#Marries you so they are one step closer to the throne

[d-z20]

Her Game, Your Rules (NSFW)

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: To stop your family's reputation burning to the ground you are forced to marry Rio Vidal, an old money type of rich CEO who seems to be on a mission to make your life hell

-OR-

You end up snapping and fuck Rio to get your frustrations out.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Reader, Bratty Rio, biting, marking, fingering (Rio recv), fisting, dom brat-tamer reader, seriously it's just rough smut, maybe some plot if you squint

Words: 3.6k

A/N: At the time of writing this, I am under the influence of christmas spirits (read vodka and mulled wine) and so this is a little self induldgent and I apologise for any typos oops

AO3 | Masterlist

Your family’s fall from grace is like a slow-motion train wreck—every headline, every whispered scandal, is another crack in your once-unshakeable reputation. The solution comes as a cruel irony: an arranged marriage. Not to just anyone, but to Rio Vidal.

She’s untouchable, the CEO of a sprawling conglomerate with roots so deep in old money they’re practically fossilised. Her power is absolute, her public image flawless, and her demeanor? Smug. To her, this marriage is nothing but a game, another business deal where she holds all the cards.

The first time she calls you pet, it’s during the engagement photoshoot. The photographer adjusts your pose—her arm around your waist, her hand resting at the curve of your hip—and she leans in, her voice low and taunting. “Smile, pet. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re unhappy with me, would you?”

Her hand squeezes the flesh of your hip and you almost snap.

It only gets worse after the wedding. Rio is everywhere—her presence suffocating yet calculated, as though she knows exactly how to push your buttons without ever truly crossing a line. At home, in the shared penthouse you can’t even call yours, she lounges with infuriating ease. She’s always perfectly put-together: designer suits, expensive perfumes, and that perpetual smirk.

“You’re tense again,” she says one evening from the couch, sipping her wine like a queen on her throne. “Is it me, or are you trying not to stare?”

You grit your teeth. If she notices how often your fists clench, she doesn’t let it show.

Tonight is no different. A high-profile business dinner sees you both playing the part of the perfect power couple. Rio dazzles the room effortlessly, sliding her hand into yours with calculated affection as though it’s second nature. Her teasing words are quiet, meant only for you.

“Careful with that scowl, pet,” she murmurs while brushing non-existent lint from your jacket. “You’ll ruin the illusion.”

By the time you return to the penthouse, you’re simmering. The space feels colder than usual, and Rio only adds to it as she strides inside like she owns not just the apartment but the entire city. She shrugs off her coat and tosses it onto a chair without looking back at you.

“You were quiet tonight,” she says, her voice laced with that familiar condescension. She turns just enough to meet your gaze, and there it is—that smug little smile. “I’d almost think you were enjoying my company.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, but it’s exactly what she wants.

Rio’s smile widens as she steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She stops right in front of you, impossibly composed as always, and tilts her head like she’s sizing you up. Her eyes glint with something sharp, something knowing.

“Oh? Is that irritation I hear, pet?” She purrs, voice low and teasing. “It’s adorable how hard you try to keep it together. But I see you, you know. You hate how much I get under your skin.”

The change happens like lightning striking—quick, hot, and inevitable. Before you realise it, you’ve grabbed her wrist and spun around, slamming her back against the closed door. The sound echoes through the penthouse, sharp in the silence.

Rio gasps softly, her breath catching as her back hits the door. For the first time, her perfect composure falters. Her wide eyes meet yours, lips parting as though she’s trying to find something to say, but for once, she’s quiet.

“All that teasing, Rio,” you murmur, stepping closer until there’s barely an inch between you. Your voice drops low, deliberate. “Did you think I wouldn’t do something about it?”

Her silence is electric, crackling between you.

You reach out, tilting her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look at you. Her breath hitches, and you catch it—the tiniest flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, a fracture in her armor. But then, like a reflex, her lips curl into a small, bratty pout.

“What’s the matter?” You taunt softly, a smirk tugging at your mouth. “Cat got your tongue?”

Rio’s breath is uneven now, her lashes fluttering as she blinks at you. She tries to mask it with that familiar bite of defiance. “Finally showing some backbone, pet?” she whispers, her voice breathier.

The words make you grin. “You like pushing me,” you say, your hands sliding to her hips, pinning her against the door. She tenses just slightly beneath your grip, her body betraying her cool demeanor. “But you’re not as untouchable as you think you are.”

Rio’s chin lifts defiantly, her sharp gaze meeting yours like a challenge. “And what are you going to do about it?” She breathes, but there’s something crumbling in her voice now—something you can feel.

Your smirk widens as you lean in, your mouth brushing against the shell of her ear. “Exactly what you’ve been asking for, Vidal.”

And then you kiss her.

It’s not gentle. It’s months of frustration, tension, and unspoken words igniting all at once. Rio lets out a small, startled noise against your mouth, one that only fuels you further. Her hands shoot up to grip your shoulders, but whether she’s trying to push you away or pull you closer, you can’t tell, and you don’t care.

You press her harder against the door, tilting her head back as you deepen the kiss. For once, she isn’t teasing. Her breaths are quick, her lips parting under yours with a kind of quiet surrender that makes you feel drunk on power. Her smugness is gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

When you finally pull back, Rio looks at you with half-lidded eyes, her cheeks flushed and her breaths coming fast. Her composure is shattered, her usual teasing grin nowhere to be found.

“Well?” you murmur, brushing a thumb along her jaw as you tilt her face to yours. “Still feeling smug?”

She scowls, breathless, and flustered in a way you’ve never seen before. “Don’t get cocky,” she mutters, her voice soft but bratty, her gaze darting away as if she can’t bear how vulnerable she looks.

You grin, leaning in again until your lips hover over hers. “I’m just getting started, pet.”

Your smirk lingers as you grab Rio’s wrist, guiding her away from the door and deeper into the penthouse. She doesn’t resist—her breathing still unsteady, her steps hurried to keep up with you. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the soft click of your shoes against the hardwood floor and the faint rustle of her movements behind you.

The door to your bedroom swings open, and you tug her inside, not giving her a chance to reclaim even a shred of that smug composure. You push her back against the edge of the bed, and Rio stumbles slightly, catching herself with her palms as she glares up at you. That flash of defiance is still dancing in her eyes, but it’s tempered now—undercut by the pink flush dusting her cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls too quickly.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you taunt, stepping closer, standing over her. “Nothing to say, Vidal?”

Rio swallows, the sharp comeback you know she wants to make catching in her throat as her gaze flicks up to meet yours. Instead, she juts her chin out stubbornly, a spark of her usual bratty fire returning. “What, do you need a gold star for dragging me in here?”

You huff out a low laugh, reaching out to hook a finger into the front of her perfectly tailored blazer and tug her back to her feet. Rio gasps softly at the sudden movement, but you’re already turning her around. She lets out a small, startled noise when her back presses against your chest. You take your time sliding the blazer off her shoulders, letting the fabric pool at her feet, followed by the silky blouse underneath. Every inch of newly exposed skin is a victory, a crack in her armour.

When she tries to turn back around, you stop her, sliding one hand over her hip to hold her in place. “Stay still,” you murmur, your voice low and commanding against her ear. Her body stiffens at your tone, but she doesn’t fight you. Your hand drifts upward, running along her bare arm, then grazing the strap of her bra before letting it fall. Her breath hitches audibly.

You step back just slightly to admire her—the perfect Rio Vidal, now flushed and breathless, standing before you in nothing but her skirt. You don’t bother hiding your smirk as you lean in again, your fingers dragging down the zipper. The skirt slips down her legs, leaving her in only the barest scrap of black lace.

“Look at you,” you whisper, grazing your knuckles over her hip. She shivers under your touch, her sharp facade slipping further. “All that teasing. All that attitude. And yet here you are.”

Rio turns her head just enough to glare at you over her shoulder, but the effect is ruined by the redness in her cheeks and the way her lips part slightly as if she can’t catch her breath. “Don’t let this go to your head,” she mutters, though her voice waves.

You chuckle softly, reaching out to grip her chin and turn her face toward you. “You’re still talking back?” you murmur. You tilt her head, leaning close enough for your lips to brush against hers—but you don’t kiss her. You let her feel the heat of you; let her squirm under your touch.

When she finally lets out a small, frustrated whimper, you know you’ve won.

“Good girl,” you murmur against her mouth before finally capturing it in a kiss—deep, heated, and utterly consuming.

Rio melts against you, her defiance unravelling as your hands trail down her body, leaving no part of her untouched. You don’t bother taking off your own clothes so her nails dig into the fabric of your shirt, gripping it desperately as if she can’t get close enough. Her bratty protests are gone now, replaced by quiet, breathy sounds you’d never thought you’d hear from her. Each one is like fuel to the fire burning between you.

When you finally guide her back onto the bed, pinning her beneath you with her wrists above her head, Rio looks up at you—flushed, vulnerable, and breathless.

“Still feeling smug?” you ask, smirking as you lean over her.

She doesn’t answer this time. She just arches her back, tilts her head slightly, and gives you a look that’s both challenging and pleading all at once.

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, leaning down to nip at her neck. “That’s what I thought.”

As you hover over Rio, the flicker of defiance in her eyes does little to hide the vulnerability beneath. Your lips curl into a satisfied smirk as you trail your fingers lightly along the curve of her hip, the teasing touch making her squirm. Your other hand rests firmly at the base of her neck, your thumb brushing against her pulse—steady but quickened, betraying the control she’s desperately trying to hold onto.

“Look at you,” you say again, your voice dripping with condescension. “Everyone thinks you’re in charge of everything you do, but we both know that’s a lie.”

Rio’s eyes narrow at the jab, her lips parting as though she’s about to retort, but the words catch in her throat when your thumb presses just a little more firmly against her neck. Her body shivering beneath you, her breath hitching as your hand on her hip continues its slow, deliberate strokes—up, down, and back again, each motion calculated to unravel her composure further.

“You can’t fool me, pet. I can feel the way you’re trembling. I can see the way your body reacts. Face it—you love this,” you whisper, delighting in the way the name makes her shiver.

Her cheeks flush deeper, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tries to keep her resolve. Your hand on her hip shifts slightly, your fingertips brushing lower, closer to the edge of that last scrap of lace. Her breath stutters, and despite her best efforts, a soft whine escapes her lips.

“You talk a big game,” you say, your thumb stroking gently along the side of her neck, holding her in place as your free hand drifts lower. Without ceremony, you hook your fingers into the delicate band of her underwear and slide it down her legs in one smooth motion, letting the damp fabric fall to the floor. “But right now? You’re mine. And the best part?” Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “You don’t even want to fight it.”

Rio lets out a shaky exhale, her bravado crumbling further as your grip tightens ever so slightly, just enough to remind her who’s in charge. When she finally speaks, her voice is a barely whisper, lacking its usual sharpness. “Don’t get used to this,” she mutters, but the effect is ruined by the faint, pleading undertone in her words.

You laugh softly, low and mocking, as you lean down to press a slow, claiming kiss against her throat. “Oh, I’m already used to it, pet,” you whisper against her skin, feeling the way her pulse races beneath your lips. Your hand trails downward, slipping between her thighs as you drag a single finger through her slick folds, teasing and deliberate. The sharp intake of her breath is music to your ears, her body trembling under your touch. “And judging by the way you’re falling apart, I’d say you are too.” As the final words leave your mouth, you roughly shove two fingers inside of her.

Rio’s body arches into yours, her resistance melting away completely as her hands grip at your shoulders, holding onto you like you’re the only solid thing in her world. Whatever composure she had left is gone now, replaced by soft, whiney noises that fuel the fire between you.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look down at her—flushed, vulnerable, and completely at your mercy. “See?” you taunt, brushing your thumb along her jaw. “This is where you belong, Rio. Beneath me.”

You smirk darkly, pulling your fingers out of her with no warning, ignoring the desperate whine that spills from her lips as you do. Her body jerks at the sudden emptiness, and before she can so much as recover, you grab her by the waist and flip her over like she weighs nothing.

Rio lets out a surprised gasp, her cheek pressing against the mattress as you shove her down, one hand fisting into her hair to keep her in place. “Stay,” you growl, your voice rough and commanding, punctuated by the sharp tug of her hair that forces her head to tilt back just enough to expose her neck. “You don’t get to be in control here, pet.”

Your other hand grips her hip, pulling her back so she’s on her knees, her spine arching beautifully under the pressure of your grip. Her face remains pressed against the mattress, muffling all the noises spilling from her lips. You drag your nails along the curve of her back, just hard enough to leave red trails in their wake, marking her as yours.

“If people could see you now,” you sneer, tugging her hair again, eliciting a broken moan from her. “The big, bad CEO, reduced to this—a whimpering little thing begging for my touch. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.” The hand on her hip slides upward, fingertips digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises in their wake, so she won’t forget tonight anytime soon.

Rio tries to lift her head, her defiance flaring for a fraction of a second, but you slam her hips back down in a single, rough motion, pressing her further into the mattress. “Don’t even think about it,” you snap, tightening your grip on her hair. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

Her body trembles under your hands, her breathing ragged and uneven as she struggles to maintain even the smallest semblance of composure. But it’s useless—every rough tug, every sharp dig of your nails into her skin, every mocking word you whisper breaks her down further.

You lean over her, your teeth scraping against the curve of her shoulder before you bite down—enough to leave a mark, a visible reminder of exactly who she belongs to. Rio gasps, her body arching instinctively against you, and you let out a low, satisfied chuckle. “That’s better,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the fresh mark. “Now, be a good girl and take what I give you.”

You don’t give her time to recover as your hand slides back between her thighs, forcing them apart as far as they’ll go. Without hesitation, you thrust two fingers back inside her, rough and unrelenting. The wet, obscene sound of it fills the room, mixing with Rio’s muffled cries against the mattress. She’s already trembling, her walls clenching around you as you add a third finger without pause. Her body shudders violently, her knees wobbling under the sheer intensity of your pace.

You curl your fingers just enough to draw a choked moan from her lips. “Falling apart already? You like being ruined, don’t you, pet?” Your words are cruel and mocking, as you drive her higher, your fingers moving faster and deeper, until the tight heat of her body is nearly overwhelming.

When her breath catches again, when her thighs quiver, you push further, withdrawing your fingers briefly before pressing back in with four, stretching her open. Rio lets out a strangled sound, her head turning just enough for you to catch the tears clinging to her lashes, the way her lips part in breathless surrender. She’s shaking now, reduced to nothing but broken moans and whimpers.

“Not enough?” you rasp, gripping her hip harder with your free hand to hold her steady. “Then take all of it.” Slowly, deliberately, you press your fist inside her, feeling her tense, and then give way around you. Her body arches sharply, a guttural cry escaping her as her head drops forward, her hands clutching desperately at the sheets. The sheer intensity of it has her completely undone, her body jerking with each movement as you start to move, each thrust coaxing more incoherent noises from her lips.

“You’re a mess,” you growl, your tone dripping with smug satisfaction as you watch her fall apart. “The mighty Rio Vidal, completely wrecked and begging for more. Tell me, pet—who do you belong to?”

Rio is a wreck beneath you, her body quivering and her breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her hands claw at the sheets, her nails curling into the fabric as though it’s the only thing grounding her. “Please,” she finally whimpers, her voice trembling and cracked, a stark contrast to her usual composed arrogance. “Please, I—I’m so close.”

You lean over her, your hand still working relentlessly, your fist driving into her over and over again. The slick heat of her body clenching around you sends a thrill of power coursing through your veins. “What’s that, pet?” you mock, leaning closer to nip at the shell of her ear. “Did I hear you begging? The untouchable Rio Vidal, pleading for permission? Say it again. Say exactly what you want.”

Her response is immediate, raw, and desperate. “Please! Let me—let me cum,” she sobs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “I need it, I can’t—please, just—please!” Every word is laced with want, with a pleading edge that makes your smirk widen.

You slow your movements just enough to make her whine, her body writhing in frustration as you keep her teetering on the edge. “You’re mine,” you growl, your voice low and firm, as your free hand slides up her spine before tangling in her hair again, pulling her head back enough to make her gasp. “Say it, Rio. Tell me who you belong to.”

Her reply takes less than a second, her walls clenching around your hand as the words spill from her lips like a confession. “Yours! I’m yours, please, just let me—”

You cut her off by picking up the pace again, your movements rough and unrelenting. Her body seizes as she tumbles over the edge, her cry muffled by the sheets as her climax tears through her. Her thighs tremble violently, and she’s left gasping, completely undone beneath you. You ride her through every wave of it, drawing out her pleasure until she collapses, spent and shaking, her cheek pressed against the mattress as her breathing slowly steadies.

For a long moment, the room is filled only with the sound of her ragged breathing. Then, a low, dark chuckle escapes her lips, raspy and laced with exhaustion. “Well,” she murmurs, her voice still shaky but dripping with wry amusement. “I guess that counts as finally consummating our marriage.” She tilts her head just enough to glance back at you, her usual smirk making a weak but defiant return, though her flushed cheeks and trembling thighs betray her.

You huff a laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Careful, Vidal,” you say against her skin. “We both know who’s really in charge here.” You trail your fingers down her spine, watching the way she shivers under your touch.

Rio chuckles again, softer this time, as she shifts slightly, her body still too spent to fully move. “To the world, I’m still the untouchable CEO,” she says, her voice quiet but firm, the sharp edge of her confidence returning. “But between us?” She glances at you, her eyes glinting with that familiar mix of defiance and surrender. “We both know where I belong.”

Your smirk widens as you push her hair back, brushing your lips against her temple. “That’s right, pet,” you say softly. “And don’t you forget it.”

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Happy Holidays sluts (complimentary) if you are celebrating anything, if not Happy Dec 24th :D

this was going to be the arranged marriage au for aaa week before my laptop decided to be homophobic and break >:(

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taglist: @danveration (comment to be added to a taglist)

[masked-alien-lesbian]

Not that I want to marry Duke Richards or Sir Gideon Payne by any means, but rereading Desire & Decorum has made me wonder what it would be like to play a more morally darker mc that gets married to someone who is trying to overthrow the king or queen. Something like TC&TF but instead of fighting to get your throne back, usurping the throne. Watching the world burn for you obtain power...

[andypantsx3]

contents: general bakugou x princess reader; fem + afab virgin reader. nsft; oral (f receiving) & missionary. semi-sequel to this drabble. 3.2k.

Your wedding day arrives far earlier than you are prepared for.

It’s a tense affair, for you at least. The country depends on it, and you feel the scheming eyes of the nobility hot on your skin as you pronounce your vows to Bakugou. They will not take kindly to your having chosen him over their sons and brothers, over their own desire to rise to power. There will be a price they will want you to pay, soon enough.

The chapel is resplendent with sumptuous decor, the court in their finest. But the room is fringed with Bakugou’s men in their military leathers, a reminder that this is not a happy day, but rather a dangerous political stunt. It keeps the noble houses docile while they are in the room with you, but you know they will return to their estates and their plans. 

Your fate is in Bakugou’s hands, now, in more ways than one.

The ceremony is dizzying, and impossible to wrap your head around. The preceptor pronounces Bakugou your prince-consort, ostensibly to remain so while you assume the throne after your father’s passing. You will continue to rule him as his sovereign. But your vows to Bakugou also promise him your obedience as his wife. 

It is a contradiction, an impossible trap, the very reason why the general is the only man you could stomach the thought of marrying. If a husband is to rule you after all, Bakugou will do so justly. 

The thought does not stifle your nerves, however, as you make your way back down the aisle, sit down to the reception, and take your meal. A disquieting, anticipatory feeling settles over you, fizzing under your skin. You barely pick at your dinner, and drink too much of the wine.

You can tell Bakugou notices, scarlet gaze ever-perceptive, though he does not say anything until you are shepherded to the bridal suite to consummate.

Various aides try to follow you in to prepare you, but Bakugou slams the door closed on them, propping it shut with one broad shoulder. He barks at them to scram.

“Lord General—that is, Your Highness,” one of them stutters through the door. “We are required to witness the consummation—to verify that it is complete.”

A bolt of shame goes through you at this, and you catch hold of one of the intricately-carved wooden bed pillars. Bakugou grunts, holding the door closed with one palm while spinning to the nearby dressing table and chair. He grabs the chair, wedging it forcefully up under the door handle.

“You’ll be sure of consummation when I’m done here,” he growls through the door. “Don’t need you little fucking perverts making eyes the whole damn time. Now beat it.”

A weird sound escapes you, something between a gasp and a laugh—at his promise, at his gruffness.

“Your Highness,” comes a plaintive entreaty through the door. Bakugou slams a fist against it, and you hear a squeal and a sound like someone’s fallen over their feet.

An absurd laugh seizes you, and Bakugou eyes you pettishly.

“The fuck’re you laughing about,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Your fingers twist on the bedpost, nervously tracing the lines. “You’re taking to your new post well.”

Bakugou’s features twist into something dangerously satisfied, a smirk painting his mouth. Your breath comes short.

“My post,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “As your husband.”

Your stomach swoops. The disquiet flames back to life under your skin, settling heavy in your gut like a stone. 

“I supposed it is a post like any other,” you say, fixing your gaze on the ground. “There are responsibilities and… marital duties.”

You hear the soft tread of Bakugou’s boot as he steps away from the door, the rustle of his doublet as he draws closer. His many medals and ceremonial sword belt clink softly. It is a fashion you know he does not prefer, always living in his shirtsleeves—the better to fight in, to train in.

A calloused hand takes your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You nervous, Princess?” he asks. His tone is obnoxious, as usual, but his crimson gaze traces your face.

You barely suppress a shiver under his touch. Your stomach churns with a thousand emotions and you find you don’t know how to feel. Relieved that you’ve made it this far. Annoyed with Bakugou’s composure and general manner. Apprehensive about what is to come. And warm, suddenly, all over. You do not want to examine why.

“Nonsense,” you sniff. 

A feral smile curls the corner of Bakugou’s mouth like he sees right through you. “You’ve never been with a man.”

Your face burns but you force yourself to return Bakugou’s assessing stare. “I’ve never been to Musutafu, either, but I know it well enough. I should think I am… prepared.”

Something hot alights in Bakugou’s gaze, burning like a coal. It’s not unlike how he looked at you that night in the dark outside his chambers, when you’d first come to him with this wild proposal.

“And what do you think you know,” he says, flatter than a question.

Your nose grows hot. “Enough.”

A thumb slides along your jaw, settling against the pulse in your neck. “Answer the question, angel.”

Your face just might be on fire. You steel yourself, reciting dispassionately. “You will undress me and then… enter me. I shall lie still—they say you can breathe through the pain and it will go away after some time. You will… work yourself to completion. And then we shall be done.”

A snort comes from Bakugou. “Is that how you royal tightasses do it?”

You feel your eyes narrow. “That is how everyone does it.”

Your ladies in waiting had been very emphatic. All of them had spoken of the same mechanics. The initial discomfort, the pain, the way a husband moved upon his wife until he was satisfied.

“You don’t know shit, Princess,” Bakugou says.

You reach up to pull his hand from your face, but he tenses, arm growing solid and immovable. 

“Explains why all you nobles are such fucking tight-buttoned pricks if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Your reply is startled out of you when his hand finds your waist. You take a step back, and then another, startling again when your back finds the wall. Bakugou follows you, eyes hot.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him hotly. “I am sure of the matter.”

“You’re always sure of a lot of things, Princess,” he says. His hand is back at your waist, and suddenly all your skin feels too hot and tight, stifling like a velvet dress in summer.

“I am sure you are the most obnoxious man on earth,” you say. “Now be quiet and commence with it. Let’s have done with it.”

Bakugou’s face is suddenly closer than you’d remembered it being.

“I’ll have done with you alright,” he says. “But I’m not gonna do it like you little uppity prudes.”

You find you can’t think of what he means, all of your thoughts clouded with his proximity, the feeling of his hand moving to your skirts.

“I—but there is only the one way,” you manage. None of your ladies had mentioned anything else.

Bakugou’s mouth cuts into a smirk again, and you hate him for how pretty it is. 

“We’ll fuckin’ see about that,” he says.

And then his mouth is pressed to yours. 

It’s nothing like the stilted peck you’d been obliged to give him at the ceremony—one that still left your face burning, for some unknowable reason. This feels entirely different in its intensity. Bakugou’s mouth is hot and soft and tempting and eager, and your body thrills with it.

Every inch of your skin feels like it zings with lightning when he licks into your mouth, and he presses you harder into the wall. You feel his groan all the way down to your toes.

“B–akugou,” you pant when his mouth leaves yours, only to stifle a yip when he moves down to your throat. He sucks a mark there, laving over it with his tongue, and you feel like you're melting in his hands. “That’s—not my—ah!—mouth,” you manage.

The tiniest scrape of teeth has you yelping again, and you find yourself clutching his bicep for purchase.

“No shit,” he says, leaving another mark lower, mapping his way towards your chest. Calloused fingers come up to cup one of your breasts, thumb swiping over your nipple through your stays. You catch hold of his hair, yanking a fistful of that flaxen blonde, clenching your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss. 

Bakugou looks up at you, expression annoyed. “Consummating.”

“But you’re not undressing me,” you say. “And shouldn’t we—on the bed?

Bakugou raises a blonde eyebrow. “They tell you it needs to be on a bed, too?”

You blink, momentarily disarmed. It was quite literally called sharing the marriage bed—where else were you supposed to do it?

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?” you eventually ask him.

Both of Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot for the moon, and he looks very suddenly like he wants to laugh. A grin yanks at his mouth, sharp and beautiful.

“I knew you’d be a fucking handful,” he says, his tone somehow both annoyed and delighted. “Don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

You yank at the fistful of his hair you’re still clutching and he hisses, hand shooting out to grab yours. He works your grip off of him, pinning your wrist to the wall. The air in the room suddenly feels a hundred times thicker, like trying to breathe through honey.

“Listen closely, Princess,” he tells you, leaning in. “We're going to consummate, alright. But I’m not just gonna squeeze my eyes shut and stick it in. I’m going to do what I want first, and you’re going to be good and let me.”

Your face ignites in flame. You want to disagree reflexively. “If it’s going to be painful I’d rather just have it over with, if you don’t mind,” you say.

Bakugou stares back, scarlet gaze roving over you. “It’s not gonna be if you shut up and let me do what I want.”

You blink. You hadn’t heard that there was a way around the pain—why hadn’t anyone told you?

“I—really?” you ask.

Bakugou nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well then… you may proceed, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” he echoes, staring you down. The look on his face makes you want to lean forward and bite it off.

“Well get on with it,” you say, arching your eyebrows.

Bakugou looks for a moment like he wants to shake you. But he ducks his head instead, lowering his mouth to yours again.

“Gonna fuck that bossiness right out of you,” he mutters, low like he’s promising himself and not you. But then he kisses you again, muffling your gasp in his mouth.

You’ve never kissed another man, and do not have a frame of reference for what he’s doing. But Bakugou is a good kisser, you think. Every flick of his tongue feels like someone has uncorked champagne and poured it beneath your skin, and every brush of his mouth against yours sends a liquid heat racing through your veins.

You moan into his mouth when calloused fingers delve beneath the collar of your gown, dipping into your stays and pinching a nipple. He rolls it carefully, and you arch against him without any say-so from your brain. 

“Been thinking about this, Princess,” he says. “Ever since I saw you in that little nightdress. Gonna show you what it really means to be with a man.”

You’re excused from answering by his mouth back on yours. Not that you think you could, with the way his fingers feel in the cups of your stays, or the press of a strong thigh between your own.

“Bakugou,” you gasp when he peels off of you, only to sink to his knees before you.

“It’s Katsuki,” he says, busying himself with the hem of your skirts. 

“B–Katsuki,” you say. “What are you doing?”

Long fingers roll up the hemline of your dress, then yank at your underthings, exposing you to him. You gasp again, moving to cover yourself, but Bakugou pins you to the wall with an arm across your stomach, catching your thigh and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Husbandly duties,” he replies, another smirk on his mouth.

And then your head thunks against the wall as that mouth moves, pressing to you.

“Katsuki!” you shout, biting off into an embarrassing moan when he laves over you. No one had told you about this part—about how a man’s mouth there would make you feel like fireworks had just been lit off in your veins. About how a man’s mouth could even go there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t reply, kissing you there as he had your lips. A delicate suck from him over the cleft of you has you arching in his hands again, and you can quite literally feel him smirking against you.

He works you thoroughly, licking and sucking for what feels like torturous hours, but must only be minutes, until you’re a writhing, panting mess, only held upright by the arm he has banded across your lower stomach. There’s a pressure rising within you, pooling in all your limbs, making you shake and shiver with it, and what feels like no way to release it.

“Katsuki—I feel strange,” you say, bucking against his mouth. “Oh—oh!”

“Just hold on, sweetheart, and let yourself feel it,” Katsuki tells you, before licking back over you. A finger presses up inside of you, foreign but strangely good in conjunction with his mouth. Then another one presses in and they curl as if seeking something, making you twist in his grip.

And then something makes you jerk—the press of Katsuki’s fingers inside you in just the right spot, while he sucks on you, feeling like he’s touching the same place inside of you from both sides.

Something inside you snaps, uncoiling, pleasure flooding down you like a mudslide. You cry out Bakugou’s name, tears in your vision, riding out your pleasure against his mouth. Bakugou licks you through it, groaning low in his throat with appreciation.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, tone rough. “Now you’re ready for consummation.”

You hear his words as if through a haze, and it’s only once you’re moving—being picked up and carried over to the bed—that you register what he’s saying.

He frees himself from his breeches, and stretches out over you, kissing your mouth. You’re embarrassed to taste yourself on him, but the press of him to you overrides that concern. In one smooth stroke he presses in, and you are shocked to find that he slides home easily, your core slick and ready.

It feels strange, but not at all unpleasant—absolutely nothing like what they’d told you.

“You alright, Princess?” Bakugou asks.

“I—yes,” you say, voice fluttering off when he flexes his hips, moving inside of you. The slide of him inside of you is unexpectedly good, especially when he lowers a hand to your core, pressing a thumb to that bundle of nerves at the hood of you.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes hot on your face. You cling to him, hips lifting into him unthinkingly as his thumb pets over you again, as he presses in and out of you a few more times.

You nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

He grins anyway, feral and fever-bright. His pace picks up into something faster, and you’re embarrassed to hear the slap of him against you, the eager way your body welcomes him in.

The band of pressure builds up inside you again, slowly, with every sure stroke of Bakugou inside you. He’s hot and hard and heavy over you, pressing you into the mattress, and the tops of his cheeks are flush with effort—the way he looks sometimes when he’s just come in from the training pitch.

He’s beautiful—handsome and strong and hot-headed and determined. And it dawns on you that he’s yours now—not just your subject but your husband, your prince consort, and now your lover.

It makes all your skin turn molten hot again, especially when you look down and see your knees have rucked his shirt up. You can see the flex of his abs as he thrusts between your thighs, all that golden skin and dense muscle.

The slide of him inside you and the sight of him over you is suddenly too much, and you feel yourself tip right over the edge again. Bakugou catches your hand as you lift it to muffle your cry, kissing over your knuckles.

“That’s it, Princess, that’s it,” he says again, ducking his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he fucks you through it, and he groans with the clench of you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips, pace picking up faster. “Knew you would, sweetheart, yeah.”

Embarrassingly you feel almost like you could come apart again with the praise. Bakugou groans once more, and you can hear his grip tighten in the blanket next to your head. His hips buck and flex, wildly uncontrolled now, until he gives one final hard thrust.

His weight pins you down when he relaxes over you, his breath tickling over your shoulder. You find you like the weight of him on you, covering you, like a shield against the rest of the world.

Apt, for a general.

“Better than how you wanted to do it, wasn’t it, Princess?” he asks, smug.

You scoff, but you catch the flash of a white grin in the corner of your vision. There is really no question that he’d had the better of it, this time.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” he says.

Over him, you can hear the flutter of feet outside the door, some muffled discussion. Heat rises to your face when you realize the castle aids most definitely heard you cry out under Bakugou’s ministrations. There will be no doubt of your consummation now, regardless of whether you were observed.

“Nosy fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugou says, rolling off of you. You catch another flicker of his chest with the way his shirt gapes, and he looks doubly smug when he notices.

“Not done yet, angel?” he says.

“I am, thank you.” You flush, embarrassed at having been caught. But Bakugou stretches an arm out to yank you over him, pressing you down over his hips.

Your stomach flutters.

“Give me a couple more minutes, Princess,” Bakugou says, scarlet eyes flashing with heat once more. His hand raises to trail through your hair, catching in the wedding hairstyle they’d pinned you into. 

“Five more minutes,” your new husband promises you, with a grin like the devil. “And then we'll give them something to really listen to.”

[classyrbf]

Heyyy could I request Trueform!sukuna fucking his wife in his throne pleaseee!! If that’s okay

LIKE A QUEEN! — RYOMEN SUKUNA

SYNOPSIS...what better way to get fucked than on your kings throne

INFO...true form!sukuna x wife!reader, reader calls sukuna “my lord”, groping, nipple play, oral (f!receiving), double penetration, anal, rough sex, squirting, love bomb (from reader), sukuna is kind sweet (?), sweet ending, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thanks for the request anon!

The door to the throne room echoed loudly against the stone walls. Your bare feet hit the cold porcelain floors as you stepped into the room, the door shutting behind you. The eerie silence surrounded your cold body, shivers form down your spine as you take notice of your husband, the king, sitting on his throne, wiping blood off one of his hands.

One of the servants had fetched you from the room, said the king ordered you to come to the throne room for a talk. After being married for three years now, you know a talk meant Sukuna was feeling frustrated, looking to take it on you in a sexual manner. “Come.” His deep voice rang in your ears.

Your feet pattered as you walked over, nipples hardening under the silk robe you wore, nothing else underneath. “My lord.” You got down on your hands and knees, bowing to him, showing your respects. Just standing a few feet away from him, you could tell he’s been pushed to his limit. A low audible groan could be heard as he stood from the throne, walking down the steps and standing just inches away from your head.

Your breath hitched, anticipating the moments that would could in just mere minutes. What twisted position would he put you in this time? How many hours until he was done with you? “Look at me.” You followed the simple order, rising your head slowly, still remaining on your knees. You gulped, biting the inside of your cheek, his tall stature casting a shadow over your figure like a mountain. “I’ve had a rough day.” His voice was almost like a growl, yet kept a stoic tone.

“I understand, my lord.” You went to undo his robe, instinctively thinking he wanted you to use your throat first, but he stopped you. His large hand grabbed yours, eyes piercing into yours. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” You cast your eyes to the ground, wincing slightly when he squeezed your hand a little tighter. A small yelp fell from your lips as he pulled you to your feet, wide eyes staring into his. Your chest pressed against his, heart beating frantically.

He sighed, scanning your features. You stood there, unable to say or do anything. He was acting different, more quiet, less demanding. You weren’t sure what he was thinking—you never do. “Undress.” He pulled away from you, walking back up to the throne and sitting down, legs spread wide as he watched you carefully untie your gown. He rested his head in his hand, eyes focusing on the skin that started to reveal itself, before your robe dropped to the floor. A smirk lifted the corner of his lips. “Come closer.” He gestured with his finger. You inched towards the throne, afraid to even step foot near it as no one else but Sukuna was allowed to touch it. “Closer.”

You gulped, going as close at you could without wanting to be disrespectful towards your king. He leaned forward, one of his arms effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. You felt vulnerable, embarrassed. Everytime you’ve had sex with Sukuna, it has never gone this way. He was being so patient, leaving you guessing what’s going to come next. His hands cupped your tits, massaging them, squeezing them, playing with your nipples, tweaking them between his fingers. “Mmph!” You covered your mouth in an attempt to hide your moans, looking away from him.

You could feel his bulges press up against your wet cunt and ass, nudging against your clit each time he moved his hips. “Such perfect tits.” His words went straight to your pussy, your hole clenching around nothing as you began to grow needs for some sort of friction. But you knew better than to get yourself off without permission. “I’ve had a rough fucking day…and all I want,” he clenched his jaw, “is to taste you.” His two arms hoisted you up, sitting you on his face, holding you there on his shoulders. A blissful sigh escaped your throat at the feeling of his hot tongue darting between your folds. He growled, pinching your nipples while his tongue circled your clit.

You were caught by surprise, shocked and even more turned on than ever. It’s very rare that he takes his frustration out by eating your cunt and not fucking you till you can’t walk. Maybe it’ll be both. “Hah! Nngh!” Your eyes screw shut when he sucks on your puffy clit. He sucks up every last drop of your juices on his eager tongue, dark red eyes staring right into your soul. Without realizing, your hands reach for the tufts of his pink hair, grabbing onto it and pulling his face in closer, grinding your hips against him.

He lets out a deep chuckle, placing a sloppy kiss to your clit, his tongue fucking your hole while his nose nudges your clit. “Taste so fucking—mmm—good.” He pulls at your sensitive nipples, earning a squeal from you as you gasp for air. “Eager to cum, aren’t you?” He smirks against your pussy.

“Yes! Yes!” You nod, biting down on your bottom lip as you keep riding his face, his lips and chin coated your slick, glistening under the dim candle light of the throne room. “Please make me cum, my lord,” you beg, meekly. Just the thought of cumming on his tongue while being on his throne has your head spinning.

“You’ve been so patient—fuck—such a good wife to me,” he breathes heavily, savoring your taste on his tongue before he goes back in for more. He twists your nipples as his tongue flicks your clit, running up and down your folds.

“Right there! Hah! Ah! Yes! Fuck!” You cry out, legs quivering above him before you’re finally coming undone, tossing your head back in pleasure as laughs at the way you get so sensitive during your orgasm. “Nngh! Shit!” Your gasping, fistful of his hair in your hand while he drinks up every last drop. “Thank you,” you weakly mumble under your breath.

He placed you back down on his lap, watching the way you fall against him as you prepare yourself, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Go slow, please,” you whisper into his ear, anticipating the moment you feel his two cocks nudge against your holes. His large hands get a grip on your hips, sinking you down on his throbbing cocks. You’re already shaking, holding onto him so tightly. His swollen tip nudges through your soaked folds, the other slowly entering your ass, inch by inch.

“Always so fucking tight,” he grunts through gritted teeth. He thrusts up into you, pushing your hips all the way down until your hips meet, a long drawn out cry leaving your lips as you bite down onto his shoulder. “My queen, always treating me right—ah, fuck yes!” He thrusts his hips upward, the tip kissing your cervix as your eyes roll bock from the sensation of being fucked in both of your holes. “Sucking me in, milking my cocks,” he breathily says. His heavy balls slap against your ass, his nails digging into your plush skin as you mewl, moans echoing through the chambers.

He’s going rough, gritting his teeth and baring his fangs, slamming your hips down to meet his thrusts because you’re not allowed to run from it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you can barely talk, voice barely above a mumble as your brain turns to complete mush. Nothing else filling that head of yours except him fucking you. His hands pulls your arms back, allowing him to get a good look at you while plows your cunt.

He smiles as he watches the way you get shy, trying to avoid eyes contact with him but he makes it even harder when he has a good grip on your chin. You try and wiggle from his grip, but his sheer strength overpowers yours. Your back arches more as he hits your sweet spot, eyes rolling into the back of your head and your jaw goes slack.

His eyes are fixated on the way your titties bounce, snarling at the sight that was you, making him even more hungry for your pussy. He fucks deeper and harder, a cry leaving your lips as you struggle to take it, so much pleasure coursing through you, you were unsure if you had already came on his cocks or not. That was until you felt a liquid gush between your legs followed by a string of curses. “Oh my god! Yes!” You keep squiring the more he fucks you, Sukuna growing feral at the feeling of your holes clenching around him each time you do.

His thighs and abdomen are soaked, covered in your juices as he continues to hit that sweet spot over and over. You’re trembling in his hands, melting like putty, but he enjoys it so much, getting to fuck you like this on his throne. “You deserve this. Getting fucked on my throne like a queen should—like my queen should,” he snarls. “Fuck!” He pushes in deep, holding you there while you feel his cum fill up your holes, coating you insides before slowly dripping down his shaft. He thrusts up into you once more with a grunt, fucking his cum into you. “My fucking queen,” he breathes.

You fall forward onto his chest, head resting on his shoulder, completely exhausted. You can’t find it within yourself to move. “Thank you, my lord,” you weakly say. He removes himself from you, both of slightly whining at the loss of sensation. Though you’ve never done so, you take it upon yourself to plant a soft kiss on his lips, pulling away to scan his eyes. Without fear, you do so again, holding it for longer until he kisses you back. “I love you, my lord,” you say barely above a whisper. You understand he’d probably never say it back, but you’d like to think he’s shows it through his gestures.

“Stay here for a moment.” He holds you on his lap while you both catch your breath. His nails tracing patterns on your sweaty skin. He closes his eyes and rests the back of his head on the throne. Never once has he fucked any of his past wives on his throne, most of them didn’t even make it as far as you have. He’s starting to wonder if you’re actually something special, different. Your words ‘I love you’ is something he’d never heard from his past wives, nor from anyone before. He thinks they mean nothing, but hearing you say them sounds sweet, caring. He can tell you’re still scared of him at some points, but you still cling to him, find comfort in him. It’s odd.

With you in his arms he walks down the throne stairs, setting you on your feet. You look up at his tall stature as he grabs your robe from the cold floor, placing it around your body and tying it tightly. Without uttering a word, he lifts you back into his arms again, carrying you out of the throne room and back to his quarters, your shared bedroom. “We will clean together,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Yes, my lord,” you simply respond.

[celandeline]

The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst

9.5k words (buckle up)

You were born at the end of a long summer’s day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightower’s children. 

The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. You’ve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable. 

Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. “I don’t understand why Helaena.” He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. “If I must marry at all, why not you?”

You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Our mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.” You say. 

Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. “As if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.” He jokes, quoting Alicent. “If it’s not to do with grasshoppers, it’s not to do with her.”

You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. She’s always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesn’t seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you. 

“Some could say the same about you, with wine and whores.” You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. “We all have our compulsions - some worse than others.”

“I only jest.” Aegon says, defensive. You can tell he’s getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder. 

“Hm.” You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. “Is it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?”

“Perhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.” Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. “You do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.”

You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegon’s game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, “No, you’ve always liked the ones who won’t fight back, haven’t you?”

The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.

“What’s funny?”

Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“We were just discussing Aegon’s betrothal.” You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. You’ve never understood Aegon’s disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. “Or rather,” You cast a joking look to Aegon. “Aegon was complaining about it.”

“‘Tis your duty.” Aemond says, ever so serious. 

Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. “Look at her.”

“Aegon-” You start.

“I would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.” Aemond retorts. 

Aegon flaps a hand. “The both of you.” He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. “I’m going to get more wine.” And with that, he’s gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries. 

You place a hand atop Aemond’s head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. “He can be such an ass, our brother.”

Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. “Mm.”

The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when you’d clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands. 

Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerys’ face is bloodied. 

You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laena’s daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less. 

You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost. 

You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. “It’ll be alright.” You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It won’t be. He’ll be scarred forever, he’ll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. It’ll take him years to recover fully. 

“I know.” He says, voice soft. Level. Even. 

And it’s his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another. 

Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. It’s true - the scar across Aemond’s face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already. 

He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but he’s getting better. “You’ll be able to come and go as you please again soon.” You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone. 

He scoffs. “I can’t stay a cripple forever.”

Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, “You’d do well to save your bitterness for someone who’s not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Apologies, sister.” He mumbles.

You sigh. “I only joke, Aemond.” Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming. 

His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance. 

“Not all of us are Aegon.” You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone. 

Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. “Jaenara. Come help me.”

“Your lack of manners is appalling.” You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. “What would mother say?”

Aegon just grins. “Meet me tonight.” He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesn’t have to say where - you’ve snuck out with him before. You know the route. “A traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.”

“Sunset?” You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist. 

“Mm.” He watches you work, still grinning. 

“Alright.” You say, stepping back. 

His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. “What fun we’ll have.”

The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they don’t trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesn’t know, and hasn’t ordered them to, so why do the extra work? 

You sway into Aegon’s shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune you’d been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone. 

You know he’s going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesn’t kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. It’s a chaste thing, only a moment before you’re both pulling back to look at each other. 

“As sweet as wine.” He whispers.

“Mm.” You bite your lip in a grin. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

“Good morning.” He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed. 

You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasn’t there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep. 

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes it’s you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.

“You were with Aegon.” It’s mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.

“Mm.” You don’t deny it, stroking a hand through Aemond’s hair. “And you were here. In my bed.” You press your nose to the top of his head. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

“My eye.” He says. “The pain. It’s more than just the skin, it… it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

“We will see the maesters in the morning.” You say, still gently stroking. “Perhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.”

He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. It’s quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think he’s drifted off, but then,

“Will you take me with you, once?”

“To Flea Bottom?”

“Mm.”

You pause for a moment. “If you wish. Perhaps when you’re a bit older.”

“How old?”

“At least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.”

“And how old was that?”

You smile into his hair. “Give it a year.”

“Mm. Alright.”

The quality of Aemond’s eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of King’s Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, it’s barely noticeable. 

He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You don’t blame him, it’s quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city. 

You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who can’t pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isn’t lost before following him inside. 

The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but it’s familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you. 

“This is a brothel.” He says.

“Aye.” You grin, glancing at Aegon. 

Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. “Tonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.”

Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyse’s eyes through the throngs of men. “I must take my leave.” You say, petting Aemond’s head. “But you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.”

“Alright.” Aemond says. He’s still unsure, clearly, but there’s no time for hesitation once Aegon’s swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. She’s barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder. 

“Princess.” She greets you with a sultry purr. 

“My lady.” You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. “I’ve missed you so.” 

She’s quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. It’s a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until you’re dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until you’re pushing her away. Then it’s your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. You’ve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, she’s confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own. 

“Well, I am no man.” You’d responded. 

It’s an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign she’s been with royalty. You’ve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock she’s ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears. 

Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that you’re completely bare. “What’s wrong?”

Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. He’s always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young. 

Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brother’s back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemond’s breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.

Gently, you break the silence. “Aemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.”

Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemond’s hair. “A pleasure to meet you, my prince.”

“You must tell him what you were telling me.” You say. “Oh, it’s hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.”

He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesn’t leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach. 

The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemond’s nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom. 

“Aemond.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. “Here.”

Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. “A sapphire.” He says. 

“For your eye.” You explain. “I had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.” Jokingly, you add, “And perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.”

He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. “Thank you Jaenara.”

You smile, reveling in the first laugh you’ve won from him in a very long time.

Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegon’s usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king. 

The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge. 

It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. “And what can I do for you, my lady?”

“I am looking for my brother.” You say. 

“He seems to be behind you-”

“My other brother. Aegon.” You clarify. “Was he here last night?”

“I’m afraid not.” She says. 

You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemond’s eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze. 

“Where else, then?” Cole asks. 

“I don’t know.” You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that you’ve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. “This was the last place I could think of.”

Cole swears under his breath. 

Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. “He must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.”

You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most. 

Meleys’ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragon’s maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaena’s arm and try to ignore how your hands shake. 

Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon. 

You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your mother’s womb tremble underneath your grasp. 

You wait, watching Aemond’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.

You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice. 

A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. You’re alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaena’s arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemond’s over her shoulder. 

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Something is happening. They’ve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. It’s been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than you’ve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or what’s being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man. 

Still, there is nothing to do but wait. 

So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemond’s bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems you’d found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerys’s saddlebag when you’d claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things he’d copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasn’t half bad, in your opinion. 

You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside. 

“I had them draw a bath.” You say. “I figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.”

He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. 

“Very thoughtful of you, sister.” He says, eye fluttering shut. 

“Mm.” You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that you’d draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isn’t submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. “What business kept you in council so long?”

A tension settles in his jaw. “Lucerys Velaryon was also at Storm’s End.”

“You failed to win their allegiance?” You ask, surprised. 

“No. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.” You brother opens his eye. “But Lucerys is dead, at my hand.”

You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things weren’t already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. “How?”

Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Vhagar.” He says, his voice cracking slightly. “I only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger… I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she would…” He swallows, collecting himself. “Our mother is less than pleased with me.”

“Our mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.” You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. “You cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.” You pause. “It is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.”

He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair. 

You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window. 

You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each other’s injuries. 

You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. It’s eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, you’re sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within. 

Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the children’s beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall. 

Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail. 

Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop. 

You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward. 

The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerys’ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide. 

“The fuck-” The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin. 

He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows he’s raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth. 

But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest. 

“Kill him!” You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. “Kill him!”

“Jaenara.” Aemond’s voice is low in your ear. “The maesters…”

You try to shake him off, but your brother doesn’t relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerys’ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision. 

“Helaena,” You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.

“With Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.” Aemond assures you. 

“They,” You say, working around the lump in your throat. “Put a knife. To her throat.” You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. “Here.”

“I’m sure she’s being tended to.” He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. “We must tend to you too.”

Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along. 

You watch little Jaehaerys’ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. She’s empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as you’re sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring. 

It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you. 

The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing. 

But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephew’s body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing. 

Helaena’s eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.

You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own. 

“Cole and I will cut them off entirely.” Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rook’s Rest. “And with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.”

You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. “A clever plan.” You agree. “And Aegon also approves?”

Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. “What does it matter?”

“He is the king.” You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. “It is his war that we fight.”

“He is a figurehead.” Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. “At the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.”

“He is our brother, and liege lord.” You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. “You speak treason, Aemond.”

“Mm.” Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. “I forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.”

“He is my brother.” You repeat. “And my Helaena is his wife.”

Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemond’s soft voice breaks through again. “Did you ever let him fuck you?”

The question takes you aback, and you laugh. “What?”

“In all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?” He asks again, unwavering. 

“No.” You say. “I have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.” Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasn’t - isn’t - the nature of your friendship. 

“Hm.” Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. “Vermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.” He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach. 

“Of course.” You agree, confused. 

It’s been too long since you last did this. 

Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight. 

Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when you’d brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears. 

“Princess.”

You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “My sweet lady, my own heart.” You croon. “It has been far too long.”

She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “I did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.” She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. “Just like when you were younger.”

“Mm.” You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. “Wait, three? Is Aemond-?”

But it’s too late, you know it is as soon as Aegon’s raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face. 

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who he’d been laying with. Winding Falyse’s hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. “Another time, my lady.”

“Of course.” She says, understanding flashing across her gaze. 

You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry. 

“Aemond.” You say, unsure how to broach the subject. 

“Jaenara.” He returns, icy.

A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Come back home with me.” You say. 

You think he’ll spurn you, hiss some insult that’s more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, “Fine.”

He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegon’s behalf in some way, but you don’t get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, “Come.”

You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and you’re pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you won’t reject him, cradling you into his arms. 

When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. “I’m going to kill him.”

It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemond’s eye leaves no room for doubt. “I’m sure you will.”

Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. “I’ll kill him,” He says, rushed between kisses. “And without an heir, I’ll take his place.” His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. “Make you my queen, as he had Helaena.” He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair. 

He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. “You’re betrothed to another.” You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress. 

“As are you.” He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. “Both empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.”

You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, you’re both naked, and he’s hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him. 

His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, “Will you let me?”

As if you really even have a choice in the matter. “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. It’s not the most pleasure you’ve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isn’t unpleasant. 

You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that he’d asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadn’t thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.

He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. “My Jaenara…” He moans. “Always so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.” He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. “Seeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth… my dragon.” He croons. 

You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. It’s gotten better under the maester’s care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemond’s hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple. 

He whimpers again, almost like he’s in pain. “I will put us on the Iron Throne.” He swears, voice breathy. “Our dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.” He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. “I swear it to you.”

“Aemond.” You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides. 

“Tell me that you are mine.” He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you. 

“I’m yours.” You swear. “I’m yours, Aemond.”

He whimpers, and it’s the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemond’s thrusts reach breakneck speed. 

“You’re mine.” He whispers in your ear. “Mine, mine-” He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin. 

You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. “Did you mean it? All that you said?” You ask softly, stroking his hair again. 

“Mm.” He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice. 

You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place. 

You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side. 

But does Aegon really deserve to die?

Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you won’t spurn his advances. You can’t say that you mind too much. 

Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rook’s Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemond’s breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room. 

“You will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rook’s Rest.” You say. 

“Hm.” Aemond’s hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. “The conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.” He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck. 

“Mm.” You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. There’s something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek. 

He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will. 

“You must tell Aegon of your plans.” You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you. 

“He will no doubt find out on his own.” Aemond says. “Either way, they don’t involve him. Rook’s Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.”

“And if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?” You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace. 

“When.” He corrects, almost growling. “When I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.”

“Yet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.” You say. You know he’s getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent. 

You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. “Our brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,” He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. “We will be much greater.”

It’s treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemond’s queen, you would have more power than any woman before you. 

“You sound so sure already.” You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs. 

“That is because I am.”

Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While he’s not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, it’s almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. He’s been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerys’ death. You can’t blame him, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t concerning. 

“They plot behind my back.” He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Aemond. My own hand - and our mother, she…” He trails off. “They mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannot…” He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. “My wine.”

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” You say, doing your best to be firm. 

He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning. 

It’s hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesn’t deserve to die, not after all he’s been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. You’ve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesn’t deserve to die because of a crown he never desired. 

But one cannot simply resign from the throne. 

You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. “Ah.”

“Aegon.” You groan. 

He flaps his hand. “Someone will clean it up. Someone always does.”

“Perhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.” You say, utterly annoyed at your brother’s actions. 

Aegon scoffs. “As if you weren’t also kept in the dark.” His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you don’t look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. “They told you? And not me, their king?”

“I cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.” You say. 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. “You are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!” He cuts himself off. “But no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you you’re just like the rest of them.”

“Aegon,” You try, placating. “I meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-”

“No, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.” He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. There’s an anger in his eyes that you’ve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words. 

“Aegon-”

A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company. 

Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge. 

“Jaenara.”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. There’s an energy about him that you haven’t seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful. 

“What have you done?” You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice. 

“What I planned to do.” He says, taking you by the arm. “Are you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.”

“I…” You aren’t sure how you feel. Aegon isn’t dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he won’t be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemond’s ambition - isn’t elated at the downfall of the king. 

“Come.” Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegon’s behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake. 

You don’t realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. “My queen.” He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. “Have I pleased you?”

“Mm.” You hum, unable to say the words ‘yes, of course’. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. It’s more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle he’s just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face. 

“It will not be long now,” He says, breathy and rough. “Soon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?” He asks. “Will you give me more than one?”

“As many as you’d like.” You choke out. There isn’t another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As you’re sure he will. 

“We will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.” He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition. 

He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin. 

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, though you’ve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you. 

“As I, you.” You return. 

What you can’t decide, is if you feel the same.

[blueblossomrose]

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, marriage, children, household contents, afab!fem!MC, general hcs.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Resume HCs [7]

Upon assuming the throne as king of Briar Valley, many things were expected of Malleus.

His marriage to a human was definitely NOT one of those things.

Well, it's not like any of those opinions matter.

Fortunately Queen Maleficia on the other hand doesn't seem bothered about it or about Malleus imminent marriage with MC, Lilia and Silver are happy, also as Sebek.

The royal wedding was an event. For a variety of reasons, you can imagine.

MC and Malleus have a daughter together named Aurora. A few years later they had twin sons: Magnus and Kyrval.

He planned to go far away even before graduation, but something made him rethink it... this "something" is Malleus, Silver and MC.

Of course, he didn't want all the work of Briar Valley to fall on him like it had been all these years. Fortunately, with Malleus taking the throne, changes would come. Good changes, he hoped.

After marriage, he was booking a house in a more remote location, but close to the essential points.

He is a stay-at-home husband, and he is happy that way.

Silver was happy for his father. He believes that Lilia deserves to be happy, and if MC makes him happy, it's everything fine.

MC and Lilia have triplets, all girls: Arista, Aisha and Adela. Lilia said he wanted they all to have an "A". The reason? He said he would say it on their 16th birthday.

He officially became a royal guard after graduation and years of training.

He was fine and happy with it. Following the calling he had been trained to be his whole life. And with that, so was his girlfriend, MC.

He wanted to have a house first and foremost, one he bought with his own money.

When he succeeded, the marriage proposal was the next step.

Lilia was supporting him in every way, and that was enough for him. The same for Malleus.

He and MC have a daughter: Hanna.

Like Silver, Sebek took his post as royal guard proudly.

He introduced his girlfriend to his family. His parents and older siblings were happier than ever, the same could not be said for Baul... but Sebek was already prepared for this. He didn't care. He would marry MC, and that would be that.

After the proposal, he went looking for a house.

He was happy and cheerful to give you the news. He had to get a house closer to the castle to carry out his duties, but valuing MC's safety, he decided to get a little more hidden one.

MC and Sebek have two children: a boy named Ivan and a girl named Amelie.

[theinnerunderrain]

The earth destroyed itself [Yan! Capitano x Fem! Reader]

Warnings: yandere themes, minor character death, brief description of violence, Capitano and reader are married and have a son.

+

"...What have you done?"

You stood at the entrance of the throne room, your heart sinking as your eyes fell upon the scene before you. Your beloved husband, bathed in the flickering light of the candles that lined the walls, stood over the lifeless body of your eldest son. His hands were stained with blood, a sword clutched tightly in his grasp. The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the torches and the sound of your husband's heavy breathing. You felt a wave of disbelief wash over you, followed by a deep sadness that seemed to seep into your bones.

You took a tentative step forward, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke again, "What have you done, my love?"

The word 'love' slipped from your lips like a fragile whisper as you took another hesitant step towards him, your heart pounding fiercely in your chest. Capitano remained silent, his gaze reluctantly leaving the lifeless form at his feet to meet yours, though his expression remained veiled by the helmet he always wore. Another eerie moment of silence stretched, the air thick with unspoken words and heavy with grief. You gathered your courage and stepped forward, your gaze fixed on the lifeless form of your son. His hair, once a vibrant hue, now marred by blood, framed his pale face, his eyes closed in eternal rest.

"What have you done?"

You inquired once more, your voice unwavering, as you hastened toward your son and knelt by his side. His blood seeped into the fabric of your white dress as you cradled his lifeless form, delicately brushing his hair from his eyes in a desperate bid to find a glimmer of vitality. Yet, his eyes stared back at you, vacant and hollow, his lips frozen in a silent plea, tears tracing lines down his once-rosy cheeks.

Capitano stood in solemn silence, his grip on the sword unwavering, before he spoke, his voice carrying a quiet resolve despite the heart-wrenching scene before him.

"It was an inevitability."

"What are you even talking about...! How could you do this? He's...he's our son!"

Your voice trembled, momentarily finding resolve, as you cradled your son's head against your chest. Tears teetered on the brink, poised to cascade down your cheeks, as you clung to him, reluctant to release his form. Amidst this tragic tableau, a narrative of his making, Capitano could not help it find you to be a vision of ethereal beauty.

"He was deemed dangerous. The prophecy forewarned of his tyrannical future, predicting he would pose a threat to your life."

He attempted to explain, dropping to his knees and reaching for your arm, yet you brushed him off as though he were tainted. You regarded him, lips pressed in a firm line, eyes brimming with a blend of sorrow and disbelief for the man who was once your beloved.

"A prophecy...? How could you entrust our son's fate to such a thing...?"

Your tone held a note of incredulity as you let out a bitter laugh, struggling to accept the rationale behind his actions.

"I couldn't risk endangering your life..."

He attempted to reason, but you interrupted him, your voice cutting through the air.

"So you chose to sacrifice his life instead..? How could you commit such a grievous act..?"

Your words, though laced with sorrow and accusation, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken questions. They resonated in the chamber, filling the space between you with a palpable tension, like the charged air before a storm. Capitano remained on his knees, his gaze fixed on you, his expression unreadable behind his stoic facade. He felt the weight of your words, each one a dagger that pierced through his resolve.

"[First Name]..."

He called out your name with a soft yet commanding tone, reaching out to grasp your wrist gently but firmly, pulling you closer despite your desperate struggle. Your son's lifeless body slipped from your grasp, falling to the cold floor in a pool of his own blood as you wailed and cried, yearning to hold him once more. Capitano stood steadfast, allowing you to scratch and scream at him, though your efforts were feeble in his grasp. He remained unmoved, understanding the depth of your anguish.

"Let go of me..!"

In the aftermath of your son's death and your husband's betrayal, you found yourself overwhelmed with weariness and sorrow. Your futile struggles ceased as you surrendered to a wave of tears, the weight of the tragedy washing over you. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood, your hands and knees stained crimson from the tragic events. Despite the wrongness of seeking solace from the man who had caused you such pain, his presence offered a strange sense of comfort in the midst of your grief and shock. Capitano's embrace was a gentle dance, a fleeting touch that spoke volumes of tenderness and restraint. In the depths of your sorrow, he stood as a silent sentinel, a pillar of strength amidst the tempest of your grief. His touch, like a soft breeze, caressed your pain, offering solace in the midst of your anguish.

After what seemed like an eternity, you gathered the strength to speak through your tears, your voice a fragile whisper echoing in the hallowed silence of the room, your words simple yet causing his heart to drop upon hearing it.

"You're nothing but a disgusting traitor to me, may you suffer for the entirety of your life and onto the next one."

[frost-queen]

Prospects for better fortune (Reader!Featherington x Colin Bridgerton)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic   , @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22  , @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers   , @merlieve   , @queen-of-books  , @glimmering-darling-dolly  ,@denkisclown   , @wildieflower  ,@meyocoko   , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr  , @swampthing07  , @melsunshine   , @panhoeofmanyfandoms  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat ,@rosecentury  ,  @imagines-by-her  ,  @evilcr0ne  , @vviolynn   , @niktwazny303  ,@avada-kedavra-bitch-187  , @markive-m , @lovesanimals0000

Summary: Colin's misfortune in trusting your uncle's lies leads to a forced engagement on an economic base. Only Colin and you are each other's worst enemy. A huge argument lowers the tempers as it leaves room for acceptance. Colin's dedication to you truly gets tested when a lord flirts just a little too much with you, his wife.

Colin was pacing around, scratching the back of his head. – “She will be here.” – Violet reassured him. Colin stopped to face his mother. – “I’d rather she would not, it’s just… the damn Queen.” – he told her gesturing at the grand doors where they were waiting behind. – “Watch your mouth boy!” – Violet called out with a motherly scowl, not liking one bit her son was insulting the queen. Colin sighed deep running his hands down his face.

“I still can’t phantom why you decided for this to happen.” – Colin accused his mother. Violet set her hands on her hip. – “How about prospects?” – Violet explained making her son sigh loud. Violet and Colin looked alarmed at the hearing of hastened heels click on the floor. Colin sighed loud once more, letting his head fall back. Portia was hastening herself, dragging you along by your wrist.

“We better be on time!” – she hissed at you, making you roll your eyes at her. Portia joined them, out of breath. – “I see you’ve made it Portia.” – Violet said with a gentle smile. – “Indeed.” – Portia answered, tugging at you to move in front of her. She did the final checks on your hair and dress. – “Mama.” – you groaned out wanting to slap her hand away. One scaring scowl of her was enough to stop your complaining.

The doors opened as Brimsley appeared in the entrance. He opened his mouth to speak, staring at the display before him. All of you had frozen at the hearing of the door opening. Portia’s hand lingering in the air by your hair. Violet trying to straighten Colin’s tie as his hand hovered above hers ready to slap it away. Brimsley cleared his throat as it made you all stand presentable.

“The queen is ready.” – he said before turning round. – “Alright this is it.” – Violet spoke plucking at Colin’s puffy hair for it to be perfect. – “Smile sweetheart.” – Portia let out. Colin moved closer to the door as did you. He held his hand out to you. With a roll of your eyes, you placed your fingers sloppy on his palm. Brimsley entered more, bowing to her majesty the queen. – “Colin Bridgerton and Y/n Featherington.” – he presented. Brimsley stepped aside, revealing the two of you to the queen.

Both of you forced out a smile, walking up to her. The queen narrowing her eyes. Colin and you dropped to one knee in front of her throne. – “So you two are engaged to be married?” – the queen asked, petting her dog on her lap. – “Yes, your majesty.” – Colin answered, keeping his head down. The queen hummed intrigued.

You exhaled soft, feeling your hand started to get sweaty in his hand. – “I give you both my blessing.” – she called out as it made you swallow nervously. Colin and you rose, meeting up with the queen’s gaze. – “Be off my little love birds.” – she chuckled, sending Colin and you off with her blessing. Colin and you spun, heading back for the door. Your smiled immediately dropped once the queen wasn’t looking.

The doors opened once more as Colin and you walked through. Hearing the doors shut behind you, you immediately pulled your hand out of his. Colin rubbed his hand annoyed against his pants. – “Must you really get so sweaty.” – he called out. – “Must you really be so infuriating.” – you responded. – “Infuriating?” – Colin said loud in disbelief. – “Oh that is nice coming from you!” – he answered walking up to you.

The two of you continued to bicker while going down the corridor to leave the palace. Portia and Violet giving each other a sheepish smile. – “Children.” – Violet teased with humour to bloom the reality of it. Portia snapped her fan open, waving herself some cool. Colin and you had been bickering the entire carriage ride at how more infuriating the other one was.

The wedding was by the end of the week. Which should be a day of delight and bliss to many was not the case for you. You simply wanted this day to be over so you didn’t have to play pretend for the ton anymore. Colin’s family tried to be supportive, knowing he was doing the family a great help by marrying you. Normally they wouldn’t condone it, but faith left them otherwise. Colin had lost a great deal of money to your money seeking uncle.

His family couldn’t have prevented him from investing. Something Colin thought would bring prospects, for it did not. It turned out to be a sham. A fraud. When your mama found out, she turned him the door. Yet it was already too late. He disappeared along with some money. A bit including of the Bridgerton’s. Colin’s failed investment took a bite in their coins. The best way to ease the gap a bit was a marriage between Bridgertons and Featheringtons.

The coins from your dowry could ease the pain a bit. Smooth a bit things over with the Bridgertons. The two of you found a home in the Featherington estate further downtown. More secluded. An estate your family used to retreat to during the winters. Since you weren’t the eldest, the house would go to man married your eldest sister.

Colin and you arrived at the house. – “I’ll be upstairs and I do not wish to see you for the entirety of the evening.” – he called out already moving towards the stairs. – “Fine, for I do not wish to see you for the entirety of the evening!” – you shouted back. – “Wonderful!” – Colin said loud, throwing his hand up as he went up the spiralling stairs. – “Your quarters are at the left!” – you instructed him. Colin grunted soft disappearing upstairs.

You turned round, screaming loud to out your distress. You then went upstairs to the quarters on the right. The staff remaining quiet as it was not their place to intervene. Some shared a brief look, knowing it didn’t feel like you would legitimate the marriage soon. Not whilst you were still bickering. You let yourself fall onto the bed, screaming and punching your pillow. Angry at your uncle for ripping off the Bridgerton’s which led you into needing to marry Colin Bridgerton. 

A Bridgerton you loathed. Colin groaned loud, pacing round the room. He grabbed for a pillow, throwing it against the window out of frustration. Why did he had to invest in your uncle’s mines? His speech seemed so pleasingly. He thought for sure he’d get a fortune out of it. The only thing he got out of it was a marriage to you. Someone he loathed.

The sun rose as the staff was already buzzing about. For weeks now, you have been trying to avoid Colin for as much as you could around the house. Each doing your own things during the day, even when it bored you from time to time. There weren’t enough activities around the house to keep you company. You stumbled into the drawing room where to your misfortune Colin was too. Seeing him, made you sigh soft. Colin lifted his head up from behind his newspaper, lowering it.

“I shall leave.” – he spoke folding his newspaper to give you, your space. – “No, please do stay.” – you acted out with a curtsy. Colin slapped the newspaper annoyed on the small table. The door opened behind you, a maid entering with a tray. On the tray laid several letters neatly spread out. She moved past you to give the letters to Colin as he was man of the house now.

You snatched the letters from the tray before they could reach him. The maid looked confused at her empty tray. Bowing her head as she left the room once more. – “Y/n those are for me.” – Colin stated, holding his hand out. – “Am I not the lady of the house?” – you answered, looking through the post. Colin walked up to you in a firm pace, wanting to snatch the letters from you.

You turned away, keeping the letters out of his reach. – “Y/n!” – Colin let out loud. Colin grabbed your wrist, pulling it hard in front of him, ripping some letters from your hand. – “I loath you!” – you called out, slapping the remaining letters against his chest. – “I loath you!” – Colin repeated, slapping his letters against your chest. It made you gasp as you didn’t think he’d hit you back. – “I loathed you first!” – you made clear.

Colin and you stared intensely at each other. Glaring up in each other’s face. Colin looked away first, glancing down at the letters in his hand. He sighed loud seeing what kind of post was amongst them. He threw them frustratedly into the sofa. He then shouted loud, hands desperate in his hands.

“Colin!” – you called out wanting him to calm down. He inhaled sharp, wiping his hand over his face. – “If this wasn’t an economic proposition, I swear.” – he said loud. – “Hadn’t your family put me into debts, I wouldn’t be scrambling for coins to make a living!”

“Don’t bring my family into this!” – you replied loud, frustrated that he would blame this all on you. You had no idea and it was after all he who placed an investment with your uncle. – “Alright not your uncle who caused me to marry you!” – Colin shouted loud. – “I refuse to be blamed any longer for this grotesque misalliance!” – you screamed out as Colin grew silent. Staring at you in shock. – “No more!” – you let out with a dismissive gesture.

Panting loud at your little outburst. Colin turned his head a bit away. – “Well that was rather direct.” – he said, taken back by the intensity of your voice. Overwhelmed with exhaustion, you let yourself fall into an armchair. Head throbbing with a headache the fight. It might have been the biggest fight Colin and you endured. Colin went over to the letters, picking them up from the ground. He then returned to you, coming to sit beside you.

He opened the first letter, reading it out loud for you. His reading made you sit more upright and lean in to read the letter along with him. Colin and you opened every letter one by one, calmly discussing what to reply or how to manage your coins. Both seemingly calmed down and too worn out from the fight to continue bickering.

It was like this outburst needed to happen for Colin and you matched on a different level of understanding after that. The marriage was necessary, the best you could do was make it is comfortable as one could. Despite growing closer to each other, there still wasn’t any physical contact.

No hugs, no kisses and certainly not legitimating the marriage. Colin and you managed to find a lifestyle suitable enough for the income you had now. There were prospects for it increasing, but that took time.

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The carriage came to a stop as Colin got out. He offered you his arm as you took it to get out. – “I cannot believe Francesca is already debuting.” – you said unable to grasp how quickly she was growing up. Colin hummed soft, keeping your hand on his arm. – “I’m sure Anthony will have his hands full with now both Eloise and Francesca this season.” – Colin replied as he guided you inside. One of the doormen took your coat.

The warmth of the estate wrapping around your skin. The doorman gestured for you to head further. Colin and you arrived at another door. – “Do I look alright?” – you asked him as it was your first time out on a ball ever since the wedding. Colin turned to you, holding your chin with his thumb. – “You look wonderful.” – he replied, with a soft smile.

The doors opened as it startled Colin and you. Everyone at the ball, stared at the display. Colin cleared his throat lowering his hand on you. He took your hand, guiding you inside. Portia nudged Violet teasingly. – “What did I say.” – she whispered to Violet. Violet smiled, hopeful her son found happiness after all.

You joined the Bridgertons, hugging Violet. – “How are you feeling Francesca?” – you questioned seeing her look frightful with big eyes around. – “Bit overwhelmed.” Francesca answered in a quiet voice. – “Colin.” – Anthony called out, motioning with his head for his brother to follow. Colin gently removed your hand from his arm, following his brother to a more secluded area.

Kate wrapped her arm around you. – “A drink Y/n?” – she proposed. – “Yes please.” – you answered. Kate led you through the crowd to the staff was walking around with drinks. – “How are Colin and you?” – she asked, watching the dancers a bit. – “Quite alright.” – you answered with a smile. – “That is wonderful to hear.” – Kate filled in as she noticed a tray with glasses. She let go of your arm, taking two glasses, handing one to you.

Both of you took a sip, watching the dancers. – “Anthony?” – Kate said confused seeing her husband appear, making his way over to her. – “I simply must dance with you.” – he said taking her hand. Kate gave you a pleasing smile, handing her drink over to you before Anthony could steal her away. – “Well where is Colin?” – you called out, yet Anthony didn’t reply. Too focused on wanting to dance with his wife.

With a soft exhale, you emptied your glass with a few breaths. Turning around you placed your empty and Kate’s still full glass back on the tray. Bouncing a bit on your feet, you looked around for any sign of your husband. – “Miss Bridgerton.” – a man’s voice spoke from behind you. It made you turn your head in surprise. A lord came standing extremely close to you, his fingers trailing inches away from your arm upwards.

“Where is your husband?” – he asked looking briefly away to the people. – “He will be here shortly.” – you lied as the lord kept gazing at you. Making you a bit nervous. – “Such a shame he left you all alone.”  - the lord began standing half in front of you. – “A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn’t be left alone.” – he added as you were stunned by his approach around you.

“My husband is looking for me.” – you said making steps to leave his side. A grip around your wrist, kept you from going any further, making you gasp. – “He’ll find you soon enough.” – he tugged at your wrist, pulling you back at him. – “Perhaps a dance while we wait?” – he proposed.

“Lord Thomas!” – the voice made you turn your head in shock. Colin approaching the man with his hands behind his back. He came by your side, taking the lord’s hand, throwing it off yours. – “Flirting with a married woman?” – Colin spoke judgingly. – “My wife for that matter.” – he added with a glare. Colin let his hand glide in yours, holding it in a firm grip. His stare stern and full of anger. – “We’re leaving.” – Colin called out, pulling you away from the lord.

“But… Co…colin your family… Francesca?” – you said between breaths while you tried to keep up with his pace. – “They need our support.” – you told him, looking over your shoulder to his family somewhere in the crowd. Colin led you outside, calling the carriage over. The carriage pulled over as he pushed you inside. It made you squeal soft, positioning yourself better before your husband joined in.

The carriage got in motion as it wobbled. – “Colin?” – you asked confused, wanting to know what overcame him to simply call it a night. – “Your brothers expect our support for your sisters.” – you reminded him. Noticing how hungrily Colin was staring at you. He groaned deep, setting himself off as he moved across. Cupping your cheeks as he forced his lips onto yours.

Eyes shot wide as his lips trailed yours. Kissing yours desperate and hungrily. Colin retrieved his lips, panting loud in your mouth. He let himself fall back across to his bench as he took you with him. Still cupping your cheeks. You dropped onto his lap as he pulled your legs open over his lap.

His eyes gazed back at you, till they went up. Taking out one of your pins so most of your hair fell down. Exhaling in your mouth, he drew you closer again. The hotness of his lips on yours. It made you grab onto his shoulders, pressing your fingers into him. With one motion of his finger, he tilted your chin up. Hands on your bottom as he pushed you slightly higher.

A soft gasp escaping your mouth as he started to kiss your neck. Trailing down to your bosom. Panting loud against your skin in between hot kisses. Colin let his hand trail up your neck, pushing your head back. Kissing your exposed neck deeper. The carriage wobbled as Colin had to push his hand out to the side, to keep his balance.

Looking down at him, you breathed out loud, curling up a smile. He did the same, grabbing you again. You leaned down, kissing him hard. With admiration he looked up to you. You kissed Colin once more as he finally claimed you as his wife. Who knew it only took one flirty lord for him to finally admit he loved you.

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[enviedear]

you ate me right up, you spit me back out

⤷ jacaerys velaryon

- ˏˋ 🎧 1.8k words, minors dni  ˊˎ -

“you shouldn’t be out at this hour.” the voice calling out is deep, and even though you turn in their direction, you aren’t able to make them out. a mere rough outline remains, shrouded in the moons shadows. still, you know who stands before you.

“i thought you a prince, my love. not a ward.” you wish the sun was shining, you’re sure he has his usual smirk on his face. both unbecoming and perfectly poised. as are all things with your prince.

jacaerys steps closer, pebbles and fallen leaves sounding under his boots, “my betrothed leaves dinner in haste. her chambermaids unaware of her location—tell me,” a pause from him, filled by his hands finding home at your waist, “have i upset you?”

“no. never that, my love…” you trail off, fingers blindly following the embroidery of his coat. “i fear i am plagued with utter happiness. this is a time of war, yet my days ring with joy. it feels immoral.”

he hums, the sound reverberating to your fingers at his clavicle, “it shouldn’t. you should know i pray for such, for your joy. i’m glad the gods answer my prayers.”

your breath hitches slightly, “you have far more to pray for, my love.”

he presses his forehead against yours, “such as?” his tone is sweetly sardonic.

“your life. your throne. your kingdom.” the reminders of duty ring heavy, but you have a feeling jace is smiling despite.

a soft kiss to your temple, “i pray for all of that too. perhaps the gods are proving how well they answer.” another kiss, “does that help?”

you breathe him in, hints of smoke, sea salt, and grasses flood your senses. the smell of dragonriding lingers on him, you assume as long as he lives he won’t be able to rid himself of it.

“yes,” you say after a moment. “i relent. i will remain happy.”

your words are met with another deep hum from him, followed by a soft chuckle that vibrates through his chest into yours. it's a warm sound that always exudes comfort. he pulls back just enough to stare at you, his eyes barely reflecting the silvery light of the moon. in night’s pale glow, they seem almost otherworldly—like two shimmering oceans of liquid silver. "my sweet girl.” he murmurs, reaching to deftly trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your shoulders.

a gust of frigid night air carries the familiar scent of saltwater and briny air so commonplace on driftmark. you shiver slightly as the breeze nips through your nightgown, but don't pull away from his touch or his gaze. moments of this kind are precious, even if they’re ill-advised. the palace guards must be searching for you right now, both of you, worried about where their young couple has wandered off to at this late hour. a possibility you should have considered before taking your leave.

"should we go back?" you whisper, breath warm against his neck.

he chuckles softly, pulling you closer. "do you really want to?"

you hesitate for a moment before shaking her head. "no, not really. i don’t want this day to end yet."

his hands trail down her arms, leaving a line of goosebumps in their wake. you tremble again, but this time it’s not so much from the cold. he leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "then i shall not allow for it. my beautiful bride, i only want you happy." he murmurs, voice low and smooth.

you hum at his praise, turning you face towards his. noses bump one another, and you fight a smile before leaning in. your lips met in a slow, tentative kiss. a kiss filled with longing—all the moments spend wishing to be alone together finally coming to fruition. still, you don’t let yourself get too taken by your betrothed’s saccharine lips. the both of you will have to retire and slip away to your own bedrooms soon. how you wish to share a room, to live as a married couple.

his hands move at your waist, pulling you closer still. you can feel the warmth of his body against your own, entrapping you against him. you’re sure you’ve never felt more at home. you card your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss. he groans softly, one hand moving up to cup your breast. his thumb brushing against your nipple through the thin fabric of the nightgown, eliciting a gasp to break from your mouth.

you seperate, panting slightly. you peer up at him, eyes alight with desire. jacaerys’ brown eyes mirror your own, his hand still on your breast. "perhaps we should return.” he says softly, voice hinting.

you nod, taking his hand. you make your way back to the castle, steps slow and deliberate. jacaerys sneaks the both of you back into dragonstone, his hands remaining interlocked with yours.

as you make your way back to the castle, his hand tightens around your own. his grip is like a vice, making your pulse race. looking up at him through your lashes, eyes heavy with want. he leans in, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. there's no activity in the halls aside from the two of you, but still, your nerves scream out. this is all so unlike the both of you. jacaerys has never been so outward with affection—if anything it only adds to your desire.

his tongue darts out, teasing your lips apart, and you whine when he deepens the kiss. he pulls you closer, hands roaming over your body. His member presses insistent and hard against you and An intense ache of need uncoils within you. he groans into your mouth, breath hot and heavy.

"come with me." he whispers, his voice low and raspy. "spend the night in my bed."

you hesitate for a moment, but the need coursing through your veins makes it nearly impossible to resist. you nod, and jace grins, taking your hand and leading you to his chambers.

once inside, he shuts the door behind you and turns to face you. his eyes are even darker with the hue of lust. jacaerys steps closer, slowly. you almost feel like one of the sheep offered up to his family's dragons, unassuming and naive. he stops right in front of you, hands gently dipping underneath your nightgown. he slowly undresses you, his hands shaking slightly as he slides your dress off your shoulders.

jacaerys always takes you like a man starved. in a way, he is. without the war, the two of you would be happily married—should be relishing in the joy of naive nuptials. but you aren't. so he kisses at your neck hungrily, lips leaving a trail of heat on your skin. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples. you moan, your head falling onto his shoulder as he continues his sacrilege.

he pushes you gently onto the plush bed, his body covering yours. he reaches between your legs. his fingers find you wet and ready, and he groans. "you're always so perfect." he whispers, breath hot against your ear. "do you want me, dōna ābrazȳrys?"

you nod, unable to speak, feeling the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, you feel drunken, as if you had consumed the entire castles’ supply.

"say it." he commands, voice rough. "tell me you want me."

"i want you." you manage, voice trembling with need.

with a growl, he thrusts into you, filling you completely. jacaerys moves inside you, his pace slow and deliberate. he watches you closely, his eyes never leaving yours. you can feel every bit of him, like an indelible brand. the heat and weight of his body on top of yours. each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back. you grab at him, his muscles clenching under your touch.

his hands grip onto your hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. an absolutely lurid scene. his breath is hot on your neck, teeth nipping at your skin as he drives you both closer to the edge. you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper inside you.

"you feel so good." he grunts, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "so perfect."

you moan as his thrusts pick up pace, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. the bed creaks beneath you, the furs beneath you tangling around your legs as you arch your back to meet his movements. the smell of sweat and sex fill the air, mixed with the faint scent of dragon smoke that clings to him. his hips slide against yours, pressing into you as he takes you deeper and deeper. your breasts bounce with each thrust, nipples pebbled from the cool air on your heated skin.

jacaerys's breathing becomes ragged, his mouth finding yours once more in a passionate kiss, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. he tastes of honeyed wine and seasalt, divine. jacaerys growls into the kiss, tongues dancing together as he drives harder into you. the bed thumps against the wall in time with your grunts and moans, echoing through the otherwise silent castle halls.

"jacaerys." you moan, the sound barely audible among the creaking bed and the panting of your breaths.

he grunts in response, his fingers dig into your hips as he desperately tries to hold back. the bed groans beneath you, the cold stone floor sharp with the sound. his fingers dig into your hips, holding you close, making you feel a part of him.

"so close, dōna ābrazȳrys." he growls out, his voice hoarse. "so fucking close."

you gasp, your orgasm about to break free. the feeling consumes you, spreading through your body like wildfire, consuming you in its wake. your nails dig into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. as the pleasure builds inside you, jacaerys pulls away from the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck and collarbone. you can feel the heat building in your core, every nerve on fire from his touch. you come undone with a loud gasp followed by your lover’s name, repeated like a prayer.

jace isn’t far behind and when he finally reaches his climax, you feel him tense inside you. his body shuddering as he releases himself deep within you. his hot seed pulses out of him, filling you completely before pulling out with a low groan. you gasp at the sudden loss of him, missing the fullness. with a loud sigh, he collapses on top of you, hearts pounding in unison.

he rolls onto his side carefully so as not to crush you under his weight and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your fingers ascend instinctively, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, your fingers lingering on his skin.

he looks at you with a satisfied smile, his eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure. as he moves closer, his body radiates heat and you feel his strong arms wrap around your waist. you lean into him, enjoying the comforting feeling of being held in his embrace. the sound of his steady breaths like a lullaby, and you sink into the blissful calm of slumber.

[andreawritesit]

can i request cregan and targ reader where he gets her a wolf and its all sweet and stuff ❤️

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen Reader

Synopsis: You had been living in the North for quite a while now but nothing felt quite as welcoming as receiving a warm bundle of joy as a present.

It was not morning yet. Or perhaps it was. Wrapped in the dark grey clouds, the sun often played hide and seek in the Northern skies. It was difficult to tell what time of the day it was. You got out of bed and immediately, the sudden chill enveloped your entire body, down to your bones. Quickly grabbing the fur blanket from the bed, you wrapped it tightly around yourself. The cold was your worst enemy, your soul was forged out of fire after all. Even after an entire month, you still couldn't understand why your mother would betroth you to a Northern lord. You were the same girl on the side of whose bed she had spent countless nights awake. As soon as the weather became colder, you'd catch a fever. Throughout your childhood and even now, in your adolescent years, Rhaenyra has been on her toes constantly because of how the cold affected you. And yet she had sent you to marry Lord Cregan Stark. Why? That's not to say that your betrothed wasn't the most respectable man you had ever met. Cregan was cold and stoic as Northerners tend to be, but he was also honorable and extremely kind to you. As soon as you had arrived at Winterfell on dragonback, he had done all he could to make sure you were comfortable. He made sure you got plenty of warm clothes and furs and despite being the lord of Winterfell, he came to your chambers every day to see if you needed anything.

You had both decided that you would marry only after the war was over. He didn't want to tie you to himself knowing very well that he could die in the war and leave you by yourself. And you didn't want to marry him so soon either because you still wanted to partake in your mother's efforts to get her throne back from the usurpers.

You walked to the window and looked outside. Everything was covered in pristine white snow. It was so different from Dragonstone and Kings Landing. Instead of the hustle and bustle of the South, there was a calming silence in the North. Soon enough, the sun's rays began to pierce through the dense clouds, casting a golden hue over the snow-covered landscape. You couldn't help but smile at the view outside. The tranquility was suddenly broken by a soft knock at the door.

"Come in", you called, walking away from the window.

The door slowly creaked open, revealing the Lord of Winterfell. His tall and imposing figure was contrasted by a warm smile on his face, a sight you had come to cherish over the past month.

"Good morning Princess. I hope I didn't disturb your rest."

You shook your head, "Not at all, my Lord. I was already up." Your eyes went to a bundle of blankets in his arms. "What brings you here so early?"

Cregan's smile widened as he walked to where you were standing. "I come bearing a gift for you, my Princess." He stepped closer, revealing a small, furry creature nestled in the crook of his arm. "I hope this will make your stay here easier. He's a wonderful companion." He removed the top blanket a little and a small head peeked out.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "A dire wolf pup?" you breathed out as you reached to gently stroke his fur. "He's so precious and small."

"One of the she-wolves gave birth to many pups this morning. When I saw this one, I knew I had to give him to you." The dire wolf pup, with its striking blue eyes and white fur, nuzzled into your touch, eliciting a soft laugh out of you. "Here, hold him", Cregan whispered as he softly passed the pup into your arms. You cradled him close and looked up at Cregan, your heart swelling with affection.

"Thank you. He's perfect."

"Much like you", he said while stroking the pup's head gently.

"Is that why you brought him to me? Because he's perfect like me? Or was there any other reason?"

Cregan let out a small chuckle at your words. "It's one of many reasons I decided to gift this one to you. You see, just minutes after being born, he was already jumping around and causing mayhem in the yard. Reminded me of you and your dragon quite a lot."

You punched his arm lightly and a laugh left your lips. The pup nuzzled your neck and you couldn't help but giggle. Cregan's gaze softened as he watched you bond with the dire wolf. "He's strong and brave, much like you," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "I thought he could be a symbol of the North's acceptance of you."

You felt a rush of gratitude and warmth, not just from the direwolf but from Cregan's thoughtful gesture. He had once again won you over, something that had happened quite a few times already.

"I know it's not easy for you to settle down here in the North. But I'm grateful that you're trying and I promise you, I will take care of you. I will make sure you won't have to miss the warmth of your home. Winterfell will be your abode one day and I hope I will become your family, someone you'll be able to trust and perhaps even love one day."

You shifted the pup into your right arm and held Cregan's hand with your left hand. "You have no idea how much you have already done for me. When I first came here, I was a scared little girl who was being separated from her family but now I feel like I was always meant to be here, with you. I can assure you that I will also do everything I can to be there for you. I am ready, to accept Winterfell as my home and you as my husband."

Cregan's expression softened, and he squeezed your hand lightly. "I'm glad to hear that," he said sincerely. "I'm glad you came here."

"Me too."

Suddenly, the pup stirred, letting out a small, contented yawn. You and Cregan both laughed softly. The moment was broken but no less sweet. "I suppose he's tired", Cregan whispered as he covered the pup with a small blanket.

"Have you named him yet, my Lord?"

He shook his head, "No. He's your companion. You should name him."

You took a long look at the white fluffy ball of fur in your arms. "I'll name him Winter," you decided, looking up at Cregan with a smile. "To remind me of the kindness and strength of the North."

"Winter it is, then," he said. "May he bring you joy and protect you always."

Your heart swelled with emotion as you held Winter close. "He already has," you replied, your gaze locked with Cregan's. "Thank you, Cregan."

In that moment, the chill of the North transformed into the warmth of new companionship and a realization that perhaps your feelings for the Northern Lord had evolved into something deeper.

[vhagarys]

Storm’s End

rhaenyra x reader

summary: your father was set on marrying one of his daughters to the one eyed prince. but, to your knowledge, vhagar was green, not gold..

warnings: none ? enjoy :)

As one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters, you stood in the foyer awaiting the prince regent Aemond Targaryen.

Adorned with a simple black dress, you paired with your favorite necklace with fine little rubies scattered across it. Your dark brown hair hung loosely around your face, curls framing your soft features.

Screams of confusion and terror tore through the thick silence, you watched in horror as the guards outside bolted from their posts.

Vhagar was a fearsome, intimidating creature. That much you’d gathered from the rare sightings of her high in the clouds.

But Vhagar was green, not gold.

Suddenly, a golden dragon descended from the skies, landing outside the throne room. A fearsome woman with long silver tresses and a fitted black riding jacket mounted the sizeable creature.

Queen Rhaenyra, in all of her glory, dismounted from her dragon and stalked through the now foyer, eyeing you and your sisters before fixing her gaze on your father on the other side of the room.

“Vhagar is dead,” she said bluntly, continuing her slow, menacing approach to the steps of the throne.

Your father’s nostrils flared.

“Impossible, he-”

“The prince, along with his dragon, have been slain,” she reached into her pocket and unceremoniously tossed the gem towards his feet, clanging against the stone floor.

A sapphire.

Lord Baratheon’s breath hitched, the severity of such events cracked through his stern, unwavering demeanor.

Rhaenyra allowed him only a moment to process before she returned her gaze to the group of girls lined up before her.

You could feel your sisters trembling in fear, not daring to lift their gaze and meet the soon-to-be queen’s piercing violet eyes.

Yet, you couldn’t seem to deny yourself the sight of such beauty, such power bestowed before you.

Soon, your eyes met. Her intense scrutiny stripped you bare, exposed, and goose prickles traveled up your arms as a cool breeze blew against you.

The ghost of a smirk danced across her features.

“I shall take on of yours to wed, Lord Baratheon. Such a union would be advantageous for you, would it not?” Not even granting him her full attention, the pair of you seemed transfixed on one another.

He coughed, “Your Grac- pardon, my Queen. I am without any male heirs I’m afraid. I’m sure we can-”

The queen sauntered closer to you, until you could make out the lingering scent of dragon and ash upon her.

You couldn’t put into words the inexplicable pull you felt towards the striking women. Such thoughts you’d never possessed for another woman, let alone anyone for that matter.

Gently, she lifted a finger to delicately tuck a lock of your curly, brown locks behind your ear.

“What is your name, my dear,” she whispered, mapping out all the lines and crevices you carried on your face.

Time froze as you felt the heat of her body so close to yours, tension palpable as you reveled in her attention.

Subtlety, you leaned into her touch. Closing your eyes a tad too long, you answered,

“Y/N, my Queen,” her features momentarily shifted to one of surprise, clearly not used to hearing such title.

You took this moment to drink in the sight of her plush, pink lips. The slight curve of her nose, the sculpture of her cheekbones, and the baby silver tresses that likely escaped her braids while flying.

Breathtaking.

Her features glowed as a smile graced her lips.

“If she will allow it, I should like to become better acquainted with your daughter Y/N, my Lord.”

Her eyebrows quirked up as if in question, awaiting your response.

You felt your cheeks blossom into a shade of pink, never had you imagined such events to unfold on this day.

The Queen, asking to court you, of all people.

Not waiting for your father’s reply, you bowed lightly.

“I am honored your grace. It would most please me to meet your acquaintance,” a warm, tingling feeling spread like wildlife up through your core as her eyes shone with both delight and something deeper.

Alluring, dangerous even.

Your father’s mouth was agape as she extended her arm to you which you wrapped yours around in kind.

Your heart beat out of your chest as you turned away from the life you’d always known, always wishing to venture beyond the confines of Storms End.

Ahead of you awaited her dragon Syrax. Assessing you with the same sparkle in her companions eyes, the dragon grunted at you and lowered its body.

Rhaenyra stood behind you patiently, letting you and her dragon familiarize yourself with one another.

She watched curiously as fear and wonder and excitement danced across your features. Never did she expect you to reach your arm out and caress her dragons snout.

You already had begun surprising her.

At last, she lightly traced her finger up your arm, breaking your trance as your nerves slowly started to calm.

Whispering in your ear, the excitement and the thrill of what was to come bubbled inside you.

“Are you ready, issa byka jelmāzma?”

(My little storm)

authors note: FINALLY A RHAENYRA FIC.. pretty fun writing for her, hope yall enjoy!

[novaursa]

hi ! can you do a writing for sister reader and rhaenyra and daemon. viserys like names them both heir (which otto is tryna like stop him or change his mind) but viserys is hell bent on having his two daughters on the iron throne , with them getting married and like adding daemon to the equation because while both reader and rhaenyra loves each other they also love daemon. and like during the dinner at the red keep alicent voices her opinion which has viserys FINALLY realizing what the hightowers are trying to do and he stands behind his daughters ten toes down and he makes sure they are on the throne before he dies. happy ending for everyone please (even the little hightower children aka aegon and aemond and helaena especially helaena that’s my baby) 😚

Three Heads

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Your father names you and Rhaenyra his heirs, and you both take Daemon as your husband.

- Paring: Rhaenyra Targaryen/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: The ending is left unsaid for narration purposes. You can assume how the Dance never happened.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: nights

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

The air was filled with anticipation as the three of you stood at the precipice of something ancient, something forbidden to those bound by the narrow constraints of Westerosi law. But you were not only Westerosi. You were Targaryens. Blood of Old Valyria, blood of the dragon. The moon cast a silvery light over Dragonstone, reflecting off the stone-carved faces of the ancestral dragonlords, their eyes seeming to watch as if blessing the union about to take place.

"The dragon has three heads," your father, King Viserys, had declared before the lords of his court, his voice unwavering against the protests of Otto Hightower and the murmurs of the others. He had been insistent, unyielding in his decision to name not only Rhaenyra but you, his beloved twin daughters, as heirs to the Iron Throne. And if you wished to marry Daemon, then so be it. Otto’s warnings had fallen on deaf ears, his opposition met with your father’s conviction.

You glance at Rhaenyra, standing to your right, her silver-gold hair catching the wind like a banner of fire. Her violet eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s only the two of you—the twin flames that have burned side by side your entire lives. There is something unspoken in her gaze, a shared understanding, a bond far deeper than blood. Tonight, that bond will be sealed in ways that no lord of Westeros could comprehend.

Daemon stands between you both, his presence commanding as ever. He is your uncle, yes, but he is also your lover, your equal in the dance of dragons. His eyes, sharp and bright, shift between you and Rhaenyra, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He thrives in defiance, in the breaking of traditions. But tonight is not about breaking. Tonight is about honoring something older, something lost.

The ritual begins as the dragonfire is lit around you, the flames crackling with the same intensity that fills the air. The old tongues of Valyria, forgotten by most, are spoken by the priests who have come to witness this union. Their words echo through the chamber like the roar of dragons. Your heart pounds in your chest, the ancient magic of your ancestors awakening in your blood.

Daemon steps forward first, his hand outstretched toward you, and then toward Rhaenyra. His touch is warm, familiar, as he brings both of you closer to him. “You are mine,” he says softly, his voice filled with a possessive reverence that sends a shiver down your spine. “Both of you.”

“And you are ours,” Rhaenyra responds, her voice strong and clear, echoing your own thoughts.

The Valyrian steel rings, forged specially for this moment, are brought forth. Daemon takes one in his hand, sliding it onto Rhaenyra’s finger first, then yours. As the cool metal touches your skin, you feel the weight of it, not just the physical weight but the weight of history, of legacy. The three of you are bound now—not only by blood, not only by love, but by destiny.

You take the second ring, your fingers trembling slightly as you slide it onto Daemon’s hand, followed by Rhaenyra’s. She smiles at you, a smile full of mischief and affection. She has always been the fiery one, the rebellious princess who defies convention, but so have you. You are her mirror in many ways, the reflection of her ambition, her desire, her strength.

The final words of the ritual are spoken in the language of dragons, the ancient Valyrian wrapping around the three of you like a cloak. Fire, blood, and power. The three pillars of your house, and now the pillars of this union. You are no longer two sisters and their uncle. You are one. One flame, one force, one future.

The kiss that follows is not timid. Daemon pulls you both close, his lips claiming yours first, then Rhaenyra’s. It is not the kiss of a husband and wife under the eyes of the Seven, but the kiss of dragons. Fierce, passionate, untamed. Rhaenyra leans into you, her fingers brushing your cheek before she too claims your lips. The world around you fades, leaving only the three of you, bound in fire and blood.

As the flames around you burn higher, you can feel the weight of what this means. You are no longer just heirs to the Iron Throne. You are the future of House Targaryen, the embodiment of its ancient power. The dragon has three heads, and now, you will soar together, unbreakable.

Otto’s warnings echo in your mind, but they are drowned out by the roar of dragons in your heart. Let the realm whisper. Let them plot and scheme. You are Targaryens, bound by the old ways. And together, you will reshape the world as you see fit.

The atmosphere in the Red Keep’s great hall was stifling, despite the lavish feast laid out before you. The long table gleamed under the glow of countless candles, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filling the air. Yet, there was no warmth in the room. Not tonight. The gathering was small but potent—Viserys, seated at the head of the table, you and Rhaenyra on either side of Daemon, with Alicent and her children opposite you. Otto Hightower sat quietly near the Queen, his calculating gaze shifting between you and your twin.

You could feel the weight of the words unsaid, the barely concealed discomfort radiating from Alicent, her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap. It was only a matter of time before something was spoken aloud, and you sensed the moment approaching.

Aegon lounged lazily beside his mother, a smirk playing on his lips, while Aemond's single eye, as sharp as a blade, flickered between Daemon and Rhaenyra with barely veiled contempt. Helaena, ever quiet and strange, sat silently, fiddling with a small trinket in her hands, muttering something under her breath.

The tension finally snapped when Alicent placed her cup down with a little more force than necessary, drawing all eyes to her. She smiled tightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Your Grace," she began, her voice honeyed but brittle. "I wonder… have you truly considered the implications of such a union? Between Daemon and your daughters?"

You stiffen beside Daemon, feeling Rhaenyra tense on his other side. Alicent's words hang in the air, dripping with disapproval, though she masks it with concern. She turns her gaze to Viserys, her eyes wide, playing the role of the dutiful wife. "Surely, there are other considerations that must be taken into account. For the sake of the realm, and for the future stability of the crown."

Viserys’s eyes narrow, his fork pausing mid-air as he studies her. “What are you trying to say, Alicent?”

Alicent’s gaze flickers briefly toward Otto before she continues, emboldened. “There are traditions, Your Grace. Laws that must be upheld. Marrying Daemon to both of your daughters… it is… unorthodox.” She hesitates, her words cautious. “It could create discord within the realm. People might question the legitimacy of such a union, especially with the potential claims from…” Her voice lowers, though not enough to be polite, “…Daemon’s past.”

At that, Daemon leans back in his chair, a lazy, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He says nothing, simply watching as Alicent's discomfort grows under his scrutiny.

You exchange a glance with Rhaenyra, and she meets your eyes with a flash of defiance. You knew this moment would come. The Hightowers have been quiet for too long, waiting for a chance to undermine your father’s wishes, to place their own blood closer to the Iron Throne. And here it was, unfolding before you like a play.

Viserys’s face darkens, his eyes shifting from Alicent to Otto. “Is that what you’re concerned about, Alicent? Tradition? Or are you worried about what this union means for your children?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Alicent, but it is Otto who speaks next, his voice measured and calm. “Your Grace, no one questions your love for your daughters, nor the bond they share with Prince Daemon. But the realm is fragile. Marriages such as these, unconventional as they may be, can sow uncertainty. It may lead to factions… rebellion.”

Viserys sets his goblet down with a resounding thud, his eyes flashing with something you haven't seen in years—a simmering anger, a reawakening of the dragon within him.

“Rebellion? Uncertainty?” he repeats, his voice low but dangerous. “My daughters are Targaryens. They carry the blood of Old Valyria. The laws of Westeros are not the only ones that govern our family. I named both of them my heirs because I have faith in their ability to rule, just as I have faith in Daemon, my brother. This union strengthens our house, not weakens it.”

Alicent pales, her grip tightening on her goblet. “Your Grace, I only meant to say—”

“Enough!” Viserys cuts her off, rising from his seat with surprising vigor. “I have been patient, too patient, with the whispers and scheming around me. You question this marriage because it does not suit the plans of your house. But I will not allow the Hightowers to dictate the future of my daughters, or the future of this realm.”

There’s a stunned silence as his words settle over the room, the full weight of his wrath directed at Alicent and Otto. Aegon’s smirk fades, and Aemond’s eye narrows in suspicion. Helaena remains quiet, her focus still on her trinket, as if the conflict around her is distant, unimportant.

You glance at Daemon, who watches with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile. This is the moment he has been waiting for, the moment when Viserys finally sees the Hightowers for what they are—a threat to his daughters’ legacy.

“I will make myself clear,” Viserys continues, his voice steady and unwavering. “Rhaenyra and Y/N are my chosen heirs. They will rule when I am gone, and Daemon will stand beside them as their husband, as their equal. This is my will, and it will be law. There will be no more discussion, no more questioning their claim.”

Otto shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his face impassive but his eyes sharp, calculating. Alicent looks stricken, her gaze dropping to her lap, no longer able to meet Viserys’s eyes.

The tension breaks when Viserys sits back down, his breath labored but his resolve unshaken. “I expect you all to remember that.”

The rest of the dinner passes in a tense silence, but the message is clear. The Hightowers’ influence is waning, and Viserys will ensure that the Targaryen line remains strong and unchallenged. You share a quiet look with Rhaenyra, feeling the weight of your father’s words settle in your chest. You are no longer simply his daughters. You are his heirs, and the Iron Throne will be yours.

Daemon raises his goblet, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he leans in, his voice low but filled with triumph. “The dragon has three heads, indeed.”

[surielstea]

Don’t you like me?

Based on this request.

Pairing: Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has been secretly in love with Eris since she was little, so what happens when she’s to be married off to another in a weeks time and he’s yet to make a move?

Warnings: Smut | Minors DNI | 18+ only | p in v | heavy breeding kink | multi-orgasm | cream pie | dirty talk | use of pet names (bunny, baby) | outdated beliefs | typical autumn court views

A/N: HEAVY smut. Like this is fr the filthiest thing I’ve ever published so hope all you freaks enjoy…

5.9k words

I walked into the dining hall dressed in a stunning gown made from a forest green material that was beyond soft. The bodice was snug and hugged me in all the right places, while the skirt cascaded down in a waterfall of silk, a high slit cutting through the side to show a flash of my leg. I looked like pure perfection.

"Eris," I call to the male who was standing by the window, peering down at the fields, watching over the land like some kind of higher power.

"Hm?" He utters but doesn't cast a glance my way, forming a gaping cavity in my chest.

"Do you like my dress?" I ask, he still doesn't look at me. His arms are crossed over his chest and I can see the tips of his fingers blazing like he's forcing himself to refrain from moving. "The shopkeeper said it looked pretty on me," I smile. "He said it was so perfect that he just had to give me a discount," I add and his ears perk up, head whipping to me. "He?" The protective male asks and a small smile forms on my lips. "At least he had the decency to look at me when I speak to him." I shrug and he bristles, eyes flicking up and down, taking in my dress, my bare leg peering through the slit, the golden earrings he got me for my birthday hanging from my lobes, hair pulled back and out of my face how I knew he liked.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" He takes a step closer and I clasp my hands behind my back, staring up at him innocently. "I'm not sure what you mean, General." I flutter my lashes and a muscle along his jaw feathers.

"Bunny," He grits out and I only continue to stare up at him with curious eyes, the kind I knew made him stumble over his words. "My lord?" I ask with a wondering tone. He swallows thickly and then stones his features. "Are you ready for the ball?" He asks and I hold back from rolling my eyes and instead nod. "Are you?" I ask and he only replies with a sigh, his arm hooking through mine. "Let's get this over with." He muttered, then winnowed us into a crowded ballroom.

I've been trying to get Eris' attention since we were young, but he's always cast me off as a younger sister type, I refused to accept that, so I pushed his buttons. I was the daughter of Beron's most trusted advisor, this ball was put together in order to find me a suitor, every one of these men is here for my hand, I was hoping Eris did something before we got here, hoping he'd say something, anything. But he didn't. So we stood in the center of the ballroom and stared ahead of us at Beron who sat on his throne, my father at his side.

The both of them gave me foxlike grins and I gulped down the anxiety lodged in my throat, hand tightening around Eris' as we approached the dais.

"My lord," I curtsy to the high lord while Eris bows. "Rise girl, today is your day." He hums in a grating voice I've grown to hate. I flick my eyes back up to the eldest Vanserra and do as he says, Eris as well. "I cannot thank you enough for putting on this event for me, I'm beyond grateful," I say to him in a light tone, a polite grin on my face. My father hasn't so much as spared me a glance so I don't look at him either.

"Yes well, you've been of age for some time now haven't you?" He shifts in his throne as if his legs could spread any wider. "I have, my lord." I bow my head. "I have no doubt you'll be able to find an eligible suitor tonight, you look absolutely ravishing." He grins and that expression has never made me more nauseous. Eris' hand tightens on mine and I realize he's still holding it. "I've handpicked all of the males attending tonight, do me a favor, and don't let that work go to waste." He instructs and I nod, his eyes then fall between Eris and I, where our hands are linked. Eris reacts before I can even notice, his hand slipping from mine. My breath hitched for a moment and I turned to look up at him with slightly creased brows. His expression remains stoic as he continues to stare ahead, not daring to meet my gaze.

"Go on," Beron waves us away. I curtsy once more before spinning on my heel, expecting Eris to follow after me but he stayed behind, joining his father's other side on the dais. It was hard to watch so I didn’t look any longer and direction my line of sight to the sea of men waiting for my attention.

I ball my hands into fists before shaking them out as I stare at all the males with beckoning eyes, wanting to be picked for the first dance.

Traditionally I'd dance with the high lord, but the older male didn't seem to have an interest in upholding said tradition, so it was my pick. How generous.

My eyes snag on a head of strawberry-blonde hair in the back. Langdon, a fair-skinned male with piercing green eyes and a gangly figure, I've known him since I was a girl— had a crush on him since his family came into nobility. He was kind, or rather, as kind as they got in the Autumn Court. He wasn't looking my way, this was my ball and he still wasn't looking my way. Why is it that I always wanted men who hold no interest in me?

I look behind me to spot Eris already staring, his fingers anxiously twisting the golden ring around his pinky finger. One of his tells, that one specifically informed me that he was nervous. Over what? I had no idea, but some buried part of me wanted to place my hands over his and tell him there was nothing to worry about.

I shove the feeling down and turn back to the crowd of males who seemed to now stand a whole yard closer.

I was only thankful Beron didn't choose for me, or worse, my father.

Fortunately, Langdon was looking at me now. Our gazes catch and I give the slightest dip of my head. The males who understood they hadn't been picked dispersed, leaving Langdon and I parallel to each other.

The music begins and I remain where I stand, waiting for the male to approach me instead. Once he gets to my side he offers his hand and I take it with little hesitation, the chorus of the song starts and our waltz begins.

I've been trained my entire life for this, my father has made sure I was educated on every custom and tradition of how Autumn Court females must behave, should I step a toe out of line he'd be there to reprimand me, whether that meant physically or mentally.

I knew every dance like the back of my hand, memorized how each dress was hemmed, could do each house chore with my eyes closed, and recite exactly where my place was to anyone who asked— it's been beaten into me so many times it'd be a parody to forget. I belong beside my husband, raising his children. That was it. That's all I've been told I'm any good for.

"I won't ask for your hand," Langdon hums mid-step and I look up to him with curious eyes. I'd be lying if a pang of hurt didn't run through my chest. "And why not?" I ask, my dress swirling around me as he twirls me around. "I won't tie you down, I refuse." He shakes his head and my heart aches. "So you'll let someone else then?" I suggest and he swallows, clearly not thinking of the others. "It's not like that," He sighs. "You wouldn't be happy with me." He explains with guilt simmering in his eyes. "So you'll subject me to being unhappy with another just because of your own selfishness?" I presume and his brows raise a fraction. "No," He shakes his head. "I'll subject you to make your own decision because you're in love with another," He claims and my breathing halts for a moment.

I go quiet, silently taking myself through the steps I've been doing since I was a child. "I'm not sure what you mean." I finally manage to get out. "Oh c’mon, it's obvious to every male here except him." The blonde scoffs and I refrain from rolling my eyes, he is preaching to the choir.

"Even if you're right," The music stops and so do we. I stare up at him with an unwavering amount of elegance. "I can't have him," I whisper and he squares his features. "I won't tie you down." He repeats, believing he's doing me a favor by pulling himself from the equation. "I understand." I nod, even if I don't want to, then I curtsy one last time towards the male and take another's hand.

I went through at least ten more tedious males after that and nearly twenty tiresome waltzes before I was allowed a break. I loved to dance, sure, but not like this. Not in a ballroom full of predators. I miss when it was just Eris and me when he'd meet me here at midnight and we'd sway, following no choreography but rather flowing to the music, improvising to whatever song played. I could still feel the way his warm arms wrapped around me, how he cradled me to his chest while we talked softly about anything and everything. That was the Eris I knew, that was the Eris I loved. Not this mask made for the public, the one his father forced him to be.

I was startled from my daze by a hand coming to my forearm. I jump slightly and turn to the figure at my side. "Apologies for disturbing you, my lady," A brunette male I wish I could recall the name of stood before me. He was the sixth male I danced with, we waltzed three times if I remember correctly.

"No worries," I shake my head with a polite smile. "I've spoken to your father," He swallows nervously and I glance to the dais where Beron and my father were but Eris no longer was.

"He's consented to my asking for your hand," The male explains and my head snaps back to him, brows slightly raised. The brunette wasn't unattractive by any means, in fact, he was quite handsome, but he's not who I want him to be— guilt forms in my stomach at the thought. Langdon had been right.

A hand comes down onto my shoulder before I can think of a reply, but I don't startle this time. Because I could recognize that scent of warm cinnamon and campfire embers from anywhere, along with the feel of his large, calloused hand, the touch was beyond familiarity.

"Sorry to interrupt," A baritone voice purrs and my eyes light up. "But I need to borrow her for a moment," His hand slides down my arm protectively and I have to hold back from scoffing, he had the nerve to ignore me all night but as soon as another male shows interest, he comes over to claim me.

"Of course my lord," The brunette bows his head respectfully. "Go on then," He shoos and I whirl around to face the heir as the other male skitters away. "Are you serious?" I cross my arms over my chest, staring up at the redhead who had a smirk plastered onto his features. "That's the first proposal I've gotten all night!" I say with a hush and his smirk only widens. "Oh I know, you have no idea how hard it is to fend them off." He grumbled like it was a weight on his shoulders. My eyes widen as I stare at him in shock. "Are you kidding— What's the point of this event if you're scaring off every interested suitor?" I crease my brows, hands dropping to my hips.

Eris' head whips to the dais where both of our fathers are intently watching us. "C'mon," The heir grabs me by my wrist. "We need somewhere private." He decides, pulling me through the length of the ballroom, my protests are halfhearted, not minding the idea of getting away from this place. He pulled us into a sectioned-off alcove that was secluded enough for him to winnow us elsewhere.

My feet landed on dark wooden tiles, stood in the master bedroom of Eris' apartment on the outskirts of Autumn that not even Beron knew about.

"Why are you fending them off?" I question, narrowing my eyes at him skeptically. He shrugs with a stoic expression, looking towards the unlit fireplace at our right. "The people my father picked," He starts. "None of them can be good." He explains and I grit my teeth. "He picked Langdon." I excuse and Eris nearly growls at the name. "Langdon is a prick and he doesn't deserve you," Eris states like it's a fact. "He's nice to me," I mutter softly. "The bare minimum isn't something you should settle for." His brows straighten and something evil churns in the pit of my stomach. "Well, it's not like I have many options." I square my features, glaring up at him and maintaining my ground.

He hasn’t done anything up until now and as soon as I show any fraction of interest in someone else he comes to swoop me away? It was unfair. He doesn't reply, his fists clench at his sides but they quickly loosen when he sees the line of tears in my waterline threatening to spill. "You think I want to marry any of these males? It's not my choice, it's never been my choice." My hands come up to his chest, gripping the cleanly pressed shirt. "You've always had a choice," His hands come to my wrists. I nearly laugh. "Are you serious? Who are you to tell me about choices? You have no idea what it's like to be a fucking doll Eris, I'm a broodmare who's only used for my body and when that's not good enough anymore, I'm nothing." My words come out in a rasp, my fingers clenching his shirt and wrinkling it.

"Don't stand there and tell me I have a choice when you've done nothing to stop me from getting sold off to the highest bidder." My tears are now falling but I don't care, I have too little energy to wipe them away— so he does, his warm hands I wish I didn't find comfort in come to my cheeks and his thumbs brush away the salty tears with the most delicacy I've ever seen him display. "If you won't do anything now I strongly doubt you'll do anything when I'm someone else's," I murmur and his eyes fall into something of terror.

"I'm sorry." He confesses and my heart sputters, I've only ever heard Eris Vanserra apologize for two things in his lifetime, and this was one of them. "You’re right. I should've done more." He confesses. "I tried," He mutters. "I offered to sleep with you— they'd mark you as impure and banish you from the forest house, you could've run away." He explains. "But that's not enough, I should've done more." His hands remain on my cheeks. "Don't you get it?" My hands splay flat on his abdomen. "I don't want more, I just wanted you," I confess and his breathing halts. I think I've truly done myself in, but there was no use holding it any longer. I'll be married off by the end of the week and probably won't see Eris again until our separate children are having playdates. None of this mattered.

"What?" He croaks out and I swallow. "I wanted you," I repeated and I swore his eyes flashed with relief. His hands remain on my face, fingertips slightly warming as he dissects his thoughts. "I thought I made it obvious," I say. "But you never did anyth—" My words are cut off as his lips crash into mine with a foreign passion.

His hands pull me closer and my breathing stops as I realize what's happening. He's kissing me. I move to kiss him back, hands snaking up from his chest and to his shoulders where I wrap around the back of his neck and pull him closer, his chest pressing into mine as he backs me up towards the wall until I'm flat against it.

He doesn't back away for a moment like he needs the heat of my lips or he'll freeze without it. His brows crease as he kisses me with intent, not wanting this moment to end in case it gets torn away from him.

"Eris," I pant out as I back away. "I thought you hated me," I admit and his eyes soften. "Hate you?" His hands hold tighter to my jaw. "No bunny, never." His head shakes and he pulls me in again, placing a soft yet lasting kiss on my lips. "Wait," I back away and he immediately halts. "What are you saying?" I try to piece everything together but it's no use.

"I want you." He confesses and my stomach does backflips. "Want me?" I rasp out in pure disbelief. "Need you." He corrects and my heart lurches into my throat, his lips reconnect with mine, and this time his tongue swipes along my bottom lip, hands coming to the bottoms of my thighs as he hoists me up and presses my back to the wall, legs coming back to wrap tightly around his hips as his tongue explores every undiscovered crook and crevice like he needed to memorize me before I disappeared.

"Eris we can't," I whisper into his lips and he shakes his head. "I won't let them have you." He defends and my heart crumbles into two. "This is going to ruin me," I admit, tears still streaming from my eyes. "We'll figure it out." He promises and a lump forms in my throat. He backs away to look at my teary expression, brows creasing as he stares at my disgruntled gaze. "I'll be banished from this court," I murmur. As much as I hated the people here, this is my home. I didn't want to just up and leave. "Noble blood or not I'll be marked a whore, it's out of wedlock." I sighed and a soft smile graced his features as he began to pepper kisses along the side of my face, kissing my salty tears away. "I suppose we'll have to get married then." He hums and I place my hand on his jaw pushing him back. "I'll have Beron off his throne soon, the night court's Spymaster and I have already devised a plan. It'll work." He reassures, running his hand through my hair.

"I'll marry you right now, we can go out and find a priestess and I'll have you as my High Lady." He promised and my brows crease as he describes something too good to be true. "Or we can do all that in the morning," He whispers. "Because it's awfully hard to not need you while you're in this dress." He hums and I smile, my tears gone, all kissed away. "I won't let them have you." He repeats, stressing his words, and I believe him, so I nod.

His lips surge back onto mine and I push away the thoughts of the repercussions and let myself enjoy every moment of this.

His hands grip the underside of my thighs and he pushes me harder against the wall, pressing his chest to mine and kissing me with the purpose I craved. I tighten my hold around the back of his neck and wrap my legs around him, my dress in the way— I need him closer, so much closer.

"Eris, please," I whine and he nods, understanding what I want. He pushes off the wall and carries me to his bed, laying me down on my back, I arch up and his hands pull at the strings of my corset. So many layers, too many between us. I work at the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing his toned, muscular chest.

The way he kissed me was hungry like he's been constraining himself for far too long. He gets my corset undone and I finally feel like I can breathe. Clothes are thrown into every corner of the room as he rips my skirts off and I move to the ties of his pants. Once we're clad in nothing but skin he mounts over me, his heavy, hard cock pressing against my abdomen. It was hot and quick and had everything I needed.

His hand cups over my heat, calloused fingers diving into my folds, adding friction I didn't know I needed. "Eris," I whine and he grunts at the way my name rolls off his tongue, the desperation in my voice making his cock leak pre-cum. "Fuck, you sound so perfect moaning my name." He sighs out, two of his long fingers finding my entrance, and before I can reply they plunge deep inside of me. I bite down on my bottom lip, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes due to the foreign stretch. His fingers were long, and thick, and felt so fucking good.

I yelped as his calloused thumb came down onto my clit, tracing tight circles around it. I hissed at the pain, how he stretched me out, preparing me for his cock. “I’m sorry bunny, I’ll make love to you next time I promise,” He whispers into the shell of my ear and I whimper, the intense feeling consuming me as he curls his fingers, flicking them against my sensitive walls. “Next time?” I ask my words barely a rasp. “That’s right,” He kisses my cheek, getting rid of a tear there. “But right now I need to fuck you, I’ve wanted this for so fuckin’ long I can’t hold back,” He grunts, his voice laced with pure lust. “You understand don’t you bunny?” He says, kissing down my jaw to my neck where he nipped at the sensitive skin, all I can do is nod, praying he doesn’t stop.

His fingers brush over a sensitive, spongy spot and I gasp, my back involuntarily arching at the feeling. “Right there, Eris, my god—” My breath hitched as he toyed with the area. My legs jolted and I was so close, I had never orgasmed off someone’s hand alone before yet here the heir was, finger fucking me right into my high.

“That’s it, baby, need you nice and wet for me,” He hums, sucking marks onto my neck. I whine and my cunt pulsated with an impending release. My nails dig into his large bicep, brows creasing as I teeter on that euphoric high. I clench tighter around his fingers and he does something wicked with his thumb against my clit, pushing me over into my orgasm. Waves of pleasure slam into me as I finally release and reach that climax, and when I do, it’s Eris’ name on my lips.

“That’s it, you did so well,” He praises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I finally came down from my high and his fingers slowed, pulling them from my entrance, lathered in my slick. “Think you’re ready for me?” He asks, lathering his cock with my arousal left on his hand. Words fail me. I couldn’t even look at it without feeling overwhelmed, I was sure he’d split me in half.

“We can go slow,” He promised but gods I didn’t want slow, I wanted to make him feel good.

I shook my head and he arched his brow. “No?” He tilts his head. “I don’t w’na go slow, Eris,” I murmur and he leans closer, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Oh yeah? Tell me what you want then bunny,” He prompts, nudging me with his nose to go on— but his cock was pressed against my heat and it was hot, so fucking hot I felt like I was on fire. “Want— wanna make you feel good,” I mumble and a foxlike grin spreads across his face. His forearm comes down beside my head, propping himself above me, his face mere inches from mine. “Do you now?” The male asks. “And how are you g’na make me feel good?” He questions and I swallow thickly. “Uhm,” I utter, suddenly very shy under his gaze. “Don’t be nervous, I’m not gonna judge I promise,” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Well— it’s just, usually on wedding nights in the autumn court the male feels compulsive to, breed, the female,” I swallow thickly and I swear his amber eyes flash golden for a moment.

“Is that what you want bunny? Want me to breed you?” He says and I flush hot. “Never mind, forget it,” I bring my hands up to my face, covering my red cheeks. “Oh baby it’s too late,” He grabs my wrists in one of his hands, lifting them above my head and pinning them there commandingly. I whimper in reply. “Your safe word is firelight okay?” He says as he kisses down my neck and all I can do is nod. “Good, now turn around for me,” He lets go of my wrists and I do as he says, flipping over onto my stomach, hiking my knees up, and arching my back as much as I could, giving him perfect entrance. He grinned at my obedience, patience waning as he admired how good I was being for him.

The unlit hearth from earlier was now roaring with flames, even though I told Eris to do whatever he wanted with me he was still holding back, redirecting his power elsewhere.

“C’mon Eris, don’t be mean,” I whine as he leans over me, pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder blade. “Poor bunny, so needy,” He whispers beside my ear and I grip the sheets in my fists at the demeaning tone of his voice. “Please,” I murmur. “Please what? Say it, baby,” His hands come to my hips, his thumbs kneading the plushness of my ass. “Breed me,” I utter, barely even a whisper but it was enough to make whatever was restraining his break, and he snapped.

His heavy cock slaps against my folds, dragging himself through them, lathering himself in my arousal for easier entrance though I’m certain I was wet enough already.

He aligns his fat tip with my core and without any further warning, he drives into me, pushing the head of his impressive cock deep inside of me. I nearly screamed at the sensation, biting at my lower lip hard enough to cause blood. “Eris,” I mewl, my nails clawing at the sheets. One of his hands reaches over me and intertwines with the back of my palm, his other hand finding purchase at my breast, gripping it harshly, his calloused, large hands kneading it pleasantly.

“Fuck, you’re so gods’ damned tight,” He curses, his forehead resting against the back of my shoulder as he continues to push himself inside of me, and fuck was he so big, I could feel my walls hugging him, could feel every ridge and vein along him as he molded into me. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes at how good it hurt, he had me filled to the brim and there was still more of him.

I throw my head back in exasperation, a moan escaping from the base of my throat. “All of you, want more,” I confess and I feel him smile against the skin of my shoulder blade, before he angles his hips back, pulling out to his fat tip, laying one last kiss to my back then slamming in, hitting home. He groaned at the feeling, tears streamed down my face, falling onto the pillow beneath me as I grip his hand tighter, he reciprocates it but his thrusts don’t slow, no, he’s pounding into me and I loved every second of it.

“Eris— Ah,” My breath hitched. “I can’t, s’too much,” I hiss but he doesn’t stop, his hips drive deeper and I pulse around him. His base slammed into mine, tight balls smacking into my folds as he hammered me from behind. I gasp as his slit brushes over my cervix. Oxygen leaves me and I fist the sheets, screaming his name once I find my voice. “You feel that bunny? Feel me stretching you on my cock?” He hums beside my ear and I struggle to even think about anything but his cock.

He can’t help but continue to knock the area over and over again, it made him feral, and the way I squirmed beneath him had his cock twitching.

Gods he was so close to my womb, so close he could practically release directly into it. “I’m gonna fill you up so fuckin’ full, baby,” He grits out, his hold on my breast tightening. “Please,” I beg, needing him to release me inside. “I’m so close I can’t, I can’t take it—” I cry, tears free flowing as his thrusts grow faster, harder. “That’s too bad my sweet girl,” He purred. “Cause you’re g’na take me until you’re full of my cum, isn’t that right bunny?” He nips at the lobe of my ear and I nod with a pitiful whimper, feeling myself drip onto his cock, he was fucking me stupid.

The sound of his fat cock injecting into me over and over again mixed with the way his tight balls slapped against my folds left my pussy drooling on him. “You just love to milk my cock hm?” He said. “You take me so well, can’t wait to get you so full,” He grunts out and I grow hot, the knot in my stomach tightening.

“Eris I have to, I need to,” I pant out, sweat lining my forehead at how good he was slamming into me, pressing against my cervix every time and rubbing against that sweet, spongy spot. “Not yet,” He orders, and I whine in protest, brows furrowing as I fight off my orgasm and focus on pleasing him, squeezing around his cock, slowly beginning to lift away from him, then push myself back down onto him.

“Oh gods, yes, fuck yourself on my cock,” He groaned in pure ecstasy. I go faster, feeling his cock twitch as he watches the way my ass shakes, his cock disappearing inside my slit as I bounce on him. “Such a good bunny, just want me to come inside you so bad huh?” He taunts and I nod helplessly, mewls lifting from my lips as he grips my breast, my other bouncing due to my gyrations. “Ah, wait, baby,” His voice gets caught in his throat and I smile wildly at the sound. “You sure? About me cumming inside?” He grits out through closed teeth and I nod.

“Fuck yes, Eris. Give me your kids please,” I whimper and it makes him fucking feral. He somehow goes faster, reaching a primal state with an urge to breed, to make me mine in every way he can. “Your belly’s g’na get so round,” He mutters into the shell of my ear and I pant in reply, unable to form coherent words. “Fuck, can’t wait for your tits to start leaking,” He curses and a moan tears through the base of my throat. “I can’t— I’m gonna—” I can’t even finish my sentence before I’m convulsing around him and I reach my climax. He’s quick to follow, he kisses my cervix once more then shoots his release straight into my womb, panting heavily with a groan to match my whine, he paints my walls white and his seed was so fucking hot, like he just set me aflame from the inside out.

“Fuck,” He grunts out, forehead resting on my shoulder. It was a miracle I was still holding myself up, my arms were on the verge of buckling and if he wasn’t cradling my waist I probably would’ve crumbled the moment I found release.

Slowly, he slips out of me, his seed dripping down my thighs as he does so. A whimper slips past my quivering lips as his cock brushes through my folds one last time, then he slowly guides me down onto the bed, heavy breathing filling the room as the fire in the hearth dwindles.

“You did so fucking good for me baby,” He praises, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips that I return with all the energy I can muster, which wasn’t a whole lot. He smiles at this, brushing a strand of hair away from my tear-stained cheeks. “Awe, m’sorry I went so rough bunny, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” He reassured and I shook my head. “No, s’okay, felt good,” I sigh contentedly. “Yeah?” He tilts his head and I nod with a gentle smile. “My gods you’re perfect for me,” He bends down and presses his lips to mine, more passionate this time, conveying all his love in that action. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” He murmurs against my lips and I nod, not worrying about what awaits in that ballroom, too preoccupied with enjoying the moment with my soon-to-be husband.

After the sheets were changed and I was dressed in a silky nightgown I was finally able to lay my head on a pillow. It was a mystery how I didn’t fall asleep standing up. Eris slid beneath the covers beside me, grabbing my waist and pulling me closer to him with a small grin.

“Tonight turned out a lot better than I thought,” He joked and I giggled, looking up at him with tired eyes. I look down at his chest, tracing random shapes on his bicep as my smile slowly morphs into a frown. “Hey, what’s wrong baby?” His big hand comes to my jaw, rubbing along my cheek and tilting my head up to him. “Nothing,” I shake my head, burrowing into his warmth. “Talk to me,” He urges, waiting for my response. “Why didn’t you ever show interest before tonight?” I ask softly, glancing up at his eyes that were staring down at me with so much adoration it was almost overwhelming.

“This just feels so surreal, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. It feels wrong to have it,” I explain further and his gaze softens. “You deserve my love and so much more my sweet,” He presses a hard kiss to the crown of my head. “And I couldn’t show any interest 'cause I didn’t want my father taking you away from me,” He confesses and I swallow thickly, my hand intertwining with his. “He won’t take me,” I promise, even if I didn’t know for certain. “No, he won’t, I know that now,” He reassures, pecking my cheek lovingly and I blush.

“My pretty fiancée,” He grins boyishly and I mirror it, finally being with the male I’ve been in love with for decades, I had him in my arms and I wasn’t going to let him go no matter what force tried to take him from me. I’m his as he is mine, and that’s all I could ask for.

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[aemondapologistfrfr]

Anything for You - Pt2

daemon x daughter!reader 

Part 1

Summary: You and Daemon have no plans to marry anyone besides who you truly desire. After a flight to Dragonstone you both get exactly what you wanted. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, fingering, public(does dragonback count as public?), oral(f), p in v, breeding kink, use of the word daddy

Authors Note: got the fall sads and it’s making my daddy issues rage so this is how it manifested 🧎🏼‍♀️ brb printing these out and sending them to freuds grave so he knows he was right 🙂

Word Count: 3.6k 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

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I’m softly awoken by my handmaidens whispering my name. I stretch out and their hands are on me a moment later, pulling me out of bed. I’m stripped out of my nightgown and stepping into a steaming bath while yawning and grumbling about the early hour. They start to do my hair and heed my protests of no tight braids and pins. I’m whisked out of the bath and brought over to my wardrobe before being tied into one of my favorite dresses. 

“Why must I be up and dressed so early?” I yawn, rolling my shoulders. 

“Your father has requested you at his side in the throne room this morning.” I purse my lips wondering why he didn’t tell me about this or come wake me himself. 

“Where is my father?” I pout. My handmaidens hum saying he’ll be here shortly as they finish placing my jewelry. “I don’t want that necklace, I want the one my father gave me.” I whine looking at the one being carried over to me. 

“Of course, princess. Right away.” they nod and run over to my vanity to find it. I’m getting impatient as I stare at myself in the mirror. I smooth my gown and look over my frame. My head snaps up when I hear the quick knocks on my doors. 

“Prince Daemon.” my guard announces and my handmaidens drop what they’re doing to curtsy and greet him. 

“Here princess, I’ve found it.” my handmaiden walks over with the necklace and my father raises his hand. He takes the necklace from her and dismisses my company of handmaidens. 

“I want to wear that.” I look up at my father and down again to the necklace in his hand. 

“What if I told you I’ve gotten you a new one.” he smiles and my eyes light up. 

“Really?” I clap my hands together. 

“You know how I love to spoil you.” he gently turns me around and I feel the weight of the necklace as it rests on my chest. He leads me over to the mirror and I gasp as I take in the jewels dripping down my chest. 

“This is so very beautiful.” my hand rises to caress the jewels. I twirl and admire how it matches perfectly with my gown and I turn to him with a smile. “Thank you,” I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tightly. His hand rests on the back of my neck holding me to him and I nuzzle in closer to him. 

“How did you sleep, sweet girl?” he hums, pulling back and tilting my chin up. 

“Too little.” I pout. “Why must I be awake so early?” he chuckles at my tone.

“I have an important meeting with the King and Hand. I need you there with me.” I scrunch my brows at his words. 

“Why?” I search his eyes and see the glint in them. 

“They are wanting for me to find a new wife and for you to find a husband.” a frown forms across my features at his words. 

“I don’t want to marry anyone.” I shake my head, stepping back. 

“What about me?” my eyes snap to his. 

“You said they wouldn’t allow it.” I chew the inside of my lip. 

“They’ll have little to say if I take you to Dragonstone after this meeting. Wed you in the ways of our house. Make you mine. Claim you.” his eyes darken as he steps closer and towers above me. His hands cup my face as he places a kiss on my lips. “Would you like that?” he murmurs against me. 

“Yes.” I nod my head quickly. “Please,” he presses his lips against me once more. 

“Let’s go see what they have to say.” he offers me his arm and we make our way out of my chambers. The halls are surprisingly lively for this time in the morning. Servants smile and bow their heads as we pass by. Visiting Lord’s and Lady’s exchange quick pleasantries in passing. My father keeps our pace steady as we continue down the halls and my nerves rise not knowing how this meeting will go. 

As we enter the throne room I spot the King and the Hand watching us with displeasure. I look at my father who offers me a nod and then turns to the King. I try to put a warm smile on my face but it feels more like a wince. There is no one else in the hall with us as we stop at the foot of the stairs. The King looks down at us with a frown and my father pulls me closer to his side. 

“I wish for your blessing.” my father looks up the jagged steps. 

“For what could you possibly want for now?” the Hand scoffs glaring at my father.

“For us to be wed in the old ways.” he looks down at me with a smile and I turn my head back to him as a chew on my lip with a smile 

“You’ve gone mad.” my stomach drops at the King's words. The smile is erased from my face as I snap my head back to the throne. 

“Has he not always been mad?” the Hands' words echo throughout the barren hall and my father barks out a laugh from next to me. 

“I will not have my daughter marry some base born Lord, nor I some base born Lady.” he continues to chuckle and I cling onto his arm in comfort. 

“I have sons to offer her.” the King sits at the edge of the throne. “You can have any woman in the seven kingdoms. Daemon, why must everything be like this?” he looks to my father exasperated. 

“I don’t want your sons.” I shake my head looking up at the King. “I don’t want to marry anyone else.” the King lets out a loud sigh. 

“The rumors surrounding you two around this Keep are scandalous enough to send me into an early grave.” the King looks us over. 

“Do you not have one foot in it already?” my father lets out a snide remark and I suck in a breath watching the King's face turn red. 

“You will not wed each other and that’s final.” the King rises keeping a hand on his sword. 

“We shall see.” my father tugs me out of the hall quickly, ignoring the King's protests. “Listen and do everything I say.” he whispers down to me and I nod my head. 

We slip out the main doors of the Keep and he’s hoisting me up onto a horse quickly. He takes a seat behind me and has us trotting through the city streets a minute later. I lean back against his chest as he weaves in and out of the large crowds. People shout at us and offer us smiles and waves while others scowl. As the dragon pits come into view my heart starts beating faster. He jumps off the horse quickly and lifts me off and pulls me into the pits after him. 

“I don’t have any gowns or-“ 

“Shh sweet girl. You know we still have some of your old dresses and gowns there.” he hums, taking my hand and leading us into the dark tunnels. “I’ll have new ones made for you when we get there if you’re good.” I nod my head and walk a little faster causing him to chuckle. 

My ears perk up as Caraxes high pitched song calls us forward. As we step into his cave I look at him in awe as I always do. My father scoots me towards his dragon as he begins to make sure everything is in place before he comes to my side and wraps his arms around me. 

“A beautiful dragon.” I coo as I approach him with open palms. His neck twists and he presses his snout into my hands. “So handsome.” I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him as my father watches on. 

“Come on, sweet girl.” my father hums, reaching for my arm but Caraxes grumbles. “You giant blood wyrm she’s riding with us.” he shakes his head and I turn to look at him with a smile. “We have to go before we’re stopped.” he raises an eyebrow at me and I nod and start the ascent with him. He settles into the seat and I take a seat in front of him and he holds me flush against his body. 

“My gown.” I whine, trying to push it back down my legs but with the way we have to sit it it keeps riding up to the tops of my thighs. 

“Be a good girl and stop whining.” he pats my thigh and commands Caraxes to take to the skies. 

My hands grip onto my fathers as I’m forced back into him. I hear him chuckle in my ear as Caraxes takes us higher and higher. His song seeps through the streets of King's Landing before he shoots us over the Blackwater. He lets his back legs trail in the water casting us in a mist. I giggle as the water tickles across the skin. Caraxes brings us up to the clouds once more and I gasp as my fathers fingers trail up my thighs. 

“Daddy,” I whine pushing back into him. 

“Let daddy play with your sweet little cunt.” he shushes me as his hands push my legs apart even more. “Would you like that, sweet girl?” he pushes my hair off my neck to replace it with his lips. “Hm?” he trails a finger up my small clothes and I squirm in his arms. 

“Yes, please,” my hand wraps around his wrist that’s teasing me. 

“Say it.” he murmurs against my skin. 

“I want you to play with me.” I wasn’t sure if he heard me until he dipped two of his fingers beneath my small clothes. I chew on my lip as he slides his fingers through my wetness. His touch is light and teasing and my hips are jerking to get more friction. “Please,” I beg, trembling in his arms. 

“What are you begging for?” he taunts me, swirling his fingers around my bud.

“I just wanna-“ I gasp as he speeds his fingers up. “I wanna, yes,” I whine as he moves his fingers impossibly faster. 

“Is daddy making you feel good?” he chuckles into my neck. 

“Yes, so good daddy,” my words slurred from my pleasure. He dips down to my core to gather more wetness before circling his fingers around my bud that leaves me shaking in his arms. He bites down onto my pulse and I go limp in his arms as my pleasure bursts through me.

“Gods, you're perfect.” he kisses across my neck while removing his fingers from my small clothes. “You’re going to birth me an army with this.” his fingers trail over my soaked small clothes. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

I crane my neck to look over the cliff edge at the rocky shore. The clouds have parted and the sun is shining brightly down upon us. Several handmaidens coax me closer inland near the maester. I smooth down my ceremonial gowns from the wind and watch as the handmaidens begin to fix my headpiece. I turn when I hear my fathers low voice approaching. 

“My prince, should we be doing this in haste?” the maester looks at him nervously. 

“We will be wed by you or another. It’s your choice if you would like to keep living.” the maesters face turns red at my fathers words. He motions for the handmaidens to usher me over to my father and on approach his face lightens with a smile. “My beautiful princess.” he hums taking my hands. 

My eyes scan over him and when my eyes meet his I feel us move closer together. We stay together in our own bubble as the maester drones on. My father caresses my cheek and I lean into his warmth. The maester hands him a dragon glass blade and he looks to me as if in question. I tilt my head and his smile returns as brings the glass to my lip. The slice is quick and he offers the same to his lip. We place marks on each other's foreheads while never losing our eye contact. Our hands are next to be split open and we hold them together as the maester binds them. The maester has us repeat his words before announcing us wed. 

“We are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” we breathe out together. He dips his head down and our lips unite with a metallic taste. The handmaidens softly clap and sprinkle some white flower petals upon the stone before leaving us to each other. The maester makes himself scarce as we stand still bound to one another on the cliff edge. 

“My beautiful princess and wife.” he unwraps our hands and pulls me against him once more. We cling to each other slowly staining our robes various shades of red. “All mine. Forever.” he hums cupping mug face. 

“All yours. Forever.” I nod looking up to him. He places his lips in mine again before pulling back to lead us back into the castle. 

The handmaidens whisk me away once we enter the hall and bring me to my old chambers. They begin to remove my ceremonial robes and help me into another bath. I allow them to clean me and rub sweet smelling oils across my skin. They help me out and dry me off before placing a sheer piece of silk over me and guiding me to the bed. They help me sit in the center before placing petals around me and blowing out some of the candles. I smile as they leave my chambers and I await my fathers return. 

“My sweet girl.” my head snaps up at his voice. He shuts the door behind him and he leans against it looking me over. “My beautiful princess.” he pushes off the door and begins his walk over to me. “My wife.” he stops at the edge of my bed. 

“Hi.” I bat my eyelashes at him and his smile turns serpentine. 

“Are you feeling shy?” he holds his hands out for me to grab. I place my hands in his and continue to look up at him. “Acting innocent like I didn’t take your maidenhead almost two moons ago now. You remember how you begged? ‘Daddy please’ while trying to tug my trousers off?” he taunts and I feel my cheeks heat. 

“Stop.” I whine, taking my hands from him and covering my face. I pout on the bed and feel it dip as he joins me on the plush mattress. He lays me back onto the bed and I slowly remove my hands from my face and look up at him. I slowly spread my legs for him and his eyes travel down to my center. 

“Now who’s teasing?” he hums. His rough hands slide up my legs, spreading me wider. He lifts my hips and brings my center up to his mouth. I gasp, clawing at the sheets as he half holds me in his arms before feasting on me. My hands hold onto his arms wrapped around my hips as his tongue lashes against my bud. My slip falls down my body exposing my chest and he lets one of his hands from my hips grab onto my breast. He roughly kneads it that leaves me whimpering. 

“Daddy,” I gasp as his lips incase my bud and puts all of his attention there. I come undone across his face and he removes his hands letting me bounce back onto the bed. 

“I’m going to fill you so thoroughly my seed will still be seeping between your thighs tomorrow.” he looks down at me with dark eyes. 

“Please,” I pull my slip the rest of the way off and he groans. I watch him with low lids as he removes his clothes and crawls back into the bed with me. His lips smash into mine and I revel in the way he envelops me. 

“I’m going to fuck you nice and slow once.” he murmurs agaisnt my lips. “Then I’ll fuck you the way I know you like.” I squirm under his soft touches and he spreads my legs to press between them. He swirls his tip around my wetness before slowly pushing into me. My toes curl with every inch. Once he’s fully settled he leans down over me and presses his lips to mine again. I wrap my limbs around him as he starts to rock his hips into me. 

“You always feel so good, sweet girl.” he groans as I press kisses against his neck. He leans back and watches as he slowly pumps into me. He reaches down and rolls my nipples and I arch up into his touch with a soft whine. He stills his movements and I start to move my hips on my own. “Fucking yourself on daddy’s cock like a good girl.” he chuckles before slamming back into me. His hands move from my nipples down to my hips as he slowly rolls his hips into me. Whimpers spill from my lips as I start to pulse around him and he lets out a string of curses. 

“Daddy,” I reach up for him and he leans down and starts to hammer into me. My hands claw at him until he grunts and grabs them and holds them above my head. 

“Always so compliant.” he grunts as my legs fall open as he continues with his brutal pace. “Keep your hands up here or you’ll be punished.” I nod, biting my lip as he removes his hand. My hands dig into the pillows above me as his hips repeatedly snap into mine. His fingers circle my bud and I cry out and grab his wrist. He pulls out of me and I cry looking at him with pleading eyes. 

“I’m sorry, daddy, please, please I’ll be good.” I whine as he flips me onto my stomach. His hand lands hard onto my cheeks and I arch my ass up into the air. His fingers dig into my tender flesh before slapping them again. He grabs my hips before slamming into me. My hands reach back for him and he growls before holding them against my lower back. My face is sliding against the bed as he continues his relentless pace. 

“Squeezing me so good.” he rasps, letting his other hand fall to my cheek again. “Want me to fill you up?” I nod my head into the pillows. “Say it.” he lets go of my wrists and digs his fingers into my hair to lift me up. 

“Fill me, daddy. Please, fill me, please,” my voice breaks at his pace. I cry out at my high washes through me again and his warmth starts to spread inside me. His pace slows but he stays settled in me and he covers my body with his. 

“I’m staying inside this sweet little cunt until I’m ready to fuck you again.” I whimper, nodding my head, squeezing my walls around him. He rolls his hips into me and I whine at the feeling. 

“I’m so full of you, daddy.” I let out broken whimpers. 

“I’m not even close to being done with you.” he whispers into my ear. He starts to harden again and he lifts off of me. I frown at his lack of warmth before he tugs me up against his chest. His arms wrap around me holding me to him as he starts to hammer up into me. One of his hands wrap around my neck while the other goes to circle my bud and I immediately fall apart around him. “Fuck,” his hips falter as he pants into my neck. 

“More,” I whine pressing back into him. He starts to fuck me again and I let my head fall back and rest on his shoulder. 

“Taking me so good.” he praises before pulling out of me. I whine as he pushes me back down to the bed. He flips me over onto my back again and lifts my legs to press them against my chest. He slides into me a moment later causing moans to fall from my mouth. My hands wrap around my legs and he offers me more praise as he stands back and watches himself push into me. 

“Daddy,” a strained cry falls from my lips as my pleasure slams through me so intensely my eyes roll back. He curses and I feel him twitch and begin to fill me once more. He collapses on top of me again as we continue to pant. My eyes close as I hold him tightly. He flips us, staying buried in me and allowing me to rest against his chest. He jerks his hips to remind me of the fullness and I mewl against him. 

“Rest, sweet girl. I’ll wake you with more pleasure soon.” he coos brushing back the strands of hair sticking to my face. My head rests above his heart and I let its settling beats lull me to sleep. 

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masterlist 🔌 

i can easily be convinced to make another part 😔 

Part 3

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[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 2

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: he steps on your hand, non-consensual kissing, slapping

A/N: In which you try to stand your ground against Feyd and it just makes him horny

Palpable tension fills the room. You notice, not happily, the heavy presence of guards. As pale and unmoving as the walls, you wouldn’t have recognized them if not for the subtle hand signals from your mother. Jessica’s fingers twitched in the ancient Atreides language.

Stay on guard, she warns you. You don’t even have to look at her to know what she’s saying — you learned the secretive hand signals before you could even speak. Even just a quick flash of her fingers in your peripheral and you understand.

Will this day end in bloodshed?

The thought rags at you.

“Welcome,” the Baron finally bellows, voice thick and rasping as sand over the dunes of Arrakis. “It is truly an honor to receive you here today.”

Leto nods, ever the diplomat. You’re grateful for his lead and the prowess of his social navigational skills because, at the moment, you’re afraid that you won’t be able to speak. Not in the face of your destiny and certainly not under the severe scrutiny of your betrothed.

The Baron beckons you and your family closer and you swear that you notice Feyd-Rautha lean forward in interest.

“I trust your journey from Arrakis was well,” the Baron says.

Your skin prickles at the mention.

“Certainly. It was a smooth ride. I’m sure you’re familiar, since you’ve taken it recently,” Leto replies coolly.

The Baron snaps, “And will again soon.”

An insurmountable current of hostility perpetuates the room, not visible but impossible to not to notice. The Baron claps his hands together, the sound resonating. “But we aren’t here to discuss space travel, are we? Lady Y/N, step forward so that we may see you.”

The slightest nod of approval from Jessica. Her hand brushes yours as you pass by her.

It’s unknown to you how far you should go but you take several large steps away from your parents until you’re completely vulnerable. You hope no one is able to perceive your nervousness, or the slick state of your palms. You keep them hidden in the folds of your dress.

“Mm, lovely enough,” the Baron remarks. His repulsive gaze travels your form. Not in the way that one might appraise a mate but rather a livestock for purchase. “Excellent hips for birthing.”

You bite your tongue to stifle your retort.

From the shifting of garments behind you, you know the comment has unsettled your parents as well. Your mother warned you that the situation was delicate, that the Harkonnens would wait for the slightest aggression to attack. You do your best to maintain a comprise of neutrality, the cool indifference your mother manages to exude.

“Still an Atreides,” Rabban growls, low enough only for you, the Baron, and na-Baron to hear.

The Baron ignores this. “Well, nephew, won’t you greet your betrothed?”

A small exhale escapes you.

Feyd-Rautha lopes from his position beside the dais to stand before you. His proximity is overwhelming, the sheer size and force of his presence eclipsing all else; his lips have not loosed from their taunting smirk, an infuriating expression you wish to rid him of.

“Hello, betrothed,” he says. His voice, too, rasps against your ears, cool and unbothered.

“Hello,” is all you manage.

In a move that startles you, Feyd-Rautha unsheathes a dagger from his armored uniform. It glints dangerously in the low lighting. Although you can’t see her you hear Jessica cry out in surprise, in objection, and the guards at the perimeter of the throne room coil with anticipation. However, you keep still.

Feyd-Rautha presses the tip of the dagger lightly into your neck, below your ear. His dark gaze flickers down the column of your throat, following the trail of the blade. It’s a strangely sensual act, intimate in ways that disturb you, the fragile balance of trust and power it commands. Feyd-Rautha stops at the dip of your throat, where your heart is beating wildly, directly above the Atreides clasp.

He clicks his tongue. “You won’t be needing this.”

The Harkonnen slices at your cape faster than you can ever react — the garment flutters from your shoulders to the ground. It’s then that you realize he’s cut away the clasp and effectively stripped you of your Atreides title.

The clasp bounces against the polished floor.

Compelled by shock, by pure reflex, you bend down to grab it. Feyd-Rautha’s boot closes down on your hand before you can retrieve the clasp, slamming your palm down over it as he traps your hand against the floor. You gasp in surprise, and pain, the pressure of his booted foot clearly more demonstrative than punishing. For now.

“I told you that you won’t be needing that,” he says, exasperatedly informal. “Stand up.”

Teeth gritting, you squirm beneath his boot, trying desperately to reclaim your hand. “No!” You shout at him. “It is rightfully mine.”

He presses his boot down harder. You squeal.

“You are rightfully mine. And you will do as I say. A wife with a broken hand is still capable of fulfilling her duties.”

Shame burns your face and couples with the disgust taking root in your chest. Feyd-Rautha regards you coolly from above. If you thought you would survive the attempt, you’d snap his leg.

“Fine,” you spit out.

His smooth brow raises. “What?”

“Fine.”

“Louder,” he orders. “I want them all to hear you. Forfeit your Atreides loyalty.”

In the few seconds that you take to consider this, he pushes his entire weight down on your hand. The pain steals away all rational thought as stars appear in your vision. Your breath saws painfully in and out of your lungs. It takes all of your strength to grit out, “I forfeit my Atreides loyalty.”

A bout of protest explodes from Leto and Jessica, and the sound of their disbelief cuts you deep. You collapse onto the ground, clutching your injured hand and watch in horror as Feyd-Rautha stomps on the clasp and shatters it.

Pieces go flying.

There’s a terrible joy in the Baron’s voice: “Enough, nephew. I believe you’ve made your point.”

“That was completely unnecessary —” Leto begins. He quiets as a trio of Harkonnen guards gather not towards him, but you, weapons and lasguns trained on your crumpled form.

A memory emerges from your subconscious, an afternoon in which Leto mentioned that having a child is like having a lasgun pressed to your temple at all times.

His throat bobs with suppressed emotion.

Your parents won’t try anything if it puts you in peril. Even Jessica’s control of The Voice is useless.

“Lady Y/N is now a member of the House Harkonnen. Her husband will do with her what he sees fit,” the Baron declares. “Nephew, have you had quite enough?”

Feyd-Rautha faces his uncle. “For now.”

You tremble beside him. A heady mix of pain and anger boils beneath your skin. The Harkonnen soldiers fall back as the Baron waves a massive hand.

“Take her to her chambers. I’ve had enough.”

You protest, “No! I need to say goodbye to my family!”

A sickening smile spreads on the Baron’s face, and he holds out his arms. “We’re your family now.”

You don’t even get a final glimpse of your parents as the soldiers hoist you to your feet and corner you off from them. The roughness of the guards jostles your injured hand. “Get off me,” you growl, yanking yourself free from their grasps.

The soldiers move to contain you once more but Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Listen to your future Baronness.” You gape at him. The faint hint of a smirk returns on his face, and he steps toward you. “I’ll escort her.”

Then he grabs your injured hand as a tether.

The doors to the throne room slam shut.

Feyd-Rautha’s grip on your hand is strong, undoubtedly a reminder of his control. It takes more than a few pulls to dispatch him and, once you do, he whirls on you with a curious, almost bewildered look.

You seethe, “What is wrong with you? How dare you destroy my family pin.”

“You cannot be my wife if you have loyalties elsewhere,” he says, as if the explanation is obvious. “Your loyalties are to me and the House Harkonnen.”

“I decided where my loyalties lay,” you tell him. “And they belong to no one but myself.”

Feyd-Rautha studies you, then huffs.

“I’m being serious,” you hiss.

“I know.” He steps casually toward you, though it’s anything but. Your body tenses. “So am I.”

An indescribable feeling crashes over you, sweeping you nearly off your feet. Everything you’ve heard about him vanishes. In a move that surprises even yourself, you advance on him, close enough to see the glint of glee in his dark eyes. He’s actually enjoying this.

“You have taken everything from me,” you sneer at him. “My home. My family. My name. My future.” You inhale shakily, fighting back a sob. “But you will not take away my allegiance.”

“Do you think that I wanted this?” Feyd-Rautha asks bitterly. “And don’t pretend as if you didn’t just forfeit that allegiance. To me. Have you already forgotten?” He touches your face, much to your chagrin. He crooks one finger under your chin and raises it. “Need I remind you?”

“You’re a monster.”

Feyd-Rautha’s handsome features arrange into what you can only describe as satisfaction. “Yes I am.”

You recoil as the Harkonnen then presses his lips to yours, holding your chin in place to keep you from shying away. It’s brief, almost perfunctory in nature. A passionless, predatory claim.

He pulls away, and the subsequent sound of your slap reverberates through the empty corridor.

Feyd-Rautha clenches his jaw. Your hand stings from the strike, and you hold it at your side in anticipation of a retaliating blow. He rolls his neck. An eternity passes before he turns his attention back to you, pale cheek still reddened by your hand. It pleases you to notice it.

“We’re even now. Wife.”

Feyd-Rautha snatches your hand, which until that moment the pain had been subdued by adrenaline. You wince. He kisses your already mottling knuckles, the sensitive skin of your wrist, never pulling his eyes from yours.

You refuse to react, to acknowledge the flicker of heat ignited low in your belly.

Feyd-Rautha drops your hand then and, as if nothing had happened, turns on his booted heel and starts down the opposite direction. “Come, wife. It’s time I show you our quarters.”

Part 3

Tags:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle

[apricot-blossomss]

Hellooo can you write a fic with Apollo x reader where he has to convince his father to grant her immortality so that they can get married, and later in the story their telling they’re kids how they fell in love and please make reader a daughter of poseidon. Thank u💋💋

☛ apollo asks his father for fem!daughter of poseidon! reader's immortality & his uncle for reader's hand in marriage

☛ sfw

☛ changed it a bit, hope you don't mind!

"father, have i ever asked something from you?"

apollo was a young god. not age-wise, of course. but his appearance had always been that of a young man, and though he had lived for a millennia, his bright and youthful character had never made him look a day older than twenty-one. now, his palms upward as if in prayer, his eyes pleading, he looked even younger. his lyre he had placed before his fathers throne, where he, too, stood. not as a fellow god, but as a son.

"no, you don't ask. you just take" zeus mused, frowning at his sons defeated stance. the god looked as if he was about to fall to his knees and prostrate if he didn't get what he asked. whatever kind of spell you had on him, it was working. "but this you can't take, can you?" with a sigh, he rose and stepped down the steps of his throne.

"i love her," apollo breathed, green eyes shining with the intensity of the declaration. "what must i do to convince you? i'll do anything, father." he meant it. he was ready to face every obstacle and trial, to fight sny creature, endure every torture to be with you forever.

"anything?" his father raised his brows and stepped away from him towards the center of the throne room. the gold tinted windows, reflecting the sunlight off the walls, surrounded his son with a golden hue, as if emitted from his golden locks themselves. he was one of the most glorious and mighty gods in the pantheon. as the mightiest one himself, he of course knew how crazy love could make you. but an eternal life? he frowned. "for this one mortal woman?"

"what are you saying?" apollo asked challengingly but his father raised a hand to silence him. with a sigh, he stepped closer and placed an understanding hand on his sons shoulder.

"son, I know how love can make you feel. I know how a good woman can uh", he chose his words with caution, "twist the mind of any man. but she is a mortal woman. son, you may be head over heels in love, but think of all the men and women you have loved." he chuckled. "the number may rise close to mine. the way i see it, she's just a fling. you'll grow tired of her. marriage does that."

"don't project your character onto others," apollo replied coldly and the golden glass of his eyes hardened with a frown. he didn't like the way his father was talking about you.

his fathers eyes widened slightly. but he overplayed it with a fatherly chuckle, stepping away a safety distance or two. "out of all the ladies, why did it have to be this one?"

"don't worry about your brother. i will take care of him," his son replied immediately and with a confidence that zeus could only admire. he wouldn't feel overly keen to break the news of his lovesick son over poseidon's daughter to him. he doubted it would be that easy, though it had not been the original intent of his question.

"that wasn't my concern son," he said calmly and began to stroll next to the windows. "just... i get a beautiful woman messing with the mind. but this one... not that she isn't fairly pretty, but you can't say she's a beauty, not compared to the mortals that usually catch our divine eye. in comparison with them, she's plain. beneath you."

"how dare you."

zeus was surprised to find his son's furious eyes gritted teeth and clenched fists. his father's raised eyebrow only made the storm swirling inside apollo thunder. until he heard your soft voice in his head. yes, if you were here, you would tell him to calm down. then, you would snort and say that his father wasn't really wrong, you know? And he would lean over and press kisses all over your face, trying to convey to you just how wrong he was. and you would giggle and pull him towards your lips.

the thought of you allowed him to calm down for now, unclench his fists and change his gaze from a glare to a firm look of determination. "i don't care about your opinion on her looks. all i want is her. forever."

"and what if i say no?"

apollo felt his heart skip a beat. "i-" his voice trembled. the iron grip around his soul tightened and a desperation crept up, up his throat, out of his mouth. "i'll come upon the mortal realm a monster. i'll be a catastrophe, wage war against your worshippers until you grant me my wish."

he didn't dare imagine your reaction should you ever hear of those words. oh how you would scold him, how you would hug him, ground him to the earth. the longer he was away from you, the more he craved your touch, your voice, your reassurance. you would never condone the actions he was threatening his father and the world with, but he couldn't exist without you. that's why he held his fathers shocked gaze. "my arrows will wipe out all that pleases you, father, if you take her from me."

zeus was, contrary to what some would have you believe, not stupid. the only thing stopping him now from granting his son this wish was his stubbornness. but he had to recognize that you were not worth the war his son was threatening- at least not to him. "alright," he said begrudgingly. "if you manage to persuade my brother, i will grant you your wish."

the iron grip around his heart loosened and apollo felt like he could finally breathe again. a triumphant smile crept onto his lips as he picked up his lyre. he couldn't wait to get back and break the news to you, you, who had been so rightfully skeptical. there was only one obstacle in the way. your father.

☀️

poseidon let him wait, but that was just to make him antsy and apollo knew that. your father had known of the relationship for a long time for you would frequent the beach -this beach more specifically-for your picknick dates. no doubt the ocean and its inhabitants had informed him of his daughter's company. but this would be the first time the two men would get to talk about your relationship.

not that apollo cared very much for your or his father's approval. poseidon had never taken a great interest in you or your life, apollo didn't see what right he had to approve or disapprove of any of your choices. but you had sensibly reminded him that he should at least pretend to ask for your hand to not offend your quick-tempered father. so, here he was, as the last rays of sunlight, golden, orange and red, danced ontop of the surface in an ethereal display of beauty and poseidon emerged from the waves.

apollo rose from his sitting position to go over and greet him when your father stepped onto the fine white sand of your favorite beach. "uncle"

"apollo," poseidon said, sizing him up in suspicion. "you wanted to talk to me. is this about your relationship with my daughter?" when apollo simply gave him a nod, the god sighed and began walking up the beach, the younger god walking next to him.

"so?"

"i'm going to propose to her."

poseidon stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face apollo, who stared him down without a hint of reluctance. the god knew that you were his nephew's latest favored mortal, but nothing could have prepared him for this. marriage? "you can't marry her, apollo," he said. "she is a mortal. you are a god."

"that doesn't matter anymore," apollo replied and resumed their walk.

"need i remind you of your past relationships with mortals?" poseidon argued. "your lovers have a strange habit of dying or turning into vegetation, you can't deny that."

the other god didn't answer. of course, he had pandered the risk for a long time, it had haunted him every time you weren't in his sights and the worry could only be forgotten when you were there, wonderful as you were, and kissed them away. the truth was, he had nothing to say in return.

"did you tell her about the risks involved?" poseidon pressed and the question drew an ironic laugh from the sun god.

"she knows of the risks involved. you may not know because you didn't care but she is smart and she always has the upper hand. she decided to be with me, and when i had worked up the courage to talk to her about them, tell her being with me was dangerous, she only smiled because she, of course, already knew." he locked eyes with your father who had fallen silent. "she can make her own decision. she has made her own decision."

poseidon's eyes narrowed in realization. "you didn't come here to ask me for her hand."

"no," apollo said coolly. "i came here to ask you to respect her decision, whatever it may be."

apollo had expected another protest, maybe even a fight, but, as unpredictable as ever, poseidon nodded hesitantly. "fine. do you want to ask her now? because I think she is heading our way"

as soon as he saw you in your white and blue dress, smiling brightly and hurriedly approaching him on the beach, all the stress and uncertainty of the last hours washed off of him, leaving behind nothing but love and excitement. your father had left, and like a little child, he ran towards you to lock his arms around your waist. you shrieked in surprise when you were lifted clean off your feet and into the air by your lover who spun you around with the brightest smile you had ever seen.

"good news?" you asked when he set you down, still holding on tightly onto your waist. your lover settled for a simple hum and leaned down for a kiss, but your hand got in the way. only reluctantly he opened his eyes and lightly kissed the fingers blocking his mouth. your eyebrow was raised and he knew that you knew. "apollo, how many lives did you threaten to make this happen?"

☀️

"dad?"

"hm?"

"how much do you love mommy?" your son asked, laying on his fathers chest, just having finished his bedtime song. you were closing the nursery's window and looked over at your boys expectantly. it had been five wonderful years of marriage, yet just a small part of what would be your immortal life with the person you loved more than anything.

"that's a good question, darling. how much do you love me, apollo?" you smiled and walked over to them, running a gentle hand through the golden locks your son had inherented from his father.

a grin flashed over your husbands face and he reached out to you with one arm, the other one draped over his son's shoulders. "i love you from the upwards most point of the sky down to the depths of tartarus. so much that years would not be enough time to sing all the songs I have composed in honor of our love. so much that aphrodite cried at our wedding, do you remember that, sunshine?"

"of course," you laughed and let him pull you closer. "i love you too, my love" apollo came up to meet you for a sweet kiss. his lips tasted of the apple cake you three had made together today, a baking session that resulted in dough-stained shirts and a messy but delicious and only slightly burned cake.

"eww," your toddler squealed and trashed in his fathers arms, causing the two of you to break the kiss. apollo pouted jokingly at his little boy who pouted back. "why do you kiss mommy so much?"

"'cause mommy wants to be kissed,” his father retorted and ran his fingers over his sons tummy in a way that had him giggling and kicking his feet. "and now, you're going to bed so i can kiss mommy some more."

"nooo," your son protested but apollo swiftly tucked him in and ruffled his blond hair. you took a hold of his small hand and pecked his little palm, still sticky from the dough. he hadn't properly cleaned himself up.

"good night, darling," you hummed and followed your lover out of the room, turning off the lights. now, the only thing illuminating the room was the night light in the form of a sun.

just when you had closed the door, warm lips consumed yours once more. you smiled into the kiss and buried your hands in his hair as apollo deepened the kiss. head angled back, back against the doorframe, and an apple-tarte-kiss. "what about another one of those?" he whispered in between kisses before moving on to your neck.

"that doesn't sound bad." your hands sneaked around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. "doesn't sound bad at all."