerability. 

Disdain rolled off of you in waves as you breezed into the parlor, eyes locked on the side of your father’s face as he conversed with the baron. Tensions were high, even now. No pleasantries were being exchanged, that you were sure of. The Harkonnen’s stark black attire was a startling contrast to their pale skin. There, in the middle of two other men, whom you were sure were present for reasons of protection, was Feyd. 

He looked the same as the rest of them. Hairless, blue eyes dripping with something that could only be described as malice. Gone was the curly haired child that you remembered. In his place stood someone unrecognizable to you. You wanted to question what the Baron had done to Feyd, but you already knew. Perfection was expected on Geidi Prime. 

He had shaped Feyd into the very likeness of perfection. The once dark haired boy was now a walking, talking machine; not even a dead leaf echo of the boy you met all those years ago. 

You tried to map out every single one of his microexpressions, searching desperately for any sign that he might disapprove of the predicament the both of you had found yourselves in. He tilted his head to the side, observing you with a horrifying level of concentration. The Baron began to speak, saying something that you didn’t care enough to listen to. You were too distracted by the terrifying man before you. 

“She will come back home to Geidi Prime with us. No objections, correct?” 

You were marrying him out of an obligation, this he was already privy to. He had seen the reluctance written plain across your face as you’d entered the room. You’d wanted to run. Away from him, away from your responsibilities- and he could not blame you for it. His understanding stopped there though, simply because this proposal wasn’t going against his own wishes. 

“The wedding isn’t taking place for another week.” The Duke didn’t seem to like the idea of his unwed daughter leaving his side. 

Feyd fought back a smile, having known that the Baron’s sudden request would have this effect on the Atreides family. He watched you squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass, your hand moving at your hip. For a second he thought that you might be tugging at the seam of your dress, writing it off as nothing but a nervous tick- but then he saw the way your mother’s eyes followed those movements. 

The two of you were communicating. 

“That may be so, however I think that it is only right that your daughter,” Baron Vladimir motioned in your direction. “Becomes better acquainted with Feyd. You don’t agree?” 

His uncle decided that it was best to test the boundaries of this alliance. He was pushing the Duke, seeing how far he could get. Leto’s lips twitched, his eyes flickering thoughtfully towards you. Feyd was finding it hard to pay attention to anyone else other than you in the room. He’d spent years imagining what you would look like as an adult- dreamt about it. He’d eagerly been awaiting this moment, counting the days that he could finally be reunited with you. 

It wasn’t just because he had been promised powerful heirs. It was the thought that someone was fated to marry him. Since before he was even conceived, you had always been promised to him. That idea had been put into his head since childhood. You were the constant topic in his mind, a person that was unavoidably meant to be in his life for the rest of his days. 

In a strange way he had loved you since he was but a child. 

Seeing you for that first time had been better than he had anticipated. You were a beautiful little girl, but now? The child that he had met all those years ago did not hold a candle to the grace and brilliance of the woman that stood before him now. Nobody else could ever compare. You didn’t have to fall for him right now, he was content with that. Hell, you didn’t even have to tolerate him.  He would find pleasure in wearing you down. He was going to make you love him.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. 

The adrenaline had run its way out of your system, leaving you cold and alone on a planet that was so incredibly alien to you, you weren’t sure how you’d ever be expected to adjust. Even the oxygen felt different in your lungs- the sweet, acrid smell of chemicals tinging the air around you. It was nothing like your home on Caladan. Your home was a stone castle, but this? This was a cold, black fortress. 

You weren’t sure if it was meant to keep people out. . . or in. 

You thought back to that fateful day with the reverend mother. 

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? There’s an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain, feigning death that he might kill the trapper and remove a threat to his kind.” 

You couldn’t chew your leg off to be free of this. No, you had to lay in wait. Only then could you strike if the situation called for it. 

“Striking” could wait until tomorrow though. For now you wanted to rid yourself of the anxiety. Sleep was the only cure you could think of. 

“Is the room to your liking?” That husky voice of his was already grating on your nerves. 

Feyd had only attempted to speak to you a few times and already you were sick and tired of his presence. He was a constant reminder that you would never know what it was like to be free. Then again, was anybody in the galaxy truly free? Feyd sure seemed to be carefree in his current position. 

His tone felt off, like he was toying with you. 

“I would be far more pleased about my new living quarters if you were to leave.” You said simply, pulling the slate gray blanket up and over your chin. 

You weren’t sure if it was due to his ill-breeding, but he didn’t seem to care that you were in nothing but your night dress. He walked into the room in long-legged strikes, letting the door shut behind him. Never before had the two of you been alone together, not since you were children at least. If you were back in your family home you would feel safer during a moment like this. 

You were in his territory now, meaning he had full reign over everything. Your father and family name couldn’t protect you on Geidi Prime. 

“You’re in quite the rush to be rid of me,” He didn’t falter for even a second as he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the plush mattress with a small sigh. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you didn’t like me.” He didn’t seem upset at the notion of you disliking him. In fact, there was a glint in his eyes. That same sort of silvery glint you’d seen in the reverend mother’s eyes all those years ago: a challenge. 

This was nothing but a challenge to him. You were a conquest, and you detested that. Your stomach soured, your face becoming pinched as you glared at him. This was all too much too fast. You were in the comfort of your own home not even four hours ago, and now you were expected to make small talk with the source of your life-long discontent.  

“And what of your concubines? Could you not pester them tonight and give me a moment's peace?” 

“I dismissed them from their duties, permanently, weeks ago.” He said simply, his fingers running along the cotton of the comforter. 

“What?” You’d never heard of such a thing. 

“Spending time with them would be a waste.” His blue eyes flickered up to meet your eyes. “Acquiring concubines had just been a show of status.” 

It took you a few moments to process what he was saying, the burning hatred you had felt just moments ago flickering out into a dull flame. 

“Why would spending time with them be a waste? Am I expected to spend that much time with you?” A horror, truly. You had hoped that you’d be able to get away with spending a night or two a week with him, if only to achieve the Bene Gesserit’s goal of siring an heir. 

“A waste of time. A waste of seed,” He looked at you pointedly, his lip pulling up into a smile that revealed more of his black teeth. “And both of those things are important to me.” 

Your stomach hollowed out as you were once again reminded of what was expected of you. You had a week to prepare mentally for your wedding night, which you weren’t sure was enough. 

“And what happened to the concubines? Are they still being housed here?” 

“Why? Are you jealous?” He was smiling even wider than he was before. 

A shiver ran through you as you noticed how predatory his body language was- you felt like prey under his haughty gaze. It was hard to believe that Feyd had been administered the Gom Jabbar test and passed. 

This man was no human. He was an animal, that you were certain. 

“Wickedly.” Your tone was flat and noncommittal. Even now, you never saw Feyd as a potential lover. 

The man that was your so-called “destiny” was also your jailer. 

“Well then you’ll be happy to know that they no longer live here. . . or anywhere, for that matter.” He sat up, rolling his shoulders back to stretch his broad muscles.

The blood drained from your face as you stared up at him from your spot on the bed. He must have felt the weight of your gaze and turned his head, his eyes alight with. . . pleasure. Violence was as ingrained in him as breathing was. It was his life. Standing before you was the prince of death- pale, striking and terrifying. 

Animal, indeed. 

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. 

please message me if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

A/N: this chapter was plot heavy, I know, however it was crucial to give you guys some background information so that I can better build tension. the beautiful dividers were created by @ kitsunecafe!