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sansaorgana · 4 months ago

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— SISTER'S CHOICE

BROKEN OATH (AU)

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Princess Elaena Targaryen (OC)

SUMMARY — You manage to escape Oldtown after fifteen years of marriage to Ser Gwayne Hightower in order to join your sister Rhaenyra in the upcoming war. Despite the oath given to Rhaenyra, you struggle to be away from your husband and children. Things complicate when you meet Gwayne in the battlefield.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written from the Reader’s perspective but she is a Targaryen and Rhaenyra's younger sister. I did not describe any of her body or face features except for that she has silver hair, lilac eyes and her name is Elaena. The story is quite long already so I haven't described the beginnings of Reader/Elaena with Gwayne or her childhood – you can find them in the "Broken Oath" fanfic (link above), which is an AU of this one (or this one is an AU of "Broken Oath" 🙈). Canon events are treated very loosely here for the purpose of the plot (Rook's Rest for example).

WARNINGS — Reader/Elaena is responsible for the deaths in the battlefield & if you're Team Black you might be unhappy about the ending (+ I don't like Daemon and it shows, sorry)

WORD COUNT — 9,930 (💀)

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

SISTER'S CHOICE

It was quite a long trip from Oldtown to Dragonstone but you hadn’t made any stops and now both you and your dragon were exhausted. The sun was slowly rising when you arrived but you had a weird feeling deep in your guts – some sort of anxiety – before seeing your sister after fifteen years. How would you even greet her now? What would you say? That fear alone was stopping you from landing.

Eventually, you spotted a few people looking out for you from the castle. They had to be wondering what were you doing, circling around Dragonstone without clear intentions. After spotting your sister’s long silver hair in the wind, you decided to order Onyx to land on the sandy beach and you waited for someone to come out and greet you.

Sighing, you looked around and breathed in the fresh air. It felt so odd to be out of Oldtown – you hadn’t left it in fifteen years. Not even once. You had grown so used to it that you nearly missed it now. You certainly missed your children. They had to slowly wake up now and you wondered what your husband would tell them about your sudden absence.

Would they understand? Would they grow up to hate you? They were only children, you couldn’t expect them to comprehend the complicated situation of the upcoming war, the delicacy of your family’s relations. And what kind of mother abandoned her children like that? Perhaps it was true what they were saying about The Targaryens – just like dragons they rode, they were difficult to tame. Even an obedient and dutiful Princess like you still had fire and blood running through her veins.

Finally, you spotted your sister and a few of her guards walking towards you. You took off the hood of your cloak and petted nervous Onyx to calm her down.

“Sister,” Rhaenyra greeted you and you hurried to her side, leaving your dragon behind you. You gave her an anxious smile as your eyes scanned hers carefully.

She had grown older those past fifteen years but you couldn’t help a feeling that she had grown sadder, too. Either way, she was still your sister but also your Queen now.

“You came, Elaena,” Rhaenyra smiled at you nervously.

“My Queen,” you bowed down and the hood of your cloak fell onto your head again. Rhaenyra chuckled at that and approached you to fix it.

“It is green,” she pointed out while caressing the fabric of your cloak when you two were face-to-face now. Then, her fingers moved down to the golden clasp, which was The Hightower emblem.

“Forgive me,” you unclasped the cloak and let it fall down on the sand. “I am here now, by my sister’s side,” you told her.

“Come, we’ll make space for Onyx in the dragonpit,” Rhaenyra smiled at your dragon and tilted her head a little. “She’s as big as Caraxes now, do you know?”

You were surprised. You had no idea that your young and small dragon had grown so big. It was also unexpected that it had happened in Oldtown where Onyx had been alone and you had not been flying on her often either. She had been spoiled with sheep and your affection but that would be it, really. Other than that, she had been pretty bored there.

“I am glad,” you smiled at your sister. You wanted to take her by her arm but something was stopping you – some invisible barrier between you two and it was not because she was The Queen, no.

She had always been your father’s heir to you anyway. You had gotten used to the fact that Rhaenyra was your superior. The barrier was caused by the fifteen years apart. Despite knowing it was your sister, despite sharing the same blood, the same silver hair, the same lilac eyes – it was a stranger walking down the beach with you.

“Why did you come?” Rhaenyra asked, genuinely. The guards left you behind and watched Onyx fly up again to rest in the dragonpit after the long journey.

“You need dragons and dragonriders in the upcoming war with Aegon,” you answered, a little surprised as if you couldn’t understand why she had even asked that. It was obvious, after all.

“You loved him when he was a babe, did you not?” Rhaenyra smiled gently.

“I love him still, just like I love you – and to you I have sworn my loyalty,” you answered.

“Haven’t you sworn it to your husband, too, on your wedding day?” She kept inquiring and you grew uncomfortable with that. You didn’t want her to mention Gwayne because you were trying your hardest not to think of him.

“Are you suspecting I might be my father-in-law’s spy?” You suddenly turned your head around to look deep into her eyes. “If so, you hurt me deeply.”

“I would never suspect that!” Rhaenyra gasped and held your wrist to squeeze it assuringly. “You have been telling me in your letters that your marriage is a good one, that you love your children dearly. And now you are here, with me,” she pointed out.

“The war is coming,” you only shook your head.

Hadn’t she been expecting you to come and join her? In her letter, you had read that between the lines and now she was shocked to see you? When she had been asking for your loyalty and for remembering your oath… What had she been exactly expecting?

However, you had no opportunity to continue this conversation because you reached the castle and your uncle Daemon was waiting there with a very unpleasant expression on his face.

At first, your heart swelled in your chest at the sight of him. You wanted to run up to him and greet him like back in the old days when you had been a young girl and he would bounce you on his knee. But you froze at the sight of him eyeing you up and down as if you were an intruder.

“What does she want?” He asked Rhaenyra and you swallowed thickly at that tone of his voice.

“She is my sister, Daemon. She came to support me,” Rhaenyra explained.

“And you believe her?” Daemon whispered but you could hear him perfectly well.

“I can hear you, Uncle,” you nodded at him and he shot you a cold glance.

“That is King Consort to you. We don’t trust Hightower cunts here,” he drawled out.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra scolded him and you were standing there, petrified.

You were not used to being treated this way. In Oldtown you were a Lady of the town – every man was bowing his head at you, they were showing you nothing but respect and your own Lord Husband would challenge Daemon this very moment if he had heard or seen the way you were treated.

But your Lord Husband was not here because you had abandoned him to join your sister. Your sister – not Daemon. So, you held your head high and clenched your jaw at him.

“I am Princess Elaena Targaryen,” you introduced yourself to him in case he had somehow forgotten. “Lady Hightower, to you, dear Uncle. Lady of Oldtown,” you added even though the last title was not technically yours yet as long as your father-in-law was alive but you had been ruling the city in his name alongside your husband for fifteen years now and everyone called you that.

Daemon, however, found your titles somehow funny. He chuckled at you.

“Onyx has grown, Daemon,” Rhaenyra informed him. There was a hint of harshness in her voice that made shivers go down your spine. Something deeply disturbing was going on between them and you had a feeling her marriage was not as wonderful as she had been describing it to you in her letters. “She’s as big as Caraxes now,” she added.

“But not as experienced,” Daemon dismissed that and laid his eyes on you again. He squinted them and looked you up and down before speaking to you again eventually. “Well, come in, Elaena. We are not in a position to refuse any dragonriders,” he said and turned around to walk away.

You looked at Rhaenyra, questioningly.

“Forgive him, he is nervous about the war and we have also lost our child recently… Our baby girl was born dead,” she sighed and caressed your arm.

“I am so sorry to hear that,” you whispered and gave her a hug. “Still, that gives him no right to speak to you in such a manner. You are his Queen, but, most importantly, his Lady Wife,” you explained. “Such manners are shocking to me.”

“It makes me glad,” Rhaenyra answered mysteriously and you furrowed your brow, “for it means that you had never experienced such treatment from your husband.”

You were given your own chambers in the part of the castle reserved for the royal family and you knew that it was the highest standard for Dragonstone but you missed your chambers in Oldtown dearly. The comfort was incomparable… The Hightower was cosier and warmer – it was full of wood and colours instead of the cold, grey stone. The Reach was warmer overall and the sound of the waves was soothing there, meanwhile in Dragonstone the stormy weather was keeping you up all night.

Not just the sound of the raging sea but also thoughts of your family. Each evening you were crying yourself to sleep, imagining the bedtime of your children, remembering all the rituals Gwayne was doing before going to sleep and you missed them dearly. You especially missed laying in your bed together and discussing your day – trying to work out some problems around Oldtown or with your children… Sometimes gossipping together. And now, you were squeezing your pillow tight and trying to communicate with your husband telepathically. Yet, you still had no idea what you would tell him if it was possible.

He hadn’t written you any letter and you couldn’t blame him since you left Oldtown without even a note on his desk. Yet, each time there were new letters coming to Dragonstone, you were expecting to see the familiar green envelope and your husband’s handwriting; begging you to come back. Gwayne, however, had his pride and you couldn’t be sad or angry about it now because you had always admired him for it.

Seeing Rhaenyra’s relationship with Daemon was only making you miss Gwayne more. He was a Lord Husband that so many women could only dream of – even The Queen of The Seven Kingdoms, apparently.

Daemon was not the only person treating you with a hint of mistrust. Your aunt Princess Rhaenys was by your side but even young Jacaerys was staring at you without a word most of the time even though you had been playing with him and bouncing him on your knee when he had been a babe.

It was not easy to get used to all of this – the coldness and emptiness of your chambers, the treatment of others. From the beloved Lady of Oldtown to a mistrusted Princess, a prodigal sister.

Your loyalty and surname that had been given to you through marriage was being brought up regularly, mostly by Daemon – especially during dinnertime or supper.

“It was not my choice to marry a Hightower and even if it was… I married Gwayne fifteen years ago. No one could have suspected this war…” You rolled your eyes at one more remark by the dinner table.

“Don’t be naive, Elaena!” Daemon snapped. “Everyone has suspected. That was the very reason why Otto Hightower sent you to his son in Oldtown.”

You didn’t answer and you felt the eyes of everyone staring at you and expecting some sort of remark. Daemon smirked at your silence, feeling like the winner.

“I am not used to being yelled at and treated in such a way. And I am certainly not used to dinnertime being a battle between the family members,” you stated calmly.

“Go back to Oldtown then,” Daemon scoffed. “If you find it so insufferable here, then go back to your husband. Do you think he is going to greet you with open arms after such betrayal?” He laughed and shook his head while taking a sip of the wine. “He is going to greet you with his sword instead, Princess,” he mocked your title and you swallowed your food thickly, feeling your stomach turning upside down.

Daemon had only voiced out the anxiety that you had been having for some time now – that Gwayne did not miss you at all. That he did not feel nothing but anger at you and that he would kill you at the very first opportunity. After all, you had hurt his pride and you had stained his honour and these things mattered to him more than anything else – except for your children, of course.

Your marriage had been good but it didn’t change the fact it was an arranged union and not a love match. Sometimes, though… Sometimes, laying in your bed, here, in Dragonstone, tossing and turning, you were quite sure that you had grown to love him, which was quite ironic to have such thoughts now when you had already ruined everything between you two. But you were sure he was not having the same thoughts about you anyway.

“My sister is more than welcome here,” Rhaenyra gave her husband a scolding look and squeezed your hand. You smiled at her, gratefully.

But the thing with Rhaenyra was that despite being The Queen, no one really seemed to care about it. No one except for you, Rhaenys and Daemon’s daughters. All the men, though, were still doing everything their own way. And Rhaenyra herself could not find any solution to deal with that, which made you wonder if she would really be a good Queen…

Not that you had ever voiced that out for it would be treason. You loved your sister and you were obliged to serve her because of the oath you had sworn. But still, you sometimes couldn’t help feeling that she was not a strong leader. On the other hand, it was not that surprising because she had no real experience in such matters and when things had gotten difficult in King’s Landing, she had fled to Dragonstone instead of staying in The Red Keep and learning how to be a good ruler.

The death of Lucerys had shaken everyone. The very first victim of the conflict being such a young and innocent boy… You were speechless and you had no words of comfort to offer. You were a mother, too, and you just couldn’t imagine what Rhaenyra had to feel.

You locked yourself in your chambers instead and spent your whole day staring at the small portrait you had taken with yourself from Oldtown. It was a portrait in the size of a locket and it was of your own four children – twelve years old Steffon Hightower with silver hair and lilac eyes standing next to his nine years old brother Loras Hightower who was a copy of his father with his auburn hair and blue eyes. The girls were sitting on the carpet – six years old Lysa Hightower with her father’s auburn hair and your lilac eyes and three years old Roslin Hightower with silver hair and blue eyes. You felt the warm tears streaming down your cheeks and all you really wanted was to hold them and make sure they were alright.

Sometimes you regretted your decision to flee from Oldtown. Perhaps you should have been an obedient and loyal wife like your mother had always been teaching you to be. It would save you lots of trouble.

Fifteen years earlier, before your departure to marry Gwayne, Rhaenyra had confessed to you that she had wished to be more like you – less rebellious, less stubborn. Meanwhile, you had always wished to be more like her and now you kind of were but you finally understood the price for it, too.

It was Princess Rhaenys that came to your chambers on that day. She sighed at the sight of you and approached you with a soft smile. She took the small portrait from your hands and took a look at the faces of your children.

“How accurate is it?” She asked.

“Very,” you sniffled your tears back. “I sleep with it under my pillow every night. And by day, I have them close to my heart,” you confessed.

“They’re very beautiful children,” Rhaenys sat next to you on the edge of your bed and handed you the portrait back. “What are they like?”

You knew she was trying to help you. She wanted you to talk about your children and let out all the tears that no one else in the castle would want to see now. Not even Rhaenyra because she was grieving her own loss. Meanwhile, your children were safe and sound in Oldtown but your heart was in grief anyway. You were grateful that your aunt wanted to hear about them because you felt like it was expected from you to not express any feelings towards The Hightowers, Oldtown, your husband or your offspring at all. Each display of affection or a hint of the fact that you were missing them was perceived as an act of treason.

You had sacrificed so much for them but no one seemed to understand the significance of it. No one except for Rhaenys and Rhaenyra but they were only two and against many.

“You would like Steffon the most, I think,” you caressed his little face on your portrait. “A true Targaryen, look at him. And he is so…” you chuckled through the tears. “So brave and bold. He’s going to be a knight like his father and, somehow, I have a feeling he’s going to be a dragonrider, too. I don’t know how but he’s determined enough to claim one,” you assured her. “And then there’s Loras…” Your fingers moved to your second son. “He inherited all the kindness and goodness and gentleness from Gwayne. From me, too, I assume. There is not a mean bone in his body. And my girls…” You moved your hand down and sighed. “That is Lysa, the one with auburn hair. And the little one with silver hair is Roslin. They… They were spending their whole days following me around and clinging to my skirts… I have no idea how they are managing now…” You sobbed and hid your face in your hands.

Rhaenys put her arm around you and pulled you closer as she rubbed your back to soothe you. She leaned in to kiss your temple.

“Their mother is strong and brave. She is righteous,” she whispered. “One day, they will understand it and forgive you. You had this calling in you, the calling to join your sister for you are a Targaryen, you are a dragonrider. We are never only mothers and wives and proper ladies. We are wild creatures, Elaena. Just like our dragons,” she lifted your chin up, forcing you to look into her eyes.

“I thought of taking them with me but… But they’re safer in Oldtown, far away from here. And Gwayne… Well, he would hunt me down and kill me for that, I am sure. He is a devoted father,” you tried to explain yourself but no matter how much you were doing so, you still felt like a terrible mother.

“You were right to leave them with him then,” Rhaenys caressed your arms. “Your husband will protect them and of that you are sure, I can see. They are safe there.”

“When this war ends, when we win…” Your lower lip trembled. “I will be allowed to reunite with my family, right? Rhaenyra will allow me?” You asked, a little unsurely.

“I am rather convinced that after we win this war, you are going to remain the Lady of Oldtown,” Rhaenys nodded and kissed your forehead. “You’re going to raise your children there and watch them grow happily.”

“And… And my Lord Husband?” You sniffled, while Rhaenys tilted her head. “I mean… He has to die, right?”

“I highly doubt Daemon would allow it any other way,” Rhaenys told you.

“Whatever he might be saying, he is not The King,” you reminded her.

“That decision will not be Rhaenyra’s to make. Daemon and Gwayne will most likely meet on the battlefield sooner or later,” your aunt reminded you and fixed your hair delicately. “You must think of your husband as dead from now on if you want to survive this,” she added and stood up to leave your chambers.

You knew that she had meant that with the best intentions but it only made you sob even more. You took another look at the portrait of your children and your heart squeezed in your chest. What was giving you a guarantee that Daemon would not hurt your babies, too? He seemed to be filled with an ugly desire to wipe all Hightowers out from this world.

Weeks had passed and you had grown colder and sharper lately. Daemon was not around any longer for he had left for Harrenhal, which was helpful, but if he was still in Dragonstone, you would surely be ready to confront him each time now. You were confronting everyone else whenever they doubted you and on multiple occasions you had confronted them to defend your sister, too.

You still missed your family but all those lonely nights had made you turn pretty heartless sometimes. All those suppressed feelings and regrets had made you a woman who was holding her head high and who was more and more sure of her skills. You were flying Onyx every day now to strengthen your bond even more and it was giving you lots of confidence.

Despite the fondness you still felt towards your marriage, you knew aunt Rhaenys had been right and the marriage was over now. You also realised how much you had missed out in those past fifteen years. You had been living more like a Hightower than a Targaryen. Your husband was a good and kind man but still – he had been trying to tame the dragon blood inside of you. You had not been riding Onyx enough and your High Valyrian had become rusty. Now you were finding your old self back again and all the pain you were feeling because of missing your children only fueled you to be even colder and sharper towards all of those who were doubting you.

When you entered the hall where the council was gathered, everyone nodded their heads at you and you didn’t even bother to nod back. As the Lady of Oldtown you had been respected but you had always been kind in return, too. In Dragonstone everything seemed to be turned upside down.

But why would Princess Elaena Targaryen bow down to any of these men inside the castle that had belonged to her ancestors for centuries now? It was your home – perhaps not in the same domesticated way as The Hightower but Dragonstone was your blood’s home and you would not bow down to anyone inside of it except for the monarch.

The only person you bowed at was of course Rhaenyra herself – your Queen, your sister. Not a perfect Queen and only slightly better sister but you had sworn to her and you valued honour just like your Lord Husband did.

“The battle is coming,” she explained to you as she pointed at the table with the map of Westeros because you were late to the gathering after flying on Onyx for a little too long this evening. “Tomorrow, the armies will clash around Rook’s Rest,” she added and pointed at the place.

“That is close,” you tilted your head. “But the castle has no significance to us, does it?”

“We have already lost enough and we cannot lose more!” one of the Lords protested. “It’s about our honour, my Princess.”

“I want to send a dragon,” Rhaenyra moved one of the stone dragons on the map to put it alongside the Black Army. “I do not intend to use it in battle. No burning, no crushing. I do not wish to be remembered as the first side of this conflict who used a dragon to kill her enemies because once we use them as weapons, the destruction from both sides will be unstoppable,” she explained and the Lords from her council sighed and rolled their eyes.

Those foolish, non-Targaryen men really wanted Rhaenyra’s dragons to cause slaughter, not understanding the possible consequences.

“The dragon will be there to patrol the battlefield – it will be there just in case the Greens send their own, too. And it will be there to intimidate the enemy. Intimidate only,” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“I shall go,” Baela spoke up and everyone laid their eyes on her but you spotted that Rhaenyra was unsure. Baela was like a daughter to her and even if the dragon was not supposed to actually participate in any fighting, it still was a risky business to go.

“I shall go,” you straightened your back and now everyone looked at you. Baela was visibly unhappy with that, too. She wanted to prove herself.

“But…” She started.

“Onyx is bigger than Moondancer,” you told her. “And I am older. This is far too dangerous for you.”

“But…” She sighed again and looked at Rhaenyra in a way that suggested she knew something you had no idea of. “Who is going to tell The Princess?”

“Who is going to tell me what?” You shook your head questioningly as you looked at all the gathered members of the council. The men clasped their hands and looked down or they tried to avoid your gaze in different ways; looking through or behind you, turning their heads away and clearing their throats. “Who is going to tell me what?” You repeated the question, irritated now.

“Elaena,” Rhaenys finally spoke up and you looked at her, “it is your husband who leads The Green army now, so we have been informed. Your father-in-law called for him and Ser Gwayne Hightower came all the way from Oldtown to lead the army of his nephew.”

You blinked a few times at that revelation, still not processing it fully.

“And Cole?” You asked.

“Aegon named him his new Hand,” Rhaenyra informed you. “He was summoned back to King’s Landing.”

“And Otto?” You furrowed your brow.

“Probably on his way back to Oldtown, Gods only know,” Rhaenyra scoffed. “It doesn’t matter now, Elaena. What matters is that your husband leads the enemy’s army.”

Short silence occurred and you knew that everyone was observing your reaction carefully as if they were inspecting you. But those past few weeks you had learnt how to keep a poker face on. Your jaw was clenched as you discretely wiped your sweaty hands in your skirts.

“I shall go,” you nodded, surely.

“Elaena…” Rhaenyra gave you a meaningful look as if she was scolding you. “I do not think this is a good idea.”

“It must be. It is my husband,” you explained.

“Do you think he might stop his army from attacking at the sight of you?” Jacaerys asked you but you spotted a hint of mockery in his voice.

“I do not know. It might motivate him further to attack, it might want him to stop or it might make him indifferent,” you admitted, truthfully. “But it must be me going there,” you insisted, looking deep into your sister’s eyes.

You desperately wanted her to understand that it was important for you to see him again – even if it would be under such circumstances.

Rhaenyra nodded and you cracked a smile although some men were whispering between each other about this decision but you decided to pretend not to hear it.

“You shall leave at dawn,” Rhaenyra told you. “But, Elaena, remember – do not attack, do you hear me? If The Greens bring their own dragon and they use it, only then you are allowed to join the fight,” she pointed her finger at you.

“I understand,” you nodded your head. It was the reason why you wanted to do it – because it meant patrolling and intimidating only, not the real fight.

“Good. I trust you, sister,” Rhaenyra smiled at you.

“Thank you, my Queen.”

In the morning, you didn’t even have breakfast, too nervous for the upcoming battle. You let your maids braid your hair according to the Valyrian customs and you wore an armour that had been made for you recently. It would be the first time you'd actually wear it outside.

The armour was made of black metal with the ornaments made of Valyrian steel. It was light and feminine but it was intimidating, too, and surely worthy of a dragonrider. You insisted on the black colour because of Onyx’s scales.

You hid the small portrait of your children inside your armour and you looked at yourself one more time in the mirror. You couldn’t help but smile although it was difficult to recognise yourself like this.

“I am a dragon,” you whispered to yourself and lifted your chin up. “I am a Targaryen Princess and I am a dragon blood, a dragon rider – a dragon myself,” you repeated, trying to motivate yourself and with a deep breath, you left the chambers as fast as possible to go to the dragonpit.

Onyx was already waiting for you and a brand new saddle had been placed upon her back – it was matching your black armour. She purred at the sight of you and you petted her nose the way she liked it.

“We have a job to do, my girl,” you told her. “We have to scare Gwayne a little,” you chuckled and she huffed in a way that resembled laughter, too.

With a smile, you jumped on her back and you flew out of Dragonstone. Onyx roared when you were up in the sky as if she was saying farewell.

It didn’t take long to get to Rook’s Rest on a dragonback but the closer you were to your destination, the more nervous you were becoming. You saw from a distance the banners of the two armies and you could hear the clinging sounds of their armours in the wind, the battlecries and the cannons.

They were starting the battle already when you arrived and Onyx announced you with a long and loud roar. You straightened yourself and looked down proudly, with a smirk on your face. Everything froze below you for a moment and then a thunderous cheer greeted you amongst the Black Army.

It was a powerful feeling, you had to admit. No experience of yours could match with it – no memory from when you had been The Royal Princess living in King’s Landing, no memory of your recent time now in Dragonstone and not even any memory of yours from Oldtown where you had been the Lady Hightower.

No amount of respect and power that had ever been shown towards you could match to what you were feeling now – you felt pretty invincible, in fact. And you knew it was bold of you and it was only caused by the sudden rush of adrenaline but in that moment you felt like The Queen yourself. Like you could challenge Rhaenyra and Aegon both – after all, you were their sister, too. Your father had been The King and you were a Targaryen. You had been born to rule over those people below you – those small figures that resembled ants in comparison to your Onyx and its fire.

It was scary how easy it was to forget that you were one of those ants, too.

You ignored the cheers of the Black Army and you looked down at The Greens, searching for one person only – obviously. And you spotted him as your heart skipped a beat.

Gwayne was sitting on his horse in his beautiful armour that you had always admired. Even from this great height you could see that he was looking up with fear in his eyes. You smirked and Onyx roared once again, more angrily this time. The Green Army was panicking as the men were shouting at each other and some were trying to hide.

All the time stopped for you for a short while, though. Your eyes were fixed on your Lord Husband only – it had been a few long weeks apart from him. You wondered what was going inside his head at the moment but most likely it was nothing but a paralysing fear. It was a painful death to die in the fire and he had been telling you about it a few times before that it was one of his fears whenever you had teased him about using Onyx against him. Now, it was no longer a banter between a married couple but reality.

You didn’t want to torment him any more. You ordered Onyx to fly away and leave The Greens alone for now as you went back higher in the skies to patrol the battle. Despite giving them a sign that you were not there to kill them, from the corner of your eye, you spotted that some of the cannons of the Green Army were now aimed at you and Onyx.

Gwayne, however, shaking out of his state of fear, ordered them to turn around and aim at the castle and The Blacks instead. You smiled to yourself and kept circling up in the air as Onyx roared.

Despite your strong bond with her, you could feel how uneasy she was, how impatient. It surprised you because Onyx was a young dragon and she had no experience in battle. In fact, you had suspected her to shy away or get scared at the sight the real fight. And now, your girl seemed to be pretty bold and angry as she huffed and puffed, while her muscles tensed.

“Lykirī, Onyx, lykirī,” you ordered as you patted her neck to calm her down but you had to admit that her restlessness was making you feel worried if you were even able to fully control her after all.

She roared and lowered herself. You squinted your eyes to observe the battle but you had to shout Lykirī! all the time at your dragon because she seemed to be more than eager to join the fight. The sight of her and the sounds she was making seemed to work, though. The Greens were terrified and kept looking up all the time to make sure she wouldn’t burn them all any second. Your intimidation plan seemed to be working better than you had expected.

A few times during the battle, you found Gwayne’s eyes somehow and he would look up back at you but then he would ride away on his horse. Each time, your heart clenched inside your chest and Onyx had to feel it because it was when she was growing the most uneasy.

So far, it was the Green Army that had been winning battle after battle but now they seemed to be too distracted by the dragon flying overhead. It was not the fault of your husband’s leadership – your knowledge of warfare was little but you could see even from up there that most of his orders and ideas were good. It was just simply not enough when a huge beast was a constant deathly treat. The morales were simply too low and you could see that some knights even tried to desert the battlefield in a desperate attempt to save themselves from your hypothetical dragonfire. Meanwhile, The Blacks were not as organised but they felt more confident than ever with The Targaryen Princess watching over them.

“Lykirī, Onyx!” You shouted at your dragon when you felt that her neck was tensing as if she was about to let out the fire. “What’s wrong with you, girl?” You hummed to yourself and leaned in to pat her neck and then you froze at the sight below you.

Gwayne was not wearing his helmet anymore and he was no longer in the saddle. You couldn’t spot his horse but he was surrounded by the Black Army knights. He was fighting them bravely but he was alone against four men and it was a hopeless struggle yet he refused to give up and become their prisoner. You looked around and spotted that most of the Green knights that remained in the battlefield were struggling in a similar way to your husband. You knew very well how it would end now. It would be the very first victory of your army and Rook’s Rest would be defended.

But at what price?

You could see Gwayne’s face more clearly now as Onyx lowered herself even further. He was exhausted and bruised, dirty from the mud and blood and his lip was cut. You had to fight an urge inside of you to just run into his arms, to hold him again, to kiss him, to be with him.

But, so far, it looked like you would never be able to do it since he would lose soon. And you would continue your life with the image of him dying in the battlefield – you would continue your life with regret of leaving him and then doing absolutely nothing to help him in the battlefield.

Onyx groaned loudly and exposed her claws and teeth. You were about to calm her down again and then you noticed something that you had not noticed before – she was not trying to attack the Green Army but… the Black one.

You froze as you realised that her eyes were fixated on the knights carrying your sister’s banners. The fire forming in the depths of her throat was aimed at the men gathered near the castle walls and trying to stop the attack of Gwayne’s army.

Onyx was not loyal to Rhaenyra, after all. Onyx was your dragon and she was loyal to you only. You were her mistress and her rider. She knew you better than anyone else.

Some of the knights of the Black Army cheered at you and your dragon – so confident and sure of themselves that they hadn’t noticed that Onyx’s anger was aimed at them. You squinted your eyes at the black banners of Rhaenyra and then the few of the remaining green ones of Aegon.

Gods damn it, you thought. You loved them both – your sister and your brother. But you also did not really care about any of them being the ruler of Westeros because you were not close with any of them. You had been close to your sister but that was fifteen years ago and now she was like a stranger to you. Aegon had been a baby when you left to Oldtown. Your real family – the man you loved, the father of your children – he was down there, struggling, and surely about to die soon if you wouldn’t do anything to help him.

“Dracarys, Onyx,” you ordered after taking a deep breath in. You watched as if you were outside of your own body how her fire destroyed half of the Black Army in mere seconds. You blinked a few times, still detached physically and mentally from the scene that you were responsible for.

Your dragon seemed to have lots of fun, though. She landed on the ground, crushing a few Black knights on the way. The remaining ones were widening their eyes, too terrified to move or they were trying to run away. Onyx did not need your commands anymore, she just kept on burning them as her waving tail destroyed the castle’s tower, killing dozens of men in the process. You were sitting in the saddle with your back straightened and your chin high, looking over death and destruction with the poker face you had mastered the previous weeks.

You had just become the murderer and the destroyer – the very first person in this war who used her dragon as a weapon. And yet, you felt nothing. Perhaps the regret would come later but all that mattered to you now was that Gwayne was safe again. The remaining Green knights ran up to him and helped him to defeat his enemies and then they stood behind their commander while watching the scene in terror.

When the Black Army was defeated by Onyx nearly single-handedly, you turned her around to face the remaining knights by your husband’s side and Gwayne himself. Onyx roared at them and you could hear that she was happy to see them but they didn’t know her the way you did, therefore they remained terrified. After all, you could have been a maniac who would kill everyone, right?

You were a Targaryen, after all.

You enjoyed their fear for a short while and then you ordered Onyx to lay down and she did so, allowing you to dismount her. Your legs were a bit shaky from all the hours in the saddle and all the emotions but you managed to do it gracefully enough.

You turned around to look into Gwayne’s blue eyes. They were filled with shock and terror but you ignored that completely, finally doing something you had wanted to do for weeks now.

You ran up to him and straight into his arms, nearly knocking him off on the ground as your armours clashed loudly. The knights surrounding him were observing the scene carefully, too scared to react in any way since your Onyx had just given the show of what she was capable of.

Now, however, she looked pretty adorable and innocent as she seemed to take a small nap in the middle of the battlefield full of ashes and blood.

“My Lord,” you cupped your husband’s face and he looked into your eyes with a hint of sadness that you could had expected. However, you were glad that it was sadness instead of anger. “Will you ever forgive me for abandoning you?” You asked, nearly innocently, while biting on your lip as if you weren’t responsible for all this death and destruction below your feet.

Gwayne looked nervously at Onyx napping behind your back and cracked a sad smile at you.

“Do I have a choice, my Lady Wife?” He tried to make a joke as he put his hands on your waist. “If I say no, you will order your dragon to burn me.”

“Onyx would never burn you,” you shook your head with a chuckle as you sniffled your tears back. “That dragon is more difficult to manage than I expected.”

“She is just like you then, my Princess,” Gwayne raised one of his hands to caress your cheek. His touch was gentle like he could not believe that you were really there, standing in front of him.

“She is my dragon, after all. Onyx knows my heart – I could lie to myself but I could never lie to her,” you nodded and then you looked around. “What a mess I have caused.”

“Indeed,” Gwayne only nodded and took his hand away from you.

He turned around and ordered his men to look for the wounded knights and to go for the castle since it was practically left for the taking now. They had to put the new banners on the walls now. You kept standing there and waiting for him to finish so you would be left alone to talk now. When it happened, he looked at you with a sigh and you cracked a smile at his handsome face even though it was bruised and dirty.

“I had to leave. She is my sister, I have sworn to her, she needed me,” you explained.

“I know,” Gwayne nodded. “It broke my heart, Elaena, but I understood. At least some part of me did. I could not understand how you could leave our children like that,” he approached you and you looked away, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“How are they? What have you told them?”

“They are safe,” Gwayne assured you. “They miss you…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I have lied to them… Well, not really. I have told them that you went to visit your sister. That it was an urgent family matter and you had no time to say farewell but you would be back… Soon,” Gwayne explained. “They are too young to know about the war so they believed me.”

“I doubt Steffon did. He is ten and two now, of course he knows about the war,” you pointed out and shyly looked up. “I shall go to them, even today. I shall take Onyx and go back to Oldtown to hold my children and…” You stopped when you realised something painful. “Of course, that is, if you allow me,” you fixed yourself.

“You are the Lady of Oldtown, I would never forbid you from the city,” Gwayne shook his head. “And you are their mother, they need you.”

“Yes, but so do you. Especially now,” you explained. “After seeing our children, I shall come back to you. I shall accompany you in each battle from now on. I have started something you have no idea of… Now Rhaenyra will make sure to send her dragons to war, too. Her pain and anger will be great from my betrayal,” you pointed out.

“Why did you betray her?” Gwayne asked, raising his eyebrow. “You have sworn to her, haven’t you? What made you change your mind to support King Aegon instead?”

“Fuck Aegon!” You dismissed him and he widened his eyes. “And fuck Rhaenyra. I don’t care about any of them.”

“You shall not be heard saying such things,” Gwayne chuckled nervously.

“They are my siblings, I can speak whatever of them,” you shrugged your arms. “I am by your side only,” you confessed and you looked away.

You knew it was a bit stupid to confess such things when you were the one who had abandoned him without a word of a warning or any explanation. You should be grateful that he was talking to you instead of cutting your head off – as your Lord Husband he had every right to after your stunt and since you were technically a traitor to both of the sides, no one would even punish him for killing you.

But Gwayne moved even closer to you and grabbed your wrist to squeeze it, which made you look up at him shyly again.

“I love you, Elaena. And please, do forgive me that it took me losing you to finally say it out loud. And if it took you running away to realise the same about me, then I can be only grateful for this experience. You are a dragon, my Princess, and I am sorry for forgetting about that,” he whispered.

You couldn’t believe your ears… He was apologising to you?!

“Do not be too greedy, Lord Husband. Do you really expect me to admit out loud that I love you as if I haven’t just betrayed my own army for you? Is that not enough?” You chuckled and so did he, awkwardly. He leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon the palm of your hand and then he caressed it lovingly. You could feel the longing and yearning in those gestures. “I’ve missed you,” you confessed. “I’ve missed us.”

“So have I,” Gwayne kissed your forehead. It was not proper to exchange such affections in public but you were in the middle of the battlefield so you did not bother to care about it. “But it would be my greatest wish for you to stay in Oldtown after coming back there. I do not want you on the battlefield, Elaena.”

“You can’t stop me,” you shrugged your arms and squeezed his wrists lovingly.

“Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?” He tried a different approach as he smirked at you.

“Watch me,” you smirked back and gently kissed him on the lips.

You hurried through the halls of The Hightower while all the maids and servants were staring at you with widened eyes. They certainly had not expected to ever see you again but no one was trying to stop you. You rushed to the nursery room where all your children had been gathered after your arrival. You had changed from your armour into a comfortable dress and had ordered your maids that you wanted to see your sons and daughters.

You finally pushed the doors open and tears of joy streamed down your cheeks at the sight of their faces. Loras, Lysa and Roslin hurried to you with big smiles and hugged you tightly. You crouched down to squeeze them all lovingly.

“Mummy!” Little Roslin seemed to be the happiest and she was practically shaking at the sight of you. Your heart ached for her when you kissed her all over her tiny face.

“We’re so happy to see you again, Mother,” Loras greeted you like a big boy and you cracked a smile at him before kissing his forehead.

“I am so happy to see you again, too, my love. I’ve missed you terribly,” you confessed, looking at Steffon from the corner of your eye. The silver haired boy was keeping his distance from you and staring at you questioningly. “Steffon?” You called for him and he walked up to you reluctantly.

“Mother,” he only said and kissed your cheek before moving away. “Does father know that you’re here?”

“Of course,” you furrowed your brow at him. “I saw him yesterday,” you nodded at him but he didn’t look convinced.

“And how was the time with your sister?” Lysa asked and you kissed her cheeks.

“It was good,” you nodded with a sad smile. “But I regretted that I couldn’t be with you.”

“Will you stay now?” Loras asked and you caressed his head gently.

“I wish I could but I have to join your father,” you explained. “We will be back soon. Together,” you assured him.

“Father left for the war,” Steffon pointed out.

“And I must, too. I am a Targaryen and a dragonrider, my darling,” you tried to explain. “Either way, let’s not dwell on that now. We have a whole day to spend together,” you squeezed the hands of your girls.

You didn’t leave your children even for a second for the whole day and in the evening you allowed them to sleep with you in your chambers that you share with Gwayne. Since he was not in Oldtown, there was a lot of empty space in the bed. Steffon did not join you in the evening, though, and for the whole day he was roaming around but never actively spending his time with you either. It was hurting you deeply but you wanted to give him space and you were aware that he was old enough to realise more than you’d like him to. You could not blame him for being angry.

Watching your sweet babies sleep, you could not drift off to the land of dreams yourself. You had spent the previous night in the arms of your husband after weeks of being apart and it had surely helped you to fall asleep but now you were being haunted by the visions of what had happened in the battlefield and of what Rhaenyra’s reaction had to be after hearing about your betrayal.

You were laying on your back and staring at the ceiling when the doors creaked as they opened and you lifted yourself on your elbows to see the intruder. It was Steffon.

“Mother?” He whispered. “Are you asleep?”

“No, my love. Come in,” you whispered back and carefully left the bed, making sure not to wake up the rest of your children.

You approached your son and put your hands on his shoulders. The night was cold, therefore there was a fire burning in the fireplace. You brought him closer and you both sat on a fluffy carpet there. Steffon avoided your gaze but you could see he was dying to ask you something.

“What is it, my love?” You fixed his silver hair gently.

“I know what the war is about and that you left to see your sister…” He mumbled out quietly. “You chose her. Not us,” he pointed out and dared to look up, his lilac eyes meeting yours.

“No, I chose you. You have no idea what I have done, the choice I have made,” you nodded at him and caressed his cheek with your finger. “I left to see her, she is my sister, my blood. I grew up alongside her, we share the same father and the same mother. But there was a hole in my chest because I missed you and… And I missed your father, too,” you confessed.

“I have never seen him sadder,” Steffon said and your heart clenched inside your chest. “I knew it was not about you visiting your sister. I knew immediately you had abandoned us.”

“I know you are angry at me now and you have every right to be. And I know how much children hate it when they are being told that but one day you shall understand it. Because you are a Targaryen, perhaps the most out of all my children,” you smiled at him.

“Because of my hair and eyes?”

“No, my love. All of my children are as Targaryen as Hightower. But you have the spirit… The fire,” you told him. “I love all my children dearly but you are a dragon,” you nodded.

“Do you have to leave again?” He asked and his lilac eyes filled with tears.

“I’ll be back,” you promised. “But I’m a dragonrider and when the war calls, I am on the go,” you explained. “Your father needs me by his side and King Aegon needs more dragons.”

Steffon sniffed his tears back and he finally moved closer to hug you. You wrapped your arms around him and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

In the evening of the very next day you were already dismounting Onyx in King’s Landing. All that travelling had been exhausting for you and her but it was necessary. You patted her and allowed her to rest in the dragonpit as you were being escorted to The Red Keep by a few guards.

You were wearing your armour again even though it felt a bit wrong to wear the armour that Rhaenyra had requested to be made for you so you could fight the war for her.

Gwayne was waiting for you by the gates to the castle. You smiled widely at the sight of him and you ran up to your husband as he ordered the guards to walk away because he would escort you to The King himself.

“And how was it?” He asked you after kissing the palm of your hand.

“Only Steffon knew, just as I suspected,” you sighed. “But we have explained everything to each other. I believe he has forgiven me or at least he is no longer cross with me,” you nodded. “I miss them again but the pain is less when I know I am with you,” you smiled and Gwayne took you by your arm to lead you to the council meeting.

“You have become quite a controversial figure, my Princess,” he informed you and you chuckled nervously.

“I do wonder why,” you tried to joke.

The doors were opened in front of you and you were announced as Princess Elaena Targaryen, Lady Hightower while everyone was staring at you.

The man sitting right in front of you had to be your brother Aegon because he was taking your father’s seat by the table. You bowed down at him and after a short while of silence, he laughed and clapped his hands.

“Sister!” He greeted you so happily that you were nearly suspecting an ambush. He stood up and rushed to your side to wrap his arms tightly around you. “Sister Elaena! How good it is to see you again! Do you remember me?” He took a step back and looked deep into your eyes, hoping for a positive answer like an excited puppy.

You cracked a smile at him and dared to move your hand up to brush a single silver hair strand behind his ear in a motherly way.

“Of course I do, my King,” you nodded. “You were a small babe then but I remember it fondly,” you assured him and it was no lie. “You loved to sit on my lap by the table and eat all the sweets that I was spoiling you with despite our father’s scolding looks. It was always our secret how many cakes you ate,” you reminded him and Aegon grinned at you.

“This is my sister!” He pointed his finger at you after turning around to face his council. “My sister who has burnt Rhaenyra’s army for me. Her loyalty shall not be questioned,” he announced and walked away to sit on his chair again.

You didn’t want to correct him that you hadn’t burnt anyone for him because it would be a political suicide to do so. You only cracked a smile at your husband. You didn’t expect the greeting to go so smoothly. Aegon seemed to be very desperate for any sort of attention or affection.

“Princess Elaena’s loyalty shall still be proven,” the tall young man without one eye smirked at you. That had to be your brother Aemond, whom you hadn’t met.

You sighed and rolled your eyes at that. Each side had their Daemon, apparently.

“I will be proving my loyalty to The King, brother. I do not owe you anything for we are equals,” you reminded him with a smirk, too.

Suddenly, Queen Alicent stood up and approached you to give you a warm hug. You hugged her back even though you were surprised by that welcome from her.

“We are happy to have you back,” she said and you spotted honesty alongside the sadness in her big, brown eyes. You nodded your head at her.

“My Queen,” you greeted her.

“Queen Dowager,” she fixed you. “Helaena is The Queen now. Do you remember her?”

“Of course,” you smiled at the image of tiny Helaena from your memories. “I would love to see her.”

“After the meeting,” Queen Alicent nodded and pointed at the empty chair for you. Gwayne stood behind you as if he was your sworn guard.

Well, as your Lord Husband, he was.

After the meeting of King Aegon’s council, you went to Queen Helaena’s chambers with Queen Alicent.

“Helaena, you have a guest,” her mother opened the doors gently. “It is your sister, Princess Elaena.”

After that introduction, you walked inside and bowed your head in front of your younger sister. She was standing by the window and turned her head around as her eyes widened at the sight of you.

“An oath-breaker,” she greeted you in a mysterious way that made a chill go down your spine. “You bring death and destruction.”

You had no idea how to answer that and you looked at Alicent, searching for some sort of explanation but she only blushed and looked down, uncomfortably.

“Our Queen often speaks in riddles,” she told you.

“No, your majesty,” you shook your head, “I do know very well what our Queen means.”

MASTERLIST

#gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x oc #targaryen oc #lilysfiction

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boop-le-snoot · 3 months ago

Text

kinktober #1

Lovesong

Clean water. A bedroll that didn't reek of mildew and filthy iron. Clean clothing, practically a luxury in current circumstances. The villager who had brought it was a small, mousy thing with a baby strapped to her chest, with it being the probable reason uruks left her alone and let her pass throughout the camp unbothered. The southern folk had a variety of coloured fabrics unlike anything encountered by most non-nobles in the West lands. Including you.

You carefully wrapped up your new clothes in your threadbare towel and gathered your necessities before exiting your temporary dwelling. A nearby uruk gave you an appraising glance and, having received your nod, gestured in the appropriate direction. It was not a secret you were a favourite amongst the many slaves and servants. Truthfully, you were never a slave in the first place, but those were semantics that hardly mattered. You worked for your keep like everyone else.

The bathing area was guarded by two Uruks, ones you knew, and they knew you. Greetings were exchanged and the two traded a quick salacious glance as they let you pass through the thick shrubbery surrounding the pools of hot springs. It was a blessing for your party to stumble upon them during your wandering through the Southlands.

Despite their normal state of battle-rugged filth, Uruks did like to bathe. Sure, their standards of cleanliness were much different from humans, and even further than those of Elves, but such was their wild nature. Uruks could be no more at fault for their habits than races considered noble.

It was this realisation that brought you to know the strange scarred Elf sat sprawled against the side of the basin. At least you guessed he was an Elf, or had been, at some point. His rangy, sharp features and pointed ears coupled with the scarring covering every inch of his body made for a mesmerising view. Like a difficult puzzle, he elicited feelings of awe, wonder and trepidation. His eyes opened, two angular slits, and surveyed your approaching form.

On silent feet and watched by his bottomless pools of liquid onyx, you briskly deposited your items on a nearby stone and slid out of your filthy, ragged clothes. The only thing that was subject to salvage was underwear. Relief washed over you as warm, dry air gently touched your bare skin slick with stale sweat and dirt.

“Melmë.” He spoke up suddenly. Water splashed over the edges.

“Adar,” you replied, bowing your head respectfully.

The final article of clothing - a pair of underwear - slid swiftly down your legs. You hurried to step into the pool, acutely aware the way Adar's silent appraisal of your body sent shivers down your flesh. Having spent so long in an Uruk camp, self-consciousness was a thing of the past.

It was anticipation that coiled in your tummy. Expectant, you dunked underwater to wet your hair and run fingers through it to dislodge any debris. Arms connected with your torso, bringing you up above the water. Adar's chest, all lean, textured skin, connected with your back. Where the water was lukewarm, he was pleasantly warm. His palms slid over your chest, brushing past your erect nipples with a petal-soft touch.

You sighed. Adar rumbled.

“Have you forgotten your manners?” His voice resonated throughout your skull as a wry observation.

In truth, you did. The mere prospect of feeling clean had overshadowed everything else in your mind, giving you tunnel vision. Even now, faced well with the prospect of punishment, you could hardly care. Hardly focus on anything beside the scent of soap and, perhaps, the slowly hardening appendage twitching at your rear. You hummed non-commitally and hummed some more when Adar's arms tightened up to keep you in place.

“What you say?” Voice lower, harsher, his strong arms squeezed you just shy of painful.

“I did forget my manners,” you chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating a clever plan to evade Adar's grasp and make a dash for the soap.

“...” Impatient rumble, hand sneaking to none-too-gently grope at your breast.

“Adar!” You quickly added, halting the hand and turning touch towards gentle. Electric sparks shot through your nipple as Adar toyed with it, flicking the hardened nub with the calloused pad of his thumb. You sighed, locking your hips in place. There was a limit to misbehaving.

Somewhat of a theatrical sigh left the Uruk. “You must apologise and make amends, melmë,” he chided, switching his hands to award your other nipple the same arduous torture. A lick of flame burnt bright in the pit of your belly and Adar instantly knew of it, having brought a large hand to press your hips against his own, daring you to push back.

“I am sorry,” you sputtered. For forgetting to greet him properly, yes, but not for wanting a bath. You remained frozen, awaiting a rough grab or a harsh tweak to your abused breast, heart fluttering somewhere in your throat.

It didn't come. Instead, you felt the ghost of a smile brush over the shell of your ear. “There. Was it truly difficult?” The rumble of his voice curved around your budding arousal and pushed it towards forefront.

“No, Adar,” you said. It sounded very close to petulant whining.

It only seemed to amuse him further. He did not laugh, no, but nonetheless the splashing of water was joined by a terse, scratchy noise. A rich sound you echoed with the ghost of a grin.

“Well, then.” Adar released your hip and reached somewhere behind himself.

All business-like, he brought the object in front of you and released your breast to rub it in between his palms underwater. Scents of pine and lye made you sigh in relief and happiness as water foamed. As Adar's hands connected with your skin to drag the fragrant bar along your stomach, your shoulders dropped.

Slowly, he scrubbed at the soft parts of your front. Palms applied gentle pressure, scrubbing away the grime, with fingertips trailing behind, blunt nails raking over clean skin, leaving discoloured lines that disappeared as soon as they were made. Not leaning into the touch was not an option. Your breasts pushed forward, you shamelessly threw your head back and to the side, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Adar's wet black tresses smelled of smoke on the water. Swallowing the urge to nose at the strong line of his jaw, you pushed yourself further into his hands as they slid up, cleansing your sides and ribcage. Your nipples stood proud and hard, peeking just above the water. Patient as ever, Adar slid the soap once, twice over your breasts and moved on to scrub under your collarbones.

“Adar...” You mumbled, breasts tingling.

“Patience is a virtue,” he chuffed, taking a sharp dive down. He traced your hipbones, squeezed and rubbed the meat on top of them before using them as handles to make you take a step forward. Grumbling, you did, and were rewarded with a pinching squeeze at your ass cheek and a click of his tongue. “Impertinent!”

As Adar's hands made quick work of your neck and back, you mumbled. “I am sorry. It has been such a long time...” You trailed off into a mewl as he squeezed the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving kitten. It never ceased to make your knees weak. There was something so - possessive, commanding - impertinent, damn it! In that gesture. A new wave of heat flooded your face. Whether one borne of indignation or pleasure was yet to be determined by you.

Adar could read you like an open book in any case. He pretended not to notice the audible hitch in your breath whenever he lost his temper and did something particularly audacious. Like now, for example, when he finished stripping the outermost layer of your skin and abruptly pulled you into himself, backing up all the way to the shallow end of the pool. Your pebbling nipples ignored and hips securely held by his lithe, strong arms, you found yourself sat firmly atop his lap.

The basic instinct was to slam your knees together, irregardless of his long legs falling open and his twitching length slipping along your center. Adar allowed no such luxury. With an ease clearly mocking, he pried open your legs to hang over his as he splayed comfortably in shallow waters. Soapy water dulled the sensation somewhat but did nothing to cool the sheer heat coming from his half-erect cock. Squirming, you were rewarded with another twitch and an irritated rumble.

“Melmë.” A warning.

“Adar.” A breathed acknowledgement. A mewling squeal, really.

He tsk-ed and shook his head, followed by a low mumble of quenya that got past your ears when he used his palms to glide over the inside of your thighs right to where he was most wanted.

“Stay still.” He commanded, unvoiced threat obvious in his voice. “We are getting clean.”

“No funny business,” you muttered demurely, moreso to remind yourself. Adar's punishment was never outright cruel - despite his supposed ‘universally evil’ nature he did not ever take unwilling lovers or bestow harm upon them they did not ask for. He did get creative with enforcing consequences, though. His patience was of an Elven standard.

As for punishment, so for praise. Being and staying good was by far more rewarding than riling him up into a lustful frenzy. You sat patiently, choking down every shiver, as he slowly, tenderly massaged the fat above your pubic bone and squeezed the plump parts of your cunt. Even with so little stimulation, little zaps of lightning, miniature thunderbolts erupted from your clit and into the depths of your cunt.

Your eyelashes fluttered, wet and heavy, and you closed your eyes with a sigh, allowing your body to fall lax atop the tall male. He responded with a long, satisfied sigh and a teasing pat to your pussy. Continuing his clever ministrations, Adar was fully prepared for the jerk that him dipping two fingers between your outer lips provoked in your body.

“Talya,” he whispered, hot breath caressing the shell of your ear. Steady.

“Adar!” You whined, embarrassed. Being spoken to as if you were a spooked horse: a new low even for you. The wave of lust it elicited was undeniable. You weren't fully ready to submit to it just yet. Neither was it going to forsake you: with your clit held firmly between Adar's fingers, shameful lust throbbed.

“Lapta, melmë.” He released your clit to dip down to your entrance, creeping lower, past the tender skin of your perineum, and brushed over your puckered rosebud. You could not hold back the whine. “Sshh,” Adar rumbled gently, but relented, bringing his wandering hand back up to rest over your cunt as his cock, now standing tall and proud, poked at the junction of your leg and hip.

Begging every God for Adar to do something and fighting every urge to squirm and press against nearest available surface, you panted loud, aware of his dark eyes intently studying the side of your face. Every look cut sharper than Elvish make blades; you dared not to open your eyes, instead remaining lax-mouthed and knit-browed under Adar's scrutiny.

The longer you waited, the harder he became. When your bottom lip disappeared under your incisor - a small act of rebellion - you felt Adar's own lips stretch into a grin against your temple.

“You are being so good for me,” he said. The pace of his hand atop your mound picked up slightly, parting your outer lips in the process. He was almost touching your clit and you were almost going insane. “Do you feel clean?”

“Yes, Adar,” you said quickly, thoughtlessly. Whatever he was asking for, the answer would be yes irregardless.

“Are you certain?” The male absent-mindedly rubbed his cheek over yours, as if he was deep in important thought. A soft gasp erupted from you; he smiled. “We must be through with what we do, melmë.” His fingers - O Valar! - finally dipped inside tour slit and massaged the sides of your clit. The slippery wetness that surrounded it was unmistakable even underwater. Adar's cock twitched, again, hot and demanding against your leg. “You must tell me if I was thorough.”

“Ah, yes, Adar!” You moaned brokenly as he rubbed the V of his index and middle finger over your clit, rising the hood of it up and down but not quite touching the sensitive pearl itself. “T-thank you, Adar.”

The pace picked up, his fingers being much too close to where you wanted him most and tortuously not enough.

“You are thankful?” He inquired impishly.

“Yesss,” you hissed as a slippery finger accidentally connected with your pearl, causing your whole pelvis to clench pitifully around nothing. It brought your focus towards the empty, achy feeling in the pit of your belly. “Thank you, Adar.”

A quick, silent kiss to your temple was your reward. “Ah!” He huffed. “You are too good to me, melmë. What about your reward?”

“M-my reward?” You gasped.

“Mhm,” Adar hummed non-commitally as his cock jerked in curiosity.

Any reward for you in this scenario was guaranteed to be pleasurable for him and he knew it. He moulded you like putty in his hands, like a sculptor carved angels out of hard blocks of marble. Your body, warm with arousal and quivering at the most miniscule of touches, sang to him in a choir of rushing blood, flushed cheeks and thrumming pulse in areas most sensitive.

Engorged with need, your clit pulsed. Although your head was fogged by an opaque haze, the words of your deepest desire did not come easy.

“Um,” you said eloquently, words tangling on your tongue as soon as your lust-addled mind formulated them into something resembling a coherent sentence.

“Yes?”

This particular whine you could not contain. “Please do not make me say it, Adar...” You whispered wetly.

He chuckled. “How else am I supposed to find out what it is you desire? I cannot read minds, melmë.” He answered, voice tilted, mocking and encouraging in equal parts. Another “accidental” brush over your clit had you in shambles, quivering and stuttering where you sat.

“I want... You inside of me,” you moaned in shameful yearning.

Two long fingers had no problems with finding the puffy edges to your welcoming entrance and curled expertly. It did very little to quell the hunger in the very depths of it but your cunt held onto the digits nonetheless. Adar's cock pulsed as his hips shifted, seemingly, on their own accord and disobedient to their stoic master's will. Adar was rapidly losing his patience.

“N-no,” you protested. “I want...”

“You want my cock?” Voice like thick crushed velvet, molten like hot honey, Adar demanded your obedience. “Carpa! Say it!”

“I want your cock, Adar!” You whined, giving into the urge to bear down on his fingers and simultaneously clench up around them.

It wasn't particularly graceful nor gentle when Adar withdrew his fingers from your aching cunt and lifted you out of the bath just enough for your ass to be raised above water level. Resting your forearms on the hard ground, you blindly pushed back towards him, your bare cunt coming in contact with his hip. Within seconds the blunt, leaking tip of his cock was nosing at your entrance, silken head parting your lips to slip inside of you.

The ache within your loins was strong. Powerful enough for you to forsake any pretense of patience and propriety and impale yourself right on that long, solid cock so hard it knocked the air out of your lungs. At last! The vast emptiness within you filled, your back fell into a natural arch as your buttocks connected with the firmness of Adar's hips and thighs. You felt the deep, calming breath he took as his belly expanded with it.

A muttered curse preceded the drag of his cock as Adar withdrew, slowly, savouring the hug of your slick walls swollen and throbbing with need. Inadvertedly you clenched in response, already missing the head of his cock nestled deep within your cunt. It was all the encouragement he needed to slam inside of you with a feral growl baring his teeth and putting the whites of his eyes on display.

You moaned, long and loud, way exceeded in your capacity to care for the harsh surface hurting the delicate skin of your forearms. Only the steady push and pull of Adar's hips kept you tethered in this reality. Not the ominously shaking bushes and not the low rumble of the ever-awake Uruk campsite derailed you from the journey to your peak.

Adar's hands palmed - no, pawed at your breasts. He tweaked your nipples just the way you liked it, pistoning his hips in and out of you at a rapid pace. Savouring your moans and clenching of your cunt around him. Groaning with the force of your combined desire, jagged and jumbled mixture of Quenya and Common Tongue.

Tethering on the edge, you mewled for him.

“Adar...”

It seemed like he'd lied previously about his mind reading ability or a lack of thereof. He knew exactly what you needed and how you needed it, brining his palm to force it between your legs. You clit pulsed as he rubbed at it, adding the squelching noises of your cunt into the cacophony of your moans and splashing of water. His other hand grasped your throat, pulling your body backwards into him like a taut bowstring.

Moist and spit-slick, his mouth covered yours just as the heat in your belly exploded like an inferno. Heatwaves and aftershocks followed and Adar fucked you right through them, pulse after pulse echoing on his cock, prolonging your orgasm and wringing out his. His cock spasmed within you and he moaned right into yourself mouth, tongue snagging on your teeth, yours and his clashing.

You couldn't care less. The full feeling of his cock plugging your cunt full of his seed and the slack, sated if fleeting expression on his face was your own little spot of heaven in the utter (and often literal) Mordor of your surroundings. You sucked on Adar's tongue - gently, akin to a kitten - and safely deposited the memory of this into the very depths of your mind. Comforts had a tendency not to last.

You lamented the loss of Adar within you as soon as he softened enough to wetly slip out. An absence of his cock within you was so hard, it became a presence. Dripping with seed, your pussy clenched around nothing - ever the insatiable thing - and you made efforts to escape Adar's grasp.

Futile.

“We must get clean again,” he stated matter-of-fact, gathering you even closer to himself as his fingers turned your forearms up to display the dirt and scratches that resulted from your chaotic coupling.

When they were clean, Adar's lips traced each line, single-minded and petal-soft. His eyes were eons away.

Polished up the Uruks here a little bit and give them some half-decent semblance of a society, if to make some sense of what Adar is/does. If my Quenya sucks, I am sorry. I'm better with Sindarin :c

we are getting nasty in the bath because, well, I've seen the state of his camps and I'm pretty sure a UTI in those circumstances may actually be deadly. some kind of sauronian morgothian super-evil-bacteria is what we don't need in our sexy times 💀

Contrary to the single playlist theme of this kinktober compilation, I had Adam Sandler's stand up show playing in the background when I wrote this. Specifically the song about Chris Farley repeated like 3 times. Who knew my personal style icon could sing that well!? Damn! Go Adam!

#adar x reader #adar smut #rop adar x reader #female reader #adar fluff #adar x you #adar rings of power #rings of power smut #reader implied human #I can't conjugate quenya to save my life #adar was behind me holding a gun to my head when I was writing it

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novaursa · 20 days ago

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Savage Crown

- Summary: Khal Drogo comes to see Daenerys, as your brother and Illyrio arrange. But it is not your younger sister that drew his attention, it was you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Khal Drogo

- Note: This one-shot is based on an anonymous ask I received not long ago. I don't have time for something longer or a series about it, but I hope you like it none the less, dear anon.

- Rating: Mature 16+

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

The hall is grand but oppressive, a crumbling remnant of a better time. You stand in the shadows behind Viserys. The air is thick with the smell of incense and sweat, a testament to the preparations Magister Illyrio had overseen for this meeting. Your brother stands tall before you, his silver hair glinting in the light, his pale violet eyes filled with barely contained ambition.

Daenerys, your younger sister, is beside him, her head bowed, her silver-gold hair flowing like a river down her back. She looks like a lamb to the slaughter, meek and silent under Viserys's command. It sickens you, though you dare not let it show. Your brother is not forgiving of defiance.

And then you hear it—the heavy footfalls of horses, the deep, guttural voices of the Dothraki. The door to the hall creaks open, and Khal Drogo strides in. He is magnificent and terrifying, a towering figure with dark skin bronzed by the sun, long hair braided with bells that chime softly as he moves, and eyes like onyx. He surveys the room with the air of a conqueror, his presence commanding every ounce of attention.

You cannot help but stare. His gaze is piercing as it sweeps across the room, pausing briefly on Daenerys. Viserys steps forward, his voice filled with practiced charm.

"Great Khal Drogo," he begins, his tone obsequious, "I present to you my sister, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She is—"

Drogo's gaze shifts mid-sentence, moving past Daenerys and falling upon you. Your breath catches as those dark eyes lock with yours, the weight of his stare almost suffocating. He takes you in, his expression unreadable but intense, lingering far longer than he did on your sister.

Viserys notices and falters, his voice sharpening with irritation. "My youngest sister," he emphasizes, stepping to the side as if to block Drogo's view of you.

But the Khal doesn't seem to care. He steps forward, his gaze still fixed on you, and speaks for the first time. His voice is low and rough, a deep rumble that seems to resonate in your chest. The Dothraki words are foreign, incomprehensible, yet you feel the weight of them as he gestures toward you.

Magister Illyrio interjects with a nervous laugh, stepping in to translate. "The great Khal wishes to know… who stands behind the prince. He says you are like silver fire in the darkness."

Your heart pounds. Viserys stiffens beside you, his face a mask of barely concealed fury. "She is not for you," he snaps, his composure slipping. "She is my elder sister, and she is of no consequence. It is Daenerys who will wed the Khal, as agreed."

Drogo's lips twitch, the closest thing to amusement you suspect he allows himself. He says something else, short and commanding, and Illyrio hesitates before translating. "The Khal says he will decide what is of consequence."

You can feel Viserys trembling with rage beside you, but he dares not insult the Khal further. Drogo turns to one of his bloodriders, speaking in a low tone. The man nods, and Drogo turns back to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he steps back. Without another word, he and his men stride out of the hall, their heavy footsteps fading into the night.

The silence is deafening. Viserys turns to you, his face a storm of fury. "What did you do?" he hisses, his voice venomous. "You stood there like some… temptress! Do you want to ruin everything?"

"I did nothing," you reply, your voice steady despite the fear curling in your stomach. "I simply stood where you told me to stand."

"You will not ruin this for me," he growls, stepping closer. "You are nothing compared to me. Nothing compared to the dragon. Remember your place, sister."

Daenerys says nothing, her eyes fixed on the floor, her hands trembling at her sides. Illyrio steps forward, trying to ease the tension. "My prince," he says placatingly, "this could be… an opportunity. Khal Drogo is a man of strength and desire. If he has taken an interest in your sister—"

"I don’t care what he desires!" Viserys shouts, cutting him off. "Daenerys is the one who will wed the Khal. Not her. Not… her."

You say nothing, meeting his gaze with calm defiance. In that moment, you realize something: Khal Drogo had chosen you. Whether Viserys liked it or not, the Khal’s attention had turned away from his plans, and it would take more than his temper to change that.

As the torches flicker and the silence stretches, you feel a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. Whatever happens next, your life is no longer your brother’s to control.

The Dothraki celebration is wild and untamed, a tempest of sound, movement, and firelight. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wines, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and blood. Flames leap high into the dark sky, the orange and red light dancing across the sea of bronze-skinned warriors, their shouts and laughter echoing into the night. Drums pound in an unrelenting rhythm, matched only by the ferocity of the revelers.

You sit beside Khal Drogo on an ornate wooden throne covered in furs and adorned with braids of horsehair, a place of honor overlooking the madness. His hand rests casually on the armrest, his face stoic but his eyes watching the festivities with quiet satisfaction. You feel his presence beside you like a storm contained, powerful and commanding even in stillness.

Your dress, a blend of Valyrian silk and Dothraki leather, feels strange on your skin, a mix of your heritage and the savage culture you've been thrust into. You feel the weight of eyes on you—not just the Dothraki, who marvel at their Khal’s silver-haired bride, but Viserys’s gaze as it burns into the side of your face. His fury radiates across the distance between you, as palpable as the heat of the fires.

Viserys sits further back, his face twisted with anger. His hand grips a goblet of wine so tightly that you wonder if it might shatter. Daenerys sits meekly beside him, her eyes downcast, her small frame shrinking further into the shadows with every passing moment. She dares not speak, not when Viserys is like this.

Finally, Viserys’s venom spills over. He slams the goblet down onto the low wooden table in front of him, startling Daenerys and drawing the attention of those nearby. His voice is sharp, cutting through the revelry like a blade.

"How dare you," he seethes, his words directed at Magister Illyrio, who sits nearby with a plate of half-eaten lamb before him. "You promised to help me. And instead, you give her to the Khal?"

Illyrio dabs at his mouth with a silk napkin, unperturbed by Viserys’s outburst. "My prince," he says smoothly, his tone carefully measured, "the Khal chose as he wished. You know how the Dothraki are—no one tells them what to do, not even I. Be grateful that he accepted a bride from your house at all."

"Grateful?" Viserys’s voice rises, his face flushing red. "Do you think this is what I wanted? My elder sister married to a savage, while my plans fall apart? She was never supposed to be part of this!"

Illyrio sighs, setting his napkin down with deliberate patience. "And yet, here we are. The Khal accepted her, not Daenerys. Would you rather he had taken offense and left you with nothing? No crown, no army, no future?"

Viserys rises to his feet, his fists clenched, his voice trembling with rage. "This was not the agreement! You swore—"

"The agreement," Illyrio cuts in, his voice firm now, "was to forge an alliance. And we have. The Khal is pleased, and the alliance is sealed. Your plans remain intact, my prince, whether the bride was Daenerys or—"

"Enough!" Viserys snaps, his voice cracking. "Do not speak as if you have any authority over me! I am the dragon, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Across the space, you feel Drogo shift beside you. His eyes flick briefly toward the commotion, then back to you. He says nothing, but you sense his irritation awaking beneath the surface.

You glance at Viserys, a mixture of pity and disdain bubbling within you. He is a boy playing at being a king, too blind to see the fragile position he truly holds.

Daenerys, seated behind him, dares a glance at you. Her expression is a mixture of fear and apology, though she says nothing, her small hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"You shame yourself, brother," you call out, your voice calm but carrying easily over the din. The words are like a slap, freezing Viserys mid-rant. His head snaps toward you, his violet eyes blazing.

"You dare speak to me like that?" he spits, his voice trembling. "You forget your place, sister. You belong to him now, do you not? You are nothing but a slave to this savage."

The Dothraki around you grow quiet, their laughter and music fading as they turn to watch. You feel the weight of their eyes, and of Drogo’s, but you refuse to back down.

"I belong to no one," you say firmly, rising to your feet. "I am the blood of the dragon, just as you are. And I will not be diminished by your petty tantrums."

Viserys takes a step toward you, his hand twitching as if he might strike you, but before he can, Drogo speaks. His voice is low and commanding, a single word in Dothraki that sends his bloodriders forward, placing themselves between you and your brother.

Viserys freezes, his bravado crumbling under the weight of their silent threat. He glares at you, his lips curling into a sneer, but he does not move closer.

The dread hangs heavy in the air until Drogo stands, his towering presence a clear statement. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, then turns to the bloodriders and gives a short command. They back away, though their eyes remain fixed on Viserys.

Drogo says something else, a string of Dothraki words spoken with quiet authority, and Illyrio translates, his voice calm but firm. "The Khal says the dragon must learn respect, or he will be taught."

Viserys’s face turns ashen, his bravado utterly gone. He mutters something under his breath and sits back down, grabbing his goblet and drinking deeply to hide his shame.

The festivities slowly resume, the anxiety easing as the Dothraki return to their revelry. But you remain standing, your gaze locked with Viserys’s, your heart pounding with the realization that you have just defied him—and survived.

The aftermath of your union with Khal Drogo is a stillness that feels almost sacred. The furs beneath you are soft and heavy, the firelight from the brazier casting flickering shadows across the walls of his tent. The air is warm and heavy with the mingling scents of sweat, leather, and the faint sweetness of oils from your earlier ceremony. Drogo lies beside you, his body a fortress of muscle and heat, his breathing deep and even.

You rest your head on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat a steady, grounding sound. It feels surreal—this closeness to a man you’ve only just begun to understand. His presence is overwhelming, his silence louder than most men’s words. Yet, there is a calmness to him that you did not expect, a quiet strength that intrigues you.

Tentatively, you trace your fingers across his chest, marveling at the scars that speak of battles won and stories untold. Drogo doesn’t stop you, though his dark eyes open slightly, watching you with curiosity.

“Drogo,” you murmur, testing his name on your tongue. It feels strange, foreign, yet powerful. He hums in acknowledgment, a low sound that vibrates through his chest.

“I want to understand you,” you say softly, your voice a whisper in the dim light. “But I don’t know how.”

Drogo tilts his head, studying you with a quiet intensity. After a moment, he lifts his hand, calloused and strong, and brushes a strand of silver hair from your face. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a contrast to his otherwise imposing demeanor.

You take a deep breath, searching for the few Dothraki words you’ve managed to learn. “Kirekosi…?” you begin hesitantly, the word for “how” feeling clumsy on your tongue.

A ghost of a smile touches Drogo’s lips, and he responds in Dothraki, the words flowing like a river. You catch only fragments—something about strength, perhaps, or heart. Frustration wells up in you, not at him, but at yourself for not knowing more.

“I don’t understand,” you admit, shaking your head. “I need to learn.”

Drogo sits up slightly, propping himself on one arm. His hair falls over his shoulder, the bells woven into his braid chiming softly. He speaks again, slower this time, pointing to his chest as he says a word.

You frown, repeating it. “Ramasar?”

He nods, tapping his chest again. “Ramasar,” he repeats, then points to you. “Chiorikem.”

You blink, the realization dawning on you. “Ramasar means… land? And chiorikem woman?”

Drogo’s smile broadens, and he nods, clearly pleased with your understanding. Encouraged, you sit up fully, wrapping the fur around your shoulders. You point to him, raising an eyebrow in question. “And you?”

He smirks, tapping his chest again. “Lajak,” he says, his voice rich with pride.

“Lajak,” you repeat, tasting the word. “A warrior.”

He nods again, his eyes gleaming with approval. The moment feels like a small victory, a step toward bridging the chasm between your worlds.

Buoyed by his response, you press further. “Why did you… choose me?” you ask, your voice quiet but steady. “Not Daenerys?”

Drogo’s expression softens, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek. He speaks slowly, his voice a deep rumble. Though you don’t understand all the words, the emotion in his tone is clear—admiration, perhaps even respect. He ends with a word you recognize: anni, meaning “mine.”

Your breath catches, the simplicity and certainty of his claim leaving you momentarily speechless. There is no hesitation in him, no doubt. He chose you, and that is enough for him.

But you want more. “Anni,” you echo softly, meeting his gaze. “And you are mine.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as if testing the weight of your words. Then he nods, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. It is not a grand declaration, but in his world, it is enough—a promise made in the quiet of the night.

You lean into him, your lips brushing his in a kiss that is both gentle and bold. He responds without hesitation, pulling you closer, his hands firm but reverent. In that moment, words are unnecessary; the connection between you is deeper than language.

When the kiss ends, you rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. “Teach me,” you whisper. “Teach me your words, your ways. I want to know everything.”

Drogo pulls back slightly, his gaze steady and serious. “Annithilat,” he says, the word unfamiliar but spoken with a weight that makes you shiver.

“What does that mean?” you ask, tilting your head.

He takes your hand, pressing it to his chest where his heart beats strong and steady. “Annithilat,” he repeats, his voice softer this time. “Courage.”

You smile, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. “Annithilat,” you repeat, the foreign syllables feeling natural now.

For the first time, Drogo chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that makes your heart skip. He pulls you against him, his arms wrapping around you, and for the first time since your arrival in his world, you feel truly safe. Truly seen.

The night stretches on, and with every word, every touch, the distance between you and the Khal grows smaller. You know the journey ahead will be difficult, but as you drift to sleep in his arms, the sound of his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you feel a flicker of hope. Together, you will bridge the divide. Together, you will learn.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf x reader #fire and blood #hotd #house of the dragon #got #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got drogo #khal drogo #drogo x reader #drogo x you #drogo x y/n #house targaryen #dothraki

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thecoochiefairy · 8 months ago

Text

𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖞

━━ 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑝ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑦 .ᐟ getou + gojo.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 9.7K word count. sex in a church, priests getou + gojo, talks of religion; catholic/christianity. third person omniscient pov, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, sweet sex, hair pulling, squirting,creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, masturbation, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, a lil degrading, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, aggressive + cocky getou + gojo, minors aren’t welcome!

song to play while listening; 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 ; 𝑑𝑜𝑗𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑡

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ ; surprise ;) once again, dedicated to my life, my love, my soulmate @hellavile . a lil’ fun fact, i am a christian girlie. but…i just couldn’t help myself. enjoy.

SITTING THROUGH THIS ENTIRE SERVICE WASN’T ON HER TO-DO LIST. YET, SHE FELT STUCK IN HER SEAT. Her eyes trail along the crowded room, seeing heads are bowed as they intimately whisper to themselves, guiding their own sense of mind in devotion to them. Not necessarily them, but at least that’s how she perceived it.

She feels like she’s the only person that isn’t taking this time to pray. Shit, she might be. Instead her eyes stare directly to the stage of the cathedral, eyeing the two men who seem to lead this congregation. She had been here only a handful of times, seating herself in the back as she curiously listened to sermons, wondering if they’d even stick with her. They hadn’t. She wanted to understand why such powerful words wouldn’t berate her mind outside of this building. Maybe she truly wasn’t a believer. Or maybe she was just distracted…by them.

She eyes them one by one. The one standing to the left stares stoically into the crowd with his darkly hooded eyes, pale skin and onyx hair longer than she could imagine. It was elegantly tied into a low bun today, a tendril of it separating from the group with his every movement. He’s covered in an all black suit, her eyes noticing the ink that swims beneath the wrists of his blazer, crawling all the way to his neck, hiding beneath the material of his clothes. A pair of tiny silver balls sink into his right eyebrow, a piercing she wouldn’t assume to be on a man of his stature. His eyebrows are constantly furrowed when he looks around, an almost disdain to his face.

They were like night and day standing next to each other. On the right, his calm expression seems more welcoming. His eyebrows don’t furrow as he stares, icy blue eyes striking into her chest without his attempt. His hair is as light as angels wings. His body is clean of any marking or holes, frame captured in a matching black suit. They were complete opposites. Another thing she noticed, despite the innocent physical stature of this man, a mischievous glint sat in those captivating eyes. More mischievous than a tattooed and pierced-man could ever hold.

It constantly piqued her own curiosity on why anytime she came here that instead of listening to them speak, she just watched the way they moved. It was a confidence, a leadership that clearly brought people together. A dominance. She wondered if they were dominant in other parts of their life, too. As she brings herself out of her thoughts, she notices two pairs of eyes have taken attention of her, regardless of being all the way in the back. She brings her eyes back down to her notes.

Members begin to exit as they’re released from service, her eyes following the line of people that stand.

“All new members are welcomed to meet the Priest,” a voice announces from the side of the stage. Her attention pulls back to the podium they stand beside, shaking people’s hands, kissing babies, she could’ve rolled her eyes. They were like celebrities.

There were multiple opportunities for her to meet the leaders of the church, but to risk the embarrassment of admitting that she was instantly enthralled by them, she would quickly duck her head out minutes before everyone was released. But she knew in order to strengthen her relationship with god—the whole reason she was here—she needed to stop being a wuss.

Gathering the miniature Bible and her notebook, she keeps them in one hand as she picks her dress slightly off of the ground, standing as the last person in line. The line had now shortened as everyone was beginning to leave, her head turning back in hopes that she really wouldn’t be the last person. Her luck was also shit.

She takes a deep breath as she lifts her stiletto heel onto the stage, bringing her face to meet the two men she thought so much of. They were just as intimidating up close. They both stare intensely at her, starting from her heels, to the black long sleeve top she wears that clings to her full breast and small waist. A pair of wide hips and an elongated torso are camouflaged underneath her snug black skirt.

As she strides up to them, her equally onyx hair is in an updo, a pink butterfly keeping it clipped together. A thick piece is curled and flowing on the side of her face with every step she takes. They both take in her curvy figure, following all the way up to her heart shaped lips, star shaped diamond pierced within her face, nose ring shining in the light. She definitely wasn’t anyone they’d seen before.

Her almond shaped eyes sparkle at them as she places her hand out, “That was a great sermon, Father,” She lies.

A tattooed hand reaches out and takes hers within his larger palm as he replies, “I appreciate that. And your name is?”

“Solana,” she replies softly. Her eyes come down as she sees he hadn’t released her hand yet.

“Beautiful. It fits you,” he observes, she’s not sure it’s a compliment as he remains serious, “Are you a new member? You don’t look like a familiar face.”

“Uh…not necessarily a member as of yet. I’m just…scouting for a new church,” She corrects, still seeing he’s holding her hand, “I’m a bit surprised to see that the Priests are so…young. I didn’t catch your names.”

He finally releases her hand, blue eyes twinkling beside him in amusement as he then joins the conversation, “Suguru’s two years older than me. Meaning he’s old. I’m young, I’m Satoru,” he takes her hand, his grip more softer than Suguru’s.

“Father Satoru?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Not yet, I’m mentoring him. For now he’s a Deacon, but most of the people in the church refer to him as Father Satoru,” Suguru replies, ignoring Satoru’s age comment.

“Oh, so you’re the one that runs this place?” She questions.

“With an iron fist,” Satoru interrupts. Suguru looks over at him with a slightly annoyed scrunch to his face.

“My father was in charge before me. It was passed down sooner than I thought due to him becoming sick,” Suguru explains, “What did you like about the sermon?”

“Tell him what’s in your notes,” Satoru points out. Solana looks over to him, hating that she was intuitive about the mischief in those damn eyes. She chuckles.

“It wasn’t much. Nothing to really tell,” she explains, keeping her attention to Suguru.

“Tell me then. I’m curious,” he prods.

Shit. Honestly, she was just being polite. She didn’t want her first introduction to be playing Devil’s Advocate.

She then speaks, “Well…your topic today was the temptation of lust. A constant debate of whether it’s someone’s true test of keeping their vows to god—I’d say people are just human with helpless desires,” She recites, “You see, I’m trying to build a personal relationship with him. Coming to church was a mere curiosity. I had a feeling that some things being said I wouldn’t necessarily agree with, hence me taking notes.”

Suguru’s eyebrows raise in mild surprise, “So I’m assuming you’re not entirely a believer, then?”

“Trying to be, Father,” she corrects briefly, “It’s just hard. Some things seem entirely unrealistic…I don’t mean to be nosey, but looking at all the work you have on your body that seems to travel beneath your clothes, there was a time you weren’t entirely a believer either, was there?”

Satoru grins, Suguru now raising a single eyebrow. It didn’t shock him for her astuteness.

“Sorry…” she mutters, a small smile on her lips, “I come from a time where church was extremely small-minded and traditional. To see you and all of your physical differences from a regular Priest, it’s just a bit shocking. May I ask, how do the older members perceive you?”

She then wants to face palm herself as she hears her own words. Solana curses, “Shit. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean—crap—I mean— I was just referring to your tattoos and piercings,” she mutters.

“You seem more fascinated by my appearance rather than the sermon itself, Solana,” he calls her full name, wanting her attention.

“‘Fascinated’ wouldn’t be the word, perhaps, bewitched? Beguiled?” Satoru taunts.

“None of the above. But I’d say you’re a bit presumptuous, Father Satoru?” She mockingly replies.

“Would you rather I use the word curious, then?” Suguru asks.

“I could just be a curious person in general. Maybe I’m just bored, don’t assume too much about me,” Solana shrugs, “Plus, isn’t curiosity a sin within the Bible?”

His dark eyes pierce into hers. “Hm. That’s true, I shouldn’t assume. But curiosity is a virtue, not a sin. Though I imagine members in my congregation might disagree. I’ll have to bring that up in the next service.”

She tilts her head, “Seems like I might miss that service, then. I don’t recall agreeing to come back…” she thinks to herself.

“Cute,” Satoru eyes her up and down, “You’ll be back.”

“‘Shed light on the proud, haughty, and insolent behaviors that underlie arrogance,’” She recited, “Proverbs. Curiosity may be a virtue, but narcissism isn’t,” She speaks, referring to his assumptions of being captivated by him. Sure, damned her if she was. But he didn’t need to know that.

“The non-believer has read almost every inch of the Bible, it seems,” Suguru leans against the podium, his face twitching.

“…But then again, perhaps you’re merely trying to impress us. A girl as beautiful as you knows how to get your way,” Satoru adds.

“Is it working?” She then asks.

“Nah,” Suguru responds.

Solana raises her eyebrows, “‘Nah?’ Is the Priest off of the clock?”

“Talking to you? Might be, you’re trouble,” Satoru replies.

“Says the unorthodox Priest and his vexing Deacon.”

Satoru puts his hand over his chest, “Offensive.”

“You and Satoru gonna’ keep flirting or are you gonna hand me that notebook of yours?” Suguru asks, Solana bringing her eyes back to him.

“Mmm, I won’t. I have to get going soon and prepare for work.”

“Where do you work?” Satoru asks.

“I work from home. I’m a Cam Girl,” She calmly responds. When the both of them have frowns come upon their face, she looks between the two as she continues, “You know, the ones that take their clothes off and—“

“Alright.”

“I’m aware of what it is.”

They both say this at the same time, Solana amused at their dismissiveness. She’s surprised at how open the conversation is, even with their hierarchy, they make her feel as comfortable as possible. They felt like two male friends in the span of one conversation. The thing was, she didn’t want them as just friends.

“Clock in, do what you gotta do. But you’ll be here again next service with a new set of notes for me, I expect you to pay attention to my sermon. I’m a bit impatient. Cool?” Suguru asks.

“But—“

“Good,” Satoru cuts her off, “Welcome, member.”

“I never agreed—“

“Who asked?” Suguru questions. Satoru shrugs his shoulders.

Solana looks between the two men, silver crosses around their necks, a facade they played all too well in front of everyone else. This was the first time in her life that she didn’t have a man wrapped around all of her fingers, instead she was wrapped in each of theirs.

“Fine,” She doesn’t argue, pressing her hands behind her back. She can feel her face becoming warm.

“Huh,” Satoru crosses his arms, light hair swaying as he tilts his head to look at her.

“What?” She asks.

“To be this… ‘Cam Girl’ you mentioned, I’m assuming you’re usually the one in control. But now you seem…so submissive,” Suguru observes. The intensity in his eyes was something she didn’t see in Satoru’s. This man was much harder to read.

“We make her nervous,” Satoru states, not questions.

Her mouth goes slightly agape as they ricochet off of each other. She has no time to reply or find a smart-ass comeback. She can’t help but become a little irritated with this newfound characteristic of herself—intimidation. She puts on a fake smile as she nods her head towards the both of them, turning as she makes her way down the aisle towards the exit.

“We’ll be waiting for those notes, Solana,” Satoru calls.

“He’ll be waiting. I expect them in my hand,” Suguru finalizes, she doesn’t notice his eyes falling down to her ass.

She hoped that these two would be the complete opposite of what she imagined them to be before their meeting. Angelic, innocent, pure. But as she spoke with them, watching as they observed her every move, and told her what she was going to do, she seemed to be wrong. Devilish, guilty, impure. To make matters worse, she was going to do exactly what was asked of her. Motherfuckers.

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡

A couple of weeks had gone by. It was the same routine, sitting in the back of the service as she listened to Suguru preach, taking her own interpretations of his words. She noticed the brief looks he’d give over to her. Satoru winked. As service ended she would politely speak to the both of them as she handed Suguru her notes, unable to fully make eye-contact. Here was the issue. The first time she saw them, all she could think was how badly she wanted them to fuck her. She thought it was a mere attraction. But as every interaction surpassed, the thought became worse. Was she losing her mind?

She was coming to know the two men that everyone adored. As she wished that she only adored them, she felt cursed with vivid dreams and fantasies she couldn’t rid herself of. Every time she looked at Suguru’s perfect face, long onyx hair, gauges in his ears, eyebrow piercing. The tattoos that hid beneath his clothes. Satoru’s light hair and cocky-son-of-a-bitch smirk. On the other hand, her reactions weren’t something that went unnoticed. The sudden flush of her cheeks intrigued them as they noticed her out of the corner of their eye.

She wasn’t like the other women that swooned over them, falling victim to their charms without any fight. She had always kept an arms length from the two, seemingly unaffected by their charisma and allure that drew others to them so easily. At least she pretended well enough.

They could sense her hesitation, the slight quiver of her bottom lip as they watched her from the front. She always kept her gaze away from them, eyes focused elsewhere.

A shiver came down her spine anytime Suguru shook her hand, the thought of that hand slamming down against her ass as he spanked her. Anytime Satoru looked her in the eyes, she imagined him staring down at her as she moaned in pleasure beneath him. Anytime they both spoke to her, she could hear them within her ear, whispering dirty blasphemies. She’d seen handsome men before. Why the hell were they so hard to remove from her mind? It had to be the forbidden fact that they were the church's chairmen, and she was only a member. It aroused her.

They noticed with more interaction that she distanced herself farther. The way her eyes always darted away, the flush in her face. She was always so…hesitant and reserved.

These qualities made her all the more enticing, Satoru found her obedience adorable. Suguru was losing his patience.

Nonetheless, every interaction showed how completely opposite they were. There were times that she assumed Suguru was the least bit interested, but then she would notice the looks he gave her. Like a predator patiently awaiting for its prey to look away before it made its attack. Satoru spoke with confidence, offering his hand when Solana was too afraid to reach out for it. But she couldn’t lie, there was a sense of arrogance to him. A cockiness where he knew the things she was feeling. Almost as if he could read her every thought.

As another service ended, she stood behind a group of women that spoke to them, waiting for her turn. They all turned towards her, eyes wicked and wanting to drain life from her presence. Just like they stared, she raised an eyebrow as she stared back, turning her head and watching until they walked out of the door.

“The hell are they looking at?” She twists her head.

“Solana,” Suguru calls, an irritation to his tone.

“Oh. Okay. The fuck,” she muttered to herself, apologizing in her head for the curse. She then brushes off the interaction as she speaks, “Good morning, I was just bringing my notes to you, Father. Didn’t mean to send away your groupies.”

“Groupies?” Suguru repeats.

“I’d say more devoted members,” Satoru corrects.

“Same difference. They all have more than one way of getting on their knees for either of you,” She fires politely.

Satoru raises his eyebrows, “Someone sounds jealous.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she turns her head back to Suguru. He noticed the way her dress clung tightly to her frame, the subtle way it emphasized her hips. The way it highlighted her figure was almost distracting, almost intoxicating. He fought back the urge to stare, to ogle, to fantasize...

“How are you today?” She asks him.

His eyes flickered for a moment with amusement. She was so different from the rest of the women who came to this church. Instead of replying, he tilted his head to the side and took in a few seconds before shrugging. "I feel fine." he spoke, his voice still rich with annoyance. But there would be no breaking his poise, no cracking his self-assured exterior.

Although at times she couldn’t stand Satoru’s more extroverted character, she sometimes wished Suguru was a little more open with her. It frustrated her as he was always short, but his eyes told something different.

“Good,” she replied softly. She then pulled her notes from the pages between her Bible, lifting her hand out to him.

He reached out to take the pages from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. He noticed how her hands trembled slightly as if she were nervous, how the tips of her fingers were lightly stained black from the ink. His glance scanned the room filled with his congregation, people chatting away with one another, exchanging pleasantries as they exited the church. But he couldn't help his gaze, constantly drifting back to Solana.

“I apologize for my indignation, Father,” Solana shakes her head.

"No need to apologize." he spoke. And for a split second, another hint of amusement crosses his face as he notices her blush reemerging after she offers an apology. It was always so innocent, that flush of red on her cheeks, almost comparable to a little girl.

He couldn't help himself from wondering whether she was truly as timid as she seemed on the outside.

“I…what’s so funny?” She asks, realizing as he looks to be entertained.

“Your…covetousness…it’s cute,” Satoru replies.

“Nothing,” Suguru says.

He wanted to reprimand her for the foul mouth she had, imagining how red her face would be if he slammed his palm against it, gripping her chin as his dick shoved into her mouth. None of that appeared on his expression.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you guys at the next service,” she nods, keeping her eyes away from him. This time as she stared at them, all she could see was Suguru taking her against the podium, her screams filling the cathedral as Satoru held her face, cockily grinning at her demise. She swallowed as she turned around, quickly walking away.

Suguru watched her leave, his eyes following the subtle sway of her hips as she walked. It made him want to grasp and hold onto her. A vision of him grabbing her by the arm and dragging her back to the church made itself prominent in his mind, his voice whispering all of the things he’d do to her. Yet as always, it was just a vision.

But his eyes still lingered on her.

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡

Another week had gone by as she sat towards the back of the church. Her mind continued to run with images of Suguru and Satoru, just wanting to feel their lips against hers. This service they wore identical short sleeved turtlenecks and their usual cross necklaces, Suguru showing off the numerous tattoos down his arms, Satoru’s arms bulging through his top. She imagined those arms holding her up as they thrusted into her. The minute their eyes followed over to hers, she flew them back down.

They took notice of the way her gaze continued to dart away each time they looked in her direction, seemingly fearful. It was a far cry from the way the other women looked at them. In fact, it was almost as if she avoided their gaze on purpose.

She needed to do something about this. It felt like a sickness in the mind at this point, no medicine curable for her disease. As their usual routine played out, she handed Suguru her notes as he brushed his fingers against her hand, chills coming down her spine. The way her body responded to simple physical touches made him want to see what else he could do to crack her. His eyes watched as she darted away from them once again, he was becoming more and more agitated by her timidity. Satoru shook his head as he chuckled, Suguru making a mental note that the next time he wouldn't be so easy to dismiss her.

When she made it home that night, she forced herself to get dressed and do her makeup, planning a scheme as she made her way to the bar. She planned to erase them away with a good one night stand, twisting her drink in her hand as she stared over the crowd of tipsy eyes. She then found herself the perfect victim, a handsome smile seductive as he watched her.

She didn’t have it in herself for the small talk, or to waste any time. Their clothes shredded off as they fumbled into Solana’s condo, kissing messily as they landed on the bed. As she expected a full amount of pleasure to fulfill her, this random stranger rushed through the entire interaction. He pulled a condom out of his pocket, ripping the packaging harshly with his teeth. His lips against her neck felt sticky, attacking her throat in a way that was almost painful. She spread her legs as she awaited for him to bring his mouth lower.

He scrunches his face as he asks, “What?”

She frowns, “You aren’t gonna….?”

“Oh—nah, I don’t do that shit. I don’t really know you like that,” He responds, almost laughing at her question. She coughs as he then flips her body over to where she’s on her stomach, pressing her face into the sheet as he slides on his condom.

Before he continues he then asks, “I’m a little soft. Wanna give me some head?”

“Um, no?” She muffled through the blanket.

“Whatever,” he smacks his lips.

She hopes that the sex might cause them to create a better chemistry, awaiting for that incoming pleasure as he’s inside of her. This is all she needed, it would rid her of the annoying thoughts of Suguru and Satoru. As she thinks this, an overload of pain shreds through her lower abdomen as he enters her, realizing that she’s barely aroused. Even in the times that she wasn’t fully aroused, she’d be soaked at the thought of incoming pleasure. Not this time.

He pushes her head into the blanket as he thrusts wildly, giving her no air to breathe or even intake any type of pleasure—if there even was any. She grits her teeth as she tries to adjust herself, yet he grips her in place as he hastens, “Chill. Chill. You’re gonna fuck up my groove.”

She turns her head slightly as she tries to stare at him, his arms keeping her held down as he asks, “You like that?”

“Mhmmmm…” she responded, releasing a fake moan for him.

She closed her eyes as she became angry. All she could think about was Father Suguru and Satoru…

Before the blink of an eye, she suddenly hears the man behind her shout, “Oh, Sasha!” releasing within the condom he wears, pulling himself out as quickly as he went in. Bastard. She had told him her name.

She was frustrated beyond belief. The entire night had been unfulfilling, the way this random man had touched and kissed her was almost laughable when compared to the fantasies she had. His scent was uninspiring, his touch lacked a certain warmth. This man was boring, mundane, and unsatisfying. Her mind was elsewhere, all she could think about was Suguru. His smell, his voice and his touch. Then she thought about Satoru. She wished it was him instead of this random man who grunted above her.

The man's grunts and moans were almost amusing to her, but the sound of his snoring even more so as he collapsed against the bed, knocking out beside her. In all honesty, the man was more of a nuisance than anything. She didn’t even have the energy to kick him out as she turned over on her back, staring up into the ceiling as she continued to create those fantasies in her mind. She tried to relax, but his snoring filled her bedroom, drowning out any other noise.

Her mind began to flicker images again. She closed her eyes as she imagined the both of them crawling onto the bed with her, hands all along her body. She slowly brought her hand down between her legs, bringing a finger over her clit as she rubbed softly, biting down on her mouth as a small sense of pleasure rippled through her. She was always good at making herself cum, but tonight was like no other. She couldn’t finish. She wanted to throw a tantrum, banging her fists along the sheets of her bed. She turned on her side, hoping sleep would be better than any of this bullshit.

Waking up the next morning, she turns over as she sees this man still asleep in her bed, hoping he went into cardiac arrest. She relaxes within her sheets, assuming it was still early in the morning. As she picks up her phone to set her alarm, she sees it’s an hour after eleven. Her body springs up. She curses, “Shit! I’m late for church.”

She pushes the man out of her house, locking the door and blocking his number as she speeds to get ready. Solana pulls her hair into a claw clip, unable to have the patience to style it. A navy blue long sleeve clings to her upper body, yoga pants and matching heels, pulling her glasses over her face as she’s too impatient to put on her contacts. She grabs for her Bible and notebook, speeding out of the house and towards the church, hoping she’d make it in time.

She felt like a child in trouble. Sneaking her way into the crowd as she stands in the back, keeping her head down as she sees that everyone else has their head down in prayer. As she raises her eyes, she sees both Suguru and Satoru sitting on stage as another member speaks to the crowd. They immediately stare over her.

Their gaze locked onto her as she entered the church late, having somehow missed the sermon in its entirety. They looked almost…disappointed. But it had nothing to do with her punctuality.

Everyone begins to walk in different directions as service ends. She also realizes that she has no notes to give Suguru today as she awaits to speak with him. When she walks up to him, she immediately begins to apologize, “I’m sorry for my lateness, Father.”

His gaze was like a hawk. He said nothing as she apologized, instead he watched her lips move as she spoke, admiring the way they moved, how they'd look covered with his.

"That's alright" he finally spoke, his voice a deep and seductive rasp, "Don't worry about it, though I'm curious, what were you doing that kept you so late?"

“You haven’t missed a sermon since we officially met you,” Satoru points out, arms crossed over his chest.

“I was up a bit late last night watching tv, overslept. Indulgence, I suppose, Father,” she briefly explains.

She places a flyaway hair behind her ear that falls from her ponytail, wondering why a couple of members stare at her weirdly. She had never noticed the large hickey that was upon her neck, or that the stranger she’d slept with had given her one.

Suguru raises an eyebrow at this excuse. His eyes drift to the blotched spot on her neck, Satoru shaking his head. He noticed the way she fidgets nervously, taking in the fact that she hadn't noticed the mark herself. The look of slight amusement and disappointment were once again evident on his features.

"You were up late… watching tv,” Suguru repeated back to her, mocking her excuse.

She looks around, confused in everyone's eyes. “….Yes, Father,” she nodded, softly responding.

"Ah, I see..." Satoru’s smile widens, "And what was it that you were watching on tv that kept you up?”

His gaze remained locked on hers, his tone shifting to teasing and playful. She wanted to punch him.

“Documentary. Very uh…informational?” She tries to find her words, gripping the notebook in her hand.

“Very informative, huh?” Suguru questions.

“Why so many damn questions?” She becomes irritated, seeing they’re now playing with her.

Satoru shrugs, “Boredom peaks curiosity,” He reminds.

In reality they were just trying to tease her, to make her squirm as she tried to lie. There was definitely no documentary she watched, that much they both knew.

“I suppose you don’t remember getting this as you watched your show, right?” Suguru asks, lifting his hand as he dragged his thumb along her throat. Solana’s mouth parted as she froze, realizing he was referring to a hickey.

“I…I don’t…”

“You d—don’t?” Satoru mocks.

She glares as she thrashes Suguru’s hand away from her. He pulls away, placing his hand behind his back.

“Your show didn’t seem too...satisfying” Satoru eyes, grinning.

Suguru’s gaze remained on her neck nonetheless, his eyes slowly wandering to her face as he waited for her response. Would she admit what really happened? She refused to give them the satisfaction.

“Nothing to say?” Suguru prods.

“No,” she quickly replies, feeling her body becoming hot. A mixture of anger and arousal fills her. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch him, or fuck him. Maybe both.

“Fine. See you next time, then?” Satoru’s voice is sweet, more fake than anything.

As they begin to walk away from her, Solana closes her eyes. Embarrassing herself like this was enough to realize it was time to come clean, hoping this would rid her of all the vivid images of them. She just wanted them to stop. She places her own hand over her neck, remembering the hickey.

She squeezes her notebook harder as she states, “Wait, Father Suguru…I had a question for you.”

His expression shifted to one of curiosity, he could sense her sudden nervousness in speaking to him.

"Go ahead, what's the question?"

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I have something I need penitents of. Would you…be here later tonight for a confessional?” She questions.

The sudden question surprised him. He expected this game to continue. Yet, she had requested a confessional, a place where one could go to share their deepest and darkest secrets with a priest. It was obvious that what she was hiding more than sleeping with another man, there were darker things at play.

He nodded shortly, "I’ll be here. Satoru will be in the presence of his first confessional and listen in, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s…fine. That’s perfect, actually,” she nods.

“Perfect?” Satoru questions.

She realizes how she spoke. She wanted to kick herself. She then ignores the smile on his face as she speaks, “I will see you guys later then,” turning as she nearly runs out of the church.

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡

She stood in the mirror, staring at herself in her bathroom. Nightfall had come quicker than she hoped for it to, her heart swelling with fear of all the possibilities to come from this admission. Her midnight hair fell around her face, almost straight, still having a bit of body to it. She stared at the black dress she wore, turning in the mirror as her entire back was shown, washing her vision over the religious tattoo on her spine. Did it mean anything to her?

She slipped on her golden chromatic heels, hot pink irises seated atop of the thin straps. Her skin smelled of vanilla and a mixture of mint, always wanting to present herself with a sense of confidence. That confidence was nowhere to be found as of right now. Where had it gone?

All of these thoughts entered her mind as she drove down the road. What if she told them how she felt? Would she be banned from the church, shunned by the congregation? Declared as a personified sinner?

Unlike a regular church service, the entire cathedral is empty. The pews travel as far as the eye can see, walls a dimly lit champagne color. Her eyes fall to a mahogany wooden shed, two large crosses carved into the doors on both sides. It looked bigger than a regular confessional box. As she slid the door open to her side, she entered to see that it was big enough to fit almost five people, turning her head to see there was a large mirror across from where she would be seated.

As she looks through the wall that separates the two sides, she sees a pair of silhouettes, seeming as Suguru and Satoru are already there. Her heart beats faster.

She sits herself on the bench connected to the walls, bringing her eyes over her own reflection. Looking at herself suddenly makes her uncomfortable. She can see them on the other side, their eyes not facing her. It makes her feel less judged.

She asks, “May I know why my confessional has a mirror, Father?” She asks softly.

His silhouette moved as she spoke, the sound of her voice was more alluring than he had expected.

"The mirror is meant to allow you a clear view of yourself as you confess your sins. It’s intended to remind you to face yourself,” Suguru explains.

“Your face will be forced to stare directly at those sins as you speak of them. It’ll lead to self reflection,” Satoru adds.

She lets out a breath, nodding more to herself. Silence now fills the space, a tension she hadn’t expected to be so thick casts in between the wall separating the three.

“Speak your penitent,” Suguru’s deep voice demands.

A fear creeps up her spine. She couldn’t believe that she was actually doing this. Fuck it, she figured.

“Bless me, Father. For I have sinned…” she speaks, lightly crossing her hand over her chest.

Both Suguru and Satoru previously watched her as the confessional door slid open, watching her reflection as she sat inside, the dress she wears already making them think there was so much more to explore. They could only imagine what secrets hid under her loosely flowing hair, the tattoo on her back, and the way that dress draped off her form - highlighting the perfect curves of her body.

"Go ahead" Suguru spoke through the small slit in the confessional, his eyes gazing at her reflection in the mirror as he awaited her words.

“Right. Okay,” Solana takes another deep breath.

“Well…when you asked me about how my night went, I lied about what happened. I…had sex with a man I met at the bar…” she confesses softly.

“The sex was meaningless—and boring—if that’s appropriate to add. I thought that it would help me shake this feeling I’ve been having for a while. This…itch that I haven’t been able to scratch…”

Suguru listened. He didn't seem shocked, he didn't even seem disappointed—if anything he was unsurprised by it. As she mentioned the sex being meaningless and her inability to shake the "itch,” Satoru couldn't help the smirk that covered his lips.

They knew precisely what she was thinking yet stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.

“I…” she breathed in, “Ever since I joined this congregation, I’d been having these…feelings. My mind filled itself with these vivid images and fantasies of sexual endeavors that become filthier as they continue, and I’ve been trying to parish them away. But…I can’t,” she speaks, unable to look into her reflection as she keeps her eyes against her lap, looking over to the wall that separates their bodies. She’s glad she can’t see them.

"Is there more that you want to confess?" Suguru spoke, his voice firm.

“Yes….” She spoke, “These…images, fantasies, I….I’d been having them of you and Father Satoru. Ever since I came here, I thought you were both immensely attractive. But I didn’t think that allowing myself to be physically attracted to the both of you would cause all of these imageries. I would imagine myself having filthy sex with you—anytime you stood in front of the congregation. For that…I’m sorry,” she keeps her head down.

She awaits for his voice, preparing for the disgust of her words. Instead, she hears nothing. Absolutely nothing. She lifts her head to look on the other side of the box, seeing that it’s now empty. Shit, did she really mess up that badly?

“…Father?” She then calls, hearing nothing in response.

She waits a few moments, still hearing nothing. She feels terrible. She shouldn’t have come at all—Maybe she should’ve just never returned to the church. As she stands to leave, her heart jumps out of her chest. The door to the confessional opens and quickly shuts, both Suguru and Satoru now standing in this space with her. Trapping her with them. Her breath catches in her throat as the door slams shut, the air in the cramped space becoming thick with the heat of three bodies.

Their gaze fixated upon her as they lean against the wall of the confessional box opposite of her, their frames dominating the confined space.

“Tell me exactly what you’re apologizing for, Solana,” Suguru firmly initiates.

“I don’t think I should be having these thoughts about…wanting to have sex with the both of you. And I do,” she swallows, “Your church members already have this idea of me. I see the way they look at me when I come in here. I could only think what you or Father Satoru would have to say—especially after my confession.”

“I think you’re honest,” Suguru observes.

They can almost see the relief weigh off of her shoulders at his response. But as she looks between them, it seems to be more that she’s missing.

Satoru then speaks up, “Poor baby. This has really been bothering you, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” she softly agrees. “So—“

“So we’ll just fuck you, then.” Suguru states, promises.

Solana’s eyes go slightly wide as she stutters, “What?”

“That’s what you want, right?”

Satoru fully extends, coming forward as he hovers his frame over her smaller one. She steps back as she nearly trips over the bench, holding herself steady as she feels Satoru’s hand come upon her hip, making sure she doesn’t fall.

“I—“

“I know that’s what you want, Solana. I just need to hear you say it,” Suguru speaks up, capturing her throat within his palms, digging his fingers lightly into the skin. She now has both men holding a part of her, her body completely on fire at their simple touch. They were inviting her into a dangerous situation. She could admit—she wanted every part of it.

“Yes,” She muttered softly.

“Look at me and say that,” he grips her face tighter, forcing her eyes to look into his.

“Yes, fuck me,” she repeated, more firm. Meaning it.

“Good,” Suguru leans down, slamming his lips along hers.

Her throat mewls at the warmth of his mouth. She’d never had a man kiss her like this. He had a grip on the back of her neck as he leaned down, sensually thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth for her to catch it, eyes closing as she moaned softly at the feeling. His lips were warm and his tongue was even warmer as it danced within her mouth, exploring every possible crevice— every space that it had access to. His grip on her only tightened, trapping her completely in the embrace of his hand as his body pressed closer to hers.

“Greedy, aren’t we?” Satoru asked, harshly pulling her away from Suguru’s mouth. He stuck his tongue out which caused her to lean forward, sucking his tongue within her mouth, his lips plush and soft as he smashed them together, softer and more sensual than the first kiss she shared. It’s like he was trying to absorb her scent, inhaling the mixture of vanilla and mint. She was like a drug.

“Look at how responsive she is…” Satoru taunts, bringing his mouth down to her throat, sucking the skin into his lips. Solana’s eyes fluttered shut as she whimpered softly, hearing Suguru’s voice as he replied, “We’ve barely touched her.”

Satoru now stands behind her as Suguru stands in front, both beginning to remove the vestments they wore. They then help her remove her dress, their eyes hungry as her brown nipples perk out, figure even better without clothing. Solana’s eyes come to the mirror behind them as she sees his back is covered in ink, shadowing any of his olive toned skin. His hair that was in a half bun began falling around his attractive face, it felt almost too intimate to stare. Satoru stood behind her, skin clean and soft, body sculpted perfectly to her touch. They were fucking beautiful. Hands roamed all around her body, lips along her chest, while another pair bit into her shoulder. It was overwhelming in the best way.

“Hold her up. You want my tongue?” Suguru’s eyes raise to hers, she quickly nods.

“You’re forgetting to say please,” he reminds. Satoru places his arms under the back of her legs, effortlessly lifting her up as her back is now against his chest, legs bending upwards in the air.

“Please,” she becomes slightly irritated at how he wants things his way. Her breath hitches as Satoru somehow pulls her arms with her legs, keeping her firmly stuck in his hold.

“Wanna try again?” Suguru raises an eyebrow as he hears her attitude. He lightly smacks his palm against her face, shoving his fingers down her throat as he brings his face close to hers, dominance pooling into her veins.

“I’m sorry,” her voice is small as she inhales deeply from his actions, wanting more from him, “Please, baby. I want your tongue.”

“Next time I won’t be so nice,” he promises, traveling his soaked fingers down her body, rubbing her puffy clit. She wanted to clasp her thighs closed, Satoru behind her as his tongue drags along her ear, teasing her as she moans prettily. Her sounds are like angels singing, even as condescending as that might’ve been.

Suguru takes his index and middle finger as he sinks them inside her, moaning with Solana as she pulls him in deeper, her walls gripping him as if never wanting to let him go. She brought her eyes up to the mirror and watched as his fingers shoved in and out.

Satoru’s now in her ear as he chuckles sultrily, “Look at that, baby,” he talks to her, “I think she wants more.”

“I want more,” she mewls, “Please.”

“Give her what she wants,” Satoru commands.

Suguru leans down as he removes his fingers from her, capturing her clit within his mouth as he sucks softly. He goes slow, allowing the pleasure to hit every nerve within her body, rotating his head in circles as his tongue drags all along her core, saliva creating against tastebuds.

She leans her head against Satoru’s shoulder as she begs, “Kiss me,” he does without argument.

Suguru’s tongue doesn’t slow down, diving in and out of her, fucking her with his mouth as he moans against her, kissing her clit passionately in the same way he made out with her.

“Tastes so fucking sweet, baby. This some crazy shit” he groans, spanking her skin as Satoru holds her hips up higher, Suguru’s tongue delving deeper.

“Suguru…oh—shit,” she whined, wanting to grip his hair yet her hands were still trapped. Her back arches as she could only see the back of his head from the mirror, watching as he pleasured her. Satoru’s grip was tight, ensuring that her body didn't move around or move away from Suguru, arch becoming stronger.

He snaked his hand up to her face, pulling it downwards as he spoke, “Watch me.”

His breath was hot against her opening as he maintained eye contact. "Look at what I'm doing to you... Look at how you’re moaning from just my mouth…” he talks to her, slamming his palm along her thigh, watching the skin become red as he rutted his lips against her core.

Her hips swayed against his face, hair around her neck making her hot. She responded petulantly, “I’m watching, baby…I promise…”

“Good.”

He brought his free hand up to her chest, cupping the breast within his hand, squeezing and kneading the soft skin. She felt her lower stomach becoming tight. Her abdomen stiffened as she gripped Suguru’s hair, filthily spouting within his mouth. She was unable to hold herself back as her eyes rolled in her head, shuddering as she watched him dipping his tongue inside her, eating like she’d be ripped away from his hold at any second.

He stands up, gripping her face as he kisses her, sucking her lower lip before he pulls back, “Tell me who you want to fuck you first.”

“You, Suguru.” She whimpers.

“Fuck her, Satoru.” Suguru easily denies.

Satoru drops her legs that feel like jelly, her feet now flat on the ground. Hands bend her over whilst pushing her back inwards, watching as it perfectly arches. Light eyes took in the way her hips curved perfectly in his hands. He lowers himself down as he brings his mouth between her legs, Solana lightly jumping at the intrusion. She has no time to react as she feels a hand on her chin, pulling her eyes upwards to look at Suguru.

“She doesn’t deserve to have her pussy ate again. You remember how bad her mouth was?” Suguru reminds. Solana’s eyes close as Satoru gently laps between her folds, fondling the skin of her ass.

“Put something in it, then. This isn’t for her,” Satoru commands, attaching his mouth back onto her.

“I’ll ruin her throat,” he responds back.

“She’ll love it.”

“I know she fucking will,” Suguru gruffly responds, wrapping his free hand around his length as he forcefully opens her mouth, shoving himself to the back of her throat. Her mouth feels full, no room to adjust as he collects her hair in his fist, yanking her back and forth against his hips. She salivated, going to wrap her hands around him as Satoru gripped both of her wrists in one hand behind her. Suguru pulls her down farther, Solana choking as he slammed his tip against her uvula, her eyes watering at his movements. But Satoru was right about one thing. She did love it.

“Look at you, baby,” Suguru moans, gritting his teeth as she hummed against him, bobbing her head lightly from the little control she had. Her lips were becoming a pouty red. She could feel his nails digging within her scalp, tilting his head down to watch as he fucked her face roughly.

Satoru extends to his full height, taking himself within his hand, placing the other on Solana’s hip to angle her properly. His tip taps along her clit, kissing the pulsing throb. She became more aroused than before.

He slides himself in, Solana’s eyes fluttering shut as she moaned against Suguru’s length that was still driving within her mouth. She slows down the pleasure she gives to him, feeling as if Satoru is just as big as Suguru, if not bigger. He stretches her, her lower abdomen burning from the feeling, a stronger sense of pleasure overcoming the pain.

He starts off slow, only pulling halfway out as he pushes in deeper the second time, Solana shouting as he spanks her, “Open up for me. I’ll fuck you good.”

She tries to relax, Suguru holding her head as he asks, “When did I tell you to stop?”

Taking the both of them was something she didn’t imagine struggling with. Satoru places his hand on her shoulder as he pulls her back against him, the back of her thighs creating a squelching sound from how wet she already was. He keeps his other hand wrapped around her fists, moaning lowly as she grips every inch that deeply pounds into her. Her eyes remained closed as Suguru pounds her face on the other end, her jaw painfully twitching yet she opened her mouth wider, moaning at every movement.

“She feels fuckin’ amazing,” Satoru grunts, “Keep fucking her mouth. It makes her more wet.”

“Fuck her harder,” Suguru counters.

And they did. Satoru snaps his hips into her, the rhythm perfect as her mouth meets with Suguru’s hips each time. She moans with every thrust, body trembling each time Satoru slams his palm on her ass, each time Suguru slams his palm on her cheek. She mewls again, her body nearly relaxing in this position, lower abdomen trembling.

“She’s gonna cum,” Satoru eyes, never stopping his movements of fucking her.

“She better fuckin’ not,” Suguru threatens.

“Come fuck her. She wants you more. Don’t you?” Satoru pulls her upwards, her feet nearly off of the ground as he wraps both of his hands around her throat from behind. Her hips bounce against his own, her eyes closing as she whimpers, “Satoru.”

“Call my name like that again, baby. Maybe I’ll believe you. What happened? I thought you wanted Suguru?” He talks to her, clasping her throat under his palms, throwing her body back and forth against his length, Solana gripping his fingers that have a tight hold against her. She grunts in response, her voice trailing into a whine as she cries softly, “No, baby. I want you, too. Feels so…fucking…good…”

“I know,” he agrees.

“Oh, you don’t want me no more?” Suguru then asks, wrapping his fingers atop of Satoru’s that still sit on her throat, helping as he drags her down, slamming her back down onto Satoru’s hips.

“Can’t ever forget you, Suguru. Come fuck me, baby. I miss you,” she babbles. Her voice causes Suguru to grunt, kissing her aggressively at her pleads.

Satoru finally releases her. Suguru then effortlessly pulls her up to him, bringing her legs over his shoulders as he stands at his full height. Her body shivers as she feels hit tip, fat and throbbing against her opening. Her eyes close as he slowly slides her down, her mouth dropping open as he feels huge, stretching her so far that she thought she’d tear. His eyes flick down to hers to watch, Solana able to see her own pleasure within the mirror. She sees his perfectly sculpted back, resting her arms along his neck as her nails connected against the ink upon it, digging her fingers into his skin.

His hips moved slowly, the small movements he made were almost methodical as he leaned more into the sensation of her body meeting his. With his back fully visible to her through the mirror, she was able to completely take in his physique, watching the way that his muscles flexed as he moved. They watched each other, seeing him slowly thrust himself into her body, back still as stiff as a board yet with Solana in his limbs, he had a slight sway to him.

“Oh…my—“ she breathes in deeply, unable to speak as she stared into his face, nodding her head since her voice couldn’t do anything to help.

“You’re not so shy anymore, are you?” Suguru taunts her, lifting her body up with ease as he sinks her back down. Their bodies continue to move in rhythm, his hips picking up speed as he moves more intensely against her. She struggles to hold on, nails digging into his back as she brings her eyes down, watching his length go in and out of her. She was completely enthralled by him.

“Stop it…” she panted.

“She can’t take it. She’s going to take it,” Satoru speaks behind them, lightly kissing her neck as he grips her hair in his fist, pulling her up slightly.

“C’mon, pretty girl. You did so well taking my dick. You want more, huh?”

“Yes,” she bites her lip, groaning at his words. The back of her thighs slam against the front of Suguru as he grips her ass tightly in his palms, her skin clapping with his as he becomes rougher with every thrust.

“Then watch him. Look how he’s fucking you. I think you like the way he handles you,” he pulls the ponytail he’s created in her hair, Solana seeing as Suguru’s length disappears and then reappears again.

She listened. She watched intensely between their hips as he pulled out slowly, slamming her back down quickly. Fingers gripped his arms as she tilted her head down to watch, hair falling around her face. Her eyes rolled entirely to the back of her head as she spoke. She cried softly, “Oh my god…” groaning as if she were annoyed, “Yes. Yes. Fuck me just like that, I love bouncing on your dick like this, baby,” she hiccuped.

Her face was completely red. As she scanned Suguru’s eyes, she could see a sudden cockiness within him—and slowly, a grin spread across his face. It was the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen.

Both men laugh arrogantly, Satoru reaching around as he rubs her clit, Solana’s head falling back against his shoulder as she couldn’t stop herself from moaning.

“Calling god now? Shame. Seems like she needs more penitents,” Suguru laughs, humored at the loss of her pride.

“He can’t help you here…” Satoru talks within her ear, echoing into her mind.

It was as if she was drunk, babbling against the both of them, allowing them to have full control over her. Her head continued to spin, eyes captivated of his strength, legs over his shoulders flailing with every movement. Her nails dug into his back, free hand shoving her own fingers into her mouth as she sucked, moaning loudly against them.

“I’m gonna….”

“Cum. She’s gonna cum. Let her,” Satoru finishes.

“Nah. I’m not with the sweet shit. She better wait,” Suguru shakes his head.

He pulls out of her, Solana shivering as they quickly change positions. She looks down as Suguru is now beneath her, Satoru placing his length in front of her face.

“Come sit on my dick. I’ll make you squirt like this,” Suguru demands, pulling her down. He wraps his hands around her waist as he’s already shoving himself into her.

“Wanna feel your throat, baby,” Satoru speaks sweetly, separating her mouth as he pushes his tip past her lips. She complies, growing more horny by the second as she circles her hips atop of Suguru, taking her hand as she wraps it around the base of Satoru, sucking him within her own pleasure.

“Even through all this…you’re still so good…” Suguru grunts, spanking her.

Satoru strokes her face gently, seeing as tears drop from her eyes, not knowing how much longer she was going to be able to handle the both of them. She grips her own breast with her other hand, Suguru snatching the hand away as he replaces it with his palm, squeezing as he thrusts upwards into her.

“Relax, pretty girl. You wanna cum?” Satoru asks from above, rubbing her face to relax her, Solana nodding as she sobs softly, unable to do anything but take what was given to her.

“You’re lucky you have him. I’d make you cry like a fuckin’ baby,” Suguru spits.

“She already is. She looks so cute,” Satoru tells him, “You can cum, baby. I’m close too.”

“She’s creaming. Never had dick like this, have you? You’ll want more. You’ll be back,” Suguru promises once again, holding her firmly as grinds her against him, Solana’s hips involuntarily wining.

“Imagine what the congregation will think when they hear how good you take my dick. How you whine for more. Satoru was right, you are fuckin’ greedy.”

That was enough for her. Neither of them stop as she thrashes atop of Suguru, sobbing loudly as she orgasms, core squelching as she gushes against his length. Suguru laughs, spanking her so hard that it leaves a bruise.

As both men continue their non-stop fulfillment of pleasure, they watch as she relaxes, just wanting to be so good for them. They felt satisfied, able to break her in the way they imagined. Both men grunt, Satoru moaning as he holds Solana’s chin, pulling back as he shoots against her beautiful face. Suguru moans after, pulling out of her as he pulls her forward, cumming along her ass, gripping the flesh in his palm.

They all pant against one another, Solana wanting to feel embarrassed. She wanted to feel like this was the biggest mistake she’d made in her life. Yet, she felt the complete opposite. She felt trapped within these men, and she damn sure didn’t want out.

“I think you two might be the devil…” she breathes heavily.

“What if we told you that we were? What if we told you we were the worst people you’d ever met?” Satoru teases, Suguru chuckling in response.

“I think I might believe you.”

“Good,” Suguru replies, Solana jumping as he pulls her down by her neck, lips nearly touching hers as he speaks a deafening sentence.

“‘Cause we’re not done with you yet.”

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pupsmailbox · 8 months ago

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SCENE︰EMO ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　acid. adder. adrian. aisling. alex. alice. alix. amethyst. annabelle. aqua. ash. ashlee. ashley. aspen. astley. avril. awe. axe. ayesha. bates. bell. bella. belladonna. bellatrix. billy. blade. blair. blitz. bloodie. bloodscene. blythe. bow. bree. butterfly. callie. candi. candy. celeste. chase. checkerz. clarity. click. coraline. couture. crow. cyril. cyrus. dakota. demi. demonia. devin. dino. dizzy. doge. dom. dominic. ebony. electra. elliot. emery. emmett. emo. epic. erin. evan. flash. fred. galaxy. gavin. gerard. ghostie. gif. gloom. gray. grayson. grim. gutz. happy. havoc. hazel. heyley. hunter. hyde. indigo. ink. iris. ivory. ivy. jack. jade. jason. jasper. jax. jeff. jet. jett. julie. kai kandi. kandiz. kat. kayden. killer. kit. kitt. kobi. kyler. lady. lapis. lee. lexie. liam. luna. lurk. lynx. lyric. lyxzen. mace. maddox. madeline. mae. malice. marceline. marcie. mars. mavis. meow. mia. midnight. mika. mill. nana. neo. net. nick. nina. noah. noob. nora. nyan. nyx. obscene. octavia. olivia. onix. onyx. opal. orange. orchid. pearl. phantom. phoenix. pierce, pierce. pitch. pixie. pop. punk. pusheen. rain. rainbow. raine. rainer. rave. raven. raver. rawr. razorz. reaper. ripley. river. rogue. ronnie. rose. rouge. roux. rubi. ruby ruby. sable. salem. sally. sapphire. sash. sasha. scythe. silvi. silvia. smiley. smoke. smokey. snap. snow. sonya. soot. sparrow. spike. splatter. spook. stella. steve. stripe. sunny. suzi. suzie. suzy. taffi. taffy. tag. tech. tempest. travis. trend. tyler. vesper. vine. vista. vivi. waffle. wave. web. wentz. wesley. wild. willow. wound. xander. z!m. zach. zack. zade. zaire. zak. zander. zara. zero. ziggy. zim. zircon. zoe. zoom. zyair.

PRONOUNS ⌇　awesome/awesome. ay/aym. bark/bark. bi/bim. bite/bite. black/black. bling/blingee. blood/blood. bone/bone. bow/bow. brace/bracelet. bright/bright. bright/colour. byte/byte. cat/cat. cata/catatonic. ce/cer. check/checkered. chem/chem. cir/circut. color/color. computer/computer. cool/cool. cos/cos. creepy/pasta. cringe/cringe. cry/cry. cut/cut. dead/dead. death/death. die/die. dino/dino. emo/emo. emoticon/emoticon. epic/epic. ev/ev. exe/exe. ey/em. eye/strain. fang/fang. fringe/fringe. game/game. gamer/gamer. ghost/ghost. gir/gir. girr/girr. glit/glitter. glitter/glitter. gloom/gloom. glow/glow. glow/stick. gore/gore. grr/grr. gun/gun. gut/gut. hor/horror. hx/hxm. hyper/hyper. hyperpop/hyperpop. internet/internet. it/it. ix/ix. kan/kandi. kand/kandi. kandi/kandi. kill/kill. kit/kit. knife/knife. lix/lix. loud/loud. luv/luv. mask/mask. meme/meme. meow/meow. mew/mew. mlp/mlp. mon/monster. mspaint/mspaint. music/music. neo/neon. neon/neon. net/net. nostalgia/nostalgia. nya/nya. nya/nyan. nyan/cat. old/old. online/online. pika/pikachu. pix/pix. pixel/pixel. plur/plur. pony/pony. pop/pop. pop/tart. queen/queen. quiet/quiet. rain/rain. rainbow/rainbow. random/random. rave/rave. rawr/rawr. raz/razor. red/red. rei/reina. scene/scene. scene/scenester. scenecore/scenecore. scream/scream. shx/hxr. si/silent. silly/silly. skull/skull. slash/slash. slice/slice. sound/sound. spi/spider. spook/spook. stab/stab. stick/sticker. sticker/sticker. stud/stud. swag/swags/swagself. thxy/thxm. troll/troll. tutu/tutu. txt/txt. vamp/vamp. video/game. virtual/virtual. vocaloid/vocaloid. web/web. windows/window. x3/x3. x]/x]. xD/xD. xe/xem. xey/xem. xP/xP. xy/xyr. youtube/youtube. ze/zem. ze/zer. ze/zero. zi/zim. zim/zim. zom/zombie. zomb/zomb.

#pupsmail︰id packs #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #scenecore #scene #emo #emocore #y2k #y2kcore

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artethyst · 10 months ago

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~ Shadows Bathed In Moonlight ~ Pt.1

Azriel x Youngest Archeron Sister! Reader/OC

“Azriel we have been over this,” Rhysand brought a hand to his face, slim digits ghosting across his jaw in deep thought. “It is out of my hands- you are forbidden from telling her. Do you understand?”

“Even you cannot forbid me from such a thing,” he let out a dark chuckle is disbelief. “Tell me, High Lord, why is it that two of my brothers have found their mate- free to accept the bond, and it is I left alone- in the dark? As usual.” The Shadowsinger’s voice dripped with venom, an uncharacteristic snarl on his face as his primal instincts took over, having no outlet for such scathing carnal desires- having been barred from even spending time with his Mate.

“Azriel, you know it is not the same.”

“How is it not the same?”

“She is still coming to terms with what happened to her- her powers are still out of control-”

“Then let me help her!”

“That is Cassian’s job.”

The two men became silent as a soft rap on the door signified them of a presence- her presence, Azriel noted, her soothing scent of fresh lillies and the first rain of spring overwhelming him as her angelically golden head poked through the door nervously.

He felt his lips tug at the corner at the sight of her, Rhysand giving him a warning look at the almost unnoticeable gesture.

Azriel. The familiar voice was strained. Leave us.

“I…I apologise for interrupting,” came her gentle voice, twinkling blue eyes apologetic as Azriel was forced to tear his own away, the golden thread that only he could see taunting him in glittering ocean of her iris.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” came the Shadowsinger’s smooth reply, bowing in such a way Rhysand knew his infamous patience had been worn thin. “High Lord.”

Azriel had not ventured far, his shadows, uncharacteristically disobedient, willing him to stay close enough to her- his Mate in an onyx haze of longing he was beginning to suffocate under.

He watched Rhysand leave first, jaw ticking as the male rounded the corner, anticipating his sister-in-law to follow in tow, her gossamer gown and its iridescent scintillation billowing around her like a halo.

He heard her gasp as one of them curled itself around her pointed ear, cursing beneath his breath, only to hear her giggle- a liberating sound that might have exalted him from the depths of his own hell, an angelic noise that could have him repenting on his knees just to hear a single note of.

“Azzie…” she smiled up at him, as he remained still- as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t- he had. “Your shadows are loose again!”

Only for you- ever for you, he wanted to say, words turning to ash quicker than the breath was stolen from his lungs at the sight of her.

He wished he could ask Feyre to immortalise the moment as she stood- tendrils of him dancing across her unblemished skin, their dark illimitability neither scaring nor disgusting her as her rosy cheeks widened, their vaporous talons ardently skimming over her guiltlessness.

“S-Sorry,” was all that came out, low and stuttered, his bronzed countenance flushing at his own weakness- thanking the mother Cassian was not around to tease him for it.

“Do you think they like me?” She teased, unaware of the true weight of her words, “they never seem to latch on to anyone else…” She trailed off as he called them back, unable to stomach the sight of her- so close and yet so far from him, in such a cruel display of fate.

“It is hard for anything not to.” He mused gently, not missing the way her rosebud lips parted, the saccharine scent of her own innate longing drifting up to him in taunting waves of arousal.

“Azriel-” She had not used his name- called him that for such a long time, her fair face falling as he stormed away, wondering what she had done- had said for him to treat her so callously.

Her hand was splayed out in a fruitless attempt to stop him from abandoning her and prevent him from vanishing entirely- a frustrating habit he adopted had as of recent, baring its ugly, wilted head whenever their conversations has begun to blossom beyond anything other than formality.

In the few years she had known him he had never acted in such a way, making her slowly retreat back into the self-loathing girl he had once culled from her self inflicted cage. His own heart lurched as he felt her through the unclaimed bond- suffering, again, because of him.

He had been the one to make her feel like she was home- that he might have even been it. Yet the retreating coils of his own darkness reminded her that he could never love her.

That she would never be enough for a man such as he.

And as her soul cried for him in a manner she had yet to recognise, his own howled back in a melancholic crescendo as he cursed the Mother for always deafening his heart’s symphony.

#acotar x oc #acotar fic #fanfic #acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel x oc #azriel x archeron sister #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x original character #azriel x reader

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b00kdiary · 1 year ago

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Dreamer | Rhysand (I)

Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand begrudgingly goes to Hewn City to secure a marriage pact that will indefinitely bond the two Courts together- but the fine ladies of the Court of Nightmares are not what he wants or needs.

Instead, he discovers Lady Y/N, and she has no qualms about telling him how he has failed this City and her. This is more than just coincidence, it’s fate.

Warnings: long chapters, mature content (18 +) swearing, eventual smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

"High Lord, Rhysand of the Night Court."

I reach the top of the dais as my name is announced, my footsteps echoing against the polished floor and the sound bounces through the room, through the tense silence. No one speaks, they barely breathe, as I slowly turn, my face a sheet of ice as I settle onto my throne.

I let a nonchalant smile tug at my lips, the dark mask of a tyrant slipping into place as I eye the endless room before me. A macabre and dreary setting with its ebony walls and onyx ceiling, the beasts carved into the cavernous stone a mirror to the type of Fae who lived in this City.

I emulate the darkness as I lean back, my long legs spreading apart and my fingers curling into the engraved snake form that curves around the throne, the head peering out over my shoulder, my own personal monster.

I cock my head at the dozens of males before me, Council Members, my violet eyes twinkling in amusement as they all remained bowed, knees pressed to the floor, heads lowered and waiting for my word.

"You may rise," I drawl, my tone the picture of boredom, and as Kier and his peers rise to their feet, I see the apprehension and distaste on their faces for me, for my inner circle. Kier observes me, his brown eyes flickering at the prolonged silence. "Kier?"

"As usual, it is an honour to have you here, High Lord," Kier inclines his head, scurrying forward as he speaks, his own mask of reverence slipping into place as he stops before me. "As the steward of Hewn City, I am delighted by your decision to unite our two Courts through marriage, as are the Council present here today."

I see the way my Court stiffens, Mor, Cassian and Azriel all flanked at the bottom of the dais seem to go unnaturally still, the stones in their eyes wholly- unable to hide their disapproval of this whole arrangement.

"We all have our duties, Kier, the Court must always come first," My lips tilt in a mocking smile, and Kier shrivels under the tendrils of dark power that dance around me, an omnipresent threat so at odds with my amused gaze, "My marriage to a Lady of Hewn City will be a victory for us all."

Marriage.

The word tastes like poison on my tongue, any hopes and dreams I had once harboured turning to ash in my mouth at the cold reality I was faced with. To marry a female, I didn't know or love, to mate with her and sire a child, and secure an alliance with the Court of Nightmares indefinitely.

Heavy is the head that bears the crown indeed.

"It will be an alliance venerated for generations to come, I'm sure," Kier smiles, an ugly, wretched sight and I saw Mor shiver in my peripheral, an imperceptible movement, a conditioned reaction to her father. "High Lord, may I introduce to you the fine ladies selected by the Council."

I brace myself, masking my dread with an entertained smirk, drawing on the worst parts of myself, the worst parts of this place to hide the male that roared in warning to me inside. A click of doors opening at my left, and then several soft footsteps echoing into the chamber.

I stare, unyielding and silent, as several young women stride into the room, their heads bowed and back straight, adorned with fine clothes and finer jewellery as they stop at the foot of the dais before me.

They were fine, lovely even, tall, and thin, typical of High Fae female beauty and yet, despite their soft smiles and delicate frames, I frown.

"You can't be serious, even you wouldn't be this cruel," Mor releases a horrified, tight breath and both Cassian and Azriel step forward in unison, an impenetrable wall, as Kier's eyes turn to Mor and his lip curls. "These 'fine ladies' are girls, children, how old are they?"

The room shifted at her sharp words, Kier tensing at the accusation and the males of the Council muttering amongst themselves, their eyes burning as they glared at my cousin- at her supposed insolence for speaking out of turn.

"Their age is of little significance, girl," Kier sneers, that simpering fool mask he wore melting into revulsion and anger as he took in his outcasted daughter. My fingers curled around the throne under me as he spoke, that pit of darkness inside me churning. "They have all had their first bleed-"

"Cauldron," Cassian swore, his dark hair shifting as he moved his gaze over to those girls, and I saw his throat bob at the sight- so young, broken, pawns moved and used in a game of power.

"You're disgusting," Mor hissed, and I heard the pain clawing at her throat, her face pulled into a devastated frown as she took in those girls- and it was as if she were looking into a mirror, to the girl she had once been. "These girls are not chattel; you cannot sell their innocence for your own gain-"

"These ladies are being honoured, girl, an honour that you will never understand," Kier snarled, his emphasis on honour so clear, an indirect assault on Mor's character, on the choice she made to free herself. "To marry the High Lord is a privilege, one these ladies are eager for-"

Azriel's shadows thrum around him, restless, wild, and I knew his control was wearing thin the longer Kier spoke, the longer those girls stood before us, trembling under the burden on their shoulders.

"Enough." One word, low and sinister, and every mouth in the room closed, every Fae in the room turned utterly still at the command.

I grit my teeth, letting the furious power within me radiate into the room, let it dance through the air, brush against my subjects, let them feel the warning, the threat, that I was. I smile as their faces pale, flinching back from the vile magic, a reminder that I could destroy them without even lifting a hand.

"Kier, I am going to choose to believe that this decision was made out of sheer stupidity rather than insolence," My voice is a calm storm, but my eyes- they rage with a current of violence and death, the kind that made males twice my age blanche- and they do. "I will choose to believe that you did not invite me here to waste my time- you wouldn't dare be so foolish, would you Kier?"

I shifted forward in my seat, my eyes narrowing down at the male, and it took all the restraint in me not to shatter every bone in his body, to not pluck his eyes from his head and tear his tongue from his mouth- and he sees that desire to inflict pain upon him in my gaze.

"Never, High Lord, I would not dream of-" Kier barely contains his stuttering words, a mixture of fear, indignation and humiliation lacing through his widening gaze, but like the worm he was, he bowed his head to me in remorse. "It was a grave misjudgement, one that will not be repeated again."

"Good- I desire to sire a child, Kier, not marry one," I sneer, my disgust prevalent across every hard inch of my face as I turn from Kier, moving my eyes across every last council member, "Just as I am sure you all agree, these girls have many more years left to enjoy their youth, yes?"

I make the threat clear in my words, make them clear in my eyes- touch these girls and die.

None oppose me, their hearts hammering in their chests as they nod their head in agreement, subservient and controlled- and a small kernel of satisfaction fills me, that they felt a fraction of what the girls before me did.

"Kier, join me in the Council Room," I stand from my chaise, and as if it were muscle memory, every single person in the room falls to a knee and drops their heads as I descend the stairs. "Let us discuss the consequences you'll all face should you disappoint me again."

***

"Y/N, a union between the High Lord and a Lady of Hewn City is exactly the chance we've been waiting for," Cassandra pestered, her wide eyes pleading with me, but I ignored her again, choosing to instead clean the Council Room for the next meeting with haste. "It's a chance for change."

"Who are you trying to convince, Cassie- me or yourself?" I mutter, raising a dark brow at her as I tuck in the oak chairs, shoving them into place harder than was needed. "This marriage is a farce, and you're deluding yourself by thinking otherwise."

Cassie groans, the sound reverberating through the empty room, and I try to not laugh at her as she rushes around the endless table, her sea-blue eyes rolling as she stops beside me.

"Why must you be such a pessimist?" Cassie demands, her cold, slim fingers ripping the papers from my hand and slamming them onto the table before me. "With a lady from our Court married to the High Lord, we can finally hope, we will have someone on our side- to help us, to fix this Cauldron-forsaken City-"

"And who would that be?" I scoff out a laugh, a bitter, hollow sound as I turn my hard gaze to her, strands of my loose hair brushing my hot cheeks as I move, "Thanatos's daughter despises the Court of Dreams, Kier's nieces care more about fine jewels and clothes than people, and the other daughters are afraid of their own shadows, they would shit themselves at the sight of the High Lord and his inner circle."

Cassie purses her lips at my harsh words, and I frown, sighing deeply at the look of dejection on her lovely face, hating myself for snuffing out the light that had filled her eyes. But it had to be done- some people were not meant to dream.

"I'm sorry, Cassie, I know you wish it were otherwise, I do too," I force back the lump in my throat as I turn from her, hating the way my lip trembled and my hands felt weak, "But this marriage will benefit nobody but the High Lord, his court, and the males of the Council- that's it. They have never and will never care, there is no one on our side but us."

Silence fills the room at my hoarse dead words, and the reality of them, the reality that we were truly and irrevocably stuck in this life, in this cycle of hell made my eyes burn.

"It saddens me that you feel that way, My Lady," A deep, velvety voice rasped from behind me, and the air went taut at the unfathomable power that penetrated the room.

Cassandra gasped, something spilling from her hand and dropping to the floor with a deafening crunch. My stomach twists into knots as I brace myself, all the blood leeching from my face as I turn- to where the High Lord stood, his inner circle and Kier watching on either side.

"High Lord," Cassie choked on the title, choked on her fear and before the male before us could speak, she stumbled down to a knee, her head bowed and her golden hair falling forward to shield the terror on her face.

I couldn't move, not even as the voice inside me screamed and begged for me to bow, to submit myself to him- for I had heard stories of Rhysand.

Of his abilities as a Daemati, able to shatter a person's mind without lifting a hand, of his ruthlessness as High Lord, reducing people to ash with a smile on his lovely face, of all the horrific things he had done in his five hundred years of existence.

And it seemed he saw it on my face, perhaps even saw it in my mind, the nightmares and tales, the horrors spread about him in the City, about the kind of male he was.

His violet gaze narrowed, the constellations in them beaming as he stared at me, as he cocked his head, his lips pursed into a thin line- as if observing me. I shook under the silent act, the unyielding hold he had over me, as well as the gazes of his court at his side.

"Y/N!" Cassie hissed under her breath, her head turning and her silver-lined eyes meeting mine, tears sullying the usually tranquil blue as she pleaded with me to move, to bow.

"Insolent girl," Kier spat, his gaze hard as he glared at me and the breath caught in my lungs as a dark eclipse of magic shot from him, striking against my stomach, hard enough that I lurched forward in pain and then another hit a second later, slamming into my jaw. "Bow before your High Lord."

I groaned as I fell to a knee, the impact of the bone against the polished floor striking through my whole leg and up my body, but that was nothing compared to the throb that burned through my stomach and the cut at my lip, the taste of metal filling my mouth.

I heard a gasp, a feminine sound of surprise and concern from above me as I leaned forward, my eyes pinched shut and every breath feeling like glass in my lungs as I tried to compose myself- forcing down the pain in my jaw, in my stomach, in my heart.

I heard footsteps and then the room went still, as if a blanket of ice had fallen over us.

"High Lord, she-she was being impudent-" Begging and broken words, riddled with fear and my eyes shot open at the sound of a sickening crunch, an agonised scream following it, and the aura of death filling the space.

"No, you are impudent, Kier," That voice again, but now it sounded different- the kind of mercilessness that could haunt a person's nightmares, that could be found in the darkest hollows of hell. "You do not touch her, or any other female, ever."

Another crunch and I recognise the sound now, it was bones splintering, tendons tearing, blood gushing and Kier cried out again, a horrible, strangled sound.

"Leave," The High Lord breathed the command, and I felt the floor shake under his restraint like he was funnelling his power down into the ground as an anchor. "and do not heal that hand, I want you to remember my words today, Kier."

I keep my head low, staring at the floor, unable to look up as footsteps bound away, fast and stumbling and I cringe at the sight of blood leaking against the floor, a trail following after Kier as he exits the room.

And despite the tendrils of pain still wrecking through me- I internally groaned at the thought of having to clean the blood up.

An amazed huff of air left the High Lord, it sounded almost like a laugh, but I didn't dare raise my head. Not even as he slowly sauntered over, his footsteps deliberate and slow, I didn't even look up when that trail of blood vanished, magicked away, leaving behind not even a stain in memory.

He stopped before me, and my heart thrummed so loud I knew they could all hear it.

"My Lady," Rhysand murmured, his voice soft now, like a caress of wind against my skin. I swallow down the bitter taste in my mouth, my eyes fluttering as I lift my head- to see the hand he had reaching down for me. "Please, rise."

I blink at the outreached hand, heat filling my cheeks at Rhysand's tender gaze, any whisper of violence or darkness gone, replaced by something so much sweeter. I gnaw on my cheek, my hand sweating and shaking as I reach forward, gently placing my palm in his.

The second our hands connect, something charges through me, bright and sharp and strong and for a second Rhysand's eyes widen, just for a second, but then he blinks at it's gone- as if I had imagined it.

"Thank you, High Lord," I breathe and his fingers curl firmly around my palm as I wince, my knees shaking and knocking as I rise to my feet. He whispers something gently under his breath, his head glancing sideways, and I sigh when Cassandra rises too, her slender frame curling back as she stands.

I crane my neck to meet Rhysand's eyes, and upon seeing my face, seeing the cut leaking blood at my lip, his expression hardens. He still hadn't let go of my hand, his large, ringed fingers still gripping around me like a vice, calming the trembling shakes that ran through me.

"I apologise for Kier's actions," Rhysand sighed, his dark lashes fluttering as he slowly slipped his hand from mine, moving to the pocket of his jacket, his fingers pulling free the cloth there. My hand felt cold as it fell back to my side, but as Rhysand lifted the cloth between his fingers, my head hazed.

I didn't breathe, couldn't, as Rhysand gently brushed the soft cloth against the cut at my lip, soaking the material with blood and being so careful that I didn't even feel the pain stinging at the touch. I feel the surprised stare of Cassie at my side, of his family at his back, but nothing deterred Rhysand.

"I should be the one to apologise, High Lord," I stutter, finally feeling like I can breathe as he pulls his hand away, and I blink away the fog, clearing my throat as I step back, as I let the bubble, he created around us pop. "I spoke out of turn, and I should have bowed-"

"You don't need to apologise for your honesty or anything else," He shook his head, the soft waves of his blue-black hair shifting with the movement, and I forced myself to not stare at every inch of his handsome face. "I don't punish Ladies for words spoken in earnest between friends."

I nod, uncertainty and weariness shining in my gaze as I take in his intense half-smile, a smile that seems to brighten when I glance at Cassandra, looking equally as confused as me, and I shrug weakly.

"Though I will admit I am rather taken aback by your words, Lady Y/N," I shiver at the sound of my name on his silver tongue, at the way he cocked his head down at me, a purely predatory move, as he spoke. "I would like to hear more of your thoughts on the matter."

Hear my thoughts?

I go still at his easy words, at the question rather than a command, and Cassie releases a puff of air- like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room to placate her aching lungs.

"What?" I croak and then wince at the insolence behind my words, a habit that I couldn't shake in front of the High Lord. I pinch my eyes shut at the way his lip quirks, and my embarrassment is worsened by the small chuckle that General Cassian huffs out. "I mean- I'm not sure that's-"

"Now, now- don't go all shy on me, My Lady," Rhysand purred, nonchalance highlighted in every inch of his muscled form as he tucked the cloth back into his pocket and grinned at me, like a lion before devouring a lamb. "I think we're past the point of formalities, yes?"

***

"There is no one on our side but us."

The words were so hollow and defeated, the type of ruined that spoke of no hopes, dreams, or future, just nothing. And it was hard to explain what I felt at the words, like a sharp pain as if she had reached into my chest and torn out my heart with her bare hand.

She said that they have never and will never care- 'they' being me, my court, the people around me now and the ones left behind in my City of Starlight.

Sincere words, loaded words, spoken by a female behind closed doors, in confidence to her friend- and yet, I had overheard.

I wasn't sure what to expect when stepping into this room and wasn't sure what kind of female I would be confronted with. I had anticipated a female full of loathing and darkness, a kind of anger that would burn in her eyes, that could be seen through every breath she took, in every inch of her skin as she moved.

And yet, as I stared at the girl before me, I was met with the exact opposite.

The other lady, Cassandra, had become a shaking mess the second her blue eyes laid upon me, her breaths gasping from her as if everyone would be the last. She was terrified because that was all she knew in this city; it was all she knew of me.

But Lady Y/N was different- she was frightened by me, yes, I saw it in her doe-like eyes, saw it in the memories that flashed through her mind of me, the tales of my cruelty and brutality, the blood that stained my hands and the darkness that tainted my heart.

But she didn't look away, as if she couldn't.

Here she was faced with a monster that mothers warned their children about, yet she stared at me as if she saw me- and was as beguiled by me as I was by her.

"Now, now- don't go all shy on me, My Lady," I smile, the tightness in my chest easing as a stain tints her plump cheeks, and her chocolate eyes widen, "I think we're past the point of formalities, yes?"

Her friend swallows, audible and thick, as if struggling to get down air and Azriel shifts on his feet, his brow furrowed as if concerned the girl might collapse. Y/N glances at her, and amusement fills me at the small, confused shrug she gives her.

"You won't uh-" She clears her throat, her hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, and I watch every single movement as she tucks the silken strand over a perfectly arched ear, revealing the smooth column of her neck. "You won't turn me to dust, right?"

I snort, a short and amazed sound, and she gnaws on her lip, avoiding the cut there and I have to begrudgingly tear my gaze away when my court steps forward, my brothers half-smiling and Mor looking at Y/N as if she was as charmed by her as I was.

"No, no, Lady Y/N," My mask slips and slips until it's completely gone, and I'm glad that Kier left, glad that none but her saw me like this because it felt freeing, to be in this Cauldron-forsaken place and be able to genuinely smile. "No one will be turned to dust, on my honour as High Lord."

"Please do tell us," Mor steps forward, a small smile on her red-pained lips and Y/N's breath hitches at the eyes on her, at the attention. "Contrary to what you may think, we do care."

Y/N considers, and I can hear her heart hammering in her chest, fast and loud and endless, but despite that she lifts her chin and something raw runs through me at the look in her eyes- the bravery.

"I- I think that Hewn City is a cesspit, full of the worst kind of Fae and every amoral despicable thing a person could do happens here," She breathes, and her soft body trembles with the exhale, as if speaking these words aloud were exactly the catharsis she needed. "And to be honest, I blame you for that."

Surprise- it fills me and every single other person in the room.

"Y/N!" Cassandra gasps, and her eyes seem to widen further, impossibly big, latching onto me and full of pleading, "She doesn't mean that- she must be more delirious than anticipated from the-"

"Cassie, please," Y/N scoffs, a hollow and low sound, and the tension in the air goes thick as they glance at each other. "Someone needs to say it, it might as well be me."

I fold my arms across my chest, my lips pursing as they stare at each other, some internal telepathic conflict waging between them, in their eyes and despite my abilities, despite the fact, that it would be so easy for me to slip into their minds and wade through all their thoughts, I don't.

I glanced back at my Court, who stood just behind me, and their faces were contemplative too- not angry, nor offended, but shocked- here was this girl, no older than twenty, with eyes as soft as a doe's, telling us exactly how we have failed.

"Please, continue," I nod, and I hope my eyes are encouraging, because even if I do not wish to hear her words, she was right, they needed to be said and I needed to hear them.

"For centuries, the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams have been segregated and somehow we've fallen into two categories: good and bad," She swallows, and something aches in my chest at the sorrow on her lovely face, the burden, "But no one is born bad, people aren't inherently evil but growing up in a place like this? What else is there but the horrors we see and endure, what else are we destined to become?"

Another shaky inhale, a more broken exhale, and my magic burn inside me as if every desperate breath from her is like a call and my body is begging in answer.

"Your court has washed their hands of us, all of us because it was easier to believe that we were all damned than to try to help- the small minority have ruined the majority," Silver lines her hardening gaze, and I feel us all, every single one of us, go tense at the single tear that trickled down her cheek.

I hear a strangled sound come from behind me and my burning gaze glances back- to Mor, tears brimming her eyes and her lips trembling, watching the girl before us, and feeling every single atom of hurt as if it were her own.

"Morrigan was lucky enough to escape this City, these people because she had you- but do you truly think that she is the only good person born here, that in all these years, she is the only one worthy of salvation?"

More tears leak down Mor's face and Y/N's, endless, eternal, years of suffering in one single moment and I feel the guilt of my actions barrel down at me, a truth that I have spent years avoiding coming to light, like a thunderbolt to the heart.

I let my magic hold me down, let it root me in my spot- because those tears on her cheeks are tormenting me, ruining me, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and brush them away.

"So, forgive me if I have no hope left, that died in me, in all of us, long ago," Y/N clears her throat, her chest rising and falling in powerful waves and my throat is as dry as sand as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, "I- I think we could have all been dreamers- if only you had given us the chance."

In five hundred years, the mask I wore never slipped, never faltered, never was hard to wear- until right now. Right now, as my gaze locked with her, as I saw all the horrors she endured, because of my neglect, I couldn't even find that mask within me- it was gone.

There's silence, heavy and long and burdensome for what feels like hours as I stare at her, and I don't think I could look away even if I wanted to do and I don't, I don't want to.

Y/N inhales a sharp breath as I stalk towards her and the magic in me dances and whirls and strikes through the air, dark and ominous and wholly powerful. My jaw locks as she grabs out to her friend, Cassandra whimpering as Y/N yanks the girl behind her- a shield, against me.

Brave- so utterly brave. Willing to face off with a male five hundred years her senior and her High Lord, to protect her friend.

A Queen in her own right.

I stop before her, so close that I feel her breasts brush my chest, feel the small trembles that wreck through her body, can smell the lavender and jasmine on her perfect skin. She raises her eyes to me, and I see every ounce of her character, her heart and soul, as she tries to not cower before me.

"How old are you, My Lady?" I mutter, and she shivers under my easy words, her brow furrowing at the non-threat. "And what do you do here, your role?"

"Twenty-one, High Lord." She swallows, her tongue flicking out nervously to wet her lips and my hands clench at the sight, at the moisture on her pink mouth. "My father was Captain of an import chain for the City, I was given the role of Lady-in-waiting as a reward for his work."

I sense the curiosity and shock of my court behind me, the way they imperceptibly inch closer to me, to us, drawn in by my words- by the intention behind them.

"You believe the alliance is a farce, that it wouldn't change anything?" I ask, softer, and my power slips from me, curling around her curved hips and soft thighs, moving through her silken hair and over her sensitive skin- and she shakes her head, unable to speak. "What if I were to find a Lady of Hewn City who shared your sentiments, who desired for change and salvation just as you do- would that make you more inclined to hope?"

Cassandra sucked in a sharp breath, her blue eyes widening- in realisation. And I felt the air tauten, my inner circle going still, knowingly.

But Y/N cocked her head, a youthful move, not seeing what was right in front of her.

"Yes, I think that you marrying a Lady who genuinely cares for this City and its people would be a step in the right direction," She considers, and I can't fight my smile at the tender, sincere, confusion that pinches her lovely face. "Thought I seriously doubt you will find any such female here."

"Hm," A lazy grin stretches across my face, bright and sure, drawing from the feeling blooming in my chest, raw and new and terrifying as I stare down at her, "I already have."

"High Lord? I don't understand-" Her words melt into a gasp as my fingers caress her cheek, moving ever so gently against that sore cut at her lip- and satisfaction fills me when her eyes flutter, a breathy sound slipping from her.

"I have already found the perfect Lady to marry," Her face burns as I run my eyes languidly down her figure, across her entire face and body- and she stills as realisation fills her, "All you have to do is say yes, Y/N darling."

#acotar #rhysand #rhysand smut #rhysand x reader #smut #sarah j maas #azriel acotar #cassian acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand x y/n #acotar fanfiction #sjm #the bat boys #acotar smut

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brandwhorestarscream · 3 months ago

Note

part 2 of D-16 carrying Sentinel’s sparkling please?

Your wish is my command, anon! I had a lotta people asking for this, so many messages! Ya'll are so sweet, I really appreciate it, so thanks for that! Let's get right into it ^-^ part 1 is here, part 3 here, part 4 here!

Orion is at his side in an instant, yelping, "Dee, no! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!" As he forcibly grabs his friend's servos to stop him from tearing himself apart. D-16 shrieks a wordless noise of agony, and then collapses forward onto Orion to begin sobbing violently into his shoulder. Clutching onto him like a lifeline, wailing with all the devastated force he can. Bawling against Orion and falling to pieces, brokenly asking what he's going to do.

Orion numbly wraps his arms around Dee, letting his chin fall onto his shoulder. His arms slowly tighten, til he’s clinging with near-denting force, and his optics begin to sting with tears too. It hits him later than it did D-16, what exactly Sentinel did to them. That he intentionally got them drunk and lied to them, he lied, lied, lied about them being special and lied about caring for them, all so he could make them pop their panels. It sinks in, slowly, exactly what he took from them: he robbed them of their first time, something that should’ve been one of the tenderest, loving moments of their lives. He used them and threw them away just because he could. He ravaged their bodies selfishly, under false pretenses, without a care for how it would effect them. He touched their sparks. He raped them, both of them, and a sob suddenly flies past Orion’s lips. It hits him all at once, with a feeling like a train has just plowed into his chassis full-force, and all he can do is cling onto D-16 and wail. They cry together, desperately holding onto each other there on the cavern, weeping with all the force of their broken, disgusted sparks.

Alpha Trion stands vigil over them, observing in sorrow, letting them mourn and grieve all that they’ve lost. His spark aches for them. Poor, poor children… they’re so young. Too young to be forced to weather something like this, such an egregious sin… he watches Elita approach them with a haunted look on her face, B-127 wandering closer in her shadow, and she reaches a trembling servo to gently rest on Orion’s shoulder. He grabs onto her wrist like a lifeline, face angling up to look at her lost and broken, optics shattered and expression void of all hope. She bows her helm, mouth pressed into a thin line and lips trembling. Struggling not to cry for them. B-127 creeps closer and, after hesitating for a moment, pads forward to glom onto D-16’s arm. He’s silent as the bigger mech cries, patting at his arm and trying desperately to think of something he can do. But there’s nothing, not really, nothing in the universe could ever soothe a pain like this.

They cry until they can’t shed any more tears, til their bodies have completely exhausted their optical cleanser and lubricant stores, and they’re left dry sobbing and shuddering in exhaustion, slumping against one another and barely upright. It hurts. It hurts. Everything hurts.

“...little one,” Alpha Trion gently addresses D-16 at last, stepping forward and flicking the last of his tears off his face. “I cannot undo what has been done to you, but I can offer to relieve one of your burdens.”

D-16 sniffles miserably, still huddled close to Orion where they’re now sitting side by side on the floor. Orion is cross-legged, face in his servos, with Dee snuggled close against his side, his helm cradled on the blue mech’s shoulder. “Wh…” his voice creaks like a rusty hinge. “What do you…?”

Alpha Trion steps back and raises his palms to the sky, optics closing and exhaling a great puff of air. “ONYX!” his deep voice echoes through the cavern like a clap of thunder. “Onyx, my brother, I beseech you. Speak to this child in my place!”

A warm wind blows in from nowhere, with such force it disturbs the magnetic sand all around them. It begins to swirl, lifting from the ground and into the air to form a funnel, billions of grains chasing one another around and around and forming a curtain around Alpha Trion’s body. They cluster around and seem to consume him, rushing over his plating and molding to his form like a second coat of paint. His helm drops back so his face is parallel to the ceiling, then he gasps as his optics fly open. No longer blue, but a warm, crackling orange-and-pink, like a freshly lit hearth.

He stumbles forward, unsteady on his pedes, taking to one knee and his left palm touching the floor as he stabilizes. “Oh…” when he speaks, it is not Alpha Trion’s voice. He’s… a bit higher pitched. Warmer. Even gentler. “Mother… mercy…”

He shakes his helm and the sand stubbornly clings, before at last he raises his face, zeroing in on the frightened, confused quartet.

“Oh…” he straightens up, optics drifting from each of their faces before focusing wholly on D-16. His expression slips from bafflement to a sort of pained compassion. Not quite pity, but if the way his mouth turns down and his optics narrow with sorrow are any indication, his spark aches for them. “Oh, dear…”

“D-Did he say-” B-127’s optics are impossibly wide, and he’s frozen on the spot, unable to move his pedes. “O-Onyx Prime-?”

“Indeed,” he nods in affirmation, straightening up. Though he remains in Alpha Trion’s body, the sand constructs his visage, shaping around the crests of his helm and fanning out on his back to take the form of his wings. Wings that were missing from his corpse. “Though I wish our meeting was under less dire circumstances, children.”

“Y- You’re-” Elita is starting to frown, inching in front of her group with one arm out. “You’re… th-the god of death-” Oh, Primus. Is he here to reap their sparks? Has Alpha Trion channeled him here to take them away?!

“Do not fear, little one. Peace,” Onyx holds up one servo, and his optics glimmer with warmth. He smiles, gently, hoping to put them at ease. “I mean you no harm. I shepherd over the dead, those who have already passed on. I help them find their way home to Primus, and assist them in seeking rebirth, but I am not here to be your reaper. Please… do not be afraid.”

He approaches them and kneels down just before D-16, looking deep into his optics. “Brother Alpha has called me here to speak to you, child.”

“M-” Dee is clinging tight to Orion, spark pulsing in fear. This- This is death incarnate! They said his hands could bleed a spark from it’s frame with a single touch! They said he lorded over the afterlife and knew everyone’s date and time of death to the millisecond. Having him here, specifically to speak to him, made his throat threaten to close in panic. “Me?”

“Yes,” Onyx Prime’s servo gently touches his helm and he yelps, they all do, flinching away. But after several seconds he realizes, wait… he can still feel everything. He can still feel Orion beside him, can still feel the warm gush of his vents. Actually… he feels better. Physically, anyway: his frame is already beginning to lower it’s heightened temperature back into the green zone, the insistent, horrible pain in his tanks is abating. His optics peak open, and finds Onyx still there, smiling kindly at him. “Please… you needn’t be afraid. I swear to you, upon my graves, I shall not harm you.”

“Wh…” Elita gulps. “Why are you…?”

His optics drift lower, to D-16’s chassis and abdomen. His expression saddens. “You've been forced to endure something terrible… oh, you poor, poor thing…”

The Prime pulls his servo away from Dee’s helm, though not before giving him an affectionate pat. “Listen to me, little one. You are young, you are hurt, and the journey ahead will be very difficult regardless of the path you take. Forcing you to bear this sparkling forced upon you would be a great cruelty if it is not your choice to do so. If you would like, I will take them and return to the Allspark.”

D-16’s spark slams to a stop in his chest. He stiffens, and Orion sits up straighter beside him. Elita’s mouth falls open.

“Wh… What are you…”

“It won’t cause you nor them any pain. They will be safe, and you shall not be punished for it,” he nods down at him. “I know this one, as I know all of them. They are a good spark, they will not resent you if you don’t wish to birth them. They will love you just the same, just as I will, and just as Primus will. The choice is entirely yours, little one.”

Dee’s audials start to ring, and he presses both palms to his chassis. It’s warm, overly warm as it has been the last several decacycles, and before he’d thought it was the heat of fever, but now he knows it is because he hosts an infant soul anchored to his.

He feels frozen in place. He- he could… Onyx Prime would…?

He sobs again and covers his mouth, bowing his helm. “I- I don’t-” he chokes. “I d-don’t know! I don’t know, I- I dunno, I-”

Does he want this sparkling? Does he? He doesn’t know! When Alpha Trion had announced his state, he’d been so happy. Over the moon in fact, beaming with pride and so excited to share the news. They were living proof of his and Orion’s tryst with Sentinel, proof that they were loved and important, and they were so indescribably precious. Now, though… now, they’re… they’re…

Primus, he doesn’t know what they are! He wants to curse them, wants to rip them from his spark chamber and toss them away so there’s no evidence of what that monstrous false Prime had done to him. He doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t want a constant, hideous reminder of the worst thing to ever happen to him.

But… the part of him that was previously excited wars with the other half of him. He doesn’t know that that’s what this sparkling will be. He’d been so excited, so happy, and now in it’s place there’s sadness and horror, and yet another part of him is so angry and repulsed and… and…!

He sobs again, clawing at his helm. “I DON’T KNOW!” he shouts, grinding his denta. “I don’t know, ok?! I don’t know!” how can he? Everything is such a mess in his helm, emotions at war and raging back and forth, grappling for dominance and all trying to shove the other down. He’s scared. He’s hurt. He’s sparkbroken. This is his first sparkling. Perhaps once he’d dreamed of this day, but pictured it so differently, hand in hand with someone who meant more to him than anything else, both of them with transformation cogs because they were good and hardworking and had been rewarded for their efforts. Perhaps he had dreamt of a home, with- with someone special, and a family with one or even two precious sparklings. It was a dream that was supposed to be achieved far into the future. Now, broken as he is, he worries it never will. Never can. It would be an impossibility, as he is now… if he kept this sparkling, he would have to look at it every day knowing he did not love the sire, and never could. He would have to look upon them as their only parent and know that his dreams of a happy life died long before they were even born.

But… if he lets them go, if he lets the god of the dead pluck them from his chest, he might never be fortunate enough to conceive again. What if this first sparkling is his only sparkling, and in letting them go, he loses his one chance? It’s too soon, it’s too early, and circumstances are dire, but… is he prepared to let them go? Knowing this could very well be his only chance?

D-16 sobs again, and Orion’s arm wraps around his shoulder, pulling him close against his chassis. Dee’s face burrows into his neck, whole body shaking as he whimpers again and again that he just doesn’t know!

“...peace, my little one,” Onyx Prime’s voice is rife with sadness and empathy. “You need not make a choice now, or even today. I… I apologize for bringing you further distress, but please know,” he places his right servo over his spark in oath. “The Primes are with you. When you make your choice, utter a prayer to me, and I will come to you if you require my aid.”

With a sigh, all of the sand suddenly falls from Alpha Trion’s body with the whisper of countless grains trickling to the floor, and when he blinks his optics become blue once more. “Ah…” he takes note of their distress, and shakes his helm sadly. “Poor children… rest. You are weary. Rest, and I will feed you.” once they’ve eaten and had time to process, he can reveal more to them, but that can wait.

They have suffered enough for one day.

...

And that's where I'm gonna cut part 2! Poor, poor Dee... this is the worst day of his life, but at least he has Orion to support him. I hope ya'll enjoyed this angst nugget :3 if you want part 3, ya'll know what to do. Abuse the crap out of my ask box lol. Gimme your thoughts or predictions as well, that's always fun

#transformers one #d-16 #orion pax #alpha trion #elita #b-127 #onyx prime #cw rape mention #cw discussion of abortion #press f for dee #brandwhore writes #your daily dose of angst #hope you guys enjoyed my onyx prime uwu

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