#Fur Motherhood

[geishaglambycandi]

Wizard of Oz for Halloween

[heidinakanishi]

Wizard of Oz for Halloween

[shadowisabean]

My mom is so lucky to have me! 🐶⭐

[curiositysavesthecat]

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

[ihaveacatnow]

Day 2 of being a mother and i think reality is starting to set in

[multific]

Motherhood

Yautja x Reader

Summary: After you gave birth to your son, it took you some time to get used to having a half-Yautja and half-human. 

You felt sore all over. 

You moved against the fur but your whole body felt sore.

You could hear your mate’s soft breathing, it immediately made you feel at ease.

Yet, something felt out of place.

As you stirred from your sleep, you sat up in your bed and looked around. Everything looked normal, except for one thing.

The little child who used to be under your heart was now in a crib beside you. 

You looked at your mate, sleeping soundly beside you.

He got used to sleeping with you to the point where he didn’t even care anymore if you moved or woke up. 

It wasn’t always like that.

He often woke up with you when he took you into his home, but he got gradually used to you being with him.

You moved over to the crib, leaving the warmth of your bed, you stood up and got your son out of his crib.

It was a little strange to call him your son, after all, he looked nothing like you.

He looked like a pure Yautja, except for his eyes, his eyes were yours.

He wasn’t sleeping when you lifted him out of his crib, instead, he was watching, learning.

You ignored all the pain in your body as you moved out of the bedroom and into what you would call a kitchen.

You got yourself a glass of water as you sat down on one of the chairs. With your child in your arms, you moved him so you could see his face.

He laid in your lap.

“Will you never cry?” But your Baby had no reply. Of course, he didn’t he wasn’t even a day old. You watched him as his eyes wandered from your eyes to your chest and hands. 

You held a finger out to him, which caught his attention and he immediately grabbed it.

He continued to watch your finger as you smiled.

This little moment reminded you that even if he looked like a Yautja, he was still a baby.

Your baby.

This little boy in your lap was not so long ago in your stomach.

It was crazy to think about.

Your house felt a little too quiet, usually you were never up without your mate. So, this felt a little strange. 

You looked at your son.

“How am I supposed to feed you?” You said as you lifted him, trying to see if he was hungry or not. He was, you didn’t know how, but you could tell.

You pulled your nightgown down and you didn’t know how, but he was a natural.

You watched as he fed. 

He truly didn’t feel like your son. You looked after so many Yautja babies when you joined their tribe, this felt almost like one of those moments.

Except for the feeding part. Only a mother can feed their child.

And your son was no exception.

While he was born into a very high place in the hunting tribe, he was still your son. 

A highly anticipated member.

Your Mate was the right had of the tribe leader, a high position with lots of responsibilities.

One of which was to bring a son into the world.

Which you just managed to do.

You had a pregnancy which left your body sore and your mate feared the worst, but thankfully, you were able to give birth without any major issues.

And now, here you were, holding him and feeding him.

Your thumb ran down his little cheek, right next to where his mandibles were.

“You are beautiful.” You smiled and the child just kept looking at you.

Once he finished eating you pulled your gown back and pulled him to your chest, laying him down.

Did Yautja babies even burp?

Guess you will find out soon.

He did burp.

A small little burp.

And soon, he was off again.

You got up from the chair and headed back to the bedroom.

You got in, the fire was still going, but now, your mate was up.

He looked at you then at your son in your arms.

“He was hungry.” You said as you put him back into his crib before climbing back on the furs.

You let out a long yawn before getting under the covers. 

Your mate made a sound before laying back down himself. You lay down closer to him as he pulled you closer.

Maybe it was a difficult thing to give birth to a Yautja baby. Maybe it was difficult being married to one as well.

But you loved them both with all of your heart and that was enough, more than enough.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[lovecanyon]

KISS OF LIFE

dad!charles leclerc x wife!yn

patreon | masterlist

liked by yourinstagram, carlossainz55 and 4,128,940 others

charles_leclerc Céline and I = bed heads 🤍

view all comments

user113 CÉLINE IS LITERALLY A MINI CHARLES

user201 if she doesn’t become a f1 driver…i will be 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

yourinstagram my babies!

charles_leclerc I love you so much mon chéri!!!

user153 CRYING IN THE CLUB

joris__trouche Céline has stolen all of our hearts ❤️

(liked by charles_leclerc)

liked by user227, user603 and 74,910 others

leclercdaily CHARLES AND Y/N WITH THEIR NEW PUPPY TODAY!

view all comments

user113 I AM FUCKING DYINGGG

user300 charles and y/n’s fur baby 😭😭😭

user639 CÉLINE IS PROBABLY SOOO HAPPY GOODBYEEE

user367 he and céline are gonna be the bestest friends

user210 leo already deserves the world

user15 the leclerc’s just added another baby to their family…i am sobbing

liked by user133, user262 and 120,619 others

f1wags Y/N and Charles Leclerc’s new puppy Leo!

view all comments

user616 LEO IS THE CUTEST PUPPY I AM NOT OKAYSJDNSNS

user202 he’s got that leclerc charm already 😭

user464 i never knew i needed leo content in my life until now

user69 leo’s instagram debut needs to happen ASAP, i need more adorable puppy content in my feed!!!!

user177 HE IS LIVING HIS BEST LIFE

user213 the way this puppy single-handedly destroyed the f1 fandom

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 4,289,147 others

yourinstagram where my heart is

view all comments

user61 SHE MAKES ME WANT TO BECOME A MOTHER

user898 the beauty of motherhood

charles_leclerc Two peas in a pod 🤍

yourinstagram don’t get jealous…

user534 PLEASE I LOVE HER LMAO

francisca.cgomes You two are so precious!!!

user462 MOTHER!!! (literally)

carlossainz55 Ferrari girls ❤️

liked by user163, user735 and 198,640 others

f1updates #NEW! Charles and his daughter Céline on his yacht in Monaco recently! via Y/N’s stories!

view all comments

user544 HE IS SUCH A RICH MAN UGHHHH 🙌

user271 y/n is one lucky woman

user620 literally the hottest DILF to ever walk this earth

user205 I WANNTTTT HIM BAD @yourinstagram count your days 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

user657 y/n wins at life.

user209 charles looks so happy aweeee, i love him and his little family

user111 leo in the corner like: 👁️👄👁️

liked by user662, user240 and 100,583 others

yncharlesnews YN AND CHARLES AT LEC’S ICE CREAM LAUNCH!

view all comments

user523 the way y/n constantly supports charles, i love her so much

user152 she’s nothing but a trophy wife

user178 someone is jealous 😁😁😁

user424 literally partners in crime

user208 charles was following her the entire night like a lost puppy 😭😭

user981 they’re truly meant to be together

user341 i love y/n, she’s such a supportive wife

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 6,720,385 others

charles_leclerc Puppy love and baby giggles in the air 🤍🩷

view all comments

user167 THIS IS SO ADORABLE WTFFFFF

user543 céline and leo are gonna be besties forever

yourinstagram puppy and baby heaven

charles_leclerc Dying of happiness 🤍

user321 THEY ARE SO HAPPY I AM SOBBING

scuderiaferrari F1 teammates: coming 2046

user334 LEO THE LOVE OF CHARLES’ LIFE 🙏🙏

arthur_leclerc Squad goals

yourinstagram via stories

liked by charles_leclerc, olliebearman and 4,701,634 others

yourinstagram l'amour ❤️

view all comments

user606 charles and y/n: f1 royalty. céline: future fashion icon. leo: the real mvp of the family!

user145 leo leclerc 😭😭😭

charles_leclerc So happy!!!!

yourinstagram i am so in love with you it’s insane

user451 she really loves him so much 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

user348 Y/N IS REALLY LIVING THE BEST LIFE IN THE WORLD

landonorris I'm officially declaring myself a Leo stan. Sorry, Charles and Céline but your puppy is just too adorable!

yourinstagram not offended

taglist: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @agustdpeach @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @youusunshineyoutemptress @cherryfragrancx @milkiane @golden-hoax @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia @honethatty12

[diminuel]

This was kind of my Stinky Child AU concept.

(It was first supposed to be part of the Kuja Empress comics so Croc was supposed to go by "Vanille" in this AU, the transition to Sir Crocodile happening much later. But I changed my mind at the last moment before posting the Ace meeting Luffy comic I guess X'D Who knows if I might change my mind again as this is a Work in Progress and some of you might have good input into it too. But this is where my mind's at now:)

Crocodile makes a sharp distinction between who he is as a pirate and who he thinks he has to be to safely raise Luffy. Nobody can know who he is. I imagine that actually raising Luffy was an unexpected decisions because he simply couldn't let him go so he and Dragon changed plans.

Crocodile tries hard to present in a certain way in Windmill Village, which is why we see him with make up and feminine clothes when he's interacting with Dadan and Makino. When it's just Dragon his clothing is more gender neutral (I guess?? he's definitely not wearing a push up bra, not that boobs in One Piece obey the laws of gravity) and he doesn't wear make up.

He'll gradually stop trying so hard when he learns that the people of Windmill Village don't judge if he doesn't conform to the idea he has about how a woman/ mother should present and they especially keep quiet about the most wanted man living among them. They'll do the same about a Warlord. He'll eventually be "baba" to the kids and not mom.

(Also, I don't know what Iva's involvement is. Since it's a gradual process, Iva might just help along a little bit? I don't know~

Additional note: I don't think Crocodile really struggles with dysphoria in this AU. That doesn't mean he's at ease with the concepts of womanhood and motherhood he attempts to live up to.)

Thoughts, input, objections, tomatoes?

(Edit: alright!! I gave him his fur coat back! *lol* Here's a little comic about why he might not have a coat!)

[traumatrios]

the name of the game

pairing… dodge mason x fem!reader

wc… 2.3k

summary… you don’t talk to strangers— but there’s something different about dodge. was it his charm? his looks? or the way you couldn’t get him off of your mind?

warnings… ends in smut, face riding, drinking (not drunk sex), iconic red cowboy boots, brief pain pleasure, dodge is soooo delusional

josie’s notes! um i kinda don’t remember how panic ended for dodge (i finished it a week ago) so take the beginning plot with a grain of salt

otherwise enjoy my lovelies ❤️

Dodge didn’t have many friends to begin with, but with most of the kids his age out of Cape and attending college, he did feel quite lonely. 

He’s not a stranger to the fact that college wasn’t in the cards for him– he had too many responsibilities. He knew his sister could very much take care of herself, but lazy Sunday’s on the couch next to her was where his heart truly belonged. 

His mother needed help managing the restaurant, because as much as she prided herself for her hardworking motherhood and independence, he saw the breath of relief she had whenever he was there.

He was perfectly fine as a blue collar working adult. What did he need college for anyway? It was too expensive, especially after the necessary but monetarily disappointing ending to Panic. He was too old to apply now.

Dodge took his time off of working at his bar to nurse the foam of a beer from another in a neighboring town. 

Was this really what his future was? He was dangerously nearing a seat in the same boat as the men surrounding him in the ambience of the dive bar: old (21) with a family at home (he was unattached with a sister and a single mother 5 minutes away from his apartment). 

Dodge might as well accept it; this was his destiny.

But the glimmer of fate came to him through a vision he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining from the wild dreams in his head or the material of a Playboy magazine. 

The mechanical bull sitting in the middle of the recreational space of the bar with a pretty girl attached to its saddle.

Dodge couldn’t tell if you were a saddle bronc rider (like himself) or just intensely familiar with your hips. You rode the mechanical bull like it was a kids bicycle with training wheels.

But with how you grinded against the fur of the mechanical bull with the rhythm it was bucking, he landed on the latter.

It was entrancing to look at, he admitted. The winks you sent into the collecting audience only strengthened his hopes of getting one shot at him. 

The mechanics continued to whir and spin you around, pathetic attempts to throw you off of the attraction you were obviously very skilled at riding. Have you been here before? Has he just never noticed you?

How could he never notice you.

Before he knew it, Dodge was leaning against the inflatable rim of the attraction, eyes wide in awe of your performance. One hand gripped the braided rope attached to the nape of the bull’s neck whilst the other waved in the air freely to your girlfriends, who had been screaming your name in the same way Dodge heard it yelled by paparazzi during award shows his sister watched on the weekends through the television.

The moderator of the attraction seemed just as impressed as anyone else watching you, even holding the twinge of suspicion some kept in the quirk of their brow. A crowd eventually formed around your performance, whistling and cheering you on as the meat of your calves squeezed the sides of the bull’s stomach.

Dodge thinks he heard a “yee haw!” come from the intoxicated group of guys (no younger than 30) stuffed in a booth attached to the wall facing your ass.

Bright digits flashed on the screen beside the control booth, announcing the new high score of Big Star Bar. 2 minutes and 36 seconds.

As you unmounted the artificial bull, Dodge didn’t pull his eyes away from you like the rest of the crowd did. You weren’t a one hit wonder, he had to know your secrets. What was a girl with hips like yours doing in a random dive bar in Texas?

Dodge wasn’t sure how to approach you, especially after losing you in the crowd of girls in identical cowboy hats and guys in flannel. He was lucky enough to skin his eyes over the bar and spot your sparkling red boots tapping and gliding against the dingy dance floor.

The boy filed through the crowd until the heat in the air turned from heavy to sweaty dance floor heavy. 

Dodge scanned the horseshoe— painted? —on the back of your jean jacket and how it paired with your cowboy boots. It felt like something out of a movie, seeing your outfit.

“This your first rodeo?” he greeted, though from his stance behind your back, he wasn’t surprised by the small jump in your shoulders. But when you turned around, you were just as beautiful up close than you were on that damn bull. Dodge noticed the thick pieces of glitter scattered across your collarbone and how it seemed to match with the other girls in your party.

“Sorry. I don’t talk to strangers,” you shrugged, offering Dodge a friendly smile in apology.

Your gaze didn’t even falter or scan him, just unwaveringly looking him in the eye before you turned around again to chat with your friends. 

“Aren’t those the most fun to talk to though?” Dodge tried, and god did it form a pit in his stomach to feel like one of those guys that pushed for a girl's attention— a bad guy.

This got you to turn back around again.

Truthfully, his looks were hard to deny; especially with that ivory colored cowboy hat on his head. Otherwise, he wore a navy tee with a pair of dark jeans and black boots; the simplest thing ever. 

One hand was stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, the other tapping its digits against the sweaty glass of a bottle of beer. 

“Do you really wanna talk? Grandma taught me that boys like you never want to just talk.” 

Dodge couldn’t fight against that, not confidently at least. He knew he didn’t want to just talk, but he also didn’t know what else he’d want to do. Is this what being in limbo felt like?

You gave Dodge the grace of a second before pointing an eyebrow at him and turning again, only this time walking off with your friends to a different corner of the bar.

Dodge was too stubborn to talk growing up, and in this moment— and only this moment —did he curse himself for doing so.

In Cape, everyone was a regular. 

It didn’t matter where you went or with whom, you were known better than the alphabet.

When Dodge came into town, he became a regular. In most places, at least.

He knew you weren’t from Cape because you weren’t a regular here. Which is why he was surprised to see the same red heels he’s been dreaming about since the weekend stroll into the establishment he worked in.

You knew what you were doing, of course. You knew about Dodge Mason because Gina knew about Dodge Mason, and she knew about Dodge Mason from her boyfriend Daniel.

That’s how you got here, wasn’t it? But, Dodge didn’t need to know that.

He didn't need to know how your girlfriends teased you for playing hard to get or how you began sweating just from looking into his piercing eyes.

And when those piercing eyes caught the sight of the painted horseshoe on your back, he thought it must be my lucky day.

As you sat at the bar, Dodge couldn’t think of any other way to praise whatever god trailed you in here rather than repeating the same ‘thank you’s in his head.

“Evening, lucky,” he coined the nickname from the symbol. You fought a smile at his wit, instead rolling your tongue along the flesh of your lip. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you sir?”

Dodge chortled at your act, but your face stood unwavering. Your tits looked perfect while pressed against the bar, but Dodge managed to pull his eyes a little higher to see the small tick in your neck signaling your so-called ‘confusion’.

You must’ve not liked his silence, because you picked up the silence with a small sigh and your order.

“May I have a shirley temple with just a dash of lime juice, please?” you batted your eyelashes at the unconvinced boy, being met with the playful roll of his eyes. 

Despite himself, Dodge began to concoct your beverage. You were strange, he thought. Where did you come from? Were you visiting? Would he see you again if nothing came from this conversation? How would he be sure?

He had to make sure this one counted, not like that pathetic excuse of conversation at the bar. The clicking of your nails rippling against the waxed bar behind his back mimicked the ticking clock– he might as well shoot a shot. Perhaps it was an easy target, especially with his luck sprawled against your back. 

“Did your grandma also teach you these manners?” Dodge planted the highball in front of your impatient hands. You took a look at the glass, then him, then to the glass again, where your eyes stayed as you tasted the drink. The sugar spreads across your tongue, satisfying its parched state.

“I still don’t talk to strangers,” you said, but the smirk that played on your face told Dodge something different. Your game wouldn’t fool him, not when you drop it just as limp as that. Did you want him like he wanted you?

You two weren’t strangers, no, he knew you were meant for something more. 

“So you admit to it,” he turned his head from the focus on your drink, only to catch your face hot with guilt. He chuckled to himself at your game.

“We ain’t strangers. This is our second meeting, perhaps fate is sending a message?” God, when did Dodge Mason become so sappy? He was grasping at the ends of a rope he wasn’t sure you were on the other end of.

But then you smiled. You smiled and twirled the skinny black straw around the ice of your drink. “And what message would that be?” you challenged.

Dodge leaned his elbows on the dark oak of the bar. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before his proposal, or rather, ‘the message’. “You should come home with me tonight.” He kept it at that; simple and charming. 

You giggled like a schoolgirl at his confidence. By the looks of it, he had been a lustful young adult, admittedly like you, with maybe a studio apartment. Your mind could only think of one thing he planned to do if you accepted the invitation, and you knew it wasn’t puzzles and lemonade. 

Were you opposed? Not entirely. 

“And what would this night entail? What do I get from entering your home? You gon’ drive me home after?” You matched his stance, leaning forward on the folded elbows you stuck to the waxy countertop. Dodge felt a stream of intimidation flow through his veins at the way you pointed your eyebrow at him.

“Might have to come to find out,” he replied, swiping his tongue over the toothpick that hung from his mouth. You couldn’t restrain your eyes from flickering down to the pair of lips. 

You were sure the sharp metal of his handle left a burning mark when he pushed you against it in the barren hallway of his apartment building. But with the incessant kissing of his lips distracting your mouth– and eventually everything else –it didn’t matter much to you anymore.

Your frame had been stripped of all fabric, laying in addition to his in the ratty hamper dejected in the corner of his room. Soon enough, he was insisting on a third round to cure the burdens of his barren tongue.

“Wanna see how you ride up close, baby,” he reasoned through a hushed tone, kissing the clammy skin of your temple.

How could you refuse? Especially when his hands began to rub those soothing circles into your hips and the tip of his tongue licked the shell of your ear during the whisper.

When he was prodding his tongue into your entrance a few minutes later, you knew it was the right decision to follow him out of the door. With your tits bouncing underneath the warm light thrusting through the ceiling of the sauna he called his room, Dodge took it upon himself to bruise your skin of this (rather heated) interaction through two large grips of his hands on your ass whilst you fucked his face. 

Dodge’s curious tongue soon turned into a hungry one, accompanied by the brief scraping of his teeth against the puffy lips of your pussy. The small bumping of his skull against the wooden headboard spurred him on rather than slowed him down, and you hoped the string of moans and mewls coming from your mouth were enough gratitude to satisfy his desires.

Due to popular demand– a loose request that fell in pieces from Dodge’s dumbstruck position underneath you –you wore his cowboy hat, glaze sticking from your hairline onto the weaved material. Dodge didn’t mind, in fact, he reveled in the thought of that same sweat mixing with his own during a rodeo. Dripping down his face just like how the sudden flood of your sweet juices were coating the stubble on his chin and the point of his nose. 

Dodge lived up to his word the morning after, tapping the ends of his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel to the tune of Bruce Springsteen’s voice singing “Glory Days” from the beaten up radio of Dodge’s Cadillac. Summers' heat wavered through the air of Cape even when Dodge drove past the speed limit on a lonely road. 

When you arrived at the doorstep of your grandmother's house, Dodge didn’t worry about the possibility of seeing you again, only admiring the way you swayed your hips and clicked your heels against the pavement during your strut. The corners of his lips pulled up into something that was not quite a smirk. 

He liked how your game was turning out.

traumatrios, 2024

divider by @saradika-graphics !

[axelsagewrites]

Hello. First of all love your writing. <3

I have a request for you:

can you write a robb stark x reader maybe reader is a ward of the starks and the two have been engaged and best friends since childhood. Then the wedding comes and the reader is nervous and afraid of the wedding night

thank you

Robb Stark*Goodnight Dear Husband

Pairing: Robb Stark x f!reader

Word count: 1594

Warnings: insecurity, worrying about sex, (brief)motherhood, marriage

Masterlist here

you still remember the first night you spent at Winterfell. The day had been so fun. Catelyn gave you a tour of the castle, Ned let you try pick up his sword Ice which you could barely even lift the handle, Jon taught you how to sneak into the kitchens. You even remember meeting Robb.

He was a lanky boy, seven to your six. His knees were knobbly, and his curly hair could barely be controlled no matter how much his mother tried. Freckles scattered his cheeks and there was a shy smile on his chapped lips. “Welcome my lady,” he greeted with a shaky bow which was matched with your own wonky curtsey.

“I like your horse,” he said, pointing to the stuffed animal in your hand. A wide smile beamed onto your face at that, “Would you like to meet my horse? You can ride him if you’d like,” and within moments of arriving you were already fast friends. You didn’t even know you were to marry him yet.

The day was fun but tiring at that. there was a small feast of stew and honey cakes to welcome you however you were relieved to be shown to your room. It was only a corridor away from Robb’s and next to the young Sansa’s and Arya’s.

The bed practically consumed you as you clambered in, snuggling into the furs to try get away from the nipping cold. You watched as the candle flame began to waver just as a wolf howled. Your hands clutched the furs in fear before bravely reaching out to grab your horse.

But it wasn’t there.

You’d left it at the feast. How could you be so foolish? You gently began to sniffle, soft tears falling when you realised you were alone, and the light was nearly out, and you didn’t know where they kept the spare candles. Then there was a knock at the door.

You quickly jumped out of bed, running to the door encase your parents had come to tell you it was time to go home. Instead stood a boy with knobbly knees and unkempt curls holding a stuffed horse. “You forgot this. Were you crying?”

“No,” you sniffled, snatching the horse from his hands, “Its just dusty in here,” Robb nodded, biding goodnight and turning to leave when you grabbed his wrist, “Wait! I-I,” you stammered, “I don’t know where the candles are,” you mumbled.

Robb, no longer even slightly shy, strode into the room, fetching them from a drawer and quickly lighting more for you. “How’s that?”

“Perfect. And thank you,” you said, smiling softly at the boy, a yawn overcoming you again.

“Do you want me to tuck you in?” he offered as you began to clamber into bed, “Its what my mum does when I’m scared,”

“I’m not scared,” you pouted, pulling the covers over yourself, “You can. If you want to. Its up to you,” you said, silently hoping he would which he instantly did. Robb tucked you in, kissing your forehead before turning to leave, “Night Robbie,”

“Night, night,”

-

You were pacing your room so much you wondered if you might wear a hole in the stone floor. Your wedding dress was folded perfectly in a chest by the foot of your bed. There was a box on top of it with your families crest on a broach your parents had gifted you as well as a Stark amulet from Ned and Cat. It also had hair pins, carefully selected by Sansa from the market and a silver ring with a red stone from Robb.

Everything was as it was supposed to be. You were to marry Robb and officially become a Stark. Yet for some reason your corset felt so tight you could hardly breathe despite how lose it was. Your mind was running over drive as your pacing struggled to keep up.

There was a soft knock on the door. You rushed over, flinging it open despite the late hour, to be greeted by your soon to be husband, “Robbie,” you almost gasped, “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said, coming in without having to ask, “Who were you expecting?”

“No one,” you lied, biting your lip in the way that made Robb raise an eyebrow. “Jon said he’d sneak me some honey cakes after cook went to bed,”

Robb chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair off your face. “You look so pretty,” despite him saying it a hundred times you still felt the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“You wanna come in?” you asked.

He didn’t need to be told twice and soon you were sat on your bed, your legs over his and your head on his shoulder. It was a peaceful silence. It should have been relaxing but soon your mind began to wonder.

You were to be married tomorrow. There was a gorgeous white dress waiting for you, jewels to match, a new name and title. You were going to move into Robb’s room, be his wife, his comfort, his relief. In all ways soon.

Despite loving Robb, a rarity in marriage, you couldn’t help being scared. Sure, he was attractive, stunning even, and its not like you hadn’t had thoughts about it before but suddenly the wedding night was dawning on you.

Its not like you didn’t want to have sex. From what you had done with Robb you knew it would be good. great even. Orgasmic hopefully. But the idea of it made you tense. Something Robb soon noticed.

“You, okay?” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you mumbled as you picked at your fingers, “Just you know. Wedding stuff,”

“You don’t sound too excited sweetheart,” he pouted, tightening his arms around you, “C’mon you can tell me,”

You sighed before moving to face him, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes were so filled with care you could drown in them. “Just worried about what comes next,”

“Kids?” he asked, eyebrows scrunched up.

“No! well now I am but still,” you sighed, closing your eyes so you could finally say the right words, “What if I’m not good at it?” you said, emphasizing the last word making a small oh come from his mouth. “I know it’s stupid- “

“It’s not stupid sweetheart,” he hushed, his hands moving to gently squeeze yours, “But trust me you’ll be good at it,” he chuckled.

“What if I don’t do it right?”

“We’ll figure it out,”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then we’ll stop,”

“What if you don’t think I look good?”

“That’s not physically possible,” he said, tilting your chin up with two fingers to give you a soft kiss with his cheeky smile. It quickly turned into a softer face, “Besides we don’t have to do it just because we can,”

You sighed, “I know you want too then,”

Robb shuffled, almost pulling away making you sit up. His shoulders deflated as he sighed, “Of course I want to love. But only if you do. I don’t want to have sex with some girl just because I can. I wanna be with you,” he said, taking your hands, “because I love you,” he managed to get a small smile out of you making him grin, “And because you’re sexy as fuck,”

“Shut up,” you laughed, smacking at his chest, “You can’t blame me for being worried,”

“I’m not blaming you. I’m nervous too,” he admitted making you laugh a little, “What?”

You shrugged, your eyes wandering over him, “Just never imagined you not all confident and suave. Besides you don’t need to be nervous. You’re perfect,” your hand moved to cup his jaw, your thumb running over his cheek bone.

Robb pulled your legs over his lap, pulling you into his side. “That’s how I feel about you. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen or whatever,” he rambled, taking your hands in his, “We’ll do it together and we’ll go slow. I never want to hurt you,”

“And I never wanna lose you,” you said squeezing his hands

“Good,” he said, leaning forward to kiss your lips gently, “Because you’re stuck with me,” you leaned in to return the kiss which started slow and gentle, but a shiver ran down your spine when his hand moved to rest on your hip. Your glorious make out was interrupted by a knock at the door.

It quickly opened just as you and Robb were pulling apart, “Gross,” Jon muttered as he closed the door behind him. “Also, sorry cook was up late tonight getting ready for the wedding,” he said as he handed you the wrapped goods, “speaking of. You.” He said, pointing a finger at Robb, “get to bed. I haven’t been covering for you two for you to get busted in her bed the night before so get,”

Robb sighed as he dragged himself away from you, giving one last peck before he had to go and before Jon would hit him. “And you,” Jon said as he now pointed his finger to you, “Get your beauty sleep. You need it,” he said with a tilted smile making Robb hit him and you laugh.

“Your one to talk now beat it. a lady needs her rest,”

“Uhuh,” Jon said, rolling his eyes but quickly wishing goodnight. He pretended not to notice Robb giving you a goodnight kiss and instead waited in the hall.

“I’ll see you tomorrow love wife even,” he grinned.

“Goodnight, dear husband,”

“Goodnight sweet wife,”

Taglist Sign Up Here

General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @perla434 @selenestar78 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @urfavnoirette @randomstory56 @qardasngan @https-luvvia @im-the-fucking-lunar-prince @bryandechartisasmolbean @glorywielder101

Game of thrones taglist: @mysunflowerspace  @xyinparadise  @nyotamalfoy @asgards-princess-of-mischief @sashadevil766 @lonely-girl2423 @3lisia @cookielovesbook-akie

Robb Stark taglist: @kimm4710

[artethyst]

~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister!OC/Reader

“Enjoying fatherhood Brother?” Came Lucien’s sarcastic voice at the sight of Eris- High Lord of Autumn, nothing less than dishevelled.

Eris offered him no response, the circles beneath his eyes telling his brother enough before you swanned in with a fluffy bundle secure in your arms.

If his son were not so cute, he might have cursed the boy for robbing him of sleep for the past week, a new habit he had seemed to adopt whenever he was left alone in his cot at night.

Despite the Healer’s advising against it, saying it was very much normal and the boy would only grow needier, Eris couldn’t stand to hear his child’s pained cries.

He knew how it felt to feel abandoned.

Unloved.

His son would never feel the same.

Even if his Mate berated him for turning soft or some of the more traditional- slowly withering branches of Beron’s Advisory circle scathingly judged him for it.

Motherhood looked good on you- a warm glow to your unblemished skin and new life within those once lifeless cheeks that had struck Eris with horror as he had been forced to watch you- lying there, bleeding out.

The Healers telling him neither you nor your babe would survive.

And whilst he did not tell you, the memory of it, even now, months later, left him sleepless. And despite trying his very best never to think of how you looked- the thought of you ever being taken from him, he still felt sick at the thought.

He might have envied how naturally parenthood had come to you- how beautiful you still were despite it all, but he loved you too much to ever care about his own troubles in comparison.

As you approached, Eris instinctively wrapped a strong arm around your waist, if he had been protective before and especially during your pregnancy, it was nothing compared to now.

It was as though he still needed visceral proof- feel the warmth of your beating heart next to his to remind himself you were well.

Well and alive.

Lucien didn’t have the heart to tease his brother about it.

Baby Silas began to stir against your chest, his wide amber eyes curiously blinking as his little fist moved to his yawning lips, slobbering over his knuckles with a guiltless, dimpled smile.

He made little cooing noises, small tufts of red hair delicate and curled atop his head as he snuggled further into the winter fur blanket Kallias and Viviane had so generously gifted him.

You couldn’t help but press a kiss to his rosy cheek, wishing you could stay clasping him close forever.

“He is a curious child,” you began, passing over the bundle to your brother-in-law who had come to visit his nephew, “though, grumpy like his father,” and as if on cue, Silas’ small brow furrowed and pink lips pouted when he felt himself being jostled from the warmth of his mother’s arms.

The pair of them ignored Eris’ scowl as Silas wiggled in his Uncle’s arms, the Emissary chuckling as the boy began chewing on a strand of his long hair, face determined as he dribbled.

“Brainless, just like his father too.”

You laughed as Lucien bounced the boy, pressing yourself into your Mate’s side further, placing a light kiss to the underside of his jaw.

You noticed his withdrawal, and whilst it was not unusual for him to be detached, it was not like him to be so solemn.

Especially with you around.

“Er, are you alright?” He tilted his head down to face you, your twinkling violet eyes marred with concern and was forced to bury the thought of the Mother snatching his happiness from him along with his childhood traumas.

“I am fine, My Love.” He mused pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, you weren’t convinced but did not push him. “Are you?”

“How could I not be?” You teased, fondly watching as Lucien spoke animatedly to Silas, grimacing as the child tugged on his hair in excitement as the man he viewed nothing more than the tall person with the same hair as his daddy and with funny deep voice spoke to him. “I have all I could ever want.”

Eris smiled- a real smile.

He couldn’t help but chuckle watching his brother and his son, heart overflowing with love as his wife stood beside him, flooding their bond with the same mirth.

Everything he had gone through- all that he had fought had been worth it.

For this.

And watching his baby- a near copy of him with the woman he loved most’s infectious smile, bringing a childish peace to his brother’s all so often annoyingly smug face reminded him of all his sacrifices.

And he knew he would do it all again.

-

With Lucien cutting his trip short, having felt a desperate tug on the bond from a freshly Mated Elain, the three of you were left alone.

You were absentmindedly sprawled over Eris, lulled into a light sleep by the warmth he emitted.

He didn’t have the heart to wake you.

Silas too was asleep against his chest, his little soft snores almost comically in sync with his mother’s.

Eris let his fingers run comfortingly along the back of his son’s head, relishing in the soft tufts whilst supporting his small neck with the other.

The babe whined contently in response, his drool pooling against his father’s tunic as the older male could only trace the boy’s perfect face with a calloused fingertip. Silas’ soft flesh a welcome sensation against his scarred skin.

The High Lord took a deep breath of his own, relishing in the scent of his beloved-a fresh jasmine and amber, and his son’s- a light cinnamon with hints of a fresh bloom.

A subtle mix of both of his parents’.

And with the two of you by his side, there was no longer a heaviness in his heart, but one in his throat as tears of relief and pure love gathered in his sharp eye.

[missswritesalot]

My Prince

Pairing: Reader x Daemon Targaryen (4k words)

Warnings: nsfw af, spanking with an object, one slap, m/f oral, piv, aftercare, insecurity, kinda humiliation, preg reader kind of wakes reluctant daemon up, somno, wife!reader is obsessed with him Like she’s a major SIMP. I’m in line at din tai fung and blushing posting this

You were hot and bothered. The feel of your Lord Husband lying next to you didn't help, his body was a furnace that heated you up even more.

Your core was throbbing. To add to your anguish, you felt this desperate need to cry but the tears wouldn't come. You'd been cranky all day, snapping at whoever dared to speak to you. Your lessons at the library were futile, there was no interest to be found in history or philosophy. If there was one word to describe how you felt, it would be frustration. Sexual and otherwise.

You stopped tossing and turning in bed and walked over to your large looking glass. Your hands cupped your fuller breasts through the thin dress, and slid lower to your still flat stomach. Your body would change soon, and swell as your child grew. You had no doubt your off mood today was the babe's fault.

The cause of and cure to all your pain was laying under the furs, asleep with his silver gold hair sprayed across the pillow. Your lord husband, the prince, who had put this child in you.

It had taken some convincing to make him share your bed after he knew of your condition, and further coaxing led to him making love to you two weeks ago. There had been no touches after that, despite your foolish attempts at seduction.

Daemon used to sleep naked, now he slept in breeches and a loose linen undershirt that made his shoulders look even bigger. You could feel the strength of his corded muscles underneath your fingers without even touching him.

He'd only gotten stronger since you got with child. While your curves softened and your body prepared for motherhood, he was training harder everyday and returning later to your chambers than the night before. It was to avoid your advances, you concluded. He was ill looking at your changing body. The thought choked you up again.

You knew what you needed: a good cry. Daemon never failed to deliver. And he would only tire of you more as you grew bigger, this was your last chance.

You knew how to get him to understand your desires. You went carefully to his chest and withdrew the instrument of choice. Your ladies told you that the leather you'd been gifted at the wedding was for this purpose, that you had to make a leather strap. It consisted of a strip of leather folded over, the open end was glued to make a handle. Three fingers wide, as long as your forearm. You didn't know its purpose as they made you sew the handle.

But it wasn't long before you realized it was for your lord husband to use on you as he see fit. You learned your back would pay for any of your transgressions. Your thighs clenched together nervously when you found out, but you put it out of your mind. The last of your apprehension was lost when on your wedding night, he thanked you for your token of submission, but put away it in his chest. So he wasn't cruel enough to mark your arse?

The truth came many moons later. The strap terrified you from the first time Daemon used it on you. But the crying, sex and sleep that followed almost made the welts worth it.

Now, pregnant as you were, there was a component of a deeper, more cerebral fear too, that he would never use it again. Surely not once you started to show, and you wondered if your broken body after the birth could please him enough to not share each night with a whore.

Lost in thought, you lit candles all around the room till you could see better. Daemon didn't wake up still, but threw an arm around his eyes. Your core throbbed looking at the muscle that popped up in his arms. You wanted to go bite it.

You crawled onto the bed beside him, and kissed the side of his mouth.

"Daemon," you said. "My prince. Wake up." He groaned in his sleep and turned to the other side. But you were determined enough to climb over him and lie down facing him. If he grew irate, all the better.

"Daemon, please," you said. You leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, lightly at first, then took his bottom lip between your teeth and bit him. "Wake up, Daemon. I need you."

"Sleep," he ordered, voice raspy, barely opening his eyes. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his side tightly. The mere sound of his voice heated you up even more. You loved being in his hold.

You tried to roll over, but his grip was too strong. So you waited until his arms became limp, and carefully slid your body lower until you were under the furs.

Daemon still wore his breaches, you noted sulkily. But you were quick to undo them and pulled them down just enough to free his cock. Your lips immediately wrapped around it, and your hands went to stroke the length your mouth couldn't reach.

You felt him swell within your mouth and tried to take him deeper. You nearly moaned at the taste and smell, the sensation as he became fully hard. He was so incredibly swollen, smooth and burned like fire.

You froze for a minute when you heard his breathing change. Your hands fondled his balls then you pulled away completely and just kissed the tip, tasting the salt. You closed your eyes to enjoy the velvety texture on your tongue, but it was taken away from you.

"You insatiable whore," you heard him say. His hands came down to your hair and you whined when he pushed your head away from the object of your desire.

Daemon threw back the furs, revealing you with your head on his hip, right next to his manhood.

"Perhaps my Prince would be convinced if-" you began to say nervously. Your hand held his cock desperately.

"Why?" He demanded, eyes still squinting.

"There is nothing I love better in the whole of the seven kingdoms than what's within your breeches. You have the most majestic manhood."  Nothing could get to him like flattery. You ran your thumb along the tip, making his eyes flutter. "I would keep my prince in my mouth all day if only he would stay in bed."

Daemon understood your attempts. He chuckled sleepily at your words. His hands gripped you under your arms and he dragged you up to lay on your chest. "You can have your wish tomorrow, Zyrys." He said with an oddly loving smile, and leaned forward to kiss you chastely.

Had he not kissed you, perhaps you would've considered letting it go for tonight. Who were you fooling? His hardness was still pressing against your thigh and it was making you heady with desire.

Curse him and his wretched child inside of you.

"If you cannot satisfy me, maybe I shall look for it elsewhere, one of your knights would certainly be willing," you declared haughtily. "I am the princess and they only wish to serve."

You got out bed and took two whole steps. Slowly, anticipating his response.

You felt an arm wrap around your waist abruptly, making you gasp. Your breath was knocked out of you as you were slammed onto the bed. Your blood rushed so hard you could hardly hear a thing.

Daemon put his hands on your shoulders to pin you down, a thigh between your knees and hovered over you. He gently slapped the side of your face.

"Speak," he demanded. "What ails you?"

"It's your child," you complained. "I desire you every waking moment. I need you more than I need air."

"Then you know what life has been like for me ever since you entered it," he said simply.

"I threatened to go lay with one of your men." You reminded him.

"You wouldn't dare." He scoffed. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. You felt bad for a moment, he looked exhausted.

"Show me my place." You said, head pointing at the chest beside his bed where you'd placed the leather strap. You saw shock pass over him, but he quickly regained composure. "Use it on me," you asked quietly.

"Are you alright, raqiarzy?" he asked you, stroking your cheek. He leaned down to kiss your neck. His concern and closeness only make your desire grow.

There were times you hated the strap, hated being over his knee like a little girl. You'd trade almost anything to avoid the pain in those moments preceding discipline. And Daemon knew this and only threatened you, rarely used it. But now there was nothing you craved more.

"Daemon I'm cranky." You confessed. "Make me cry. Sob for you to stop. Please."

"And the child?"

"Will be healthy as ever. Maesters said so."

Daemon sighed. You looked at him pleadingly.

At last he nodded, getting off of you. You sat up on the edge of the bed as he slid your nightgown over your shoulders. His fingers found the peaks of your swollen breasts and he rolled them between his fingers. You grimaced and turned your face away, the sight of his hands on your sore breasts making the pain worse.

"Still tender?" He murmured, hands cupping them both and lifting them up. The feeling of the their weight being lifted off of you was exquisite. You moaned in relief and threw your head back. Your eyes were closed when you felt his mouth close around one of the peaks. You gasped and your hands went to tangle in his long hair.

Daemon continued his kisses lower as he pushed your dress down. With a firm hand on your belly, he lowered you till you were lying down on your back.

"So so beautiful," he murmured against your skin. He pulled the dress off of you and threw it aside. Your legs involuntarily clamped together when his hands found your knees but he was far stronger, and he split them.

"Is this where you crave me, wife?" He asked, fingers gathering the moisture at your entrance. He pushed one into your tight opening, and felt you clench around it. You saw his silver head peaking between your thighs as he began to pleasure you. Your eyes met his for a moment, catching your breath.

"Gorgeous," he breathed out.

Your hands fisted the furs under your fingers as his tongue found your pearl. Your moans were delightful to his ears. He grazed his teeth slightly, making your hips raise sharply.

"You're so eager, love," he murmured against your core, hands pushing your hips into the bed. His pace was painfully slow, you felt so empty and craved the stretch of his fingers.

"Do you deserve this?" Daemon asked. "You've been a bad girl. Trying to give my men a taste of what's only mine."

He pulled away from you, causing your eyes to water with frustration. You wanted catharsis with your tears, not whatever he was doing.

"But know this, no man in all of Westeros will satisfy you. Not after you've been bedded by me and certainly not while carrying my child." Daemon promised. He gave you one last long lick, tongue dipping into your opening just enough to tease.

"Daemon please, let me come." You whined. You kicked your legs in protest.

"Not before your well deserved strapping, love." Daemon said. He rose and sat down on the bed next to. His hands held the nape of your neck and forced you to meet his eyes. "You did this to yourself."

You nodded, a thrill of fear going through you. 

"Get over my knee," Daemon ordered calmly. "Be good and you will not be hurt too badly."

You assumed your position immediately, bare as the day you were born. He placed a pillow under your belly so no pressure would fall there, and one for your tender breasts. Daemon adjusted your position carefully until he was satisfied by it, adding to your humiliation.

His hands kneaded your arse, and the first strike of his palm startled you. He hit the other cheek then, and you bit your lip to hold back a cry. Gods, already?

You wanted this? He hadn't even gotten to the strap yet. Every slap from his hand sent tingles of pleasure to between your thighs and you clenched them desperately.

Daemon's hand found the slit between your legs and he stroked you. "So wet you're drenching my breeches. You needed me this much, huh?"

He roughly grabbed your cheek. You whimpered in response.

The sting from the strap was as sharp as you remembered it to be. He'd given you no warning at all. Your cry was loud, though muffled by your face in the furs. With every sound you made you felt his cock move against your arm.

Daemon brought the strap down over you again, where your legs met your arse.

You kicked your legs with abandon when he struck, and the tears began to come.

You knew it was twenty, Daemon always gave you twenty. He resisted any protest by you until he reached that number.

"Shh, darling, we're halfway there," he comforted, running his hands through your hair as your tears wet your face. "You asked for it, now take it."

"I've had enough," you said into the furs. He tsktsked.

"Quit your whining and be a good girl for me," he said and you nodded frantically. The next strike came hard and your eyes shut from the pain.

You held your breath for what seemed like forever, but he hit you again just as you relaxed. You could feel the real tears coming,  your worries erased from your mind.

Your attention was fixed solely on your arse, so sore from his ministrations. You cried into the furs with abandon, and your hand went down to hold his calf and wrapped around it like a snake. You needed to feel close to him, close enough that you were inside his skin and away from troubles of the world outside.

You flinched when you heard the whoosh of the implement as it cut through the air, and you broke into sobs when it bit your skin.

You cried out his name in between tears and he shushed you, stroking your hair. His tender touch was a sharp contrast with the fire he lit over your arse.

Your tears flowed freely and you didn't notice that he had stopped until you felt him rub your skin tenderly. You felt him rub a salve from his bedside.

"Shh, it's over now, little bird," he leaned down and whispered in your ear. "You're all right, darling."

You shook your head and continued to cry. Your whole world was focused on the burn.

Daemon pulled you up into his arms and you hugged him around his neck. Your legs were folded in close to your chest as you sat on his lap. He tucked your head under his chin and stroked your back gently.

When you opened your eyes you saw his wrist, the cuff  of his shirt had a little dragon on it. It was one of the things you liked doing for him. He refused to let you work to make his clothing but occasionally let you embroider or mend them. You were glad he was finally wearing the undershirts you'd made. You leaned your head up and kissed the hollow of over his collarbones in silent thanks.

"You feel better now?" Daemon asked, kissing your forehead. You smiled and his lips met yours in a wet kiss.

His hands wiped your tears away after a few moments. He saw worship in your eyes as they met his violet ones. "I love you," you said and he nodded, and bent to kiss you again. It was as close as you would ever get.

Your hands held his jaw closely to you. You were suddenly embarrassed as you realized you were as nude as he was clothed, your face burned red.

"Will you undress for me, Lord?" You asked sweetly. "Let me thank you properly."

"I dont need to bare my chest for that, princess." He replied, and lifted you up under your knees and armpits. He bent low to place you gently on the floor between his open knees. You winced when the rug pressed into the tender skin of your backside.

"Now what were you saying earlier? Something about how my cock belonged in your mouth. Go on, then."

You gulped at hearing his words, and you knelt in front of him.

His hand came to hold your hair at the crown of your head. The other untied his breeches. You were close to him, and his hard cock struck your cheek as it popped out. You grew more aroused by this than you thought possible, the sting in your face awakened you.

Daemon didn't let you take a moment to recover. You needed only the slightest push before you went on your own accord, kissing the head of his hard cock. You peppered kisses along his length and your hand cradled his balls.

It was so illicit, pleasuring him like this, giving yourself totally over for him. You hardly cared for breathing when you took deep him into your mouth. You closed your eyes to savor the sensation, and suppressed your panic when he hit the back of your throat.

"Look at me," Daemon ordered. His hands held the your head firmly, your nose touching the well trimmed hair at the root. You opened your eyes and looked up to see his violet eyes blown with desire.

"My good little wife," he said, "on her knees like she should be."

"Mhmm" your words muffled around his cock. He shook his head disapprovingly, and stroked your hollowed cheek.

"Did no one ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?" He chided with a tsktsk. Your face went hot in embarrassment. Tears fell from your eyes as you choked on him, the humiliation of his scolding making your slit weep.

He thrust his hips into your mouth, once, twice, making you gag. He gave you one sharp thrust of his hips before he let you get off of him. There was a trail of saliva that connected his cock to you.

Daemon leaned back onto his wrists. "Now thank me properly, wife" he ordered.

You probably felt more pleasure than him as you began. His sharp intakes of breath, involuntarily buckling hips, the way he tightened his grip in your hair, all told you what he enjoyed. You paid close attention and followed his cues. In your mind you weren't a princess anymore. The illicit nature of this act made you feel like a common whore that knew the prince gave extra copper for a job well done. Your thoughts pushed you deeper into submission as you serviced him.

"I'm nearly there," Daemon said, pushing your head away. You whined at the loss. "Greedy girl, I was about to spend. You would like that, wouldn't you? Taking sustenance from my cock."

"I enjoy whatever you bid me to do, my husband." You replied, trying not to seem too eager.

"Where should I spend?" Daemon wondered out loud.

"Within me!" You said quickly. He raised his eyebrows at your demanding tone.

"If it pleases my prince, I wished you would spill within me." You requested. He seemed more pleased with this. He got off the bed to take his clothes off till he stood in front of you in all his glory.

"In your mouth?" He asked, crawling on top of you.

Oh lord, was he going to make you say the words. You looked at your knees, anywhere but at him.

"Answer me, " Daemon said.

"Within my body, prince. Between my thighs." You said silently. He picked you up and laid you down on the bed, making you giggle at his strength. He leaned forward and kissed your nose.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean?" Daemon smirked. His hands went from your shoulders to your breasts, cruelly flicking your nipple. Then they trailed lower to your core. "Here, perhaps?" He asked, rubbing your pearl.

You moaned at the contact you craved so desperately. "Yes, my prince."

"Say it," he demanded. "My cunt."

"My cunt," you mumbled.

"Louder. Who does this belong to?" Daemon asked, pushing two thick fingers in you. Your walls were swollen with desire, his fingers stretched you uncomfortably. He curled them and shook his hand enough that waves of pleasure shot through you.

"You, my prince. My cunt is yours." Your humiliation was complete. Your legs parted even more.

He finally aligned his thick head between your lips. You felt the heavy pressure there.

Daemon cupped your face and put his forehead on yours. His eyes bore into yours and you gave him a slight nod. He pushed in slowly and didn't stop till he was fully sheathed. You loudly moaned from the satisfaction of you two finally joining again.

His thrusts were languid and indulgent. His hand rubbed your pearl between your puffy lower lips. Your body sunk deeper into the mattress as the pleasure paralyzed you. There was a deep gratefulness you felt in your bones to lie there underneath him as his wife.

You kissed Daemon's scars, the ones you could reach, thanking your gods that he had returned to you. Your hands ran up and down his back then found their home in his hair.

The stretch of his thick cock took your breath away, you gasped when he went particularly deep.  You closed your eyes and yielded to him.

It didn't take long before you reached your peak. You squirmed and clenched around his invasion as the pleasure washed over your body and made your toes curl.

Daemon was still hard inside you, went faster and reached unknown depths with each thrust. He was so focused on taking his pleasure, he hardly noticed you reached yours.

"Come to me, husband." You said, tenderly stroking his hair. You leaned up and caught his mouth in a soft kiss, so very different to the harsh pace he took you at.

You felt the tension growing within you once again, and you thought you couldn't take anymore as it tipped over and you came again.

You said his name in a moan. The pleasure left you weak.

He resisted the way your body tried to clench and push him out, instead drove into your tightest recesses and spilled there. He stayed within you and slowly dropped more of his weight onto you. There were no words said between you two as your hearts beat together. His forehead rested upon yours as time slowed down.

"Daemon," you said, eyes still closed.

"I know, love, shh," he cooed. His hands came up to cup your cheek and rub his callous thumbs against your face.

"I love you," you said, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer.

You winced as he slipped out of your body. He lay flat on you so you were pressed up against each other.

"What bothered you?" Daemon whispered in your ear. It felt as though he was speaking thoughts into your brain. You couldn't possibly hide the truth from him now.

"I thought-" you began, but voicing them felt stupid right after he'd proven otherwise. "I thought you didn't want me anymore."

"Why would I not, love?" He asked measuredly.

"Because of the child."

Daemon rolled off of you, and hooked hands under your arm and thighs to drag you away from the dampness in your bedcloths. He leaned back on an elbow.

"You think the child would lessen my desire?" He asked, frowning. You turned to your side and nodded.

"You've got it all wrong. Being around you these last couple weeks has been an exercise of self restraint."

"Dont hold back," you said. "Not on my account."

"I didn't wish to bother you any longer for my own selfish pleasures when you were already with child." Daemon sighed.

"How could I not want you?" You nearly shouted. "Your child makes me love you more everyday, there is scarcely a moment when I'm not thinking of you."

Daemon smiled at your admission, and leaned down to kiss your brow. "You'll tire of me eventually, princess."

"I would want you to take me even in the midst of my labors," you declared.

He looked at you incredulously and laughed, then bent forward to kiss all over your face.

"Three children from now, you'll forgo this passion to keep out of childbed." He said, rolling his eyes.

You slapped his chest lightly, and wriggled over to his side. "Shut up," you mumbled into his ribs.

Daemon pulled you into his arms and held you close. You took a deep breath and held him back tightly. Your head rested on his chest.

“I love you,” you said again, hoping he would say it back. It was not too much to expect, you told yourself.

“I love you too, ñuha jorrāeliarzy, and our little dragonrider.”

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “she’s a bastard—‘innit the truth, mother?”

warnings: explicit language. angst. much angst. nothing but angst. i cannot stress it enough.

notes: well this is rather unfortunate.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

The raven arrives at nightfall, at an hour so late that only Aemond is awake to accept it. The princeling could not find sleep that night, instead rolling off the bed and crossing the chambers to his windows, before pulling back the heavy tapestries and throwing them open one by one.

The cool air is a welcoming feeling to his feverish skin, hot to the touch from hours of lovemaking under the sheets.

He stands facing the darkness, naked and at utter peace, in pure happiness. His precious girl sleeps soundly behind him, with the thick furs pulled up to her chin, hiding the most of her beneath the blankets. She is so utterly beautiful in the moonlight. It’s been three long months since his sons were born, and Aemond was beginning to hope his seed would again take. His loins ache at the thought, and he fights the sudden urge to slip in between her thighs. Perhaps she’d give him a daughter this time.

In his dreams, she wears her mother’s face, in a gown of Targaryen colors with a dragon hatchling sitting on her shoulder. She pokes him awake in the morning, and pleads for a quick ride atop Vhagar before grandmother arrives to begin her history lessons.

His daughter has his love’s eyes and smile, he thinks again, and her nose scrunches up in the same way hers does.  

I want it.

He shakes his head.

Let her rest, you fool.

When the black raven arrives at his windowpane, he is a bit confused. He waves the bird away before it could make another squawk, and stares down at the scroll taken from it, eying the blood-red ribbon tied into a pretty, tight knot around. In his head, he weighs the choices in taking it as his own. Should he…? Or should he not? His curiosity clashes with his righteousness.

Aemond decides to, in the end.

He takes the scroll to his desk, quietly lighting a small candle before taking a seat and unrolling it out to read. The writing is in pretty cursive yet smells of cheap ink, with a slight smudge staining the edge of the paper. It is addressed to his handmaid, he realizes, starting with her name that leads to a sweet congratulations on her newfound motherhood. Twins, your uncle had said. How marvelous to hear. I hope to meet them soon, my dear.

With all the love in this lifetime—your mother, Alys Rivers.

“With all the love in this lifetime,” he repeats aloud, shaking his head, refusing to believe. His fingers tighten around the letter, the tips turning a jarring white. “Your mother, Alys Rivers.”

Aemond then glares up at the woman lying in his bed, a bitter twist on his mouth. She shifts a little bit beneath his gaze, but remains relaxed and asleep and blissfully ignorant of the rising anger sparking deep inside him.

Who is she? For the first time since he met her, he asks himself that.

He should’ve suspected this.

“A bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow.”  

Aemond turns away from her, back to the darkness outside.

Her mother is a bastard rivers woman, it seems. At least that is how it reads. Alys Rivers. She carries no man’s last name in her letter. What is her daughter, if not the same as her? He picks at his mind, trying to remember if she ever mentioned her father. Aemond returns to staring up at the moon and the white stars blinking high above in the midnight sky.

He suddenly feels no desire to return to bed with her tonight.

But she is the mother of your children, his mind argues, and it leaves him irritated.

She’s given him two heirs, his first-born children, beautiful twin boys that are mirrors to their own father, himself. And the daughter he’s dreamt of…But…they’re bastards too, he then reminds himself. You love them the same way you love her, do not lie to yourself. It was not enough to ease his thoughts, and reason with him, and stop the ugly bitterness from rising in his throat.

Damn her.

Aemond stuffs the letter inside one of the desk drawers, not wishing to lay eyes on it again. Maybe he’ll burn it later in the day. He then shrugs on his robe, tying it around his waist, before leaving the room. She’ll wake up in the morning, and search for his hand buried within the sheets. When she realizes she is alone in the bed, he knows she will pout before readying to tend to her babies, like the mother he’s made her into.

Damn her.

Then she will move on to her responsibilities, like the silly, dumb handmaid she is.

Damn her.

That is all she should’ve remained, Aemond thinks, curiously calm as he strides down the hallway. He doesn’t know where he is going, but he knows he will not return this night. Bastards never amount to anything else.  

Aemond hasn’t spoken to her in three days, dismissing his handmaid from his bedchamber before he retires for the evening. She no longer fetches his hot baths or crawls beneath the blankets with him. He hasn’t allowed it. He avoids the nursey too, where he knows his twin sons sleep in their cots, too young to notice their father’s absence. Aemond walks the halls of the Red Keep, as he has walked a thousand times before, but disregards all the rooms where he knows her presence painfully lingers.

She does not fight nor question him. He knows she won’t.

“Aemond.”

He hears her voice in his slumber, always- sometimes in a breathless whisper, and most times in a scream, or a whimper, or an anguished howl. She always manages to find him, following him into his dreams and nightmares and antagonizing him into insanity. Her shadow stands over his bed. And around her neck dangles the sapphire necklace, while her pretty eyes weep both tears and blood.

“Aemond, please!” she cries, bawling up the sides of her dress in her fist. The plain cloth is stained in dried blood, splashed across her belly and thighs. “Aemond, please, I need you, husband!”

“AEMOND.”

This time tonight, it causes Aemond Targaryen to jerk upright, pulled from a horrible nightmare that still clouds his thoughts. The sheets are tangled between his fingers, and his heart is heaving heavily within his breast. He hears her voice echoing, begging for her husband. “Aemond.” His attention quickly darts to the door, where his mother stands, tall and regal and noticeably pissed. She calls his name again loudly. Although still groggy, he stumbles his way towards her.  

His mother does not greet him. Instead, her brown eyes remain on his empty bed, skimming across the sheets and the way the heavy fur blanket nearly hangs off the foot of his bed. He must’ve kicked it off him during his sleep.

She frowns at the sight, before looking back at him.

“So it is true, then.”

Aemond rubs at his eye, tilting his head in confusion. “What is true, mother?”

“That she hasn’t been seen in your room for the past three days; instead, she’s returned to her old room across the castle, where the other maids sleep. Three days, and three nights.” His mother spoke in anger, yet her face remained a mask that betrayed nothing. It is one thing he greatly admired about her, in the same way it terrified him the most. “And you haven’t visited your sons as well, I’m told.”

He flushes. “I’ve been busy,” he grumbles, shifting on his bare feet. “I’ll see them tomorrow, in the morning after we break fast together.”

“Tomorrow? You’ll see them tomorrow? AEMOND!” she shouts, incredulous. Her hair hangs loosely around her face, and she pushes a thick strand behind her right ear. “You wanted these babies so badly, and yet you are beginning to neglect them before their second nameday. Have you lost all fucking sense?!”

Aemond bites his tongue in an attempt to keep his own temper from flaring up in response to her yelling. He says nothing in return, which he knows only upsets his mother further.

“What has happened, Aemond?” she asks. “This is unlike you. You love those boys, and that girl too.”

“Nothing,” he says, a bit too quickly. “Nothing has happened. I’ve simply been too busy to play anymore games with her.”

“Games? Games?! That is all shit,” his mother blazes. “Utter shit. Do not begin to take me as a fucking fool, Aemond. I am not your father, and I am not your brother, and eldest sister either. Now you tell me, boy, what has happened.”

Aemond sighs. “She’s a bastard—‘innit the truth, mother?” He meets her eyes and feels his poor heart sinking at the silent shock that instantly falls across her features and the way she makes no move to deny it. “A bastard.” Saying it aloud, it makes him wish to return to his bed, and curl up in his sheets, completely hidden from this cruel world that damned him to fall in love with a stupid bastard girl. “A damn, no good, bastard girl from Harrehnal—”

But he is then cut off by a sharp backhand blow to the side of his face that quickly sends him stumbling two steps back, almost falling hard against the wall. Aemond holds his cheek, breath hitching as he brushes a tender finger against the already reddening skin that he knows will surely show a dark bruise on the morrow. It feels hot, and it stings. He looks up at his mother, who has never hit him before.

“How dare you speak of her in such a way,” she spits, purpled with rage. Her hand twitches at her side, as if she itches to slap him again. He deserves it, he thinks. “HOW DARE YOU. She is the mother of your children, and you dare behold her with such loathing venom?”

“AND YOU DID NOT THINK TO TELL ME BEFOREHAND?” he shouts back, half hurt from the realization that she watched him fall smitten with the bastard, and never thought to tell him the truth. “She is the cousin of those bastards that took my eye, their own blood!”

“And? It is the truth, yes, that she is a riverlands bastard, born to a woman at Harrenhal. Lord Larys is her true uncle, who brought her to us at my request. But damn you, Aemond, that girl is so fucking in love with you.”

All his words fall stuck in his throat, and he fails to push them out.

“Have you nothing more to say?”

His queen mother sniffs when he says nothing, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. Perhaps it is best she drinks the moon tea, lest she gives you another child that you won’t love nor appreciate because of its mother’s unfortunate bastardy.” Aemond remains silent, and her mouth drops into another scowl. “You lied to me when you promised that you would never be your father or Aegon.”

I am not, he wants to scream out. His knees buckle in weakness at her cruel words, and the sheer disappointment laced within them. It hurts worse than her slap.

I love her so much, I swear, and my boys too. I love anything she gives me, and I promise…I promise…I promise…

“You, Aemond, carry their eyes and hair and nose, everyone can see. But I know the truth now—you carry their pig attitude as well,” she remarks, pushing herself toward him. “I’ll send her back to her mother, I promise, and find another handmaid for you, one that is to your liking.”  

She says not another word, instead turning to the houseguard that had accompanied her to his hall. “I’m tired. Please help me back to my bedchamber,” she asks, pressing her fingertips against his temple. “I would appreciate such, my good knight.”

His mother leaves him silent and still, sad and scared and helpless and heartbroken, staring down at his toes as they grow damp from his tears.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67 @iiamthehybrid @bellstwd @katzarantos @crazymusicgirl104

taglist for everything aemond: @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @moonteas @chompchompluke

[matchavellichor]

hello !! This idea is a bit basic, but I was wondering if you could write an ominis x fmc fic where the mc is coddling an animal with all sorts of affection and ominis, who has a crush on the mc, is jealous. It’s a pretty fluffy request, but perhaps the ending could be a bit suggestive? Anyway, regardless of whether you take this request or not, thank you for all your work! I have had such a struggle finding good ominis pieces lately

A Peculiar Pet

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC - Fluff - 2.2k words

A/N: hiii, ty for the request. this was sooo cute and i had a lot of fun writing it! the ending isn't suggestive and maybe a bit too platonic/unrequited, but i might make a part two if that's something you guys would like (:

Summary: After MC rescues a strange cat on her latest trip to Hogsmeade, her friendship with Ominis becomes strained by his sudden jealousy.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Banter, Unrequited Love, Jealous Ominis, MC is a Cat Person, Ominis is Not

“What the hell is that?”

She scowled, looking up at Sebastian who was staring down at the purring carpet in her lap.

“That is my familiar,” she informed, stroking gently under what—presumably—was supposed to be a chin. “Poor thing was nearly starving to death just outside of the Hog’s Head. I rescued him.”

Sebastian eyed the creature warily. “Are you sure? By the looks of it, you were too late.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” she wrapped her arms around the cat protectively and it gave a little grunt of approval. “He just needs a bit of a bath. Isn’t that right, Snuggles? My beautiful baby boy, yes, yes you are. Oh, mummy loves you so much—”

“You’ve given birth?” Ominis suddenly emerged beside Sebastian, looking just as appalled.

“Yes. To an abomination,” he grimaced. “Clawed its way out of her womb straight from the depths of Hell.”

“I didn’t ask for the opinion of either of you,” she seethed, standing up abruptly and clutching the mass of fur protectively to her chest. “If you’ll excuse me, Snuggles and I will be finding more pleasant company.”

She stormed past the two and Ominis blinked confusedly after her. Sebastian simply raised his brows.

“What was that all about?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Motherhood, I suppose.”

//

“Is that…normal?”

Ominis clenched his jaw as he listened to her start on what must have been the eighth bedtime story just that evening. She had been planting kisses all over the creature for the past hour, fawning over him and drowning him in all kinds of affection. Snuggles showed little more than a periodical snot-nosed snuffle in appreciation.

Sebastian shrugged, glancing over. “Beats me. Maybe it’s hormones or something.”

“She’s obsessed with it! That can’t be healthy. Shouldn’t we do something?”

Sebastian laughed. “Relax, Ominis. It’s a cat. The thing’s a hundred years old anyway, let her care for the critter while it’s on its last legs.”

“I suppose so,” Ominis relented, still slightly acerbic.

He listened to her voice taper out, words becoming slurred as exhaustion seeped into her. He rose from his seat with a sigh, trying his best to be open-minded about the ordeal.

“Here, let me watch over him,” he said, reaching a hand towards her shoulder to gently rouse her. “You should really get some sleep.”

As soon as his hand touched her, the creature immediately shot up and hissed at him, its abnormally sharp teeth viciously bared. He jerked back in surprise and she blinked awake, shushing the feline with soothing coos. “It’s alright, Snuggles, he’s a friend.”

The furball from Hell did not look convinced.

“I’m fine, Ominis,” she murmured through a yawn, sitting up to stretch. “He’s had a fever all day, I have to keep an eye on him.”

“You have to keep an eye on yourself,” he grumbled.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, already beginning her coddling again. “And you will be too, won’t you, angel? Yes, you will! Mummy will make sure of it.”

Ominis heaved a long-suffering sigh and retreated back to his armchair. Sebastian eyed the defeated expression on the blonde’s face for a moment, looking starkly amused.

//

That following weekend, Ominis retreated to the common room for his usual plans of afternoon reading, hoping that this time she wouldn’t bail on him like she’d been doing all week.

“Oh, my, look at you! Aren’t you handsome?”

He froze at the bottom of the stairs, hand gripping the railing. He was suddenly aware of an unbidden heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“Oh, yes you are,” she cooed, ignoring him. “My precious boy.”

Ominis frowned, shoulders sinking at the realization of who she was actually speaking to. He tried to suppress his sour mood as best as he could as he stalked past her towards his usual seat in front of the fireplace.

He opened his book and lasted about two pages before the sounds of her fawning over the little monster ground his patience down to the bones.

“Do you mind?” he bit out tersely. “I’m allergic,” he lied.

“I’m not even near you.”

That’s precisely the problem, he wanted to say, bitter about how distanced she’d been ever since she’d brought the creature home. As woe as Ominis was to admit he was jealous of a cat, it was hard not to be when he’d seemingly been completely replaced.

Before, he had been her reading partner. They’d share one of the loveseats in an isolated corner of the common room and trade tidbits of whatever novel they were consumed in. Now, his spot was occupied by the matted ball of fur she called her baby.

He shut his book abruptly, not even bothering to conceal his sneer. “Must you spend every waking minute with that thing?”

She glanced up at him, surprised by his sudden hostility. “What’s the matter with you, Ominis?”

“What’s the matter with me? You’re the one obsessing over a cat. It’s ridiculous.”

“He needs me. Must you be so inconsiderate?”

Ominis’ fists clenched in frustration at his sides. “Well, he isn’t the only one who needs you!”

There was a long silence in which she stared at him perplexed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He reddened, staring down at his shoes. “I…just mean that you’re…that…”

“Go on,” she spat, tone lacking all patience. “Say what you mean.”

He glanced up sharply. “You’re neglecting all of your friends to care for that dreadful monster.”

She gasped, covering what was presumably the furball’s ears, but looked more like shriveled horns covered in hair. “Well, maybe it’s because I can’t bear to be around friends who are all so heartless.”

Ominis looked like she might as well have slapped him.

She stormed off with the cat in her arms for the second time that week, leaving Ominis to contemplate with an admittedly inappropriate sense of possessiveness when he’d ever get her back for himself.

//

Following their fight, Ominis had resigned himself to wallowing over the tattered remains of their friendship for the next few days when his melancholic reverie was shattered by a Gryffindor storming into the Slytherin common room.

Sebastian glanced up, looking as appalled as he would if a ten-foot troll had broken in. “How did you get in here?”

Garreth snorted. “It’s not like you lot are particularly creative with your passwords. Aspiration, really? What’s next, cunning?”

“That was last month’s…” Sebastian sighed under his breath, sounding defeated.

She appeared making her way down the common room steps a few moments later, pointedly ignoring Sebastian and Ominis’ presence and presenting Garreth with the feral throw-rug.

“Godric’s saggy bollocks, where the hell did you get that?” Garreth shrieked, nearly dropping all the Potions supplies in his hands.

She scowled. “Don’t tell me you lack all empathy as well, Weasley.”

He blinked at the creature in her arms warily. “I thought you said you needed a fever relief potion for a cat.”

“I do,” she frowned. “Snuffles has been sick all week.”

“That is not a cat.”

“Told you,” Sebastian muttered from his place beside Ominis, eliciting a swat to his arm.

Her tone immediately grew tense with defensive indignation. “So what if he’s a bit…unconventional looking? That doesn’t make him any less deserving of love and affection!”

“No, you misunderstand me,” Garreth said gravely, eyes still wide. He stalked towards her slowly with his hands outstretched, as if she were holding a grenade with its pin pulled out. “That is not a cat. That… is a bloody manticore.”

Ominis blanched. Sebastian dropped all pretenses of feigning he wasn’t eavesdropping and burst out laughing. “Oh, Merlin, that’s just too good.”

Her face fell. “What?”

She glanced down at Snuggles perched happily in her arms, brows furrowed as she studied him more intently.

“Oh dear Circe, put it down!” Garreth gasped when the creature moved, stretching lazily. It seemed hardly phased by the commotion around it. “You’re lucky it’s only a few weeks old and its poison glands haven’t matured yet. Although, even this young its bite is still strong enough to cut clean through bone.”

She seemed hardly deterred by the revelation. Cautiously, she pulled back the matted fur covering its head and gasped when an infantile, almost human-looking face was revealed. One thing was certain, it was positively not a cat.

Snuggles blinked back lazily at her, still purring while he rubbed himself affectionately on her arm. She frowned and glanced up at her friends, looking starkly heartbroken.

“I…I suppose…you all were right.”

Something in Ominis’ chest seized at how defeated she sounded.

She stared tearfully down at the manticore in her arms. “I’m sorry, Snuffles.”

“Let’s get it to Professor Howin,” Garreth spoke up, attempting to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, though he looked too wary of Snuffles to actually touch her. “She’ll know what to do.”

She nodded reluctantly.

//

Professor Howin contacted the Ministry and successfully turned in the manticore to magizoologists by the following morning.

Despite Howin’s repeated insistence that it was the safest option for Snuggles, its departure was no easy cross to bear for its former guardian.

Nearly a week later she was still mourning its loss as if her own kin had been ripped away from her. She was utterly inconsolable, and after walking in on her crying quietly in the late hours of the evening far too many times, Ominis decided he couldn’t bear her grief any longer.

The following day, he devised a plan. Come evening, he approached her usual lonely spot tucked away in the Undercroft, his hands tucked surreptitiously behind his robes.

She glanced up and frowned. “Are you here to rub it in?”

He sighed. “Of course not. I’m here to see if you’re alright.”

She sniffled, eyes lighting up. “Are you really?”

He nodded, kneeling down beside her. “I feel guilty for being so inconsiderate,” he said. “It’s silly to admit but…I suppose I just felt a little left out.”

She giggled then, the last vestiges of sadness steadily dissipating from her voice. “You’re lying.”

He shook his head, looking conflicted as if he were contemplating actually coming clean about how he had felt. He let out a long-suffering groan. “Oh gods, it’s humiliating. I was jealous of a cat—or well, what I thought was a cat, at least.”

She grinned, looking amused. “Oh, I understand. It’s because I didn’t give you belly rubs as well, is that it?”

He rolled his eyes, biting back his own smile. “No, no. It was the lack of bedtime stories that really stung.”

She laughed then, and the sound warmed him to his very core, reminding him of hot tea and the warmth of a fireplace with a good book curled in his lap.

He was broken out of his admiration by a jostling in his hands. He cleared his throat, remembering that an apology wasn’t the only thing he had met her there for.

“I…have something for you.”

She looked at him expectantly and he carefully untucked a small box from behind his robes, various holes cut around the sides. As soon as he held it in his lap, the box gave another little jolt. She looked at it bewildered.

He took a deep breath as he slipped off the lid, and the first tiny meow escaped. She gasped in delight, eyes glittering with disbelief as she stared down at the little animal.

“Is that…”

He nodded. “She’s yours.”

“Oh, Ominis!”

He was nearly toppled over by the force of which she threw her arms around him, squeezing him so tightly he could barely breathe. His hands found her waist to brace himself, his thumb brushing softly under her ribs as he reciprocated her embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushed, peppering his face with kisses. He flushed so red he was surely the same color of the little ginger kitten in his lap by the time she stopped her attack.

“Don’t…don’t mention it,” he laughed sheepishly, voice sounding terribly dazed.

The kitten gave a petulant little mewl and she finally detached herself, pulling back with a departing peck to his cheek. She picked up the cat, pressing a soft kiss under its scruffy chin and acquiescing its whines.

“Oh, aren’t you just so precious?” she cooed. “Your mummy and daddy will take such good care of you— oh yes, yes we will!”

Ominis managed to flush even more. “Oh, am I included in this now?”

“Well, of course. You rescued her, after all,” she smiled brightly, suddenly entwining her fingers with his. “We’ll care for her together.”

Ominis felt that warm sensation bloom in his chest again at the feeling of her hand in his. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles reverently, unsure of what to do with so much permission to touch her. The contact was so tender, his heart felt like it might just burst out of his chest.

As if it could sense his acceptance, the kitten suddenly jumped from its place in the crook of her arm onto Ominis’ shoulder, purring contentedly in his ear and rubbing itself against his neck.

She gasped. “Oh, look, she likes you!”

Ominis couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips, bringing a hand to pet tentatively at the small thing. The kitten leaned into his touch, preening under his affection as he rubbed an index against its soft underbelly.

“Yes,” he said softly, squeezing her hand, still tucked snugly in his. “I suppose she does."

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing

1.05

The air had an uneasy atmosphere to it. Raya, who usually spoke in length about anything she found interesting, from a book she read to the sudden change in weather, was uncharacteristically quiet while braiding your hair.

“Is something wrong?”

She slows her actions down but doesn’t say anything. The dark hair hanging in front of her face did little to hide the worried expression she held.

“We’ve been by each other’s side for some time; you can tell me if something is displeasing you. If someone has upset you, I’ll not think twice about feeding them to Lady.”

Raya chuckles softly before shaking her head. Sighing, she says, “As you know, I take no part in idle gossip, but while breaking fast, I overheard some things I wish to share with you, so you are prepared.”

“Prepared?” You glance over your shoulder at Raya. “Prepared for what?”

“The Hightowers. As you know, Otto Hightower's brother Hobert and his wife Lynesse have traveled from old town, and Lady Lynesse has brought her own handmaidens. They were gossiping this morning about you and Prince Daemon.”

“What about my uncle?” You gasp, “I don’t understand why mine or Daemon’s name would be coming out of their mouths.”

“The Hightowers in old town are implying Prince Daemon was inappropriate with you,” Raya lowers her head. “Forgive me if I’ve overstepped, princess.”

Gently, you take her hand in yours and say, “You haven’t; what did they say?”

“They were saying the two of you have been seen walking together alone in the gardens of the keep. They also mentioned how suspicious it is that you aren’t with child yet.”

“Gods,” you scoff. “I spoke to my uncle once in the garden, with Ser Criston and Meera there. They are trying to slander me the same way they did Rhaenyra.”

“In the north, they would be punished for saying such slanderous things. I didn’t want to upset you, princess; I know how sad you’ve been since Lord Edric’s passing.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you say sincerely. “As for not being with child… I have questioned it myself. I have started to worry that myself and Gwayne aren’t compatible. I spoke with the maester the other day, and he had the audacity to suggest the issue lay with me.”

Raya motions for you to spin back around so she can continue the braid. “Well, we know you can bear children; what if it’s Ser Gwayne that cannot?”

“Regardless, it would be my fault, as I’m the woman. How would it be possible for me to know?”

“Men like your husband, who favors women from pillow houses, often have bastards.”

“How would I find out? I don’t imagine he would tell me if he knew.”

“Do you know anyone you trust who frequents there?” She laughs. “Perhaps one of Otto’s spies could tell you.”

You smile at hearing the playful tone return to her voice. However, Raya’s words had started to grow roots, and a bad idea springs to mind.”

—

“You seem lost in thought.”

“Hm,” you suddenly snap out of your daydream and see Rhaenyra looking up at you, concerned. “Sorry, I was somewhere else. What were you saying?”

“Jacaerys hasn’t been sleeping well, but it seems he’s rather settled now,” she smiles.

You continue rubbing soothing circles on the young boy's back while gently rocking him. Lucerys sits on a fur rug by Rhaenyra’s side, playing with his toys. “Meera was the same at his age; she went through a phase of not sleeping, and it lasted until the last of her teeth grew in.”

Rhaenyra brushes strands of Lucerys dark hair out of his face, saying, “There’s nothing worse than seeing your children in pain and not being able to help them.”

“I know; it truly is a helpless feeling.”

“It's much like not being able to help your sister when she’s unhappy.” She watches proudly as Luke stacks blocks on top of one another before knocking them down with his hand. Motherhood has truly changed her; you’d never seen your sister so happy when with her sons.

You hesitate for a moment. “You could possibly help me, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“Name it, and whatever it is shall be done.”

Quietly, you say, “I need you to draw me a map of how to reach the street of silk.”

The look she gives you... Rhaenyra looks beautiful and terrifying. A fearful mother about to scorn her child for being so reckless—the look your own mother used to give her. “And why on earth would you need that?”

“I need to speak with the madam of the brothel Gwayne frequently visits,” you say in a tone that’s barely above a whisper. “I need to know if he’s fathered any children.”

“Sister, I must—”

“Please, Nyra, you told me you’ve been before. I can’t trust anyone to do it for me, and I need to know if he can have children.” You sniffle a little before saying, “There is gossip that I cannot bear another child. I just need to know what I’m dealing with.”

She lets out a long sigh, “Fine. But only because I know you’re going to do it regardless of what I say.”

—

Tucking Meera into bed, you brush strands of hair out of her face. “Goodnight, sweetling.”

She pulls the blanket up closer to her face; her pale cheeks have a red tint to them, as they always did when she fought sleep. “Why aren’t you going to sleep?”

“I need to go see your aunt Rhaenyra, but I won’t be gone too long.”

“I’ll stay up.”

“No, you will not,” you chuckle before placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “I don’t want you to fall asleep during your lessons in the morrow, Raya will be here until I return. I love you, sweetling. Now go to sleep.”

Meera closes her eyes, and you quietly walk over to the door to leave. Rhaenyra had already drawn you a map and left clothes for you to change into in the hidden passage you’d be leaving through. It was reckless venturing out alone, but you needed to do it. Not because you really cared about Gwayne’s having bastards or not, but for your daughter. If the Hightowers thought you were barren, you wouldn’t put it past them to try and replace you. The Hightowers were closely linked with members of the faith of the seven, who were known for their disdain for House Targaryen. You didn’t trust a single one of them.

Just as you reach the door, you hear a mumble, “I love you, mummy.”

—

Heat radiates inside you, bubbling away in your stomach, leaving your mouth with a sour taste and the urge to barf. After visiting two pleasure houses, you eventually found the one your husband visits most, and you paid Madame handsomely for her time. At first, she was reluctant until you dropped a heavy bag of coins in front of her.

“Many of my girls have traveled from Old Town to the street of silk for more customers. Let’s say they are very familiar with many of the Hightower men, including Ser Gwayne, and, best to my knowledge, none have birthed any bastards fathered by him.”

“Would any of the girls lie or drink moon tea?”

The sympathetic looks she gives you make you feel like a fool. “Many girls in our line of work won’t drink the tea because it’s known to upset the gut, and if they are ill, they won’t get paid.” She leans in and whispers, “Some say they prefer laying with Ser Gwayne because they believe he cannot father children.”

You drag your feet as you approach the gates to the keep while staying hidden within the trees. Your mind was frazzled; if what Madame said was true, then you wouldn’t be having anymore children.

“Princess.”

You’re completely startled when your sworn shield grabs you by the shoulder and pins you against the wall. His lips parted ever so slightly when he stepped closer to you; it took you a moment to register the two knights walking by. You were dressed like a boy, and the knight was in his own clothes.

You swallow thickly, “Ser Criston.”

He tucks the hair that has fallen out of your hat back underneath it; his jaw is clenched. He places his hand on your wrist and says, “Keep your head low and follow me.”

—

Ser Criston leads you down a dark hallway in the white sword tower that is almost empty, aside from a few off-duty knights who were accompanied by what appeared to be ladies from pillow houses. When you reach the knight's own quarters, he quickly ushers you inside and locks the door behind him.

“Ser Criston…”

The look on his face was very telling; his dark eyes were hazy. Criston gave a low, guttural growl. “What in God's name were you thinking? Anything could have happened to you. Your reputation would have been destroyed if anyone spotted you.”

“You followed me?”

His nostrils flare. “Do you know how many dark alleys you walked down? How dangerous those places are?”

It feels as if your heart is swelling in your chest. How could you even begin to explain? You feel so small and weak. Fragile in a way that was unacceptable for a Targaryen princess to be. You pull the thick hat off your head, letting your now messy and sweaty hair fall around your face, and sit on the edge of the knight's bed.

“You followed me.” It wasn’t a question, but a fact. Ser Criston wouldn’t have known where you were unless he did. As a princess, you most certainly didn’t need to defend your actions to anyone other than the king, but the thought of your sworn shield possibly losing faith in the trust you had built did bother you. Gulping down, you toy with a thread on the sleeve of the worn out shirt, “I wasn’t going to visit those places for pleasure. How did you know? I had dismissed you for the evening.”

“I overheard the knights changing shifts mentioning that your lady-in-waiting was watching over Princess Meera. And put the pieces of you being somewhere you shouldn't be together.” Seeing tears swell in your eyes, the knight crouches down so he’s eye level with you, his expression softening. “If her grace found out you had visited the streets of Silk, I’m afraid history would repeat itself.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, “I was the knight on duty to protect Princess Rhaenyra the night she snuck into the city with Prince Daemon. Word got out that she had been spotted in the bowels of a brother with her uncle, and her life became miserable. I do not wish to overstep, but the princess gave those who seek to destroy her reputation the means to do so.”

“Daemon and Rhaenyra are twin flames; they are both restless. I don’t believe anything you could have done would have changed the actions they take,” you say softly. “My actions might have seemed headless, but I had my reasons.”

“I’ve told you before, princess, I cannot do my duty and protect you if I’m unaware of where you are.”

“Are you trying to say you would have accompanied me to a brothel, Ser Criston?” You joke, “I imagine that would have been more scandalous.”

The knight says nothing. No words leave his mouth, but he’s silently waiting for you to explain.

“As of late, it’s been noted by many that I’ve yet to do my duty and give Gwayne a child. I went to see if he has any bastards, and he has not fathered any children.”

A look of understanding passes through his features.

“Ser Gwayne’s is no Maegor the cruel; they won’t allow him to keep adding on wives until he finally has an heir. I will be blamed, and then I will be replaced by another after my sudden and tragic death.”

“Princess, I don’t believe you would be blamed—”

You cut him off with a look. “Ser Criston, do you know how many Targaryen women die at a young age? Do not believe they are all linked to childbirth, like the maesters say. The maesters and the faith hate us because they believe our dragons make us closer to gods than men; the power we hold is a threat. With one word, we could destroy houses, which is why the Hightowers have been trying to latch onto House Targaryen for years. It’s why I’m not letting Meera marry anyone other than a Stark.” A moment of silence passes, and you chuckle to yourself, “You must now think I’m crazy.”

He shakes his head and says, “I don’t. I think you’re a mother wanting to keep her child safe.”

“If I was able to perform my duty, I would be able to keep Meera safe, but now... I’m unsure what to do.” You meet Criston’s gaze and are surprised to see a fearsome look in his eyes.

“I would do anything to protect you, princess.”

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick is shivering, Damian is crying piteously, they're surrounded by warriors that would give Dick a serious run for his money even if he wasn't months out of shape, and the only good thing is that they're out of Ra's' hands.

The one in charge, a man with silver hair and only one eye and a dangerous presence despite his apparent age, barks out something in a language Dick doesn't understand, and Dick's cloak is unceremoniously divested from him.

"Wait," Dick manages to say after a full two beats, they're ushering him deeper inside the long hall and he can't resist—the hall is warm and the cloak was wet and cold and heavy. He can't quite remember what he's complaining about.

He's stopped at a threshold and someone bends down to tug at the laces of his boots—which, now that he looks, no one else is wearing. He allows them to pull the sodden, muddy boots off with a muttered sorry, and hide the wince as they limp after the others, blisters painfully sore.

Damian hasn't stopped crying, and Dick shifts him in his arms, biting his lip at the tremble. He's—exhausted, hungry and weak and tired, and he wants so desperately for this to be a safe place.

It seems like one, warm and cozy, with the sounds of laughter echoing from deeper in. Dick is led to a side chamber lined with furs and has to bite back the moan at the softness on his aching soles. Most of his escort leaves, and Dick desperately wishes they'll let him stay.

He is in no shape to go back out, not in the snow, not in the storm. And especially not with Damian.

Damian is still crying, thin and weak, and Dick peeks at the two guards left with him before turning to give them his back. His shirt is a little more complicated to wrangle, but he manages to slip it off one arm to bare a breast. Damian latches on near instantly and Dick lets out a slow breath at the ache.

His baby isn't going to go hungry. Ra's' sneers still echo in his head, the patronizing way he pronounced Dick an unfit parent while Dick begged to see his child, please, just once, and figuring out motherhood with Damian on the run has been a trial of failures.

At least he's feeding now. Dick shifts on his feet, faintly dizzy, and hopes that they let him rest for the night. He'll have to pay for a stay here somehow, but he's exhausted and he just wants sleep.

Dick isn't expecting the others to return so suddenly.  He spins around, startled, at the sudden bang of the door, and everything inside of him goes cold at the narrow-eyed expression on the leader's face.

He snarls something, and his warriors head for Dick. Dick tries to back up a step but there's nowhere to go, he's surrounded with at least three people between him and the door.

"Wait," Dick says, high-pitched, "wait, please—"

Dick isn't expecting the hands tugging at his shirt. His mind goes blank for a yawning eternity and by the time he recovers, his pants are being pulled down.

"No," Dick croaks out, tears hot and prickling, "No."

It's not that it doesn't make sense. Ra's is not the only one who demands the privileges of power and Dick knows nothing about the people who let him stagger inside their home. He cannot afford to be kicked out, to fight back, to disagree, but he still says, "no," when they pull the rest of his clothes off.

At least they aren't taking Damian from him.

Dick is freezing, cold that's gone beyond pain and into numbness and the silver-haired leader meets his gaze with a forbidding expression. He says something harsh and guttural.

Heavy hands land on Dick's shoulders and push and Dick's legs give out as he's manhandled to his knees.

Damian is busy drinking, unknowing and uncaring of what's happening above him.

He keeps his gaze fixed down, on the soft fur, and not on the incomprehensible conversation above him. He—he needs to figure this out, he knows, he can't just keep holding Damian while—while they—but he's not willing to let his baby out of his sight—

Dick is startled again by the brush of something soft against his skin. It feels like a blanket, heavy and warm, and Dick looks up in confusion as someone kneels next to him, efficiently concealing his nakedness and chilled skin while not disturbing Damian.

They smile at Dick and say something. The words sound harsh but their tone is not, and Dick can't quite believe the softness of the blanket against his skin.