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mythicmanuscripts · 1 month

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Hi! It's me again! 🤗

I was reading about the awful things that happened to Aegon in the brothel. Him so desperately trying to be taken care of and only finding more abuse broke my heart 🥺 and also got me thinking... What if he doesn't have a good, loving wife to make it all better? 😭 What if instead, one of the workers (Reader) finally takes pity on him and treats him the way he needs so much? Taking him away from the awful workers and under her wing? I imagine he would become instantly addicted. Never letting other worker touch him again. Only accepting her services. I bet he would get possessive as well. Paying an enormous amount of gold to be the only one that can touch her.

Do you think he would dare bring her to live in the castle? Or even more scandalous, actually MARRY her? Or he would be too scared of his pious mother's reaction (as well as the rest of the kingdoms') to a whore becoming queen? There is also the possibility of him just gifting her a big house with servants, close to the castle, so he can visit whenever he wants needs... Sooooo many possibilities! 😳

What do you think?

Oh my god. Are you sure you don't want to take over this blog because this is INCREDIBLE??? I am obsessed. I actually think I'm gonna tag this with 'subby Aegon!au' so that we can discuss this more and you guys can easily use the tag to find everything about this because I fear this may be my new obsession.

Anyway, NSFW sub!aegon that starts very angsty but has a happy ending under the cut!!

So for anyone who missed the post that inspired this, we were discussing how Aegon would know he was a submissive and go to a brothel to submit to the workers there. He desperately wants to just be loved and cared for and feel like a good boy but none of the workers will do that and he doesn't quite have the language to explain what he wants/needs. So instead he just ends up going through all this abuse and humiliation and degradation just to hear them say he did well at the end. He always goes into subdrop afterwards and he feels so terrible but he also can't stop going because it's the only time that he actually feels like he's good enough.

For this AU, I think it makes the most sense that you first encounter Aegon after he's had a scene with someone else? Cause Aegon always pays very VERY well and so the brothel workers who have dominated him always ensure that no one else can lay with him because they want all that money? Like maybe the madam of the brothel you work at has a very strict rule that no one other than her is allowed to lay with the king. Of course there's plenty of rumours going around the brothel about what he likes he and pretty much everyone knows that the madam dominates him.

You first encounter Aegon after he finished a particularly brutal scene with the madame. Half an hour later when the madam wants to use that room again he's still laying there? He hasn't even gotten dressed, is just laying there with a thin blanket wrapped around himself.

The madam does not want to deal with him because she knows from experience that he gets all clingy and weepy after a scene and so she sends you in to kick him out. Well, she tells you to kick him out.

But then you walk in and he just... he looks so small? You slowly walk over and gently place your hand on his shoulder. He jumps up and scrambles off the bed, mumbling apologies because he knows the madam told him to leave and he still hadnt.

You quickly tell him it's alright, that he's done nothing wrong and the look he gives you is just so heartbreaking? He's all wide eyed and shocked and there's a very very small smile on his face when he whispers, "Really? I... you're sure? I'm good?"

Which, yeah there's no way you're kicking him out now. You help him get back into his clothes and then take him to your private room. The rule is supposed to be no clients in the personal quarters, but this is quite literally the king so you don't see anyone complaining.

You keep an arm wrapped around his waist, guiding him like that and he just leans against you? You can't believe that the madam doesn't stay with him after she dominates him, especially because he's just so sweet? He's leaning against you, mumbling thanks and letting you lead him without complaint. He's so sweet and vulnerable and you can't believe the madam would leave him and not care for him.

He's so shocked when he finds himself in your private quarters, and he's even more surprised when you wet a rag and gently clean the tears off his face. He leans into every one of your touches, trying to soak up as much attention as he can.

You ask him if you can undress him again so you can clean him properly, and he just starts sobbing and throws himself in your arms because he can't believe how lucky he is. You just hold him and tell him that he's doing so good, that you just want to get him cleaned up a little more and then he can take a nice nap with you.

He closes his eyes and cries silently as you clean him. There are welts on his back from the madam's whip so you have to ensure you clean them properly or risk infection. You expect to have to clean dried cum from between his thighs but to your surprise there's nothing?

When you ask, he just wines and mumbles, "Wasnt good, couldnt cum" which just breaks your heart because you refuse to entertain any possibility that this sweet little thing wasnt absolutely perfect.

You finish cleaning him and you're about to help him get his clothes back on when he just kinda collapses onto the bed. You don't even bother with that then and instead you just get into bed with him.

"Come here," you tell him, opening your arms and he immediately dives right in. You hold him tight and when you press a kiss to the e top of his head he just melts into you.

When he wakes, he's hard. He tries to apologise for it but you won't hear it, and you ask if you can help him. He tries to shake his head and say that he can't go through that again, but then you interrupt him and promise him that you only mean helping him cum and do nothing else.

He's so sweet when you stroke him, mumbling how good it feels and begging to cum and after he does, he even takes your hand and licks it clean? He's just the bed boy and he's clearly trying so so hard to please you, so you make sure to praise him constantly because the poor thing deserves it.

The next time he comes to the brothel, he tells the madam to get lost and asks for you. He won't even consider another, not after you cared for him and praised him and made him feel safe. Of course the madam is not happy about this, but she cant stop him and so he goes to the room and waits for you.

When you walk in and ask why he's asked for you, he just says that he really liked you from before. And then he actually looks nervous? Like you might tell him that he has to go back to the madam.

You tell him that as much as you'd love to, you can't do what the madam does to him. You explain that you can't degrade him or slap him or anything like that. But then he just smiles even wider and tells you he doesn't want that, he just wants what you did last time.

He seems all blushy and nervous and there's a very obvious tent in his breeches. You smirk then and say, "Aw, do you want me to take care of you? Yeah? Let me do all the thinking and you can just be my pretty good boy?"

Instantly he's slipping from the bed and down onto his knees, kneeling and nodding comically quick because yes. That's everything he's ever wanted and more.

And he's just so good for you? He listens to every single order, and he begs so prettily and his sounds are just insane. When it's over, you pull him into your chest and kiss his head and tell him he did so so well for you. He's just on cloud nine, because this is absolutely everything he's ever wanted and more.

When he leaves, he pays you double what he pays the Madam and when you tell him that's too much, he says that there's no amount of gold in the world that could be enough to thank you for how you looked after him. He asks if he can come back, if you'll let him do that again and of course you agree to let him.

The madam isnt happy with you of course, but she can't exactly force the king to lay with her instead. For about three weeks things continue like that, with Aegon visiting every few days and paying you very very handsomely. He always stays for a few hours after this, just getting cuddles and kisses.

After a while, the madam comes to you and is unhappy that Aegon will not be with anyone else. Aegon pays very handsomely and he also lets them basically beat him up, so of course the madam is unhappy that she no longer get aegon's time. Aegon, meanwhile, will not even look at another.

The next time Aegon comes to the brothel, you're with another client? As much as you wish that you could just see Aegon, if you did that then the madam would kick you out. The madam is overjoyed when Aegon walks in and you're with another client, because it means she can swoop in and tell Aegon you're busy but that she'd be more than happy to do it instead.

And Aegon just... he knew that obviously you had other clients, but knowing and actually being there while you were with someone else are two different things. His smile falls instantly, and he says that he doesn't want anyone else. The madam tries again, maybe even touching him and telling him to think about all the good times they had, which prompts him to stumble backwards and very firmly say that he won't be seeking the services of anyone else.

He ends up leaving the brothel and then comes back the following night and is so so relieved to find that you are free. He's much more whiney and clingy than you're used to, to the point where he cries if you even let go of his hand. You end up having to pull away o ask what's going on, because he seems very distressed. You hadnt seen him like that since you took care of him that first night.

He gets quiet and then eventually asks how many other men you see every day. You sigh, because you knew this question was coming and you're not sure what to say to him. You end up just saying that this is your job, and that the madam is already upset with you for being the only one he goes to so you can't risk only seeing him because then you'd almost certainly be kicked out of the brothel entirely and have no wear to live.

Before you had even finished speaking Aegon had already made up his mind to give you enough gold that you never have to be with anyone else. You try to tell him that's not necessary, but for him it absolutely is. He will not allow the only person who makes him feel good in the entire seven kingdoms to struggle to earn a living when he is quite literally the king.

At first you turn him down, stating that you have to earn your own way and that you can't rely on him.

And then he goes quiet for a moment before he just softly says, "But, I rely on you? We can rely on each other?" Which is just the sweetest thing you've ever heard. You kiss his head and let him curl against your chest, giving him a little squeeze before telling him that you won't let him pay everything, but you will ket him pay enough to the madam that she will allow you to only take clients of your choice and also to set aside 4 nights every week that are just for him. It's not everything he wanted, but it's pretty damn close. And Aegon is so obsessed with you that he will absolutely take 4 days a week of your undivided attention.

It carries on like that for a while, with you and him being together 4 nights a week and he's just... he's so sweet and he's so perfect and he loves being with you so much. Maybe sometimes he doesn't even want anything sexual? Which yeah is wild cause Aegon is pretty much always horny, but when he's getting so thoroughly fucked every second day, sometimes he just wants to be with you.

Even when he doesn't want something sexual, that is not at all to say he doesn't still want to come be with you. Aegon would sleep in the same bed as you every single night if he could. He also just loves being able to talk to you about his day? You always listen to him and offer him advice. He's never really even able to feel like he can decompress at the end of the day, but now he's always able to with you. He knows that the moment he walks through the doors, you will know how to help him.

I think that eventually you'd accept his offer of him being your only client, and the day you tell him that he is smiling and giggling for the entire day. He definitely buys you a little cottage close to the keep, and as much as you try to say he doesn't need to, he won't hear it.

In fact he actually loves providing for you like that? You do so so much for him and he knows he'd never be able to function without you and so to know that he can do something to help you is just amazing and it makes him so so so happy.

I absolutely adore this concept!! This ask is already insanely long so I'm not gonna go any further here but if anyone else has thoughts about this let me know!!! I'd love to discuss it more :))

#subby Aegon!au #sub!aegon #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon smut #aegon the second #king aegon #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd

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kesujo · 1 month

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Chapter 4 - Miss All-Night

Previous chapter here.

Having finished his transformation now for a week, Kang Seojun didn’t really feel particularly different. Although he could definitely feel the physical improvements at times, he didn’t really feel as different as he thought he would. So, as a way to experiment with the physical limitations of his body, Seojun conducted various experiments and discovered a newfound love for running.

Before, it felt like he could barely run a few hundred meters before starting to feel his relatively unathletic body start tiring out. But now, that feeling simply never came. No matter how much Seojun ran, that feeling of muscular fatigue or that squeezing tightness in his lungs and chest and the shortness of breath just never came. What replaced those feelings was the rush of wind on his skin, the blur of the surroundings, the pumping of his legs as his feet propelled him forward bounds of steps at a time. It was that great initial feeling of running, but prolonged for minutes, hours on end.

But that was about the extent of the changes Seojun felt; there was no aura of confidence that he had suddenly developed similar to the ones Taeyeon or Yeoreum had. Kang Seojun’s third encounter with a succubus just confirmed that the only changes in his body were physical when she landed right next to him as he was tending to the garden surrounding Taeyeon’s house.

“Oh, pretty!”

Seojun screamed in a way that was much too feminine to his liking, his body jumping a good few feet away from the demoness who was currently tucking her wings back into her body.

“Are you Taeyeon’s newest servant? Kang Seojun, right? Is Taeyeon home?”

“Y-Yeah, nice to meet you—Taeyeon said she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning…”

This was the third insanely beautiful woman he, in his previous life, would’ve never suspected would even talk to him, much less address by name. She stood about a good few centimeters taller than Taeyeon and, as sexy as Taeyeon was, this succubus was even more so. Maybe it was her considerably curvier body, the slim waist accentuating her bigger bust and wider hips, her legs striking the perfect balance between having substance and being slim. Maybe it was how fierce her eyes looked, or how luscious and plump her lips were, or how creamy her skin looked, or how unabashedly she showed off all of her assets, her shorts leaving miles of legs on full display and her top showing a good eyeful of cleavage.

The second sign that the transformation did little to change the way his brain worked was how quickly he felt a tightness in his pants just from looking at the brazenly, dangerously sexy succubus shooting him a sweet smile, a sharp contrast to her alluring appearance. “Ooh, it’s nice to meet you! My name is Tiffany; I heard really good things about you from Taeyeon.”

Seojun almost jumped when Tiffany confidently walked forward and gave him a quick hug. In that split second, his suspicions were confirmed when he felt her well-endowed bosom press quickly but firmly against his own chest through the light shirt he was wearing. Even the bubbly Yeoreum wasn’t this forward and friendly … something about Tiffany seemed a bit different than the other two he’s met. Her appearance, her actions, even her manner of speaking somewhat … what was it?

“You know, I want to taste this infamous delicacy of semen for myself.”

Seojun felt like he could’ve done a spit take if he had any water in his mouth.

Such straightforwardness was definitely not a typical South Korean attribute … that was it! Foreign was the right word. This difference Seojun noticed in Tiffany compared to the others was that Tiffany seemed a little foreign, Western especially. Maybe American—not that he really ever met an American face-to-face.

“May I?”

“Wha-What? Right here?”

Seojun was so taken by surprise that he couldn’t even think straight, blurting out the response before Tiffany’s giggle and reply made him realize how stupid his words were. “No, silly. We’ll go inside. Unless you’re into that kinda thing. I don’t mind.”

“Oh…” Seojun felt his face heat up in embarrassment. In that moment, how dumb he felt was beyond words. Of course, Tiffany meant—wait, what? She didn’t mind? As in, having sex outside, in the open? That idea … while horrifying in its own right, stirred inside him a deep kind of excitement, especially considering it with this spunky, overly friendly, aggressively sexual demoness.

“But, I mean, it’ll be more comfortable inside, on a bed, a few hours in.”

Seojun blinked a few times. “What? A few hours in?”

Tiffany laughed. “Yeah!” While she was still a few centimeters shorter than Seojun, the way she grabbed his hand and led him back inside exuded supreme confidence, similar to Taeyeon albeit with a bit more of a friendly energy. If Seojun were to describe the difference, Taeyeon gave off more of the ‘kind but stern mistress’ vibe whereas Tiffany gave off the ‘fun-loving fuck buddy’ vibe. “I hope you’re ready for a long night,” she said, having sped them right into his bedroom, throwing him onto the bed and straddling his waist with a demonic, seductive expression on her face, “because tonight, I’m not letting you sleep at all.”

Seojun’s brain had trouble processing the words, even as Tiffany threw her skimpy top off. He thought he understood one of the caveats of Taeyeon’s contract with him, that he agree to have sex with any of her succubus guests, and again thought he had a firmer grasp of it when Yeoreum came along and became the second woman he fucked. But being faced with Tiffany, who so brazenly arrived and threw herself onto him—or maybe it was more accurate to say that she threw him onto herself—made him realize that maybe he didn’t fully grasp just how lucky of a person he was.

But there was still one thing he was hung up on. “W-Wait—” Seojun finally found the strength to say those words as Tiffany was just about to rid him of his last article of clothing, herself already fully in the nude. The succubus stopped, her sharp gaze feeling like it pierced straight through his head and into his soul.

Tiffany seemed fully intent on following through with her last few words, meaning that she did a quick evaluation of him and determined she wanted him that badly? Taeyeon, on their first encounter, mentioned something about him ‘smelling’ delicious; maybe Tiffany could sense it too? Seojun tried not to let it get to his head, that all it took was a few seconds before one of the most strikingly beautiful and sexy women his eyes ever had the pleasure of landing on to become so thirsty for him that she wanted to go all night with him, but it was damn near impossible. Still… “U-Um, when Taeyeon tried to do something like this, I ended up passing out after not even an hour. I finished my transformation so it might not be as big of an issue, but the whole night, I’m not sure if I can last…”

Although it was a twinkling laughter that flowed from her lips, the fierceness of her gaze never diminished. It was quite amazing, really. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I promise, you will.”

The words, spoken with such confidence and command, seemed so much like a directive to be obeyed rather than a spoken statement of faith that Seojun felt he had no choice but to believe in her. How, he had no idea—all he could think of at that moment was Tiffany’s warm hand, her slim digits wrapping around the length of his rock-hard cock.

A low, melodic hum of satisfaction emanated from Tiffany’s throat as she gave the erect penis a few pumps, the swollen tip already oozing with precum. “You smell so fucking delicious,” she said in a near whisper, her eyes locked onto the shaft pushed flush against the palm of her hand. “Fuck, I can’t wait for you to pump my pussy full with your thick cum.”

Seojun let out another shaky breath, the arousal in his system feeling like it was causing his blood vessel to burst at the seams. He only had a few chances to look at her ass and already couldn’t take his mind off it; through her form-fitting shorts, its nice, perfectly round shape was perfectly accentuated by the tight cloth and her wide hips. Just the thought of it caused his dick to twitch inside Tiffany’s firm grasp, precum now flowing freely onto the backs of her fingertips.

This was another thing Seojun noticed changed about him; his body seemed to release semen in much greater quantities, which made perfect sense for one who was meant to be a succubus’s primary food source. He could see that it was the case, but never really felt it, so it didn’t phase him at all—that is, until he saw Taeyeon’s pussy dripping with his semen after they had finished a particularly vigorous ‘feeding session’.

But while those effects were minimal on Seojun, it always excited his partner—usually Taeyeon, and now Tiffany. “Wow, your scent is so thick and you’re serving up so much appetizer, you’re really spoiling me.” The succubus licked her lips, her head dipping down and capturing the stream of precum with her tongue. Seojun grunted through closed lips, feeling the wet muscle make firm contact with his erection, feeling it almost snuggle it in its hot embrace as she lapped up the ejaculate, replacing it with her saliva.

When Tiffany’s tongue retreated back into her mouth and she sealed her lips, her throat flexing as the ‘appetizer’ slid down her throat, Tiffany’s eyes closed, a loud hum of approval and primal lust reverberating from her. “Fuck, I haven’t fed off a succubus’s servant for so long, but I’ve never had precum this delicious in my entire life.”

“I-I’m glad,” was all Seojun could muster, wholly unaccustomed to receiving such a barrage of compliments Kang Seojun once again thanked his lucky stars that whatever divine being that was watching out for him blessed him with the ability to live such an extraordinary life.

Tiffany slid off him, kneeling at the bedside, pushing his legs apart just enough so that she could fit between them. “You can be as rough with me as you like,” Tiffany told him with a smile so dazzling Seojun couldn’t even process her words before she enveloped his dick with her mountainous mounds.

Seojun let out a hiss, a pang of pleasure shooting up his spine. The warmth radiating from her body, the pressure being applied to his cock from the huge mounds of flesh, and absolutely impossibly soft texture of her boobs rubbing against the length of his shaft, all of it overloaded Seojun’s brain. Sure, he received titjobs from Taeyeon before, but with Tiffany it felt completely different. The difference in their bust sizes created a much more pleasurable tightness enveloping his cock, the confident smile sitting on Tiffany’s lips as she vigorously rubbed her milk jugs up and down his shaft only adding to the appeal to the whole situation. It wasn’t like his sense of pleasure was amplified like from Yeoreum or was being attacked from multiple places like from Taeyeon, but something about Tiffany’s eagerness and the pure sexiness of her lewd body being used to pleasure him created the sense of a building orgasm more quickly than usual.

“Do you like them?”

Seojun grunted in reply, his fists balled into tight fists, his eyes deadlocked onto her pink, delicious looking nipples sway with the motion of her bouncing tits. “They feel fucking great, Tiffany—shit!”

In a flash, Tiffany released her breast’s hold on his cock and replaced it with her mouth, her plump lips sliding all the way down to the base of his dick with ease, the warm, wet cavern completely devouring the rock-hard cock. Her skillful tongue wrapped itself around the circumference of it, bathing it in another thin veneer of lubricant. Seojun vision was suddenly replaced with the crown of Tiffany’s head, her hair gently bobbing with the up-and-down motion of her head as her blowjob started to rev up in speed and ferocity.

The combination of the sight of her head bobbing up and down on his dick along with the feeling of her lips and tongue gliding along his shaft was devastating, but not enough to prevent him from noticing the horns growing out of her head.

‘You can be as rough with me as you like’

Tiffany’s words repeated themselves in his head, and with that, an idea suddenly popped into his head.

His hands lifted away from his sides and onto Tiffany’s head, directly onto the protrusions sprouting from her head. Taeyeon, for the most part, liked to keep her horns hidden, so Seojun never had a chance to touch them before, so he was a bit apprehensive at first at first contact. However, upon feeling them, he could immediately tell they were as sturdy as they appeared and gripped onto it tightly, getting into the rhythm of Tiffany’s bobbing before adding his own strength into the mix.

Tiffany’s muffled moans crescendoed, Seojun’s roughness spurring the eager succubus on even further. Seojun could sense the impact of his roughness and understood why Tiffany had said those words: it wasn’t just a reassuring statement, but an urging one. Unlike Taeyeon, who was wild in her own ways but never particularly physically rough, Tiffany wanted it. She fed off that energy and responded in kind, her increased enthusiasm demonstrated in the increased vigor of her blowjob. Her movements sped up, his cock hitting even further back into her throat, a subsequent tightness increasing in response to the sucking Tiffany was doing in an attempt to eliminate as much air inside her mouth as possible, leaving the only thing inside her mouth Seojun’s cock.

Seojun barely had the time to warn Tiffany about his impending orgasm before it suddenly slammed into him, a torrent of his seed ruthlessly spraying the back of her throat, sliding straight down into her esophagus. “Fuck, sorry—” he found himself stopping mid-apology, seeing Tiffany’s delighted expression as her throat flexed impressively, not missing a single beat in swallowing each stream of semen as it erupted from the tip of his dick and directly into her digestive system. When his orgasm subsided a few seconds later, the familiar feeling of fatigue struck; although it wasn’t nearly as bad as his first time, he could definitely feel it. So how the hell was he supposed to survive an entire night if he was already feeling weary?

Seojun’s hands came off her horns, Tiffany releasing her lips’ vice grip on his dick. Although her mouth was no longer encasing his dick, he could still feel bits of its lingering warmth in the form of her saliva still coating its exterior. “Wow … Taeyeon always chooses good servants, but I don’t think any of them match up to you,” Tiffany noted, her hand reaching out and giving the stiff member a few pumps. “Maybe I should just live here…”

“Tiffany, sorry, but I’m already starting to feel a little fatigued. I can still go a few rounds, but all night…”

“Oh! Of course, let me fix that.”

Tiffany climbed back onto his lap, straddling his legs with her perfectly portioned ones. Her hands wrapped around his head, and in the next moment, her lips were on his.

Feeling her plump lips on his was just as amazing as he thought it would be. Her fresh vanilla scent wafted into his nose, her hands gently cupping his cheeks, the soft membrane pressed fiercely against his. Seojun, still being a relative novice at kissing, let Tiffany lead, soon after feeling her tilt her head for better access before her tongue came out to prod at his closed lips. He obliged, grunting in surprise at the sudden intrusion of the warm, wet muscle into his mouth making contact with his own tongue. The feeling was so overwhelming—Tiffany’s ferocity, the speed at which everything happened, Seojun barely registered that the feeling of his fatigue was vanishing as more and more of her saliva entered his mouth. It wasn’t until Tiffany pulled away that he connected the dots—was this her Trait? The ability to increase the stamina of her partner through the ingestion of her saliva?

What felt like minutes later, Tiffany released their lip lock, her hands falling onto his shoulders. “Better?” Seojun didn’t even realize his erection flaring back to life until her right hand continued downwards, giving it another few pumps for good measure.

“Yeah.”

Tiffany smiled, patting his cheek lovingly. “Good.” The gesture caught Seojun by surprise; the way she smiled at him, the way she gently patted his cheek … maybe it was just a lack of experience from Seojun, but it felt like Tiffany was acting like he was her boyfriend of a couple of years—or maybe decades, considering her immortality—by now. Even Taeyeon, as warm and kind of a mistress as she was, didn’t treat him with such loving gestures. Was this another cultural difference between the two? “You seem to have caught on pretty quick, so let’s get straight to it!”

She jumped off his lap, turning around and bending over slightly, presenting her shapely, perfectly round ass to him. Her hands reached back and spread the cheeks apart, revealing her glimmering wet folds already dribbling with her own precum, the puckered brown hole sitting atop her vaginal lips. Tiffany’s head was turned around, looking at Seojun completely mesmerized by the sight before him, watching his erection come back in full force. “Like what you see?”

Seojun could do nothing but nod, his throat feeling particularly dry. Sure, Taeyeon always demonstrated supreme confidence, but never did she put up such a brazen display as Tiffany did, showing off her pussy and backdoor with her cheeks spread apart, looking back at him with a teasing yet confidence smirk on her face. “Your—your ass is really nice, and you have a beautiful pussy.”

Seojun lost his virginity about two weeks ago, and despite how much sex he’s had since, it was still hard to get out of the mindset of being in awe of a woman’s body. Maybe that feeling just never faded, or maybe it was because it was Tiffany’s body. Whatever the case was, Seojun hoped that feeling never faded: the tightness in his chest and shortness of breath he was experiencing, his eyes hungrily drinking in the sight as if it was his last, his dick straining so hard against his crotch that he feared it was pop right off. “Thanks, but let’s save the best for last, OK?” Seojun’s gaze shifted up a few centimeters, onto the puckered hole above. Seeing his eyes move, Tiffany giggled. “Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of time to enjoy this pussy tonight.”

When Tiffany started backing up, Seojun felt his heartrate shoot through the roof. Although Tiffany’s boobs were sexy in their own right, in Seojun’s opinion, her ass was easily her greatest asset. In all the few moments he had spent admiring it, never did it occur to him that he would be feeling it up close. But now that it was closing in, the realization hit him all at once: that beauty of a rear end, it’s perfect amount of roundness and plumpness combined with the tightness of the skin and the unblemished whiteness of it, was going to be grinding against his groin. Between the overly-exaggerated bubble butts wielded by Western women and the flatter ones from Asian women, Tiffany’s hit the perfect balance between the two: bubbly and juicy enough to be mouth-watering, but not too much as to seem over-the-top.

“You really like my ass, don’t you?” Tiffany interrupted his thoughts, giggling again.

“I’m—it’s so sexy, I can’t believe that you’re willing to use it on me.”

Tiffany’s eyebrows raised. “’It’?”

Seojun’s facial expression fell in an instant. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Tiffany’s tail swished out of her tailbone, covering his lips mid-sentence in a shushing motion. The playful grin on her face told Seojun that his fear-induced outburst was unwarranted, supported further when she said, “It’s fine. Treat me like your possession. I’m nothing more than your fucktoy, your slut, for the whole night.”

While Taeyeon and Yeoreum were on opposite sides of the domineering and submissive spectrum, Tiffany was somewhere in the middle. The way she said the statement was with authority, but Seojun could tell by her voice dripping with lust and arousal that she wanted him to dominate her. And that realization just pushed his arousal to the next level.

Seojun’s hands went to her waist as she slammed her ass down, perfectly aligning his cock to slide right into her tight backdoor. “Fuck,” the guttural groan shotgunned out his throat the tight walls squeezing his cock with a firm grip. It was strange; although the tightness with which Tiffany’s ass suffocated his member made him feel like he couldn’t move an inch, it slid deep into her hole with ease nonetheless. In one smooth, firm stroke, Seojun’s cock fully hilted Tiffany’s ass, her plump ass smacking with a crisp slap against the intersection of his legs.

“Uuh, fuck,” Tiffany moaned in kind, grinding her ass against his groin as she accustomed herself to his size. The friction created from the action sent Seojun straight to the moon; it felt even more heavenly than he could’ve ever imagined. His legs tensed and his toes curled, his grip on the wide hips of the lustful succubus tightening as the pleasure from the one stroke sent such a potent injection of pleasure into his body that Seojun felt his consciousness flicker. “This ass that you’ve been drooling over, how is it?”

“It—it feels—it feels so good, Tiffany,” he panted, his mind so overtaken by pleasure that the ability to formulate words properly vanished. However, even if he could, Seojun figured no amount of description could adequately explain how fucking amazing it all felt: Tiffany’s firm ass creating a delicious amount of friction in his groin, the soft skin of her romp rubbing against the damp skin of his crotch, the walls of her repurposed hole gripping the width of his cock firmly, rubbing against his shaft as Tiffany’s grinding caused his rod to stir about inside her tiny hole like an oversized ladle in an undersized pot of soup.

“Go ahead,” Tiffany’s voice, husky with the feeling of lust and desire, floated into his ears. “Use me. Fuck me like you own me, like my only purpose is to take your rock-hard cock and every last drop of semen left inside you.” Seojun felt his body shuddering, turned on by yet another aspect of the demoness: her voice. Surely if he was still a normal man, he would’ve died by now from a heart attack.

Somehow, Seojun found the strength to pull back, lifting Tiffany’s hips at the same time, before slamming back inside her. “Fuck,” he muttered again, his entire body shuddering with the second injection of pleasure coursing through his veins. “You’re so tight, Tiffany.”

Tiffany soon began helping, lifting her ass up in tandem with Seojun rearing up his cock, and summarily burying his cock to full hilt with such force that the resulting smack! resonated about the bedroom. “You’re filling my ass so well,” Tiffany egged him on, her eyes closed and her head thrown back, lips slightly parted, her soft hair running down Seojun’s shoulders and onto his chest. Her legs wrapped around his tightly, her hands gripping the soft blanket beneath them, her ass and boobs jiggling in response to their fierce connection.

The cool room was set ablaze, the combined sounds of lust and desire filling up the room so completely it bounced off the walls. Seojun’s movements grew fiercer, Tiffany’s body willingly submitting to his every motion: when he increased the voracity of his thrusts, Tiffany accommodated by shifting her position to allow easier access; when Seojun’s lips found Tiffany’s neck, the succubus accommodated by tilting her head to the side to present more of it to him; when Seojun’s hands reached around and upwards to fondle her tits, Tiffany moaned in pleasure and arched her back to allow greater access to them. So accommodating was Tiffany that Seojun found himself completely lost in lust, mind focused solely on his own pleasure, absorbing every sensation Tiffany’s body granted him and every sound of pleasure escaping her lips, using it as additional fuel in his chase of his second impending orgasm of the night. The fatigue from his first release had all but vanished, his body brimming with as much energy as his first time with Taeyeon. Ordinarily, Seojun might’ve questioned why this was the case, but at the moment his brain had no capacity to consider anything else but the curvaceous woman in front of him, desperately bouncing in conjunction to his relentless pistoning.

“You’re so rough, fucking me like a depraved slut addicted to your cock. Treat me more like your personal sex doll, like your cum dumpster, and pour your sticky white honey into my ass!”

Strings of filthy words flew out of Tiffany’s mouth in the meanwhile, her deep, alluring voice pushing him ever closer to the edge. “You want it? You want my semen?”

“Yes! Please, pump me full with your delicious seed!”

“How much do you want it?”

“I need it! I’ve only had one taste of it but I’m already addicted to the taste of your thick, creamy cum! Please, unload everything into my slutty hole!”

Seojun obliged, the tension in his nether regions finally bursting. “F-Fuck,” he muttered, his body shaking violently with the cadence of his orgasm, an even more violent stream of semen bursting from his penis and into the waiting body of Tiffany.

“Oh! O-Ooh, oh god, oh god, it’s so warm, it’s so thick,” Tiffany’s moans streamed out of her mouth as uncontrollably as the semen from Seojun’s dick, grinding her ass fiercely against his groin in an attempt to draw out every last drop of cum from Seojun. Her ploy worked almost too well, Seojun’s teeth grinding and his body shuddering in a second wind, a final few streams of his white milk ejecting straight into Tiffany’s ass. “God—god, fuck, it’s so good.” Tiffany’s chest heaved, the rise and fall of her boobs causing Seojun’s hands to follow their motion. “I actually can’t believe something so fucking delicious exists in this world.”

When Seojun’s orgasm subsided, his panting slowed down, his hands falling onto Tiffany’s legs, his erect cock still wedged firmly into Tiffany’s rear entrance. Although it wasn’t as prominent as before, Seojun could feel it: the beginning signs of fatigue settling into his muscles.

Before Seojun had time to contemplate if he could actually last the entire night, Tiffany unplugged her ass, dribbles of his viscous bodily fluid trickling onto his already damp groin, and looked down at his gradually softening erection. “Looks like you need a bit more help, and I’m close too. Lay down for me, would you?”

Seojun obeyed, Tiffany’s ass following him until his head met the cushiony material of the blanket he was now laying upon. “Try to swallow as much as possible, OK?” Without further explanation, she pushed her soaking wet holes so close to his face that he could feel the damp heat radiating from them. Understanding Tiffany’s intentions but confused as to what she meant, Seojun nonetheless obeyed, his hands coming up to spread her firm butt cheeks aside so as to allow space for his face. With that, Seojun closed the distance, meeting Tiffany’s vaginal lips in a heated embrace.

Tiffany let out something between a sigh and a moan, the warmth of her tits yet again surrounding the hardening member of the succubus’s servant. He pressed his face against her, letting Tiffany’s juices wet his face, deepening his access to her pussy before sticking out his tongue. Yet another moan escaped Tiffany’s lips, cut off shortly after when her mouth became filled with Seojun’s cock. A grunt vibrated against his throat, his grip of Tiffany’s plump ass cheeks tightening, digging deeper into her wet love hole.

Eating out a pussy was something that Taeyeon had been teaching him, the results shining brightly as, moments later, Tiffany’s own orgasm arrived. Remembering her words, Seojun opened his mouth wider, his cheeks soon bulging with the fluid shooting out of Tiffany’s womanhood like a cannon. Try as he did, the sweet liquid started overflowing and dribbling out the sides of his lips and down his chin nonetheless. By the time Tiffany’s screams of ecstasy subsided, the amount of her juices that managed to escape Seojun’s mouth was so large that a noticeable puddle formed on the blanket below. Seojun breathed a sight of relief, pulling his head back, letting his face damp with Tiffany’s juices hit the cool air of the residence, swallowing the sweet-tasting liquid. “How is it?”

“Sweet. Is it supposed to be sweet?”

Tiffany giggled. “Succubae who have lived as long as Taeyeon and I have the ability to control the taste of our cum. Most don’t really care to do so, but with me it’s a different story because of my Trait. Of course, blood is a more potent conduit of transferring life force, but cum is just below it, and I imagine you’d much rather drink something sweet than my blood, whose taste I have no control over.”

Feeling it slide down his throat, Seojun felt another renewed surge of energy. His body felt warm, his senses sharp. Kang Seojun was positively brimming with energy. “So your Trait…”

“Is as you guessed. I can give my partner increased stamina and strength via the consumption of my bodily fluids.” So that’s why Tiffany stated that they would go all night. And with how energized Seojun felt, for the first time since hearing those words, he actually believed that he could last that long. “Now,” Tiffany said, climbing onto the bed. Seojun’s eyes followed her, watching her adopt an all-too-familiar position. “Come and get this pussy.” Tiffany’s eyes twinkled with excitement, her head turned around to look at him, hands resting on either side of the pillow and her tits brushing the surface of the soft material below them. Her knees were planted firmly on the bed, her juicy ass shaking playfully at him, her supple butt cheeks spread by the jet-black tail protruding centimeters above the puckered hole still glimmering with fluid, below both the prize: her slit covered with a layer of precum-stained vaginal lips.

As much as Seojun wanted to sit there and admire the sight of Tiffany on her hands and knees, presenting her ass so daringly and erotically, his desire and lust pushed his body into action. Seojun took but a moment to squeeze the plump cheeks hiding the jewel within, spreading them out properly before plunging head-first into the pussy of the eagerly waiting succubus.

“Fuck, fuck,” Seojun’s moans came out without a second thought, the fleshy walls of Tiffany’s pussy sucking his cock in like a vacuum. In his entry stroke, Seojun found himself pushing his cock all the way in, the swollen tip of his dick bumping against the edge of Tiffany’s vagina. With another satisfying slap! sound, Seojun watched as Tiffany’s ass bounced vigorously at the impact of his thrust.

“Uuh, god,” Tiffany moaned in unison, her back arching even more, the resulting motion pushing her ass even more flush against his groin. “Fuck that ass you love so much well, Seojun!”

Even without Tiffany’s direction, Seojun would’ve done exactly that. At first, his hands were firmly gripping her slim waist to ensure he had enough leverage to keep pistoning his dick inside her, but as he secured himself by wrapping them around Tiffany’s legs, his upper body moved up, as did his hands, eventually resting on her ferociously swaying tits. Tiffany let out another moan of pleasure as Seojun’s fingers quickly found her swollen nipples and pinched them.

Looking back, Seojun might feel embarrassed by how quickly he threw everything else aside, fucking Tiffany with reckless abandon, but at the moment his brain could do nothing else but obey Tiffany’s original directive. Even when Taeyeon played the sub, Seojun understood it wasn’t a go-ahead to fuck with nothing but carnal pleasure in mind; with Tiffany though, he could tell it was all about that, and he allowed himself to revel in it. His muscles felt teeming with life, his every thrust not tiring him but only fueling the next one. With every squeeze of her tits, with every resonant slapping noise her ass made with his quickly moistening crotch, Seojun felt his primal lust grow. Each stroke increased the tension by one knot, and slowly but steadily, his impending orgasm built.

“You’re so rough! Fuck me harder! Pound my pussy more! Yes!”

Tiffany’s words egged him on, his mind lost in a cloud of primal desire and lust, unable to even vocalize his orgasm when it arrived. Despite it being his third orgasm of the night, the ferocity at which his seed unloaded into Tiffany’s eager pussy surprised even himself.

“Oh fuck! It’s so much, oh fuck, oh fuck, it’s so thick! More, give me more!”

The most surprising thing was how after Seojun’s orgasm subsided, not a single bit of that familiar feeling of fatigue hit him. In fact, knowing he just came inside Tiffany’s pussy made him hornier.

“I want to look at you this time when I fuck you.”

It was Tiffany who obeyed this time, the twinkle in her eyes indicating her excitement and lust having not fallen one bit. “I can’t believe I get such a high-quality feast tonight. Or, more importantly, I can’t believe I’ve been missing out in the past few years.”

“Well I’m here now, so have some more!” With the final word, Seojun pushed his dick back inside Tiffany’s love hole. Her face contorted in pleasure again, her eyebrows creasing and her body shuddering as the warm, tight cavern once again took in his cock.

Tiffany’s sex face was just as alluring as Seojun thought it was, and that combined with the sight of her more-than-ample bust bounce with every thrust sent him over the edge what felt like moments later.

“Here it comes—fuck!”

Tiffany’s legs, which were wrapped around his waist, tensed, her hands gripping Seojun’s arms even more tightly as the fourth injection of her meal for the night entered her body. “It’s so hot, fuck, your cum is always so thick!” By the increased sharpness of her voice, Seojun could tell she was on the edge too, so he helped by giving her clit a firm pinch. “Fuck!” Sure enough, the action sent her sailing over the edge, her entire body shuddering violently with Seojun’s as his cock became awash with her juices. As fiercely as the orgasm overtook the lewd body of the succubus, the tightness of her pussy proved stronger than the pressure of her orgasm. Again, as Seojun’s orgasm subsided, he found himself no less fatigued than before; again, he found himself turned on even more from seeing so up close Tiffany’s orgasm, especially knowing it was because of him and especially being able to feel it with his cock still plugging her hole.

On Tiffany’s request, Seojun found himself sitting at the edge of the bed again, Tiffany in his lap but facing him this time. A content sigh escaped both of their lips as Tiffany’s pussy once again welcomed Seojun’s cock, her vaginal lips readily parting for the newly appointed VIP. Seojun’s hands found themselves cupping Tiffany’s bountiful butt as their lips collided fiercely, aiding Tiffany as she bounced vigorously on Seojun’s cock, her boobs pressed firmly onto his chest. Feeling her legs wrapped securely around his waist, feeling her wet lips on his and her wet pussy lips splattering her juices onto his crotch, feeling her moist and impossibly tight pussy walls gliding against the length of his shaft, feeling her bountiful bosom shake with the fierceness of their hot connection and her swollen nipples draw chaotic lines across his own chest, Seojun reveled in all of it. Every part of Tiffany’s sexy body was tightly pressed against him, working in unison to provide him maximum pleasure—and while it wasn’t comparable to how quickly the pleasure multiplied because of Yeoreum’s Trait or how Taeyeon’s Trait allowed him to feel his cock being fucked by multiple holes, Seojun felt that it was probably as close as regular sex could be, if sex with a succubus could ever be called that.

There were no words exchanged this time, Seojun’s removed necessity to breathe allowing the pair to extend their hot makeout session all the way to Seojun’s orgasm.

They moved from position to position, not leaving a single square inch of the bedroom untouched as their copulation carried throughout the night. Cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, Tiffany blowing him while Seojun laid on the bed and watched from above, standing 69, bent over the nightstand, bent over the bed, standing oral, Tiffany on top bouncing on Seojun’s dick, Seojun standing up with Tiffany held in his arms, both facing him and facing away from him, Seojun on Tiffany’s lap suckling her tits like an infant while she jerked him off, Seojun fucking Tiffany with one leg up on the nightstand, even with Tiffany pressed against cold window of the bedroom, and then all over again with the other hole and then with both holes with the help of a dildo or his fingers (or fist, whichever Seojun felt like using).

The entire night felt like a blur, his mind moving quickly from orgasm to orgasm without a hitch. It was during that night that, for the first time since transforming, Seojun felt sweat start to coalesce on his forehead, chest, and hands. However, as Tiffany was feeding him her bodily fluids in various forms throughout the night, that sweat came as a surprise to him considering the fact that he didn’t feel the slightest bit tired.

But what was even more astounding than that was that Seojun never once felt tired of Tiffany’s body. He reveled in every second of it, of being able to feel her curves against his body, of feeling her tight holes massaging his ever-erect cock, of the blissful feeling of unloading another giant load of cum into the eagerly awaiting holes of the tireless, lustful succubus. Seojun had been given the impression that Taeyeon’s Trait was the optimal one for sex, especially after his physical enhancements allowed him to be fine no matter how creatively Taeyeon used her power, but in those few hours, Seojun thought differently. Maybe because it was Tiffany who had the Trait, or maybe the Trait was just amazing in and of itself. But Seojun had not the time nor mental wherewithal to deliberate; after all, Tiffany’s three holes were waiting for his cock.

By the time the sun started to peek above the horizon, Seojun was railing Tiffany from behind while standing in front of the bedroom door, sweat dripping from his brow and onto Tiffany’s back, his hands squeezing the already reddened skin of Tiffany’s previously perfectly white boobs raw.

“Fuck, why does your ass feel so fucking good?”

“To make you feel good~”

“Your pussy—” Seojun was interrupted by the sound of the bedroom door, not one meter in front of them, open up. Seojun’s head shot up, his eyes landing on Taeyeon with a … perplexed expression?

“So it is you, Fany. I knew it.”

“Y-Your servant is a God-send.”

While Seojun felt himself slowing down in equal parts embarrassment and shock, Tiffany’s ferocity did not.

“I know, right?”

With how casually Taeyeon was speaking, Seojun figured that it was OK to continue, letting his lust overtake him once again.

“But have you been fucking all night?”

“Yeah!”

Taeyeon sighed, a sound that was more in the vein of humorous disappointment than annoyance. “You always take things too far, Fany.”

“B-But, if you had my Trait, tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing!”

“Tiff, I’m cumming!”

With a final grunt, Seojun thrusted one last time, hard, burying his cock as far as he could inside Tiffany before erupting yet again.

“A-Ah, shit, I’m cumming too!”

Seojun’s grip of Tiffany’s tits tightened as their bodies convulsed in unison, far from being the first occurrence of the elongated sex session, their juices colliding and mixing inside Tiffany until dribbles of it spilled out of her slit and onto her legs.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Which is why you need your own servant!”

After Tiffany’s orgasm subsided, she lifted her head to meet Taeyeon’s gaze, Seojun’s cock still buried to the hilt inside her. “Then, can I make Seojun my servant too?”

Despite being the one who suggested it, Taeyeon’s eyes shot open in clear shock. “What? Wait, are you serious?”

“Why are you so surprised? You were the one who suggested it!”

“Well of course I would, seeing that Seojun would be the first one you’ve designated in centuries! Are you sure you even know how to do the servant ritual?”

“…Well, even if I forgot, I can relearn! I mean, how hard can it be?”

Taeyeon just sighed, Seojun’s excitement and lust slowly dying down as he was finally granted a breather. “True, you shouldn’t—wait, Seojun isn’t your servant!”

“…Yeah…?”

“And you haven’t taken a single break?”

“Yeah—oh!”

Tiffany’s surprised interjection was the last thing Seojun heard. In the next moment, Seojun felt his consciousness being slammed into the ground like a paper bag by a runaway truck, blackness overtaking his body a split second later.

Next chapter here.

#taeyeon #kim taeyeon #snsd #soshi #smut #kpop smut #girls generation #succubae #The Pet of Kim Taeyeon #snsd taeyeon #snsd smut #tiffany #tiffany young #girls generation smut #tiffany smut #multiple orgasms

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 9 months

Note

Hi! I really like your writing, and I was wondering if I could request a Yandere!Platonic 1st Years (+Grim) with an Eri!Reader?

How would they feel learning of her abused, trauma, and her unfamiliarity with general society and social norms? (Who’s looking murderous when they see just the scars littered around her arms and legs when her bandages are removed?)

Though it’s a whole different story when she says she sees her power as nothing but a ‘curse’, and her existence a ‘burden’ that only makes others suffer? All because of the man named ‘Overhaul’, the one who did this so her? (Who’s about to go feral when she admits she doesn’t remember how to smile?)

But she starts to become more positive thanks to Grim and slowly the others (She likes Grim and is very sparkly eyed because he talks, breaths fire and thinks he’s amazing)

Imagine when she says she made a friend all on her very own who’s ‘like her’, though they lightly chastise her that she shouldn’t talk with strangers (It’s Malleus, they’re both lonely, have horns she has 1, while Malleus has 2, have an incredible power that’s very dangerous, and they’re unfamiliar/slow with society)

Eri Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

You’ve been through so much….so you’ve been told. The pain, the heartbreak, the constant voice in your head that has guilt weighing on your little heart. Your transportation to Twisted Wonderland couldn’t come at a better time. They’re going to welcome you cage you to this new world more than willing to spoil you to your hearts content:

Grim

“Oi oi servant they all think we’re monsters!”

“...yeah?”

“Yeah! So we gotta show them we’re gonna be the greatest mages in here!”

“Oh….okay!”

He’s the perfect chaotic companion

He teaches you to allow yourself to do what you want

Granted his guidance isn’t all knowing

No matter how tasty Heartslabyul’s tarts are you shouldn’t eat them everytime you visit — especially without permission

Either way you’re learning to forgive yourself and allow you to have fun

And leave it to Grim to say whatever snarky thing you’d like to say when your big-brothers get in the way

“Nyeh! You won’t be able to do anything against my flames, nyah!”

Ace Trappola

“Hey if I catch you moping about that plague doctor guy, I’ll sock ya in the head!”

“Ace?!”

“I-i-i won’t!”

In a weird way you’re so used to being bullied (by kai) that you tend to take his bully-affection to heart

You know he cares, he just won’t tell you often

He reminds you of a certain blonde…

It also makes you more privy to his very willing desire to steamroll over anyone he deems a problem for you

“I think he meant that as a joke, Ace…”

“Joke schmoke, I warned you, you stain! I’m putting you in the medical wing.”

“Ace, please!”

Deuce Spade

“(Y/n), did you eat today? Are you feeling well? Do you need me to carry you!”

Mother hen of the group

He’s hovering close behind even when you don’t see him

Always making sure you’re safe and happy as can be

He’s teeming with anxiety if he’s not watching you himself

Even worse if you get hurt accidentally or on purpose

Now he’s Mama bear totally bearing the claws to protect you

He’s not going to leave you to defend yourself

Especially when your abilities hinge on your mental state

He’s trying his best

“Are you doing the breathing techniques Crewel recommended? Where’s your paper bag?”

Jack Howl

“Hello little one.”

“Hi.”

“Would you…like to sit on my shoulders?”

“Yes!”

Your #1 guard dog

Doesn’t have to worry considering Deuce is freaking out for him

He’ll be the sane voice of reason because Ace isn’t anywhere close to reliable in his eyes

Naturally he entrances you with his tail and overall dog-like personality

But don’t forget he’s got the bite force of a wolf that he’s not afraid to use if he deems fit

“Pup, don’t stop yourself from having fun or being…young. I–we will keep you safe.”

Epel Felmier

“You’re so pretty.”

“...Thanks.”

You’re the only one who can get away with calling him that

And he loves nothing more than escaping Vil to find out what other sweet makes you smile sweetly

He’s also one of the first to join Ace as part of the self-proclaimed protection committee

He’s also one of the first to suggest taking it further than a mere beatdown

Anything for his new little sibling

“If there’s no body…there’ll be no problems.”

Sebek Zigvolt

“TINY HORNED HUMAN! WHERE IS YOUR DIASOMNIA PIN!”

“Uhm…Ace took it from me…said it was unfair.”

“THAT FOOL. COME CHILD I SHALL BESTOW UPON YOU THE PIN AGAIN.”

Is definitely apart of a brainwash committee of his own and is insistent you become Diasomnia’s new mascot…under Malleus of course

His loudness sometimes scares you off but he means well

And will no doubt join the others if a few heads need to roll

“Rest easy, child. On my watch, no one will harm you.”

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ivypos-writes · 1 month

Text

put your lips (where i’m rotten)

— aemond targaryen [1/?]

[SERIES MASTERLIST] | [GENERAL MASTERLIST]

summary: There are times when Aemond thinks he hates her, if only for the crime of reminding him about the chains of servitude shackled to his throat. Other times, he convinces himself that he feels nothing towards her at all. She is a stranger. A no one. A face without a soul. She is but another prisoner within these walls; a spoil of war, only one he never wished for.

He cannot condemn her for existing.

(He does. He does.)

Or, in which war puts them together, bound by duty and united in wrath.

warnings: 18+, aemond x unnamed!betrothed, angst, implied/referenced abuse, arranged marriage, falling in love, tension, morally grey characters, doomed from the start, dual pov, they’re both miserable and broken, eventual smut

word count: 6.3k

notes: i’m ready to descend into brainrot now that s2 is over. english is not my first language. all reviews are very appreciated! thank you for reading<3

(also available on ao3.)

She knows rot when she sees it.

The hall has been prepared with utmost care for the arrival of the dragon prince. Servants scrubbed every surface three times since the sun rose—if one were to strain their eyes intently enough, they would find remnants of wetness pooling in the crevices and cracks of old stone. The floors were swept; the tables set for a feast, the scale of its grandiosity a stark contrast to the usual quality of their dining. All the torches have been lit. She has never seen this much light within these walls before.

Their household’s banners previously hanging down the walls have been replaced with a golden dragon painted over green, and she makes a point of refusing to look at it once, convinced that her distaste will be too strong to be passed off as something less treacherous than it truly is. The winged creature is foreign. Its embroidered jaws bring promises of misery.

She has been forced into her best gown—except it’s not really hers, but her sister’s, and the difference in their build shows. The fabrics draped over her waist are tighter than she’s used to; the coarse bodice digs into her ribs with a crushing force, and her bust threatens to spill from its confines with each slightest movement. Dark skirts cascade all the way down to the ground, and she holds onto them with trembling fingers, chanting inaudible prayers not to trip and plummet to her knees in front of an audience. Pride is something that still belongs to her, however fleeting; however scant. She will cling to its shredded remains for as long as she can. If she is little more than a property to be sold, then she’ll be a property standing with a raised chin and a fixed gaze. She will not stumble. She will not fall.

They dressed her in red. She hates red.

The gown shimmers in warm golds underneath the stray rays of sunlight, and she quickens her pace to evade them. Reds and golds. Green. How hurriedly they have stripped away whatever remnants of identity she possessed until this day—and they managed to do so with just colours. She has been dressed for slaughter. A pretty victim. A comely prey.

Today, she is a stranger. A newborn rising from the ashes of a dead. Past is gone, and all that remains is the possibility to mould herself into something new. Something better. Maybe—maybe—something that aches a little less. She is not herself; she mustn’t be herself. If she remained herself, she would flee.

Her father’s pride appears to have once more conquered all financial hardships their household faces; to have grown overnight, skyrocketing to a whole new level. The tables seem to groan underneath the weight of various meals that they normally cannot afford. The multiple flagons are filled with wine that had thus far been stored in the cellar, considered too valuable to be wasted. The prince’s palate must be too delicate for anything less than overpriced liquors and spiced meats, and so her father has gone out of his way to provide the best quality service. He’s always been quick to quell any and all issues one ought to consider, if only for a short-term semblance of glory and importance. What other opportunity to flaunt his scarce resources and remnants of wealth if not before a dragon prince? Coin matters little in the face of royalty—or so he says.

She wouldn’t know. Rarely does she pay his words too much mind.

The raven arrived with the rising sun a fortnight ago. The words scribbled on the parchment were short and concise, and carried promises sunken deep into ink. Promises of blessings, according to her family. What she saw instead were promises of pitiless duty. The Dowager Queen herself announced that her son would be gracing their home with his presence. A royal visitor. An unwed man coming into the household of a man with an unwed daughter.

Too many whispers of war have been heard across the realm not to ponder its many components. A thing in exchange for another. An arrangement. A trade. She knows how this works; she knows how this ends. Little fool, her sisters would call her, but she is not so foolish to be unaware of what this is about. The day must come, and sooner rather than later; a girl cannot remain a girl until her soul withers with age. She always knew this much.

It is well within her father’s right to succumb to a new sort of haughtiness. He wears it like an armour that doesn’t quite fit him; wears it in a way that evokes not envy, but utter disdain. If anyone thought him boastful before, they must be eating their words now. She is half-convinced that, fuelled by this recent sense of smugness, he has written to every lord in the area to brag about this sudden development. Gods know that there is nothing he loves more than the feeling of being important.

A Targaryen prince willing to take his daughter for a wife. His plain, insignificant daughter. His forgotten daughter. The very same daughter he never wanted.

He certainly seems to want her now, what with his newfound interest in her—or, rather, in whatever merits she may bring to his name. His previous indifference has converted into ineptly feigned affection; aloofness has turned to an overbearing sort of attentiveness. His touch is softer. Almost kinder. He greets her in the mornings and invites her to dinners, and calls her by her name instead of girl. Gone are the days of blissful solitude she used to shrink herself into. She can scarcely remember when she was last left to her own devices.

The girl she once was would have wept in joy at this sudden shift. The woman she has grown into has long since become too bitter to find an ounce of appreciation for it inside her heart.

(She wants nothing from him. She hasn’t wanted anything for a while now.)

She bit her own tongue so many times over the course of past days that it has gone numb. Whenever her father descends upon her with another onslaught of artfully crafted care and tenderness, she keeps her mouth shut.

It is how she spent this morning: in stubborn silence.

It is how she stands now, spine rigid and fingers buried in her dress, mouth pressed into a thin line.

No one seems to take notice of her, anyway. She may well have been swallowed by the ground beneath her feet. The hall is buzzing with equal measures of exhilaration and unease; servants scurry about, performing last-minute fixes, and she half-expects them to drop to their knees and collect specks of dust with bare hands. Her father barks orders from his seat at the highest table; he is already clutching a cup of wine, face flushed and chin wet from the red substance. His new lady wife watches his antics with the corner of her mouth turned downwards, eyes shining with the one thing that they share: disgust towards him.

She wishes to occupy herself with something—to cherish the last of freedom. It is too late, though. It has been too late for a long time.

It is a thunderous screeching that alerts them of their guest’s arrival first. All chatter dies in its echo, and the walls seem to shake from the booming noise. A large shadow crawls inside through the narrow windows, bathing the chamber in gloom. Darkness lasts only for a short moment, and yet her heart pounds wildly against her chest at the sight. Something cuts through the skies. Something wild and menacing.

Her heart stops.

Too late. It’s too late, and the realisation haunts her.

Stories about the second son of the late king have been spreading throughout the realm like wildfire since she remembers. She was just a girl when she heard of him first—and he just a boy who had lost an eye. Rarely ever was Prince Aemond’s name brought up in conversation without the purpose of retelling the story of his maiming, as though it was the only thing about him worthy of mention. Years passed, and throughout their length all that was remembered of the young prince was what he no longer possessed. What had been taken from him. A most hideous scar, they would call the mark of the past, stretched over the whole side of his face. A cripple, they’d name him.

Aemond One-Eye.

She supposes that he is now known as Aemond the Kinslayer.

This is war. War demands bloodshed. Time and time again, she has been told that women do not understand its vices, too delicate and fragile of hearts. It must be the truth. She doesn’t see how killing one’s own blood could ever be condoned nor understood, and yet such is the case now. This is what has become of the realm. It is a canvas ready to be painted in reds.

When she was younger, there were traces of sympathy flashing inside her heart. Sympathy for the boy who had been hurt by his own kin; sympathy for the man he could have grown to be, if only his injury hadn’t rendered him damaged. Prince Aemond Targaryen lived his life with a dark shadow clouding over his head, preventing him from rising above. Prince Aemond Targaryen nurtured bitterness and hatred, and when he erupted, the earth was bathed in innocent blood.

She is older now, and he is no longer a wounded boy, but a ruthless man. All remnants of past commiserations have been eradicated during a single storm.

Kinslayer.

When the murderer enters the hall, all she senses is cutting coldness. Silence grows suffocating; she breathes in and breathes out, and hopes she won’t choke on it. There is a heavy hand that comes to clutch her shoulder—her father’s. She can smell the wine; knows that it is him even without glancing sideways. His fingers dig into the flesh near her collarbone with a bruising force, and she interprets the message for what it truly is: a warning. Do not ruin this for us. Do not ruin this, or I’ll make you regret it.

And he would. She knows that he would. He possesses a brutish strength and not an ounce of mercy. His touch leaves raw imprints behind.

(An unknown abuser may yet prove less monstrous than the one she has known for all of her life. It is the same thing she’s been telling herself for the past weeks. If she repeated it enough times, would it become true? Or would it only serve as another lesson?

But oh, does she truly need to learn anything else? Hasn’t she learned enough? Is there more—always more, forever more? She cannot. She cannot.)

She has nothing to fear. There is a murderer in these very walls, and yet she fails to gather any of the dread she tasted on her tongue before. Footsteps echo through the hall, her heartbeat matching the rhythm with ease, and she stands with nothing but emptiness inside her chest. Even trepidation has abandoned her. She is hollow. Unresponsive.

When she curtsies, she does so without meeting the prince’s gaze. Her eyes are dropped to the ground, and there is hatred that flickers inside her mind, directed only at herself. She had sworn that she'd remain proud until the end of this farce, and yet here she is, scarcely toeing the line of the beginning and already cowering before him.

She catches sight of dark boots and black leather.

He is standing right before her.

Smoke fills her nostrils, heavy tendrils crawling down her throat and squeezing. She doesn’t let herself cough. Her eyes are molten. She keeps them lowered.

“My prince,” she says through gritted teeth, and the words coat her tongue in acidic aftertaste, foreign and foul and entirely unwanted.

Does he sense the bitterness that spills from her mouth? It is so heavy that she nearly chokes on it. Her lips must be stained with it. Stained crimson red. Stained gold and green.

“How good it is to welcome you into our home, Prince Aemond,” her father says, standing tall by her side. She feels him shift; his fingers curl around her elbow. “We are honoured to receive you.”

If he expects that she’ll add anything to this speech, he is wrong. She holds her tongue, even when her father’s grip turns vice, and stubbornly keeps her eyes downcast. There it is: a wet splotch on stone floors, right beside her feet. They shouldn’t have mopped them so many times.

The answer comes in a low hum, seconds or minutes or ages later. It is a soft sound—so soft that it nearly evades her ears. She catches it only through her own silence; only because her heart seems to have stopped, bathing her insides in dreadful hush. It dies in the cold air, and yet its remnants seem to cling to her skin, forming goosebumps in its wake.

Her hands shake. She tightens them into fists.

“My lord.” The Prince’s voice is not what she would’ve expected: gentle, velvet smooth. She knows that his gaze must be turned to her; her skin burns when he adds a low, “My lady.”

Lightning strikes outside the windows. It is storming again, and she wonders if it is a bad omen. It must be. She makes the mistake of raising her eyes towards the openings within stone walls, chasing the memory of the bolt, and then it happens.

Prince Aemond’s face is illuminated with the light of the nearest torch. The glow bathes him in golden hues, though the warmth does little to cut through the sharp lines of his features. He must be made of stone—there is polished blankness that shrouds his countenance, and it doesn’t falter under her gaze. With curious eyes, lost in the moment, she traverses the curve of his jaw; the sharp angles and porcelain-white skin. A leather patch keeps his eye covered, and there is an old, vertical scar peeking from beneath its confines. This is the mark that they spoke of. The mark that has shaped him into what he is.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer.

When his eye finds hers, she holds her breath. Violets and lilacs flicker in his gaze; it is endless fields of flowers underneath golden rays of sun. It is fire. Scorching flames.

She knows rot. She knows it, because her own heart has long gone into a state of decay. Rot rules everywhere that affection does not; everywhere that seeds of tenderness and care were never planted. It is this rot that she finds deep inside his eye: swelling, flaring up with each breath.

Perhaps the prince, too, has never been loved.

A beat slips by. Her heart rises to her throat. She counts seconds as they near a full minute, and all the while her eyes do not strain from his gaze, glazed over and stinging. It is a test—one she knows she must pass, though the reason why remains unclear. The prince seems to be searching for something; his eye turns intense, raining fire upon her flesh. He will leave her scorched. He will turn her to ash.

Time stretches and twists; warps into a distorted shape. It runs in circles and keeps her a prisoner suspended in its vicious grip. Wasn’t it storming outside? There’s nothing but a heavy silence now, foreboding and sweltering. There’s nothing but fiery purples.

Kinslayer. She has grown to anticipate the blow, forever prepared to bleed, and this habit does not dissipate now. He is a prince. The son of the king. The brother of the usurper. If he is not pleased with her, he will be free to inflict punishment upon her flesh and mind and soul in whatever ways he desires. Who would stop him? Certainly not her father, for he himself has been lost to blinding rage too many times. Certainly not her. Weakness runs thick in her blood. She may veil it with stubborn pride and determined gazes, but it will never wilt away.

For a short moment, lost within the depths of his eye, she almost thinks he will unsheathe his sword. That he’ll put its tip to her neck. That he’ll end this before it truly begins—cut through invisible shackles around her neck, taking her head clean off.

There is silence and dread and despair, and doesn’t he see the haunted look inside her eyes? Her lips remain frozen, but her gaze alone screams to him.

Do it, she urges him. Do it, or we will be eternally doomed.

He will. His eye burns and her chest heaves, and the blow is sure to come any moment now—

And then the corner of the dragon prince’s lips quirks, and her fate is sealed.

There is a beast nesting on the empty fields outside the castle.

She once owned a stallion the colour of pitch-black night, gifted to her on her tenth name day. He was a wild thing, forever untameable, deemed too aggressive to mount. No number of lashings or rewardings ever dissipated his fiery nature, and all that her father’s stable boys repeatedly ended up with were hands raised in defeat. A beast, they called him. A dangerous beast.

It took her over a year to gather strength and courage. It took three nights before the horse allowed her to even come close. In the end, she did mount him—amidst the dark murk of night, with only the moon and the stars watching from above. At this point, there was no one who paid her any mind, all remnants of care for her wellbeing long forgotten. It must have been the reason why no one ever noticed. She could have broken her neck or shattered her spine, and there would have been no witnesses. She rode the stallion until the moon gave way to the sun; rode him until she was breathless from exertion and satisfaction and utter, unbridled delight.

Mounting a dragon must have been much more arduous a task. It is a wonder it only cost the prince an eye. The expanse of scaled flesh is enormous enough to cover the entirety of the grounds within sight; greens of grass are replaced with a deeper, more subdued shade. She searches for the beginning and end of the creature, but yields upon only being able to distinguish the wings. They are torn in several places. The wounds must come from the past wars.

Vhagar. She once read a book about Old Valyria and its fruits—about Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives, and the beasts they had ridden to take over the realm. The dragon laid upon the fields is a breathing piece of history. Her old scars carry the memories of the Conquest. Her eyes have seen things preserved only on paper.

She is every bit as mighty and breathtaking as she is described in many old tomes. Dangerous. Savage.

…asleep.

Of course, even a dragon sleeps, especially one this ancient. She wishes that she, too, could seek refuge from lucidity. The previous night was full of nightmares and sounds of rain, and she carries the testament of it in dark shadows underneath her eyes. Rest remains outside of her reach. Perhaps she is unworthy of it.

This is where she usually seeks solace: in the tower deemed haunted, long abandoned by all the residents. When she cannot sleep, she climbs the many stairs, rising to the highest point where the gaping holes between the pillars allow her to glimpse outside. She watches. Imagines herself somewhere amidst the fields—a different person, living a different life. She’s rather good at it: daydreaming. More often than not, this habit is what keeps her sane.

The tower isn’t truly haunted. If it were, one ghost or another might have pushed her from the window. She always stands close enough to fall. A step from dark abyss. Half a step, if she feels particularly brave about it.

Or perhaps it is, and the ghosts that do haunt it are not kind enough to put her out of her misery.

It doesn’t matter. The briefest sound that echoes from behind is not one made by any spirit.

The dragon prince may think himself sly, but she senses the weight of his gaze on the back of her spine immediately. It is much like the day before: fire nipping at her skin, spreading out in quick bursts. She stops herself from trembling. It will not do her any good to remain a lamb ready for slaughter—if the predator is permanently tempted, it will finally charge.

Her spine straightens; ears strain, searching for the sound of his footsteps. Prince Aemond is light on his feet, but she has spent too many nights anxiously waiting for her father to barge into her chambers in search for release from pent-up rage.

He smells of fire and rain. His scent fills her nostrils to the brim.

“She looks rather peaceful for a beast.”

Her own voice sounds strange to her ears, and she bites the inside of her cheek, hoping that the prince did not catch its waiver. This is the first time she spoke to him willingly—not prompted by politeness or bruising fingers atop her skin. Should she have bitten her tongue instead? Bowed her head and awaited him to break the silence first?

Right away, she regrets speaking at all. Will her words offend him? She knows little about the Targaryens, and even less about their dragons, but surely there is a strong bond between the two. Maybe beast is too strong a word. How else should she have described the being before her eyes, though? It’s an omen of death. It is death itself come to take them all.

Her expression hardens. She doesn’t care if she offends him.

The dragon prince moves forward upon her words, as though emboldened by the fact that she hasn’t sent him away or shrieked at the sight of him. Through the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of the fabric of his cloak. He seems forever clad in leather, wearing it like armour. It is darker than night, even when sunlight shines upon its surface.

He is taller than her. Sharper. In some ways, Prince Aemond reminds her of a sword. If she were to touch him, she’s half-convinced her skin would be left bleeding, sliced through by the mere outline of him. This sharpness of his is a weapon. It keeps everyone repelled. The prince’s eye is focused on the sight before him; as expected, he stands with his good side on display, no doubt unwilling to let her glance at the scar any more than necessary.

“When she sleeps, perhaps,” he says, quietly and softly. “Vhagar hasn’t known much peace. She is a seasoned warrior.”

A warrior. A killer. Her jaws swallowed a boy of four and ten.

Kinslayer.

She gulps down a bile in her throat and waits for whatever comes next.

They should not be alone. For all her wishes to remain a person and not a possession, she has learned the customs of a marriage by heart. She knows the vows. She knows what happens once they’ve been exchanged. If her father’s wishes are granted, they will be wedded sooner rather than later—certainly not here, but in King’s Landing, blessed by the king himself. She will wear green, and then nothing, and then pain. She will be a wife and a mother, and never again a human. But they are not yet proclaimed betrothed, and she shouldn’t be standing with him in an abandoned tower without a chaperone.

Maybe they’ll catch them and accuse her of impurity. Maybe she will be spared, left to rot in these walls, left to die alone. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

“You don’t seem afraid.”

Her eyes turn to him.

Last night, he sat beside her father, sharing the wine and keeping his silence. He did not look at her once. He did not speak to her at all. She was glad for it, sat herself on the far end of the table, away from chatter and flattery and lickspittles. Her hands shook throughout the entire feast. It was the one indication of remnants of fear she could not control.

She is rid of it now. She must be. Fear will not save her.

“I only fear what I don’t know,” she answers, voice hollow, and doesn’t let her gaze falter. She wants him to feel its weight on his skin; wants him to shudder, bucking under the pressure of pure resentment. “This sight is rather clear.”

Prince Aemond glances at her—shortly, quickly, his eye averting straight away as though scorched by the sight. She watches his cheek twitch. It is the first time his stone-like face moves.

“Is it?” he muses, his voice unchanged.

Her ire grows flared.

She turns to him fully, abandoning the stretch of the landscape and the beast that disrupts it. “A prince barged into my father’s house with the rising of a war.”

She has been granted the right to dress herself this morning. The skirts that she buries her hands within are a dull shade of grey. She will never again wear her house’s colours—if gods are kind, though she doubts it, she won’t wear reds and greens, either. There is no self that she may cling to anymore. She is an empty shell. Grey canvas. Void.

Her spine aches. She straightens in an attempt to stand taller, eager not to be looked down upon. It does little to cut through the difference in their heights, and she catches a trace of amusement that flickers through his eye, gone in a blink.

The prince hums. She bites the inside of her cheek. Her throat is dry, but she must continue now that she’s started.

Mouth twisted in displeasure, she takes a breath. “He brought his warrior dragon, if only for the promise of retribution were his request to go unfulfilled.”

This seems to catch his interest. Briefly, Prince Aemond turns to face her, eyebrow arched. “Request?”

“Demand,” she corrects.

“A grotesque picture.”

“Do you dislike honesty?”

“I dislike exaggeration.”

She wants to scream. To step forward. She wishes she could grow wings of her own and flee this wretched place.

He knows nothing about grotesque things. His life has been filled with riches and freedom and power. A dragon. A spoiled princeling. Prince Aemond’s wrath needs not to be smothered; it comes in fire and blood and results in ashes. He is a man of violence—a man like her father. His heart is rotten.

“There is no way to paint this picture any less grotesque, my prince. Is it exaggeration to assume you’ve come to claim your first spoil of war?”

“You?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Me.”

The prince’s lip curves. He must be pleased with her misery.

“How presumptuous,” he murmurs quietly.

“But not untrue.” She tilts her head, watching the prince turn towards her again. “Or are you here for some other purpose?”

He isn’t.

King Aegon’s banners have been hung from many towers in these lands, ravens coming and going with a frequency that often left the skies shrouded in dark wings. It was only a matter of time before the demand for fealty reached these grounds. They have long anticipated it.

Her father will give him an army prepared to draw and shed blood; he’ll give him a daughter forced to spew out royal offspring. He will see this as a transaction—as an opportunity to rise above high lords who would dare think themselves his equals. War will tear throughout the realm, and all the while he himself will remain holed up in the safety of his castle, basking in newfound glory but unwilling to earn it. She will be the one to earn it for him. He’ll forget all about her before a moon passes, and she will spend the rest of her life selling herself to bring his name pride. Just another daughter. He has enough of those to no longer try to remember their names.

The prince seems to concede, for he says nothing. There is no satisfaction that comes with having won; she stands in the aftermath of her victory and feels nothing.

She wishes for another storm. Overcast skies seem to evoke the dragon prince’s wrath. If lightning struck, would he offer her the mercy of pushing her off the tower? No, she thinks. Prince Aemond does not appear to be particularly merciful. Perhaps, though, if he were to look at her face under the light of thunderbolts, he’d decide her unsightly. She is rather plain-featured—neither tall nor short, nor shapely enough for a woman. Any of her sisters would have made a better match for a prince of the realm.

She doubts he cares, though. Gods know that she doesn’t.

Prince Aemond rotates his body. They are now face to face. She sees all of him: violet eye and a leather patch and the scar, pink and red and greyish. Her breath catches. She hates that it catches. In another lifetime, she might have thought him striking. His is a regal kind of beauty—this much cannot be denied. He is all silver. It reminds her of the moon.

A murderer. A beautiful murderer.

Her chest heaves.

She must not fear.

“A spoil of war,” the prince echoes as though tasting the words on his own tongue, lips pulled upwards. His eye flashes to her face, its corner crinkling. Purple glints under the sunlight. “The lady has a proclivity to make statements she does not quite understand.”

“The lady,” she spits, gathering the last of her boldness, “understands enough to make such statements.”

Prince Aemond hums once more. “I’m sure you think so.”

“If you wish to correct me, my prince, you are free to do so. I am but an humble servant.”

A prisoner. A prey. More dead than alive.

They stand close enough together that it is improper, though she doesn’t recall the distance between them fading. Stray rays of sunlight keep them separated, bathing the leftover space in a warm glow. They will not breach it. He is clad in black, and she in grey, and none would dare to step into anything lighter. From here, she could count the little scars speckled on his face, silver like his hair. She could trace the length of his nose and find remnants of freckles he must have worn in his youth. She could, she could, she could. She won’t.

He lowers his face so that they’re closer. Like this, she cannot escape his gaze. The warmth of his breath. The eyepatch. The scar.

“My brother, the king, has sent me to receive your house’s pledge of allegiance. When given a task, I obey.” He is so close that even a whisper seems more like a scream. “Whatever comes next, I assure you that it will not be by my own choice.”

Like a willing victim, she holds his gaze, even when she wishes to flee from its fire. It does not get any easier. She tingles all over.

“You’re a prince,” she murmurs quietly, and though she doesn’t mean it, the words sound like both an accusation and begging.

“A prince carries the burden of duty no less than a lady does.”

“Then it would seem that both of us are equally chained.”

Only they aren’t. It is an attempt at blissful ignorance to pretend it to be true. He is a prince, and a dragon rider, and a murderer. If he wishes to, he can rid himself from the burden in a swift manner, be it through a sword or through fire.

Why won’t he? Why, why, why?

She doesn’t understand. He was supposed to be a cold-blooded murderer. She searches for traces of violence in his eye, desperate to catch even a glimpse of it, and finds nothing.

(He must have deemed her undeserving of his wrath. It only makes sense. Her own has abandoned her long ago.)

If he wishes to say anything in response, he chooses to instead swallow the words. It is for the best. Whatever they may have been, she has no desire to hear them.

Silence is heavy. It cuts through her skin and her bones, sinking into the cavity of her chest like a burden she must carry. Her eyes return to the lands outside—to the beast sprawled out on the grass. Do dragons have hearts? They must, she thinks. Even such beasts must have them. No being is spared from the curse of being able to hurt.

Cold air bites her cheeks. Her fingers are long frozen. Her own heart beats a steady tune, no longer frantic with anxiety. Breathing is a little easier.

Perhaps she’ll get used to it. To him. To the shackles.

Just before Prince Aemond disappears behind the entrance, she allows herself to speak. “Has the king decided when we are to be wedded?”

He doesn’t look back. “Not until the war ends.”

Good. She hopes that he does not survive it.

There is no one in the courtyard to bid her farewell.

In search of the last remnants of comfort, she wraps the black cloak tighter around her body. The raging storms of the past days have ended, smothered by sunlight. The skies are clear. It is a warm morning, and yet she feels as though she were freezing to death. Her eyes sweep across the yard once, twice, three times—and drop to the ground when they find nothing.

She has no disappointments left in her. She’s long since exhausted them all.

A week has passed since Prince Aemond’s arrival, and since every single day stretched out into an unbearable length, she is glad that it has finally come to end. They have gone by with constant noise, be it false cheers and flattery or too-loud music. She is sure that all the wine has run out. The dragon prince endured the continuous feasting with composure worthy of praise before getting sick of it—he must have decided it a sufficient period of time before their imminent departure, for he was quick to announce it the day before. She is not sure whether such short notice eased her anxiety or fuelled it. Her hands never seem to stop shaking.

One last time, she traverses the expanse of familiar stone. These walls have watched her grow up. They’ve been a witness to her laughter and tears; to the cries she buried deep inside her chest. She has endured years of suffering, and has learned not to let her pain show. This place has shaped her. It planted seeds of anger and bitterness that have blossomed into her being.

If she leaves, she will never return.

It is a kinder fate. Or maybe it isn’t. She would die here—forgotten, not mourned, reduced to insignificant bones once covered in insignificant flesh. She will die there. It is imminent. Such is her fate. She welcomes it with longing and fear and emptiness.

“Do you wish to travel on dragonback, my lady?”

She turns towards his voice, though she wishes she didn’t. Prince Aemond strides in her direction in quick motion, hands neatly folded behind his back, head held high. He is made of silvers and whites and always, always blacks. There is something inside his eye that wasn’t there before, and though she knows that she shouldn’t let herself get lost, her eyes sink deep into the prince’s skin as they search for meaning.

He must be mocking her. She wasn’t made to rise any higher than the solid ground beneath her feet. She is a creature of no importance; a worthless soul caged inside a worthless body. Her lip twists in displeasure; she may be plain and common, but the dragon prince’s jeers have no right to be made.

The carriage doesn’t bring any promises of comfortable travels, but she’d rather suffer from an aching spine than endure the prince’s close proximity. She’d surely choke on his scent; burn from the heat of his body. Would he hold her close? Would he push her off the scaled beast once they’ve ascended above clouds? Her eyes search his, but she finds no answers. She didn’t think she would. More often than not, gazing into the prince’s one eye leaves her with only another onslaught of questions.

Prince Aemond is quick to recognise the rejection. In truth, she thinks he never expected her to agree. He nods to himself and doesn’t meet her eyes again. It is for the best. She is tired of burning.

“I hope your nights are warm and peaceful,” he murmurs before he stalks away.

She hopes that he’ll slip from his saddle and fall from the skies.

One last look. Just one.

All of it is just stone.

In farewell, she spits on the ground. Nothing happens. It is not sacred. Bitterness remains on her tongue.

Her palms are bleeding from the way she’s been sinking her nails into flesh. She gathers her skirts in one hand and climbs the wooden steps to the carriage. They groan beneath her feet. So does the seat she plants herself upon. Her heart pounds and then stops and she cannot breathe, and still death does not come. Wouldn’t it be a kinder fate to die here? Die before she has gone forth?

Skies darken. It will be raining again.

She leaves the walls she has bled in behind. She will now bleed elsewhere. Somewhere foreign. Somewhere colder.

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #hotd #asoiaf #aemond x reader #aemond one eye

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blueberrypancakesworld · 2 months

Note

Could I request Helaena and Aegon in a ploy relationship with more femine male reader who helps around the castle, the relationship starting while helping Hel out when she’s pregnant with the twins and showing that he’s not afraid to stand up to Aegon despite his reputation? Can be headcanon/fic format

The dragon couple and the servant

Heleagon x male!reader

warning : fluff, comfort, kiss, cuddling, alcohol consumption, reader has longer hair

info : thank you dear anon for the request always happy to write for hotd and liked your words very much. Heleagon really needs something good. Enjoy reading and have a good day :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~

The king and queen of the greens were destined to wear the crown one day since Aegon and Helaena were born so it had to happen according to the council of the greens.

This is how and no other way the royal green Hightower Targaryen family was meant to continue, and to help the young couple they had not only their own family to help them but also numerous servants and ladies in waiting as well as the Kingsguard.

People who accepted the orders and helped the couple from the outside without a second thought…but despite everything, there was hardly a knight, nor even a servant.

A small house of knights from a very small country came to the king's court to swear allegiance to Aegon, who first found Helaena's company when he caught her butterfly that had landed on the tip of his nose. ,,A shield will come to help” she had said then, not knowing that these words were to become wharer than anything else when she took the butterfly back and he saw it as his duty to bring her back to her mate, for apparently the queen had no guards or they were off looking for the king again.

He walked beside her at a certain distance knowing her preference to keep to herself but it was too dangerous without protection. “What kind of butterfly is it my Queen?” he had dared to ask as he looked at the insect's greenish golden wings, seeing the Targaryen Hightower gently stroking the animal and giving him a soft smile, seeming happy as she began to tell and tell and tell.

The conversation continued in her room, she offered him a place on the floor where she had more animals and maybe he smiled more often because he liked the young queen, maybe he smiled when she put some animals on his hand and maybe he smiled when he looked into her pretty violet eyes because she was the most beautiful thing he knew.

°Heleana and his relationship because of his long hair she loved to braid it as a distraction special kinds of braids that kings and queens had worn. It reassured him when she was so close to him he could protect her in return Aegon who usually looked in front of him also got a few small braids as best he could and the three of them spent their time like this when they all needed some rest.

Aegon the king was the king's first son with his second wife, a young man with a reputation for being hot-headed, unhinged and drunk, as well as for whoring in the streets of Silk.

Opinions that everyone had, even he himself knew of the king's deeds and had once even accompanied him to keep an eye on him, sneaking out of the brothels more than once for his own goodness' sake.

He had been insulted by Aegon in his drunken stupor, he said that a woman's appearance in a man was the best way to start working in a brothel and even when he was angry with his king, sometimes even wanting to hit him at the end of the day when night fell and he saw this figure stumbling towards the castle wall, he sighed and went down. “I-I deeoon't neeaad you,” Aegon muttered and fell down again if he hadn't been supported, at the end of the day he felt sorry for the king.

Yet there was something handsome about the Targaryen Hightower king the bright pretty hair, violet eyes and something inside that he wants to do good but doesn't know how. ,,You'll feel better in a moment, my king,” he agreed and carried him over to the bed and felt Aegon holding him, not wanting him to leave…and he didn't.

He stayed all night giving him water and a little bread until the king fell asleep again, receiving quiet thanks and even a brief hug while Aegon found the fine soft hands soothing on his. Until in the morning he found a sober Aegon who gave him an ashamed look, Heleana came to them some time later with a cup of tea and food and the three of them ate, sometimes quietly, sometimes talking, but most of all the royal couple seemed glad that there was someone who took them both as they were.

°Aegon then apologized for his bad jokes and misdeeds would give his new friend and maybe even more in this three-way relationship a sword and armor a small land for the future. It would be the small deeds of a king trying to mend his ways. Aegon on Sunfyre with their shared lover and Helaena on Dreamfyre taking flights together. Such intimate moments that Ageon actually only did alone and Helena had a better relationship with her dragon were shared with the only person they were close to.

But even the moons that passed became more stressful and darker and the three shared the bed at some point, even if it was Aegon's prerogative to take care of his wife.

The first signs of nausea and pain were always guarded at first by Aegon, who eventually withdrew and then by her lover, Heleana offered his hand or arm everywhere, helped her climb Dreamyfre, brought her food and thought like teas and tinctures. ,,A new insect a bug for good luck” he had said and showed her the pink beetle a gift he had ridden into the forest for knowing she was interested in it ,,An animal of love and blood thank you" she replied and grabbed his hand for a moment in thanks before turning to her new friend.

But another shadow soon settled over the three of them the good time they were having was disrupted after the birth of the twins where Aegon and the immediately in the room were the only ones holding the two besides the queen herself the king shirked his duties more and more as the shadow of war began to settle over the land, ,,My king, your deeds must make you escape punishment and take the crown, take your advice and do what you must,” he admonished again as he met the green king sitting drunk on the throne at night.

He was sympathetic to the situation of Heleana and his children, Rhaenyra on Dragonstone and his own brother full of ambition for the throne. But on the contrary, all he heard were slurred words and insults, which resulted in him grabbing the king by the collar and dragging him behind him, ignoring his shouts and commands with a heavy heartbeat before opening the door to Heleana's room softly.

The queen lay in her bed in her arms the twins a soft smile on her lips while a beetle sat on her head, ,,There Aegon there lies our heart, this throne ascend it and win the war for your will for the will of your children. I am your loyal shield but without you I can protect no one” he said and let it go hearing the sniffling as Aegon wiped away the tears before a soft smile formed on his lips. He pulled his friend, his heart into a hug, hugged him, thanked him and pressed a big kiss on his head as Heleana had once done after the birth of the twins.

°Not only did Aegon make him part of the Kingsguard, he used him as a guard for himself and his sister. The three of them kept repeating the words of courage to each other, trying to come up with plans and advice to help Aegon in the green council. It was their cohesion of dragon dreams, the king and the sworn shield that the first battles of the war, the victories went to the greens while all three enjoyed the twins who saw the three as their three-headed dragon parents.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd s2 #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #heleana targaryen #helaena targaryen x reader #helaena the dreamer #helaegon #reader is male #polyamarous

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recreationalfanfics · 2 years

Note

Hello it's me again I am sorry for the previous request and I hope I am not bothering you and that you are doing ok ☺️

If it's ok and if you have time and you're not busy, would it be ok for a Yandere Poseidon x Angel Reader, Yandere Hades x Angel Reader and Yandere Buddha x Angel Reader

I noticed that in the manga and anime we don't see any angels at all unless I overlooked them but I got curious and wondered what would happen if one were to appear would the gods lock them up in a golden cage or cut their wings to keep them tied to them because in a way angels are being of pure light and power

I am sorry if it sounds ridiculous 😂 and Thank you

I don't write for Hades since he's in the manga, I hope you enjoy and SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER.

Yandere! Poseidon + Angel! Reader:

- Poseidon does very much believe that, because he's a God that he is still superior to you. After all, Angels are meant to be messengers for Gods. Compliant, innocent, quick on their wings, and adoring of their Lord.

- Perhaps on the God's side, you belonged to a different God. One who was on good terms with Poseidon, at least from their point of view, and who you adored being around.

- Everytime they requested Poseidon to meet them, he'd open his room door and see you and all your holy light. It's clear you're scared of him from the timid smile on your face but you were given a mission from your God and you would not fail them!

- He was annoyed with you at first, after all, you were just a sniveling little servant who followed your diety around like a lost puppy. It was pathetic really. Yet, it never stopped his eyes from drifting towards you and never stopped him from zoning out as he took in your appearance...it was, no pun intended, heavenly. Everything about you was absolutely glowing both literally and figuratively.

- He started to hate your diety, honestly. They always got to keep you by their side. You always loyally flew after them with nothing less than admiration and a certain brightness in your eyes and a smile on your face. Even if they were upset, you'd break your back bending backwards just to see them smile and it sickened him.

- You start to get creepy vibes from Poseidon, his eyes holding this dark stare and your intuition as an angel could see something dark fester within him. His hands touching your wings, making you flinch from how cold they are but you didn't dare pull away...you'd just stand there, panicked and terrified. He smiled to himself as he let his fingers feel your soft feathers, enjoying your compliance and submission.

- When you tell your god, they hear your concerns and start to keep you away from Poseidon...a terrible idea. One that resulted in your diety dying, in fact.

- It was bloody and it was brutal and when it was done, you tried to fight him by summoning your sword and burning him with divine light. You stupid little angel, did you forget? He IS Divinity. A powerful God. And you were just an angel, powerful but not strong enough to kill him.

- He threatens to cut your wings off when he takes you to his palace in the ocean. You're not entirely sure if it's a hollow threat (it is not) so you take it to heart and try not to be annoying (smart decision) but you still mourn the loss of your God. You know better than to let Poseidon know that because as far as he's concerned, HE is your new God now. You serve and worship him.

- He wouldn't want to cut off your wings, they are apart of what makes you so gorgeous and considering you're underwater: they'd most likely drag you down than help you so he lets you keep them (for now) and admires you from a golden cage. He will touch them when he pleases, he will seek for your physical affection and he dares you to try and deny it to him because you know the consequences.

Yandere! Buddha + Angel! Reader:

- Oh he's heard about you guys before...Angels, that is. He's pretty sure that you're the cutest one he's seen. You're so happy and upbeat yet so strong and loyal, even though most angels are like that, there's just something different about you that really catches Buddha's eye.

- The way you'd allow him to touch your wings and when you sat and talked to him while he napped, you'd extend them and use it to shade him from the sun. Maybe it was the way you were the first angel to greet him with a cheery smile or the way you constantly wanted to spar with him and pouted when he teased you after beating you for the umpteenth time.

- He met you because he was friends with your diety, the god you praised all day long. Buddha wonders when he started to hate the person he called his "friend", probably the same time his obsession started with you because he slowly became more and more jealous of the way you acted around them.

- Following them like a lost puppy with wings, declaring your undying allegiance to them every day, and having that adoring look in your eyes. Buddha was confused about the feelings he'd get when he saw you look at them like that but he knew what they were now...and he spent long enough trying to hide them.

- He tried to explain the entire thing to his friend, trying to cover up his obsession as best as he could with promises of taking care of you of you became his. Yet your god was a clever one and saw immediately through Buddha's honey coated words and noticed the obsession in his eyes. It was a shame really, Buddha would've preferred not to have killed him but your god threatened to keep you away from Buddha...to keep you safe from him.

- The old fool didn't realize Buddha was going to keep you safe, especially how Buddha held you after telling you that your god unfortunately got into an altercation with the other gods, how you should fight for humanity with Buddha to avenge them and stick it to the gods. He doesn't actually let you fight, however, despite the fact that Angels were adept fighters as well as messengers: he couldn't risk you getting killed after he stained his hands in blood just to have you.

- Buddha is one of the Yandere's that is least likely to get caught, I will die on that hill personally, and chances are is that you trust him enough to believe everything he says at first...but also, you're an angel. You can sense when someone isn't being honest, when someone doesn't have the right intentions, and while you don't want to doubt Buddha after all he's done for you and your deceased god...you know he hasn't been telling you the truth.

- When you confront Buddha about the truth or if he feels like you're becoming more cold or withdrawn, he'll tell you everything. He hopes you'll understand his reasons but it seems your too blinded by your grief to try and attack him...which is silly because you should know from sparring lessons how this is gonna go, little birdie.

- There isn't really any place you can go to escape Buddha, nor is there a God alive who will believe you, but Buddha would rather save the trouble and just tie your wings up and keep you in his room. He'll inform Brunhilde that he'll just do his fight and then yours because you're too torn over the passing of your god when in reality, you're tied up in his room crying tears of frustration from how easily Buddha fooled you and how he even managed to put magical chains on your wings to prevent you from flying.

- He'll take them off someday, when you realize why he did what he did and that it was for the best. When you realize that he wasn't the problem: your God was for trying to keep you away from him when you were clearly destined to be his. Don't worry, he fixed that...now he just has to fix you and everything will be all better.

#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok x reader #ror x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #snv x reader #ror buddha x reader #tw yandere #yandere record of ragnarok x reader #yandere ror poseidon #yandere ror buddha #yandere buddha x reader #snv buddha x reader #snva poseidon x reader #yandere ror poseidon x reader #yandere snv poseidon x reader #yandere snv x reader #yandere snv #yandere shuumatsu no valkyrie

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spirit-lanterns · 9 months

Note

I just love everything about the celebrity au AAAA

How do you think reader met most of the celebrities and what started their interest in us? I'm most interested in how we first met serval and ruan mei but also how kafka and himeko started falling for us

Ooooo okay! It’s LOREEEE TIME 💕

Since you only asked for Serval, Ruan Mei, Kafka and Himeko, I will only be going over how you met them and how they fell for you. If you’re curious about the other characters, feel free to ask again in my inbox :D

sfw under the cut

Serval: You both met at a gala. Your careers don’t often intertwine (as Serval is a musician and you are an actor) but since the event was one that all celebrities were attending, you met Serval through there. She fell for you because of how much you genuinely enjoyed her music and how sweet you were in comparison to her other “fans” as you didn’t overwhelm her and treated her like a normal person. You also didn’t bring up her recent breakup with Cocolia, as everyone was dying to know the tea on that since it was so new.

Ruan Mei: You both met on the set of a Chinese historical drama that was super popular among fans. Ruan Mei played as the female lead, while you were playing as her handmaiden. Your chemistry together popped off, as people shipped Ruan Mei’s character with you (the servant) rather than the male lead who was supposed to end up with her. She fell for you because of how intimate you made the scenes with her as her “handmaiden” and admired your charming personality.

Kafka: You both met on the set of a super intense action movie. You were only a rookie actor when you first met Kafka (having only starred in small roles and commercials) but Kafka took you under her wing and pretty much introduced you to every big shot actor in the business. She fell for you when you managed to pave your way to the top, blooming from just a rookie actor, to a woman with one of the largest fanbases in the industry. She really admired how determined and hard working you were, which lead to her falling for you.

Himeko: You both met after Kafka introduced you to her during the filming of a romantic thriller. You admired Himeko greatly (both as a person and an actor) and Himeko could see just how giddy you were when you first met her (it was really easy to see your excitement). She fell for you when you managed to nail a particularly sexy scene despite how cute you were, and that switch up practically turned the poor woman into a crushing schoolgirl!

#🕯️ghostly whispers #celebrity au #hsr women x reader #star rail women x reader

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daemour · 11 months

Text

Pairing: royalty!Mingi x royalty gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, light angst, royalty au, arranged marriage au

Warnings: none

WC: 1898

Summary: You and Mingi aren't friends, not even after marriage. But you're not enemies either. In fact, you don't know where you stand but after an incident maybe it could be something more?

after being complained at for "never writing Mingi" (ahem @mingsolo) here we are! to tide us over while i struggle through nanowrimo i have a handful of prewritten fics so y'all aren't dehydrated

“With the power vested in me by the Gods, I unite Princess (Y/N) (L/N) and Crown Prince Mingi Song in holy matrimony, thus joining their kingdoms.”

The priest leads the two of you to join hands, and as you do light shines from within your clasped hands. The ceremony is over and you are now married to the…well, former nemesis of your people. The funniest thing was when you were just toddlers, your parents had even talked about marrying the two of you together. But then something changed. And it wasn’t long before both countries were locked in a war before you even had the chance to talk to the prince for more than your greetings.

It was devastating. Both countries were large and powerful, and the smaller kingdoms around them suffered for it. It was only when his father died that the high empire intervened and, as a result, decided to use your marriage to make peace. Mingi would not be crowned until he was married to you, and the wedding took place much sooner than you had hoped.

Which brings you to now. Neither you nor Mingi talked or even looked at each other the entire carriage ride home. It was not a joyous occasion, not for the two of you. No shared beds, or rooms, just barely acknowledging each others' presence.

In fact, you’re pretty sure he hates you. He rarely acknowledges your presence. You don’t know what to do with yourself in this hellhole. All you do is show your face in the throne room when needed and then retreat to either your private gardens or room until next called for.

“Yuri, could you do me a favour?” you call for your handmaiden, who might just be one of your only friends in this dreadful castle. The servants like you well enough but there’s only some much kindness they can offer before the nobles’ words get to you.

“Yes, milady?” Like a ghost, she moves to stand beside you, her hair glowing in the sun. Sometimes you look at her and feel she would be a so much better fit for the role of queen here. You can barely hold the attention of the court ladies while Yuri can shut them up with a single polite sentence. “How may I assist you today?”

“Could you do me a favour and fetch me some tea? You know my favourite. I’ll take it in my room, and you can take the day off.”

Yuri bows her head. “Thank you, milady.” You can hear the smile in her voice, excited at the prospect of a day off. You wave her off and as she enters the side door, you lean back on your hands and enjoy the rays of sunshine on your face for just a moment alone. You take moments like this with gratefulness, as it’s only when you’re truly alone that you feel almost at home.

With another sigh and a crack of your back, you brush off your full skirts and make your way to your room. It’s when you almost reach your quarters that you run into Lady Miyoung, a lady of high social standing that you heard was rumoured to be marrying Mingi before the war had started.

“Lady Miyoung, what a surprise,” you greet her quietly, tilting your head into a bow. “I did not expect to see you near this wing.” You did not expect her because this area is regulated strictly as only you, your personal servants, and your husband are allowed entrance.

“Oh, yes, a pleasant surprise, I’m sure,” Miyoung sniffs haughtily and your eye twitches. As much as she despises you, she’s popular among the court and if you dare raise a word against her the social exile you would face would be irreparable. “I heard the most interesting conversation the other day, you know.”

“Ah,” you are not quite that interested in court gossip, but if Miyoung found her way into your wing without being stopped, it must be something important.

“I heard,” Miyoung leans in as if you’re sharing secrets about childhood crushes, “that King Mingi has been looking for a second wife to bear him a son. A woman of his court, with high social standing, of course. In fact, I heard that he’s quite sick of his war trophy.”

And her words cut you deep. You know she’s referring to herself as the lady of the court with a high social standing, and that you are his war trophy. She’s not subtle, but she’s subtle enough that you cannot sentence her to anything without the wrath of the court against you. You feel your throat tightening but you force an almost painful smile on your face. “I see. Well, the rumours of the court have no bearing on how I will go about my day, so I thank you for your wisdom. You may leave.”

Miyoung raises a perfectly shaped brow, no doubt pleased at your obvious hurt but also craving more of a reaction. “Now, now, there’s no haste. A court doll like you must have nothing else of interest as her husband, His Royal Majesty, has much more important matters to attend to.”

Your eyes widen in shock. Never before had a court lady been so openly disdainful of you. Behind your back, easily, but to your face and in your quarters? You open your mouth to rebuke her but before a single word leaves your mouth, you hear wind rushing past your ears as a person stands before you. As your eyes move up his broad back your hand flies to your mouth as you recognise the back of Mingi’s head.

“My King,” Miyoung stutters out, just as surprised at his sudden appearance.

“Why are you here?” Mingi’s booming voice echoes in the narrow hallway. “I do not recall you being given permission to be in this area of the castle.”

“Why, Queen (Y/N) invited me herself,” she lies straight out of her teeth.

Mingi looks back at you, his eyebrow raised as he awaits your confirmation. And on any other occasion, maybe you would have folded in your eagerness to please the court, but your heart still stings from Miyoung’s words. You shake your head ever so imperceptibly.

Mingi nods. “I see. Now, Lady Miyoung,” his head snaps back to her and she has the audacity to flutter her eyelashes at him. “Lying to the King and putting words in the Queen Consort’s mouth is a punishment worthy of being stripped of your title.”

“Your Majesty!” Miyoung squawks and Mingi holds up a hand to silence her in the middle of her sentence.

“Not to mention the other offences I heard when walking by,” Mingi continues and Miyoung swallows as she realises the trouble she put herself into. “Spreading harmful rumours about the King and the Queen Consort?”

“You’re majesty, I wasn’t–” Miyoung tries to save herself but Mingi is not having it.

“Keep your snake mouth shut” he snaps “lest I cut your tongue off for disrespecting my wife. You have, by extent, insulted me as well. Second wife? Don’t make me laugh. Queen (Y/N) is a hundred times more the queen you would ever be.”

Before Miyoung could protest anymore, Mingi snaps his fingers and guards you didn’t even expect to be there come out of the shadows to take Miyoung by the arms.

“My King!”

“Mingi!”

Both you and Miyoung gasp in surprise, although yours is more confused and hers is plain offence, but Mingi ignores you both as he addresses his guards. “Take Lady Miyoung to the dungeons while I decide what to do with her.”

And without hesitation, the soldiers drag an offended and whining Miyoung away. It’s only when her hollers finally cease that you snap to attention, quickly bowing at your husband. “I didn’t expect you to be here, Mingi,” you state as he bows back. “I thank you for your help in dealing with Lady Miyoung, though.”

Mingi sighs. “I should’ve done more before, (Y/N), and I’m sorry. I should’ve known how hard it would be for you, moving so soon after the war.”

You shake your head as your hands clutch at your full skirts. “You have no obligation towards me. Lady Miyoung was, in a way, correct about one thing. I am a war trophy.”

“No obligation?” Mingi’s voice raises in volume but he pauses to calm himself down after he notices you flinch at the volume of it. “(Y/N), you are my wife. The furthest possible thing from a trophy. I should have nipped the gossip in the bud—neither of us wanted a war and we could not control our circumstances.” Mingi reaches forward, almost as if to hold your hands, but decides against it, his hands just hovering awkwardly in the air.”

“But you don’t care,” you contradict him, your voice small. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but I rarely ever see you, and the court thinks I’m a joke. I can’t show my face without hearing the whispers behind my back. I do my best to listen to the commoner’s struggles and offer solutions but there’s only so much I can do when the officials and their wives are against me.”

Your words stun Mingi to his core. “You think I’m indifferent?” At your careful nod, he overcomes his hesitation and takes your shaking hands, bringing them to his chest as you are pulled forward at the motion. “My wife, I adore you. I would be lying to call it love, but I hold you in such high regard, and given time, I would come to love you if you’d let me. I am so sorry that you came to that conclusion.”

You hesitate before reaching forward and squeezing his warm, large hands. “It’s okay,” you whisper. When Mingi raises an eyebrow you laugh breathily at his suspicion. “It truly is. Yes, I felt alone and out of place, but your words and kindness have comforted me. We can try again. I’ll attend more councils with you as is my duty, and we can have lunch together afterwards. I’ll do my best to appeal more to the nobles and we can get to know each other. I don’t hold it against you, Mingi.”

Mingi nods slowly as he processes your words. “We shall,” he smiles and you can’t help but smile back. He brings your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against them. “We will, and that’s a promise. I will defend your reputation with all I can, and you will blossom in this court, I’m sure of it.”

You giggle a little at his phrasing and you give his hands another gentle squeeze. “I will hold you to that promise.” A pause as you stare into each others’ eyes and an idea hits you. “Mingi, are you busy right now?”

Mingi shakes his head. “No?” he cocks his head, his eyes warm.

Your eyes shine as your smile grows even more on your face. “Then please do me the honour of accompanying me to my garden, my King.” You punctuate your question with a short laugh and Mingi’s eyes shine as he nods.

“Please, let’s.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest as you gently pull him down the hall back from where you came.

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whump-queen · 2 months

Text

Silver (Part 2)

continued from this

tags: forced intox, manhandling, “servant” whump but let’s be honest he’s basically a pet. words: 3k

✧ ─ ༻✦༺ ─ ✧

Seven stumbled through the crowd, making his way towards the white cabinets of the adjoined kitchen. The penthouse was precariously dark for how crowded it felt tonight. The sun had set and all that shone through the ceiling-high glass was the glimmering lights of the city. Of tiny people in distant windows. They danced and flickered like highway beams across Seven’s wavering vision.

He braced himself against the glass-paned wall, a handprint he would be cleaning up in the morning, along with the rest of the night’s inevitable damage. He felt his mind buzzing, he placed his other palm against the cool glass, and for a moment, he let himself forget it all.

The ceiling was all that stood between him and an endless sky of blinking lights and stars. There was a vastness about the view beyond that both captivated and terrified him. Skyscrapers surrounded him on all sides, towering to the starry heavens—a gateway that could suck him right up at any moment and send him floating, boundless, through the black night.

He blinked, snapping his gaze from the windowed walls to focus instead on the purple glow of the tacky LED strips Wes had stuck up on the crown molding. Wes was living proof that money couldn’t buy you good taste. He had a gorgeous place on his father’s dime and squandered it with cheesy, bachelor-esque decor. No, if you asked Seven, the penthouse would be much better suited with a simple, elegant aesthetic. But nobody ever did, in fact, ask Seven.

He let his mind wander back to the immaculate halls of the family estate. He wouldn’t say he missed it, rather, it was no better than his current circumstance, but he couldn’t help but feel as though his talents had been better suited there.

At least his Mistress shared his proclivity for cleanliness, and he felt his efforts were more…appreciated. That felt like a strange word to assign to someone like her, but he found himself sick of Wes and his particular brand of chaos. Of constantly cleaning things up after he’d only just tidied them. Of his drunk friends constantly throwing things, knocking things over, and getting sick in less than opportune locations. But most of all, he was sick of never getting a moment of space. Gone were any quiet afternoons spent cleaning the mansion, polishing silver or waxing wooden floors. He could at least let his mind wander, back then. Sometimes his Mistress would even let him out onto the grounds. Sometimes it was bearable, when she wasn’t busy tormenting him.

But there was no yard in this penthouse. Only stacked compartments that soared high into the atmosphere. He’d only ridden the elevator once, on the day he and Wes had moved in. To see so much of the city and never be able to touch it—he felt like a little bird in a high tower, its wings clipped by its captors. Kept in a tiny cage, enveloped in tiny, glimmering lights.

He was suddenly hyper aware of the bracelet around his ankle. The unwelcome feeling of its strap pressing against his skin. An ugly, black, clunky thing. It hadn’t come off since that first day.

He was thinking too much for the amount of tequila he’d ingested, and was rudely reminded of that when his throat clenched up and he realized he’d meant to get water several minutes ago. He turned and blinked again, jostling his twirling stream of consciousness, yet he hadn’t so much as another moment to himself as he was nearly toppled into by a drunk girl with red hair. Brie, some part of him remembered. She was a regular.

She said something to him. He couldn’t make it out over the blasting music. She was holding something.

Make that two things.

She offered him a hand. A blue Jello-shot.

He shook his head, a slightly slurred “Am’good.”

She stepped in closer, sliding her free hand up his chest, “Yeah? I can see that, pretty boy. But we’re just getting started with you.”

Her voice rang clear this time, and Seven felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He just wished they would all leave him alone. What on earth would she make him do this time?

“Please, come on, Brie, I just need some water, I–”

“And I just want you to take a shot with me!” She smiled cheerfully, as if he would have any choice in the matter.

“Now, you can be a good boy and we’ll do it together. It’ll be fun! Or, we can do this the hard way, and I can have the boys hold you down again.”

The memory of being grabbed and harshly shoved to his knees, his arms wrenched behind him and his hair pulled up, of being force-fed liquor like a pathetic dog—

Fuck—he was gonna gag again.

He knew he couldn’t get out of this, but maybe he could stall and buy himself some time to metabolize the tequila Wes had made him drink earlier.

“Please! I swear I just need a minute, I just—”

“Yeah, isn't that a shame? Cuz I want to do it now.”

She turned and called out into the crowd, her red curls bouncing as she moved. And like a supervillain summoning two goons, a pair of hulking jocks seemingly materialized behind her.

Seven froze, two pairs of eyes locking onto his like predators eyeing their next meal. Seven couldn’t even remember their names. Didn’t want to. The tall one with the curly hair and the slightly less-tall one with that awful sneer—they never missed a chance to rough Seven up.

Just like that, they were on him. The tall one kicked out his right knee while the other twisted a hand in his hair and yanked his head down. There was a burst of white light when he hit the floor face-first, hot wetness splattering under the clash of his temple against the tile.

Fuck. Fuckk. It was all white for a moment. Then Seven couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel his entire body. He felt weightless all of a sudden, he’d forgotten where he was, he was hurling through a vortex, somewhere far away, far from this penthouse and the music and the booze. It was a heavy, dull pulsating that stirred him back to whatever half-lucid dream this was. He was lying on something. A hard surface. Fuckk. Where was he?

“Where am I…” his lips moved. No one heard him.

Then the pounding in his temple began to slowly morph when the bass of the music faded back in, thumping against the inside of his skull like an alarm he just wanted to sleep through.

He groaned, and he was reminded, slowly, that this was indeed music, that he was lying on a hard surface and that his head fucking hurt.

He was coming back to himself by the second now and dreaded his position, the memory of reality. To be painfully and blissfully whisked away, if only for a moment—reality hit him harder than the tile flooring.

He was just grateful he’d had the reflex to turn his head. He’d been slammed into the floor enough times to know that failing to do so meant a broken nose.

He was still reeling from the blow when he felt his wrists grabbed. He knew what came next. He tried to struggle against the hands, but he still couldn’t see straight and fuck he was so dizzy everything was whirring too fast. Arms double the size of his own yanked him up into a kneeling position. He felt hands pressing his wrists together, another hand was in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing his spine to arch painfully.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Just do it already, he thought, hoping she’d be finished with him if he just took the shot and left it at that. He should have just taken it the first time. God dammit.

He cried out and his head snapped to the side. Brie had slapped him.

“Pay attention!” She was excited. Smiling in that cheerful beautiful way that would make anyone shocked at the cruelty she was capable of.

She leaned in, sliding her hand down the side of Seven’s reddening cheek, his jawline—he bristled when she reached his collarbone, his sternum, until she was fiddling with the button on his shirt, flicking it until it came free. Seven felt a whine of embarrassment leave his throat, thankfully deafened by the music.

She flicked open a second button and Seven thrashed against the hands that held him, twisting this way and that, giving all his strength for a brief few moments of valiant effort before he felt the back of Brie’s rings cut across his other cheek. He had no time to recover—she grabbed his face and dug her pink nails into the sides of his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. She held the shot up, and he shuddered with the taste of what he knew was coming.

“Now, I was gonna let you use a spoon, but since you decided to be a bitch about it, you can lick it out with your tongue.”

Seven whimpered. Fuck, he was really going to have to do this.

“Go on. You can either eat it from my hands, or off the floor like a dog. Your choice.”

As if there was ever a choice.

Seven complied, scooping the blue jello from the cup with his tongue, and swallowing obediently. It was the only way out. He just prayed she’d be satisfied and leave him alone so he could slink off into a corner somewhere where no one would find him for the rest of the night.

Brie laughed, delighted. She ruffled his hair with her manicured hand. “Good boy!” she exclaimed. As though he really were a dog performing some kind of trick.

He supposed that his obedience was the trick. He was the trick. The dog. Even his title was a farce. Servant. Like his cleaning ever did this place any good. They all treated it like a trap house, anyway.

His stomach was in knots. At least he had done it. He thrashed against the men that still held him.

“Aren't you gonna—” his tone slipped. He caught himself. Be respectful. Plead.

“Please, Brie, jus’ lemme go.” His head was pounding, still bleeding from being slammed against the floor. Everything hurt. As he said it, he realized he might just topple over if they were to release him now.

“Hmm..” Brie posed her hand against her chin, in mocking consideration.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

She smiled, “I’ve remembered how much I like you this way. You’re just so cute!” She ruffled his hair again. He twisted his head to the side, trying to avoid her hand. That earned him another slap. Harder than the others. Seven seemed to have run out of chances.

“Mikey!” She exclaimed to the goon on the left, “Tie him up!”

The hulking man chuckled. “Looks like he hasn't had enough yet.”

The goon, Mikey, released Seven’s left arm, only for the other man to grab it immediately, twisting both arms behind his back and pressing him down to the floor. Seven didn’t struggle this time, fears of a broken nose or worse running through his mind as his face was rubbed into the smear of his own blood. He let it happen.

There was a knee on his back, pressing him hard against the tile. He felt a thick leather strap encircle his wrists, cinching tightly before the hands released his arms and tangled back in his hair, yanking his head up until he was kneeling again. He tested the leather, pulling to see if it would give, but it seemed he’d been successfully restrained with no more than a leather belt.

“Aww, come on Seven, that was nothing! Surely you can take more than that.”

By this point, they were really starting to draw a crowd. Dark figures gathered around him, laughing and swirling, their faces shrouded into dark silhouettes.

“Please,” he begged, “W-water…”

No one heard him.

“I've got somethin for him!” one guy shouted, approaching through the crowd with what looked to be a jar in his hands.

“Ooo lemme see!” Brie turned, thrilled, “No way. You got Moonshine Maraschinos? Where did you even find these?”

Seven paused his struggling, confused. He hadn’t heard of that before. He imagined it would be painful, whatever it was.

“My buddy makes ‘em himself,” the man declared proudly, no doubt invigorated by Brie’s approval. “Best moonshine around. Won’t find nothing stronger than these.” He tapped the lid of the jar.

“Well? Chop chop!!” She clapped her hands at him impatiently. “I’m not opening that thing myself.”

When the lid was open, Brie reached in and withdrew her hand, her pink fingertips clasped around the stem of a single red cherry. She turned to Seven, leaning down and dangling it in front of his face.

Seven twisted and scrambled away, “No! Wait, please I jus’ need—” He made it a few feet before one of Brie’s goons caught him by the hair. He let out a yelp as he was dragged backwards, and thrown back down at her feet. His knees cracked against the tile again and he knew they would be beyond bruised by morning.

“Oh Sevennn,” Brie sang from above him, “Did you think I was finished with you? That it would be that easy? I haven’t even told you what they are yet! Don’t you wanna know?”

Held tightly in place by the goons, Seven said nothing, indignant and content to stare her down until she did the inevitable.

She let out a big, dramatic breath. “Since you didn't ask, I might as well tell you. These are maraschino cherries, sugar cherries. Soaked in moonshine. You’ve heard of moonshine, haven’t you?”

He grit his teeth and scowled. Her tone was beyond patronizing, but he had not, in fact, heard of moonshine.

“No,” was all he said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel it soon enough.”

Before he could react, her hand was on his face again, pinching his cheeks until his mouth opened. She dangled the cherry over his parted lips. He could still see her smiling over him. Fuck—why did she have to drag this out?

She lowered the cherry into his mouth, and he took it obediently. He swallowed and immediately gagged when she released his face. It tasted awful. Like someone had soaked a cherry in rubbing alcohol for 8-10 business months. He supposed that was probably exactly what it was.

She fed him three more before the goons finally released him. Seven curled in on himself at once, folded over with his hands still bound behind him, just trying to quell the nausea in the pit of his stomach. His throat burned, and he couldn’t get that god awful taste of moonshine out of his mouth—out of his nose—his head.

He collapsed onto his side, his shoulder hissing with pain when it hit the floor. He begged for water. No one heard him.

✧ ─ ༻✦༺ ─ ✧

Seven was floating somewhere. Somewhere high, high above. Diving in the starry depths that loomed overhead, just above the ceiling plaster.

His mind was elsewhere, but his body remained curled on the floor, crumbling between hyperventilation and bouts of nausea that made him gag, when he felt the tip of a shoe jab him hard in the ribs.

He ignored it. The shoe persisted, jabbing him harder and harder until it kicked him ruthlessly in the ribs.

He groaned in pain and stirred, coughing, as he awkwardly propped himself up on one elbow with his hands still bound uselessly at the small of his back.

Slowly, he managed to look up, and felt his liquor-soaked blood run cold. Wes’ hulking shadow loomed over him.

“Well, don’t you look fuckin’ pathetic,” he spat.

Seven could hear that he was smiling. Wes continued, wiping slick strands of hair across his forehead, “Looks like they already got you tied nice and tight, you want some more?”

Seven scrambled back, “No—no’more, please!–”

Wes didn’t give time for Seven to escape. Grabbing his collar and yanking him forward, he forced that now half-drunken bottle of silver tequila right to his lips.

Wes’ other hand found Seven’s hair and yanked it back again, following with the bottle until Seven was nearly bent in half limbo-style.

For several agonizing seconds, Wes’ hand in his hair was all that held him up as he was forced to chug that horrible nauseating poison. It was. It was straight poison. And Seven would never be free of it. Free of them. Free of him.

Too many seconds—let up Wes for the love of god please—let up!—god—Seven begged in his head, tears falling and whimpering, he gagged mid-gulp and felt lukewarm, stinging poison spill from his lips and run down his chin, before Wes pulled the bottle away and released his hair.

He collapsed instantly, coughing and retching and curling in on himself when his knees hit the floor and he felt his kneecaps ring.

They thought it was funny to get him drunk like this. Just because they could.

Seven lay on the floor for, he didn’t know how long. Someone finally brought him water. He didn’t know who. There was a light touch on his shoulder, the gentle cupping of the back of his neck, guiding him towards a red solo cup. He flinched away before he realized its contents didn’t reek like its predecessors. It was water.

He was back on his knees so fast it made his head spin with heavy vertigo, swallowing him in swirling molasses for several moments as he tried to stop the blurry red shape in front of him from oscillating back and forth.

That hand was back around his neck again, gripping, but not squeezing. Holding his chin and guiding him towards the water. He tried to reach for the cup. His arms did not budge. He remembered now, slowly and to his detriment, that no one at this party had any intention of releasing him from his belted circumstance any time soon.

He decided he didn’t care. There was no time to care when there was water.

He lurched his head forward when his lips touched the plastic, causing the cup to tip too fast and the water to cascade down his face and neck and his exposed chest.

He didn’t care, gulping it up at a breakneck speed until every drop was gone.

His savior pulled her hand away and he gasped and bent forward, realizing the front of his shirt was soaked through.

He probably looked like a mess.

He didn’t care.

This was no place for pride.

He just hoped he’d survive the night.

✧ ─ ༻✦༺ ─ ✧

Oh boy that was a long one! Let me know if you have any suggestions/requests on what to do to him next :3

Series masterlist

Seven Taglist: (Just ask to be added/removed!)

@oddsconvert @blood-is-compulsory @lonesome--hunter @silversanimewhump @whatwasmyprevioususername

@suspicious-whumping-egg @theonewithallthefixations @saltyemrys @writing-and-trying @veyroswin

@whumpdreamz @kitstorm @amazingmagda @honeycollectswhump @ijustwannareadsomestuff

@fleshand-blood @cryptobiolliegy @whump-in-the-closet

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apomaro-mellow · 8 months

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King&Prince 11

Steve had spent the rest of the day alone in his room. He had a feeling the only reason that happened was because the king himself had given an order to the kids not to bother him at all. Most of the hours he sat at the window sill, looking out onto the land that was supposed to be cursed.

But it was quite the same as the land he'd been raised on. What other lies had his family told about this place? About these people? There were still things Steve didn't understand. It felt like a puzzle had been formed with mixed pieces that no longer fit together.

He wondered how long his father took to make his decision to abandon him. Had he paced around? Had he weighed his options at all? Or had it been an immediate breath of relief when he was able to rid himself of his son? Then he thought about his mother.

She was always softer on him, but in the end never failed to side with her husband. Steve felt he couldn't begrudge her for that, but still wished to know if she argued with him even the smallest bit when he did this.

Steve thought he had known his worth. He might not be the son his parents wanted, but he was still a son. Still a crown prince, born and raised to one day rule. They had put so much work into him. They wanted to send him away, yes, but to be trained and come back even more prepared for his future role as king. They were tossing him away like it all meant nothing.

Well they could always make anoth-

He felt the burn of tears coming on before the thought even finished. They would, wouldn't they? They'd just start over with another child. One that they'd bring up right. They would forget all about Steve. They might even go as far as to strike his name from the record. What need would they have to remember him? He had accomplished nothing under their parentage. Nothing of note to them anyway.

So what was next then? What could he accomplish here? Suppose the king wasn't playing a trick and actually meant what he said. That Steve would be under his protection. What would he be allowed to do? What could he pursue?

Well, he made a pretty good pack mule. Maybe manual labor was in his future. Steve laughed to himself at that. From royal heir, to prisoner, to humble servant. He didn't realize how long he'd been in thought until it started to get dark around him. He turned away from the window, about to start getting ready for bed when he heard a tapping and caw.

There was a raven at the window.

Its wings flapped and it was carrying something in its talons, wrapped in paper. Steve looked at it warily and then the bird cawed again in what sounded like annoyance. Steve opened the window and the bird flew in, dropping its package onto the bed. The bird nudged it towards Steve with its beak.

"You brought that for me?", Steve asked.

The raven cawed.

Steve opened it up carefully and inside was a sandwich. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten much today. He then looked to the bird. "You must be one of the king's messengers?"

The raven's expression was unreadable, but then again he supposed most birds' were. Steve sat on the bed and reached forward to pet the top of its head then under its chin. The raven leaned into it like it was enjoying the scratches.

"You can tell your master...thank you. And here." Steve opened the sandwich and took out some of the meat. "Your delivery fee."

The raven took it carefully into its mouth, cawed at Steve, and then left out of the window into the darkening sky.

This felt like another olive branch. The king assuring him that he was safe here. Steve didn't know what his role would be, what he could accomplish or pursue. But he had the feeling that he might be given the time and the space to decide that for himself.

------------------------

The next morning, Steve got ready and was about to leave his room in search of breakfast only to find the king, fist poised to knock.

"Your Majesty?"

"Y-your Highness. Good morning. Didn't expect you to be up so early."

"I'm an early riser by nature", Steve said.

"Then you're just in time for breakfast."

Steve was led down the halls but this time instead of going towards the kitchens, they went into a different room. There was a grand table and at it Robin and Nancy already sat. There was the man from the ambush that Steve recognized but didn't know the name of. King Edward-no Eddie, his name was Eddie, wait, was Steve allowed to call him that? Safer to keep it formal for now. Anyway, the king took his seat at the head of the table.

The only open seat was at the other end, so Steve took it. Nancy didn't look too happy to see him but it wasn't so much that Steve worried about poison in his food. Breakfast was served and the other four mostly kept the conversation going while Steve sat silently chewing. They seemed to be discussing the proceedings of an event happening soon.

It reminded Steve of the festivities happening back home. People would be coming out more, having picnics, and the seasonal fruits that could be enjoyed now.

"So you're not even going to put a leash on him?", Nancy asked, getting Steve's attention.

Eddie grinned. "I'm rather certain his bark his worse than his bite."

"Care to put that to the test?", Steve asked with a raised brow.

"I'd advice against stepping into an arena with Eddie", Jeff said.

"I know I look like a wispy thing, but I can be a heavy hitter", Eddie said, twirling a fork full of egg around.

"I'll believe it when I see it", Steve said. One of the few things he was confident in was his ability to fight.

"I think your time is best spent tutoring someone less trained", Eddie said.

"...You mean Lucas?"

"You want him training Lucas?", Robin asked, jabbing her thumb toward Steve.

"Why not?", Eddie shrugged. "One couldn't ask for a better teacher than a prince."

Steve didn't think it was meant as a compliment. But something warm in his body swelled like it was. Right as breakfast finished, Nancy produced a sheet of parchment and walked it over to Steve, placing it in front of him.

"Your new schedule."

"You made me a schedule?"

"It was the only way she'd allow you free reign of the castle without a binding spell", Eddie said.

Steve had been looking over the assignments when Eddie's words sunk in. He looked up, feeling a mix of awe, confusion, and gratitude. "You're...giving me free reign of the castle?" Of his home?

Eddie smiled in a way that seemed more genuine. "I see no harm in it. Like I said, you're not a prisoner. Think of it as something like an exchange program. Princes travel abroad all the time, don't they?"

Steve looked at the schedule. He noted that each thing had someone with him, almost like a chaperone, sometimes multiple people. If Nancy was the one making this, he was sure it was intentional. But he understood. He hadn't fully proven himself as trustworthy. For the first time, Steve considered if he might kill Eddie if given the chance.

Would his father welcome him back with open arms then?

He shook off the thought, already knowing the answer. If he killed Eddie there was nothing good in it for him.

"When do I start?"

Part 13

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble @jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24 @justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void @nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things @nicememerino @robininblue @hornedqueenofhell @anne-bennett-cosplayer @moomkin77 @here4thetrama @bookworm0690

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie

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gold-pavilion · 1 year

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Hanafuda references in Izana & Kakucho

I love how full of references all of Tokyo Revengers is, so here's a thread about the links to hanafuda around Izana and his kingdom!! Cause it's a week till S3 and I'm excited!!

As expected, his earrings are the best place to start from.

So first of all, I'll explain what the hanafuda deck is and which card from it they're representing.

Even though they only contain pictures without any visible numeric value or indicator, hanafuda are playing cards. They surfaced exactly like this in order to avoid prohibitions around gambling way back in the Edo period, when foreign playing cards were banned. These slipped much more easily under the radar.

As such, hanafuda became kind of a discreet symbol of the illegal. Peony cards were a sign of prostitution, for one, and the whole deck was a staple of gambling. Which is why, even though that time passed and hanafuda cards did stay as regular playing cards, it's fun to have the leader of a criminal group wear one.

Izana's card is the Full Moon, a highly-ranked card within the game (one of the 5 "lights" or "bright cards" which give the most points).

The hanafuda deck is distributed by months, in 12 groups of 4 cards each; each month also has an assigned flower/tree that appears in the 4 cards, visually tying them together. This card of the full moon over the pampa is part of the August set, matching Izana's birthday month!

But the hanafuda references aren't only around him. Moving on to his servant:

Kakucho's name (just Kakucho, mistakenly believed to have a surname due to a faulty fantranslation) is made of the kanji 鶴 (kaku) and 蝶 (chou), which mean "crane" and "butterfly". Both hanafuda cards.

The crane card is part of the January set and is one of the Lights, as it also depicts the sun over the pine trees. Being a Light, getting it alongside the full moon card is really advantageous and can build you some of the most point-earning hands. The butterfly card is part of the June set, depicting butterflies over a peony flower.

Both cranes and butterflies are thematically assigned to Kakucho! Taking a close look at his volume cover outfit, a crane pattern can be seen on the fabric, as well as a butterfly wing shape on the bottom of the jacket. Motifs that Wakui selected carefully for him.

( scan/translated commentary from @yokohamabeans )

What's more… take a look at Izana's recent illustration for the Nov 2023 TR Expo, 'cause it's pretty interesting in this regard.

Aside from the peacock motif and the yin-yang that were used for this outfit, there's a little cameo on the inside of the jacket: a crane. If you zoom in and take a good look at the bird's head, you can tell it apart from the peacocks. And another one, even harder to spot, so tiny that @anantagonist had to point it out to me: a butterfly, right above that.

No other Tenjiku member is linked to hanafuda references (the Haitani brothers have their assigned flowers, neither happens to match the flowers depicted in the deck), but Izana and Kakucho sure are closely linked through it. It's something they alone share.

Isn't it cool? Let me know if you dig this kind of reference-listing posts, 'cause with TR there is so much to dig into.

#tokyo revengers #tr meta #kakucho #izana #kurokawa izana #kakuchou #kakuiza #izakaku #references in media #tokyo rev #thoughts and talk and so

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janichroma · 7 months

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🎉Q/A Answers!🎉🎉

There's a lot to parse here! Warning that there are some spoilers of current content in here! So please tread carefully!

Q1.) I'm very curious about Death Wings. Do all of them exist in a similar state to Robo-Ren, where their true bodies are asleep and they pilot a mechanical suit, or is there something that differentiates them?

Ren is an exception. He's the only one who pilots a separate body. The others are in their own!

Q2.) Which Rejuv characters would be most likely to start a podcast together?

Adam and Valarie probably have a lot of deep 3 am conversations so with a little help from Saki, those two would def make a podcast. Other highlights are Saki+Erick and maybe Texen by himself because he just talks about how women are objects or something i dunno.

Q3.) Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea? Are you being held hostage?

I deadass thought i was gonna get 10-20 questions at most..... So yeah its a good idea.

Q4.) So, half servants. They’ve been so confusing to me. Until 13.5 I was just under the assumption servants were just infertile lol. So, do half servants like…. Inherit any powers or anything from their servant parent? Like, the ability to teleport and things like that.

Servants cannot reproduce when they're first created/in their generic form, but when they transform into their own person they gain a soul and they are then able to reproduce because they're just like any other person. It's just that their origins are different. Servants can still use their magic, but their children cannot. Although, I bet their children -do- inherit some traits from their Servant parent. Probably like just having above average strength/speed etc. That's not universal, though.

Q5.) How come Tesla doesn't let Amber bring us to the villa after the gym battle now?

Well... When two people love each other very much...

Q6.) Do the executives of Team Xen and most importantly Ren have the green gem somewhere on their body that marks them as members of Team Xen?

I wonder...

Q7.) I know in the past, you said that you haven't seen any correct guesses as to the identity of Madame X. Has that changed since the release of 13.5?

Pretty close, but no cigar.

Q8.) would crescent like yuri/gl

I banish you to the hungry worm dimension.

Q9.) i know that some characters, namely tesla (and maybe jolene?) call themselves "honorary" members of the elite 8. is there any specific reason for that? also can roboren run doom this is important.

There's no specific reason other than it soundin' fancy. Roboren can run tetris so maybe!

Q10.) What are the perks/ benefits of joining Team Xen? ( asking for a friend )

Amazing health care, and amazing investments in your 401k.

Q11.) I wanted to ask, which character has, for you, the most chance to surprise us in future updates? Be it badly or greatly.

i can't answer this because it gives too much implicit information!!! Sorry!!

Q12.) what pokemon teams (or just ace pokemon) would characters you don’t ever battle have? for example, volta, eizen, martin, rune, eden, etc? will we ever fight any of them?

I don't want to answer this either because we will probably have an opportunity to fight -most- of these people here, but for Rune it's already established to be Rapidash (Ace), and Eden would probably have a Blissey somewhere.

Q13.) How close of friends are Amber and Crawli? I wanted to ask since they're both Gym Leaders of Terajuma and around the same age, especially when Tesla and Amber moved to Telia after the incident.

They're not too close. They know of each other, and have spoken, but it's mostly a "friendly landlord" kind of relationship. They only talk when it's necessary... Not that Crawli is a landlord, or has any bearing on Teila.

Q14.) Hihi, what are somethings that have changed from version v12 (and also v13) that you really like/are proud of? And are there things you miss from previous versions, but you had to get rid of for any reasons? (I'm personally absolutely in love with the redone Terajuma stuff and especially Crawli, and also the redone Ryland scenes but that's because I'm biased.)

Terajuma 100%. I LOVE Terajuma now. I used to really despise it, evidently. But I think it's so fun and has a lot of nice moments. Valor Mountain still sucks, though. I have a huge urge to simplify that place, but then i'd have to redo a certain scene later and i dont wanna bc it's already perfect. Suffering from success... As for things I miss from previous versions... I can't think of any right now because I love where we're at rn so I guess I don't miss anything? There are certain scenes like Melia with her long hair flowing, but outside of small instances like that, nah!

Q15.) If in the nightmare school "Jean" was able to manifest flora's explosives from the dreams of GDC's citizens... Where could he have manifested A Gun from??

Probably the police station, tbh.

Q16.) What's your personal favorite part of the game thus far?

Honestly Chapter 2 -> to the end of Terajuma is so much fun to me. Not that the other chapters aren't, but that part is comfy. I also love Renegade Route chapter 0.

Q17.) Now if I'm remembering correctly, you mentioned that Venam was supposed to be just a side character at first. What made you decide to change her role into such a major one? Also how did the Melia/Venam come about?

Yeah so, Beth was actually in Venam's spot if you can believe that. Yes, the same one that sells Moo-Moo Milk. We already had a prominent blonde character and Beth wasn't boring or anything, she just didn't add a fun dynamic with Melia. Although back then the formula was more rebornified. Meaning characters rarely traveled together and they kind of just showed up when they needed to. Now characters are constantly always traveling with you and stuff. Not that the old format is bad, it's just a different take. I brought Venam back because she's Melia's best friend and it felt real weird that she was not involved -at all- compared to her and Ren. Their relationship came about because.. Well, I kinda just knew. Venam was always a lesbian in my head, and Melia is def the character that would love anyone if they gave her the chance to love them. It just felt right?

Q18.) 1) When was Eizen conceptualized? 2) What is one funny story about developing v13.5 that you can share? 3) Were there any pieces of media you took inspiration from while writing Renegade(mainly Central Tower)? 4) Do you have any plans of making more games after Rejuv?

Yall are cheating with the multiple parts!! Anyway, Eizen was conceptualized sometime in v13's development, but he... she.. they... were just a concept at the point. (stick a pin in that) 2.) A funny story? Hm... I honestly can't remember anything rn. Probably just some bug that caused us pain and it was super simple to fix. 3.) To be honest, I didn't take any real inspiration for Renegade. I actually went into doing that route without knowing exactly what I wanted from it. But the pieces sorta fell into place and im in love with it lol. M2 was always going to be a character in the game, it's just that she was never named M2 and was more tragic than unhinged. M2's personality was altered slightly because I wanted Renegade to have SOME sort of a balance, and a partner in crime (sorta) felt appropo. 4.) Yes, I have original games in the works AND plans for at LEAST 1 more fangame after this. I'd like to start from scratch with all the knowledge I have now. Though, it wouldnt be nowhere near as long as Rejuv. I'm talking like 4-5 releases. lol.

Q19.) Wanted to ask how renegade!MC perceives Clear/Kieran, the 3 choices we have to respond to Clear asking us to go see Clear all seemed cold towards her. I guess they aren't a potential new friend group?

They are a means to an end. The MC is not close with Clear or Kieran at all. They barely even talk outside of the instances we've already seen. Maybe that'll change?

Q20.) This has been a matter of contention between some friends of mine and I. How old is Odessa? I'd assumed she was below 18 as she's not taken the throne so she might not be an adult and her dad's in charge until that happens, but they think she's an adult. For something less serious, who in Rejuv's most likely to start a ponzi scheme, and who's most likely to buy in.

Odessa is likely to be around 25-ish. She's a legal adult, and is in line to be Queen of Kristiline, but their family line already holds so little influence and power that Aquis just makes her a figurehead and manages things on his own. Kind of a Cinderella of situation? More similar but not 1:1. To be honest? I figure Aquis hopes Kailani to return one day and assume her duties because he likes her more (Even if he abused her the same way he did Odessa.) As for the ponzi scheme... I feel like Thomas Jr would make one and Texen would fall for it.

Q21.) Who is the hardest character to write consistently?

Honestly? Melia. She's given me the most trouble despite her being so prominent. Im good at it now I think, but before I never knew how to write her because anything I did came with criticism lol, and still does, but now I don't really give a shit. Amber's a close second.

Q22.) When Crescent fell down the cliff, did she get the interceptor contract then was asked to become a storm chaser? The events seemed to have happened close to each other. Curious since the hags serve Variya, so only 1 of the 2 parties could've asked her both, but that wasn't the case.

Yes it was shortly after she fell. To be clear, the sparkle the protags saw was the sparkling of water from the moonlight above. So they knew it was "safe" to push Crescent. She could have died but she had a chance to survive a situation where the alternative meant certain death.

Q23.) Will the Elite 8 even be able to be battled on Renegade? I imagine Karrina would replace Karen if Karen dies on Paragon, and Karrina doesn’t get pushed, but she eats the Deletos on Renegade if you don’t push her in Castle Zygara, and it made me wonder.

The members of the Elite 8 may be battleable, but not in an official league format. That's all I'll say on that.

Q24.) I'm still really curious about emma, things that come up in my mind a lot is the part where she looks to be used by variya to speak to melia during the part where amanda knocks her out, and during pearl route when we see the note signed by someone with the same name- emma. because of this, I've been pretty curious about this disguise thing the space hags gave melia. did they- or variya gave them orders to- pull the appearance from the deceased emma? does this mean ... they're the same person?

The name part is merely a coincidence and acts as foreshadowing. Melia reads the note and is like "Emma...?" and wonders if she would share the same fate as the ones written on the notes, and then lo and behold she has the same condition.

Q25.) This question is regarding Renegade route: Do the 6 years that M2 and our chosen host were lost in that alternate world match up with a version release that is outdated, or is an in-universe timer that we shouldn't overthink that much?

Honestly, that wasnt the reason for 6 years but now I wish it was that's rad as hell. But no the 6 years isn't even 6 years. It's an unspecified amount of time that passes that she perceives as 6. They both couldve been down there for a million years and they wouldnt know. The area they're in is similar to the chasm where it wears down your mind after long exposure. Maybe that's how Melia could take such a bad turn in life. The protags are always optimistic to escape though so they are able to hold onto their mind.

Q26.) #1 spector fan here asking questions about him since he probably won't get much spotlight outside of one quest... what was his life like before taking on the reserve leader role (other than what we already know, like where he lived,) and what are his interests outside of the paranormal, if any? thanks for the opportunity! love this game a lot :^)

Spector is a history buff and loves to do Goth Gf things like take strolls in graveyards at 3 am 🥰🥰. Probably spent most of his time in the District of Hope. He also likes exploring ruins and abandoned buildings. Not limited to Aevium tbh.

Q27.) I know Eizen seems to be a strictly side quest character, but have K/C or the hags ever tried contacting him for recruitment? His research seems too valuable to go unused for them.

Eizen has absolutely no interest in either of those groups. If they even tried to do anything he'd noclip out of the room and fall out of bounds and then die half life 1 style.

Q28.) :3c what are some characters that are trans if i may ask?

Ryland - FTM Party Girl - MTF Alain - NB Aero - NB V - Genderfluid Eden - Genderfluid

Q29.) would angie still possess alice in renegade? :0 super curious about it hihihi

Whatever happened passively in Paragon (Meaning Cera being abandoned, Alice getting possessed), STILL HAPPENS IN RENEGADE, we just don't see it because the trail of events that led to us seeing them in Paragon do not happen. So... in Renegade, that means Alice is still...

Q30.) How did the aftermath scene from defeating the hags on renegade come to be? I'm very curious

i assume you mean the Tera Raid parody? Well, it came up on my playlist on the train and I was feeling chaotic. what if in rejuv but deadly ?

Q31.) who's the shortest character (excluding the younger kids >>)

Probably either Cera, tbh. She's a short lil one. I don't have canon heights for characters outside like an estimation. But in my head Cera tiny.

Q32.) Hello! I would like to ask, Did the interceptor, before the SS Oceana be attacked, have fake memories of a life alongside Nancy? Since Crescent wanted the MC to have a normal life, I always wondered If she created new memories to make this easier And if I can ask another question. What is/was the criteria to someone see the MC appearance correctly? Huey and Lavender saw two different ones, while Aelita saw the correct one(in my case she saw Alain when asked)

Crescent did not create memories for the player. They just started acting weirdly and stopped talking to her. They then started to behave the same way you, the player, does. Believing that what is happening is real and has always been real (Because this is all the information you have right now), so Crescent takes this opportunity to try and let go by giving you a better (but fake!) life. It's why she sorta distances herself a bit (but not too much) so that you could integrate yourself into that delusion. We love being neuro <3.

The criteria is pretty ambiguous intentionally, but for me it has to do with personality and connection. Aelita always sees who you truly are because shes so close with the player + she has envoy shenanigans going on. If you would get along with Alain the most, the player would show themselves as alain etc.

Q33.) Any disclosable reasons why the rift dex now only has 2 remaining entries instead of 3 like in v13?

It's probably just a discrepancy that happened due to shifting over code bases. The number of slots left is not indicative of anything.

Q34.) hello jan!! hope you’re doing well :D is there any more information or random various facts about the androids (clear/kieran/eden) that can be said that ISN’T spoilers? it’s ok if not! i’ve just been curious about them all lately, especially in regards to how eden’s powers with emotional manipulation work.

Nothing too interesting about Clear or Kieran that isn't spoilers and isnt known already, but as for Eden... Eden was eccentric and had a personality thats real close to prince peasley from superstar saga LOL. I feel like Eden would have a catch phrase like "Mon Cherie", and flip their iridiscent hair in mockery. Eden's manipulation was very devastating. You would feel an immeasurable amount of joy when inflicted that you would give over any information because youre... happy to! But it was also very deadly. If exposed to it for too long you become way too happy to the point where you lose the ability to function normally. You'd fall into a happy-apathetic state and collapse and just lay where you fell until you starved or died in some other way. Because you're happy to! Everything in moderation, guys.

Q35.) Hi jan!!! quick question — why do you hate me why did the renegade route do that /real/ question though…. My buddy found some like… older stuff about Eizen in v13’s files. Something about a girl named Ærika?? (Idk if thats even connected but whatever) How did Eizen come to be? What was the process?

Hi remember the pin I stuck earlier? Ok we're unpinning that now. So, Eizen was originally a woman (So happy for his transition), And her name was Ærika. But we already had so many girls in the game and I wanted to create more male characters so then Eizen was born. I'm glad for it too because Eizen is way more interesting than Ærika. Eizen/Ærika came to be when [redacted]. I can't explain his origins quite yet, sorry! But one day you Will Realize.

Q36.) Hi Jan, thanks for the amazing game! In Alamissa, before we get yeeted into the past by Kieran, when Ren gives us sylveon and, um, Nancy’s remains, he mentions that he has stayed (even after breaking off with crescent) with xen for an important reason… but won’t specify. Later, he says the reason is because he wants to help nastasia. But the alamissa convo happened before ren met Anastasia (baby version). Did ren want to help nastasia before he met her past version and learned that she was…

Ren didn't know who she was at that point, but Ren has seen Nastasia in vulnerable points (that we havent seen... yet?). She has discussed with him that shes looking for someone prior to Alamissa, but she was very vague about it, and still is, but she's opened up a lot to Ren over time.

Q37.) This is probably a weirder question but will all of the main leaders, even the ones we battle outside of their gym duties have custom moves? If not, would it be safe to assume the main leaders use the moves of their reserves?

All leaders have custom moves. Reserves use the move the main leader does! They have TM's for these, but they aren't allowed to give them out to winners. At least, at the moment!

Q38.) what was your favorite part of 13.5's development?

Making Renegade Route lmfao. It was so much funnnnnnn. I cant wait for the rest.

Q39.) what’s the EoN experience like for someone going through it? If that’s too spoilery, what was the most surprising part of people’s reactions to .karma content?

You're getting scrubbed. It looks painful, but it's painless... and seamless! You literally cannot process what is going on. As for most surprising, I was surprised people loved M2 so much. I mean, I had a feeling people would like her, but she really took off and that makes me happy bc shes so fun to write.

Q40.) Hi Jan! My question is this: Will Melia and Venam get back together somewhat in the future? Or will they just stay friends? (Paragon route)

Who knows...

----------------------------------------------------------------

An extra question im throwing in here because ive seen a lot of talk around this character.

Q1X.) What inspired M2? M2 was conceptualized to be more of a tragic character, but I felt like Renegade needed some balancing out mood wise, or else it was too much of a drag. M2 was inspired by an insecurity of mine, actually, or I guess less so an insecurity and more of a question a lot of us ask ourselves. What if? What if I did this differently? What if I was born elsewhere? How different would I be? When Covid first started running about and I thought the fate of our lives was about to be cut short potentially, I started thinking about how I lived my life and how much I missed out on certain things. M2 is that. She gets a second chance at life and decides she wants to be everything but Melia because she's already lived that life and it turned out poorly. Hence the name M2. The second version of herself.

A song that inspired me is Immaterial by Sophie (Rest in peace)

2:03 is important

youtube

Now that I have a second chance at life, "I'll be anyone, anything, any shape." I mentioned before that your archetype powers manifests as your deep inner desire, and since M2 wants to be everything she couldn't be, it turns into her creating alternative selves through clones made of light. Another point of inspiration for her forms is actually Barbie of all things. Not the movie, although the movie takes advantage of the same principle, that Barbie can be anything. A doctor, a lawyer, life guard, a government official etc. M2 is everything always and forever, and she's also nothing at all. Which one is the real M2?

#pokemon rejuvenation #Rejuv Q/A #Spoilers!#Youtube

140 notes · View notes

sugar-omi · 11 months

Text

DAY TWENTY-ONE — EGGS

*kinktober masterlist | *ao3

tags : NSFW, gn/intersex + top reader, dragon!reader x human!cove, arranged marriage, stomach bulging, knotting, mpreg i suppose, cove w nip n belly piercings, praise

synopsis : you've put off having children to accommodate your human husband, and for him to get comfortable with you. but cove insists he’s ready, and you wouldn’t dare deny your darling husband something he wants

cove is anxious.

and the servants helping him bathe and dress aren't helping as they go on and on about how beautiful your children will be, that "with their majesty's dragon blood, your children will be beautiful and strong!"

even though you promised to be gentle, it didn't ease his fear now that it was happening.

and now he's all alone, sitting in the middle of this grand bed, even though the door is also grand since this is your bedroom- fit for royalty afterall-, he often wonders how it even got in the room from its size.

he tries to focus on the logistics of how the bed was squeezed into the door, and focuses on the grandeur of your palace.

even after nearly a year here, he can never get used to the high ceilings and gold, bold colors and tall open windows. the land is pretty too, open space for dragons to land and flourishing flowers and trees and clear waters.

then he started thinking about how the people dress…

open backs to accommodate your wings, in truth the clothes are quite skimpy to begin with to make room for your tail as well but also since dragons run hot, you need a breeze.

rings and chains to decorate your horns, eye catching makeup and much gold and silver and gems to go around.

it's much different from how he's used to dressing. even though he's used to and comfortable with a lack of clothing, the glamor always make him feel out of place.

even now, necklaces cool his hot skin and he's aware of the rings on his sweaty hands.

he swallows, sighing shakily. he twists his wedding band, shaky fingers tracing the brilliant gems and every curve and bend of the ring.

the door groans, and cove nearly snaps his neck to meet your gaze.

you blink lazily, your nails scraping against the wood as your hand drags along the door. your jewelry clicks, cove's eyes lingering on the shiny pair of anklets.

"ogle as long as you'd like, little dove." you purr, the rumble of your booming voice sends shivers up cove's spin.

he blink, meeting your sharp eyes. "sorry.."

you shake your head, locking the door behind you without looking. the click sticks to cove's mind, anticipation rising in his chest.

"the ladies worked hard to dress me up, please appreciate their efforts." you take long strides across the room, kneeling in the bed and reaching out to softly caress your husband's cheek.

you eyes droop, pointed pupils softening. "i know i do…" you purr, your fingers trailing between his flushed cheeks to his painted, glossy lips.

"although, i think they should have taken your natural fluster into account, the blush is poor in comparison."

cove wraps his hand around your wrist, peeking at you through his lashes.

"i'm.. glad you think so." he mutters, nuzzling into your hand.

your eyes trail down his body, your fingers following your gaze. starting with his hair, curling his hair around the digit, trailing down to his neck and lingering on the choker, pupils dilating with the way it stretches around his throat.

then your nail drags down the valley of his chest, parting his robe to see his pierced nipples, the gem of the jewelry your favorite color.

cove squirms, feeling like prey in the hands of a predator. in a way he was, but he tried not to think of that anymore.

"um.. i- they made something special for tonight…" cove takes your raised brow and retreating hand as a sign.

he undoes the ribbon, and everything seems to move in slow motion as the sleeves pool at his elbows and he shifts to show you his lovely outfit for tonight.

if the servants dressed him with the aim to be devoured, they've hit the mark.

if it isn't the lace underwear, leaving nothing to the imagination, it has to be the garter belt and thighs, showing the expanse of his long legs.

you growl, your canines pricking your bottom lip.

cove's eyes nearly fall out his head when you rip off your own garments, leaving on your underwear.

cove almost wishes you'd take them off so he can prepare himself mentally for what you're packing.

he still hasn't decided if he's thrilled or petrified by what you could get up to in the bedroom. he figures he shouldn't think with his dick, but that's a difficult challenge when it comes to you.

"y-y/n?" cove stutters, scooting back on the bed.

you crawl up the bed, your wings flaring.

cove was always painfully aware of the size difference. but having you hover over him like this.. it makes him squirm and he isn't ready to admit he likes how intimidating you are.

you take his hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. "don't run from me… i promised i'd be gentle, didn't i?" you peer at him through your lashes, turn his arm to kiss his fingers and down his palm…

cove nods, his mouth dry. "yes.. you did."

he feels like you're sucking the breath from his lungs without even kissing him. your lips trailing down his wrist and you repeat the action on his left arm, kissing up the pale, raised path of his scar and to the back of his hand, kissing his ring.

he shakes, biting his bottom lip.

your hand trails down his side, your palm hot against his skin, you snatch off his underwear with a loud rip, throwing the ruined fabric to the side.

cove yelps, trying to close his legs. "y/n!"

you push his legs apart, tugging him so he's laying on his back. "you look divine, my love. i can't resist..." you kiss his inner thigh, getting close to his growing erection before switching to the other thigh. you make eye contact when you part your lips, biting him gently enough to leave a mark but not bleed.

cove moans, covering his face, mumbling something inaudible.

your clawed hands wraps around his wrists, "don't hide your sounds or face from me. i don't want to tie you up." you grin wolfishly, only partially joking.

cove nods and squeaks out his agreement, feeling his temperature rise when you sink back down but not before taking a vial of oil, spreading it over your fingers. "just relax for me.." you purr, slowly sinking in one finger.

he blinks, feeling a bit hazy... right, you mentioned something about pheromones. this must be it, since he feels himself relax and his racing heart evens out.

cove loses himself in your voice, your praises and pet names barely reaching him.

cove whimpers when you add another finger, pushing back on the digits. “good boy,” you purr. “you look so lovely..” your fingers curl against his walls, oil getting on the sheets from how careless you were with it but the mess just adds excitement.

“you’re going to look so pretty on my dick. i almost can’t wait for it..” you pet cove’s cheek, getting close to steal a kiss from his loose lips, pretty moans like a symphony. “it’d be a shame to break you though when we have a whole lifetime to spend together..”

you close the gap, cove mindlessly following your lips and you kiss him so gently it makes his head spin. your lips swallow up his moan when you add another digit, slowly stretching him open.

he breaks the kiss, panting and whines loudly.

your lips fall to his throat, pushing back his hair to place wet kisses along tan skin, stopping to suck a hickey where you feel his pulse under your lips, leaving a deep mark that will take days to heal.

he squirms, forcing your fingers against his prostate. “ahh!” cove cries loudly, his walls convulsing around your digits. you grin, happy to see him falling apart from your fingers alone. “is that your spot?"

you curl your fingers again, rewarding you with a loud moan, his back arching off the bed.

"that's it doll, keep fucking yourself on my fingers." you sink down so you're on your stomach, kissing cove's tummy until you're face to face with his weeping cock.

you kiss the tip, taking him into his mouth.

"ah- y/n.." cove squirms, grinding on your fingers, twisting the sheets. you take him further into your mouth, swallowing around his length.

cove groans, his thigh shaking under your hand. he forgets about a special trait of dragons, and that's your long forked tongue…

you tongue wraps around his dick, spit running down his length and balls, adding to the mess between his legs. cove squirms, thrusting up into your mouth, his fingers finding their way into your hair.

you scissor your fingers and suck at the same time, cove yelling out loud curses and moans. his fingers tighten around your strands and you groan around his length.

“f-fuck!” cove cries, tears welling up in his eyes and his free leg shaking by your side. he tries not to kick you so instead he lets go of your hair and finds your horn, his fingers wrapped around the base.

the vibration from your muffled noises, your growl making your throat move around his leaky cock pushes him over the edge, his cum filling your mouth. cove whimpers, crying your name and his nails scratch the base of your horn as your tongue moves up and down his length, your lips sucking on his tip.

he pushes against your head, his foot hitting the bed. “that’s- hah- that's enough…”

you release his spent cock, wiping your mouth as you admire your darling husband with his face covered by his arm, chest rising and falling (you mentally remind yourself to pay special attention to his pierced tits), and his cock still twitching leaking on his tummy.

cove peaks at you, his bangs sticking to his forehead. “are.. are you gonna put it in?”

your jaw tightens and you feel your dick twitch against your thigh, eager to make those tears caught on his long lashes fall.

you nod, and you resign to a scolding from your tailor later about all the ripped clothes as you throw your underwear to the pile. cove’s eyes roam down your body, his shaky gaze settling on your cock.

he mentally curses, squirming. would.. would you even fit? and what about the eggs? fuck. he feels in over his head.

almost like you’ve read his mind (as if his worry wasn’t obvious), you reassure him. “don’t worry, beloved. you’ll be able to take my cock and eggs, i’ve prepared you for this day haven’t i?”

cove swallows, his stomach stirring pleasantly as he thinks back to all the nights you called him to your room or snuck into his and stretched him open with your fingers or tongue until sunrise, then you’d disappear until the afternoon as if you hadn’t pulled him apart just hours ago.

“yeah..” cove mumbles, watching you pour oil over your dick. you’re so thick, prominent ridges along the underside leading up to your tapered tip, and a fat knot at the base. then his eyes trail down to your cunt, your slick running down your thighs..

“i’ll let you fuck me once we’re done.”

cove snaps out of his trance, meeting your knowing eyes with his own wide saucers. “w-what?!” you lean over him, your wings casting a shadow over you both. “i’ve never had sex with a human, it’ll be interesting.. especially if you’re full of my eggs.”

cove moans, pinching his lips together to muffle the sudden sound.

“ah, so you like that idea! how sweet..” you cheer, almost teasing but he tries not to take it that way. you lack shame, perhaps something caused by living so long, whereas he has much of it, enough shame to be embarrassed by most things out your mouth.

cove didn’t plan to say anything back, but any thought he did have vanishes when you sink inside him, your tip stretching him out and he throws his head back, arching and squirming against the sheets as your dick stretches him open the more you sink into him, the ridges dragging against his walls deliciously.

your tail swings behind you, messing up the bed sheets. you’re panting, trying to give him time to adjust to your size but he’s flushed down to his chest and panting so adorably, his cock still as lively as ever and you can even see a bulge when he sucks in his tummy… you want to ruin him.

cove blinks through his tears, licking his lips.”you.. you can move.” he pants, removing half his face from the pillow.

you lean over him for a kiss, your sweaty chests pressed against each other as he wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. he’s too busy feeling your forked tongue along the inside of his mouth to realize you’re rearing your hips back, drunk off pheromones and consumed by your being.

you slam inside him, your knot pressing against his entrance. cove yells into your mouth, breaking the kiss.

you kiss his temple, “you don’t mind if i’m a little rough.. right?”

you don’t even give him a chance to respond, pushing out all his thoughts with you dick, the ridges of your cock dragging against his walls and he’s melting at how your cock easily reaches those sweet spots inside him.

cove cries, clinging onto the pillows as your cock drags against his walls, cum getting all over his and your stomach when you lean down to suck on his jeweled nipples, scraping the sensitive bud with your teeth and hollowing your cheeks.

he whines, his cock twitching and leaking more cum. fuck it feels so good.. and when you finally pull off his nipple is puffy and flushed, then you switch to the other one to do the same. cove cups the back of your neck, letting you suck on his chest.

‘i wonder if i’ll lactate..’ cove stares at the ceiling with blurry vision, his bouncing feet and your brilliant wings in view. you’re using your body to fold him in half, forcing him to open up and take you.

you pull off his nipple with a pop, nuzzling into his neck and nipping at his skin.

“nngh-” cove throws his head to the side, exposing himself to you and you welcome it. cove’s nails drag down your back, catching on the base of your wings.

you groan, your thrusts faltering and your head drops to his shoulder. he can feel your shaking breath, your fingers tightly holding onto his thighs.

“..again..” you mumble against his shoulder. cove blinks, not hearing what you said. “huh? did that- did it hurt?”

you remove yourself from his shoulder, your eyes sharp and panting. “do it again. touch my wings again..”

cove stares dumbly before he nods, stroking the base of your wings and rewarding him with a lovely moan and you shudder, your wings fluttering and flapping. “fuck..” you curse, fixing your grip so your hands on the back of his knees and cove cries out when you set a faster pace, your tip slamming into his g-spot.

your knot is catching on his hole, the sudden stretch whenever you push into his insides makes his head spin and his cock twitch, but every backwards pull of your hips pulls your knot out and it makes his heart hurt. he wants to be full so bad he could cry.

you’re purring, your rumbling chest reverberating through him. “‘gonna knot.. gonna fill you up…” you babble, licking up cove’s tears he didn’t realize he was shedding.

you stop your bullying on his poor guts to ease your knot into him before it didn’t fit, and cove’s nails drag down your scales to your skin. you kiss cove’s open mouth, scooping up all his moans and cries and babbled words with your tongue.

“so good. good mate..” you soothe when your knot finally pops inside him, his tight ass stretched and filled to the brim with you cock. cove wraps his arms around your neck to kiss you properly, and you’re the one who realizes he’s cumming, his cock shooting out long strips of cum over his tummy.

you growl, the sound shaking against cove’s tongue.

you grind into him, your tip right against his prostate. you babble more soothing words and praises as cove cries and whines, feeling your cum paint his insides.

“so good- just a bit more..” you lick his wet cheeks, holding both his hands as he starts to get louder and squirmer, your dick stretching to accommodate your eggs.

cove’s legs are shaking, and his cock even drools more cum.

to think he started out wishing he never agreed to marry you and move to your foreign kingdom, and here he is falling apart on your dick, cumming from your knot and the stretch of your eggs filling up his insides.

“y/n~” cove drawls, whiny. that was one egg… not bad, it’s not as big as he feared it would be, suppose the whispered gossip from the towns ladies back home about how “a dragon's egg would make a human burst!” isn’t anywhere near the truth.

you shush him, kissing his cheeks. “it’s okay, lovely. just a couple more..”

cove whimpers, your cock stretching against his sensitive walls, this time the second and third egg is easier, filling him up quickly. he pants, his weak arms falling to his side, his fingers twitching and he barely finds the strength to hold onto the pillow when he feels more pressure.

“i-i thought-!” cove cries, looking down at his stomach.

even through his bleary eyes he can see his wide stomach, your eggs and cock making his stomach bulge.

cove cries and curses, his head falling back. that… that’s hotter than it should be.

you pant, massaging cove’s thighs. “last one.. last one i promise…”

the egg stretches past your tip, knocking against the other eggs and cove sighs, happy that it’s finally over. he puts a hand on his stomach… dragon eggs definitely aren’t small, and he’s tired.

although.. he can’t help but be a bit happy.

you pet his hair, kissing his cheek…

“i knew you’d look good full of my eggs.”

#sugar-omi kinktober #sugar omi kinktober #kinktober #olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #smut #cove holden smut #cove x mc #cove x reader #cove our life #cove holden x reader smut #cove holden x mc #our life cove #our life smut

124 notes · View notes

written-in-flowers · 2 years

Text

After Tonight...(AemondxReader)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x plussize!reader

Genre: Smut, fluff, childhood friends to lovers,

Word Count: 4k

Warnings! :oral sex (m and f receiving/giving), fingering, gagging, slight choking, creampie, roleplay(?), multiple orgasms.

Summary: After a false compliment reignites tensions, you confront your husband about his actions. He confronts you about something else.

A/N: finally, a fic of my own design! Lol, it’s really just smut tbh. Hope you guys like it, and feedback’s always appreciated <3

****

“How could you say something like that? In front of those people? Are you mad?”

You rounded on him the moment you sent your servants away. Aemond stood on the other side of the room, pouring himself a cup of wine and taking a drink. You wanted to smack it from his hand. You took in your husband’s cool and collected demeanor from across the room. Long silver hair tossed back over his shoulders, a glint of amusement in his single pale blue eye made you even more upset.

“Is this amusing to you?” you asked, glaring at him. “Do you find it amusing that you’ve broken any form of peace we might’ve had with-”

“-Oh, what peace, Y/N? Those people have no desire for peace with us,” he said, continuing to drink and not looking at you. “Did you see their faces?” he asked in a chuckle, malice glinting in his eye. “Hilarious.”

“It was not hilarious,” you retorted. “Your father asked for all of us to sup together and make amends. It’s the only way to stop all this infighting and squabbling. Rhaenyra will be queen someday whether you like it or not. Your father named her heir to the throne. I think it’d be best if we started meding bonds with her instead of burning them, before she decides-”

“-My father named her heir before he had Aegon,” he replied coolly, standing by the table, firm and still with his feet apart. “He didn’t think he'd remarry until he married my mother. He had no choice. The realm forced his hand, so he named her his heir. Then he had Aegon, and Aegon should’ve become his rightful heir. Her and her Strong boys have taken that from us.”

‘Strong boys’. The two words that ignited the kindling fires beneath the table. You scoffed, shaking your head, “Do not pretend as if that is what made you act, Aemond,” you snorted. “All because the boy laughed in your direction?” you saw his pointed avoidance of your gaze. “Luke wasn’t laughing at you, Aemond. He was laughing at the pig.”

“No, he was laughing at you.” You heard the growl in your husband’s voice. “That little bitch Rhaena muttered something to him, looked at you, and laughed. I won’t tolerate it.”

You should’ve expected as much. Many boys at court poked fun at you for your size. You’d always had your wide hips, thick thighs, fatty arms and stomach since you were small. Your mother thought sending you to court might curb your appetite, but anxiousness made you eat more. You’ve tried. You honestly had, if not for yourself then for Aemond. Tough, strong, intimidating warriors like him should have pretty, slim wives who light up rooms with their smiles and are the envy of everyone at court. He never cared what other people said; you tried feeling the same, yet the creeping sensation that you simply weren’t enough came. Prince Aemond Targaryen could have his pick of any woman in Westeros, but, instead he married you. The girl Aegon, Jace and little Luke made jokes about behind her back. You pushed aside these feelings, poured your own wine and forced yourself to swallow it.

“The jests of a boy mean nothing to me.” You hesitated, brief flashes of memories coming to you.

You recalled the roasted pig the servants placed in front of you both. Yes, how witty. So witty. You rolled your eyes. It reminded you of the Pink Dread they’d presented Aemond with in their youth. A large pig they’d gotten from the pen with dragons wings tied to its sides, Aemond told you about it during a walk you took together. He’d initially had trouble taming a dragon to bond with. All the Targaryens ride dragons, and your husband suffered teasing and bullying for not having his own. You supposed the Pink Dread coupled with being betrothed to you caused double the damage.

A sinking feeling came through your chest as the realization came. How must it feel for you? Jace and Luke only laughed whenever Aegon made snide comments about you. They’d done worse to Aemond. They’d blinded him. You couldn’t imagine the pain it must’ve brought him seeing them again after so many years. Instant guilt filled your stomach, taking up any room your wine might’ve filled.

“I’m sorry, my love,” you said, looking into your cup. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. After all the cruel jokes and then what happened with your eye…” you shook your head, “I’m being so selfish.”

You felt his eyes on you as you looked away from him. People often stared at Aemond when he walked into rooms. They saw him as a sort of monster, to be feared and never approached. So, he played into that. He became a fierce warrior and battle tactician. You knew he overheard the men in the training yard: “Aemond would’ve made a great fighter, but that eye’s gonna work against him”. He hated the stares. He hated the whispers. You worried that dinner would set him off, but you’d insisted you both attend. You’d seen him grinding his teeth, and staring daggers into the two boys in front of him. Gentle squeezes of his hand, and reassurances did nothing to calm your husband’s simmering anger. He never forgave easily, and he never forgot a slight whether real or imagined.

“I’m sorry I pushed you to go to dinner,” you said. “I knew it’d be difficult for you, but it’s the last supper we might ever have with your father, and I knew it’d make him happy to have you there. I should’ve suggested we leave or use one of the children as a reason to-”

“-I’m not upset we went. I’m glad. You have nothing to apologize for, Wife.”

‘Wife’. The word still held sway over you six years and two children later.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he told you, softness and love behind his words. You heard him step over to you, stopping until he was inches away from you. “This dress…” you felt warm hands start at your hips and slide up your sides, kneading at the rolls there, “Did you mean to tempt me with it?”

A slight warmth came to your cheeks. You’d worn a dress of dark blue-green silk with gold embroidered birds, flowers and vines along the seams. You admitted it was a bit lower cut than you’d originally intended. Your bosom pushed against the neckline, but you managed to not let it spill over. Sitting on his good eye’s side, he would’ve seen you perfectly. You’d tied up your hair with the silver comb Aemond gifted you for your nameday. It matched the sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye. He said he liked it when your jewels matched his. Had you worn it hoping it’d stir desire in your husband? Yes. Always. You hoped in vain it might distract him from any rash actions he might make.

“You know how much I love this gown,” you said innocently. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Or,” he brushed his lips against your ear, “You wanted me to rip it from you and ravage you as I do whenever you wear it…”

You giggled, but simply stayed in his arms as he began kissing at your neck. Nimble fingers deftly untied your dress. “You better hope your father doesn’t hear what you said tonight,” you said, knowing he wasn’t really listening, “He’ll be so upset.”

“I only paid them a compliment,” he replied, pushing your sleeves down your arms. “It’s not my fault if they think they’re not strong.”

“That is not what you meant, and you know it,” you accused.

“It is no secret what they are,” he said. “You’ve seen them.”

Yes, you have seen them. Jacaryes and Luceryes should’ve had the dark skin of their Velaryon father or the coloring of their silver-haired Targaryen mother. Instead, the two princes had brown hair and dark eyes; much like that of Harwin Strong, the former commander of the city watch. The sworn sword and champion of Princess Rhaenyra. But, nobody dared to say it out loud; it was an act of treason. For your husband to say it, even laced in a false compliment, soured things quickly. You had no real love for their family, but you’d promised your mother-in-law you’d keep things civil. You congratulated Rhaena and Baela on their betrothals to Jace and Luke. You asked Jace how his Valryian lessons were coming along, and asked Baela about going on at Driftmark. You wanted to be friends with them, putting aside the bitter memories of your youth.

Once your dress fell at your feet, Aemond worked on the lacings of your undergarments. The thin layer of cloth kept Aemond’s hands from your delicate skin. You could feel every digit caressing your body, molding it and pressing on points he knew made you gasp. You turned to face him, staring into his face and seeing the lust in his eyes. Carefully, you cupped his cheek. Your thumb grazed over the scar peeking out from his eyepatch. He only wore it when at court, to not disturb the other ladies who might be more squeamish. It never bothered you. You lifted his eyepatch off. He flinched for a brief moment, but a gentle touch of your hand calmed him. In the eye socket where a pale blue eye should be, was a dark sapphire. The jeweler who’d made it rounded it to resemble an eye, but Aemond asked for it to remain its natural color.

“I remember thinking you’d die,” you huffed a laugh. “The wound was so terrible and bled so much.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” he said. “I got Vhagar in return.” He paused, “I got you.”

Heat came around your neck and cheeks again, bringing on a smile. You remember the moment vividly. The morning after his injury he'd come to your quarters at Driftmark. Unannounced, uninvited, the prince stood in your chambers, pale and silver with determination on his face. Claiming his own dragon brought out a fire in him that never went out. You recalled studying him there. You’d gotten wounds of your own, little scratches and cuts, but nothing compared to his pain. The stark contrast of the stitched wound on his ivory skin was more shocking in the morning light. You somewhat liked the effect.

‘My prince, you should be resting.’

‘There is something I wanted to tell you, my lady, before we depart home.’

‘What is it?’

“An absurd thing for a twelve-year-old boy to say,” you said softly, unbuckling his belt from his waist. You unbuttoned his doublet and lifted it off him. “‘I have my dragon’,” you quoted, “‘Now, I want my wife.’ I believe that is what you said.”

“And I got you,” he said, pecking your lips. “I told my mother I would never want another girl. No girl would do for me what you did that night.”

“Blatantly lie to the king about what happened in the tunnel?”

“No…defend me.”

You did recall tearing Rhaena off Aemond as she and the others began hitting him. The both of you tussled around on the ground, pulling at each other’s hair and scratching each other’s faces. You’d never fought before, but your weight and size certainly worked in your favor. Her sister eventually joined the fray, pulling you off to punch at you, but the three of you stopped once Jace pulled out his blade.

“I never thought I’d have anyone on my side,” he said, “But you were there. You always are. You tore at them. You hit them. You made them pay, in what little way you could. Then you told my father they attacked us. You defended me.”

“And I’d do it again, if I had to.”

Sliding his hand on the nape of your neck, he brought you to his lips. The taste of the vintage wine lingered on both your tongues, sweetening the already heated kiss. You untied the fastenings of his clothes, removing them piece by piece until nothing separated you. His hard body stoked a fire inside you. You ran your hands down his chest to his stomach, finally landing just above his cock. A low rumble from his chest beckoned you to keep going as he pressed himself to you. Warm, with the faint smell of violets lingering on his skin from his clothes, you fell further into your bliss as his hands slipped down your waist to your backside. Plump and soft, his hands kneaded them so that you whimpered against his lips.

“I liked it,” you said between kisses, running your hand over his member and feeling it twitch on your palm.

“Liked what?” he asked. He brought one hand up to your breast, palming it and squeezing gently.

You broke your lips from his, licking his bottom lip, “Watching you mock them. I liked seeing their eyes flicker with fear when you stood up, staring them down with that hard look of yours.” You grabbed his shaft just to hear him grunt, “Being the strong, clever, slightly intimidating man you’ve become. I’ll admit,” you slowly began pumping him, watching his head roll back, “It aroused me for a moment.”

“I know,” he smirked, eyes still closed. “I know it isn’t by chance that you end up in the training yard some mornings.”

“I quite enjoy watching you fight. I always have. I love my strong,” you pecked at his neck, “Handsome,” you pecked the other side, “Clever husband who fucks me like a whore and treats me like a queen.”

“Which would you like tonight?” he suddenly grabbed your hair and yanked it, “A whore or a queen?”

“You’re a smart man,” you brought him over to the bed and straddled a corner, “You figure it out.”

His cock at level with you, you carefully lifted it to your mouth and slid your tongue underneath. Aemond did not respond with anything except a soft sigh. You kept your eyes on him as you licked him from base to tip, and then back down. Veins pump blood into his member, which pulsates against the flat of your tongue each time you traced over them. Blond hair curtaining his face, the shade darkened his features leaving his sapphire eye standing out more. You didn’t focus on it. You focused on the pink, bulbous tip that gradually turned red when you swirl your tongue around it. By the time you slid him into your mouth, moaning softly, Aemond’s hands already grasped your hair. He did not force you down immediately; he let you start the pace, enjoying your lips sucking his throbbing cock. Hands grasping his muscled thighs, you kept yourself steady while you slid him towards your throat.

You only ever told one person where you learned the intimate art of love making. It was considered unbecoming and inappropriate for a noble lady to wander into a brothel disguised as a street urchin to watch the women there pleasure their customers. You never let yourself be touched, yet you’d observed at a hefty price. Aemond nearly choked on his wine when you revealed it to him on your wedding night. Yet, he quickly got over his shock when you laid him back and let you show him what you learned. You never fully mastered taking it to the back of your throat like some women did, but Aemond never pressed you. He stood there and let you practice on him sometimes after training or dinner. He gave a low groan when his tip pressed there, the groan mixing with your soft choking each time you did it. You massaged your thumbs into his inner thighs, close to his ballsack; his hips pushed into your face slightly at the new sensation. The longer you went on, the needier your husband became. Soon, he fisted your hair to keep you still so he stuck himself further into your throat. You let him guide you along his considerable length, your own sex beginning to ache for his touch. He saw you start to slip your hand between your thighs before he snatched it by the wrist. Without a word, he took both your wrists and held them at his sides to bring you forward.

“The only person,” he grunted, “Who touches your cunt is me.”

His words made your clit throb again. You slowly grind your hips into the bed, which he seemed to allow so you could whimper around his cock. You imagined him throwing you onto the bed, forcing your legs apart and taking you however he wanted. The strength and formidable aura he oozed at the dinner table came back to you. How he’d stared coldly at Jace when he stood up at the table, angry with Aegon for his crude comments to Baela. How he sparred with Ser Cole earlier in the day, moving quick and precise in each maneuver. You wished to feel him everywhere. You wanted to feel the hard muscles and lines of his body; feel his heart beating faster while you rode him. You tried saying his name with your mouth full, a thing you knew he enjoyed. He laughed when he heard your muffled words.

“I’m sorry,” he said, laughing in his tone, “What was that?” You pleaded his name again, rocking your hips more and more for some form of friction. “Is there something you need?”

He slid himself far enough that his tip laid on your tongue still, and you said, “Your tongue, my prince. Your tongue,” you licked the underside, “Your fingers, your cock. Please, Your Grace.”

“Hm, I don’t know,” he said, releasing your hands and taking hold of himself. You stuck out your tongue for him to rub overt, tapping his tip there before you sucked on it. “I quite like it this way. You look so pretty drooling and begging me for more…like a filthy whore who can’t seem,” he plunged back into your mouth, “To get enough.”

You moaned with him this time, continuing to rub yourself on the corner of the bed as he kept a slow pace. The light brushes of the soft sheets against your aching sex felt torturous. The right spot refused to be touched, so the same teasing feeling came each time. Eventually, seeing streams of drool and precum follow, Aemond withdrew from you fully and pushed you onto your back.

“Which part did you aim to please, slut?” he asked, the slur dripping from his lips with seduction. He trailed two long fingers down your belly to the top of your mound. You flinched feeling them trail circles down to the crevasse of your folds. “Was it here?” he traced them lightly over the slit of your cunt, dipping his finger only to graze over the hood of your clit. “Perhaps underneath then?” he brushed it back up underneath the hard nub, making you tremble. He chuckled darkly at your response and continued doing it with his thumb. You gripped the sheets under you as his thumb then slid over your clit, “But what about right here? It seems to please you the most.”

“Do not act as if you don’t know…A-Aemond…” you breathed, the slow movements driving you crazy.

“I only wish to educate myself on what pleases my whore the most,” he began making soft trails of kisses down your inner thighs, “Well enough that she’ll never want another.”

The wetness that leaked from you made his thumb’s movements slicker. He did careful circles around your sex, sometimes sliding towards your entrance before coming back up. He knew exactly what made your toes curl, and had you longing for him. A drastic difference from your wedding night. You brought one of his hands to your breasts for him to fondle while Aemond buried his face between your thighs. He worked his tongue in languid laps against your open folds while his fingers pinched your nipple hard. The slight tingle of pain made you raise your hips to his tongue again.

You yelped in surprise when he slid both fingers inside your cunt, dragging them along the walls in a soft, delicate pace. He kept licking your sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue while he focused on the fingers inside you. The sensations coupled together were too much to bear.

"Aemond…Aemond…" you muttered his name, the tension inside you building tighter and tighter.

"I know," he mumbled, kissing up your thighs, his thumb replacing his tongue's movements. "Let go for me."

Your body immediately obeyed. His fingers kept the same gentle speed as your walls squeezed them. You reached down to grab his wrist, keeping it in place for more. Smirking, Aemond let his fingers wiggle against the most sensitive of spots. You saw stars when you closed your eyes. Your body might've burst into a thousand and one pieces with every shuddering wave.

He didn't give you a single second. Pushing you further up the bed, Aemond forced your legs further apart and slipped into you. Hands pinning down your wrists, his lips found yours as he started rocking into you. Your juices still on his lips and tongue, you licked them clean. You pussy throbbed from being stimulated again, but you could not let go. You didn't want him to stop. You'd needed him all night.

"Such a good whore," he jeered, starting to slam his hips into yours, "Laying here like a good girl and letting me take it how I want."

"Only for you, Your Grace. Only…for…"

He knelt up, and you saw the sheer size of him. Long limbed, you gazed on the pale sculpted figure above you. Silver hair falling around him, dark sapphire glinting, he was otherworldly. You never thought you'd have a man like him. Women like you did not get what they wanted, it was plain and simple. Women like you took what they got and adapted, because otherwise, you ended up an old maid. You didn't want that. You began bouncing against him so your breasts moved, and his eyes immediately fell on them. Letting go of your hands, he bent down and grasped them. Sparks of pleasure coursed back through you as he kissed and bit all over them. You didn't think you could handle it a second time. It didn't stop when his thumb found your clit again, and he moved it in time with his thrusts. The oversensitive spot tingled throughout your body; his touch felt ten times more apparent than before.

"Your Grace," you mumbled, your thoughts forcing themselves together, "I think I might…I…"

At this, he angled you upwards and kept short strokes. The tip of his cock touched right on it again, your eyes rolling back to the strong sensation inside you. It felt like a knot being tightened and tightened until finally it snapped, and you were rutting up against him like an animal. Your second orgasm hit you hard, a strong force that made you lose control. You felt long fingers rest against your throat, not squeezing but simply holding you there. This new restraint, and the struggle of oxygen it brought, strengthened your climax instead of softening it. Your screams came slightly gurgled, but nobody else needed to hear. Your moans were for Aemond’s ears only.

Unable to withhold himself any longer, Aemond took a few more pumps before he came. The hot cum filling you brought on a blissful satisfaction. His held tilted back, eyes closed shut and lips parted, your husband resembled a sculpture. A beautiful one. You ran your nails down his chest to his stomach to feel his tense muscles spasm in every squeeze. He kept thrusting until he'd drained every drop into you. Would you feel soreness in your muscles tomorrow? Yes. Would you regret it? Not at all.

He fell onto his side next to you, blond hairs stuck to his forehead from sweat and a hazy sleepiness in his eyes. You tried your best to regain your breath and strength to even move. You turned your head to see him; you looked over his profile for every detail you can point out. Nobody ever made you feel so safe; so secure and comfortable in your own skin. You rolled onto your side and draped your arm and leg over half of him. He welcomed the cuddle and let you rest your head on his arm, so his hand fell near your hair, where he played with the ends of it idly. Neither you spoke as you basked in each other’s warmth; only smiling and sharing a soft kiss before a voice broke out into the room.

"Well, it's good to see my brother knows how to pleasure a woman."

“Aegon!”

“Aegon, you twat!”

With wicked quickness, Aemond grabbed the nearest object and flung it at his brother, who stood a few feet from your bed. The blond boy laughed as he dodged it. Seeing his brother’s flustered face and you scrambling to cover yourself with sheets, Aegon cackled.

“Mother sent me to come get you,” Aegon said through his laughter, “But, um, I’ll tell her you and Lady Y/N are indisposed right now.”

“You prick, Aegon! Don’t you know how to knock?!” You launched a pillow at him, which hit the man square in the face.

“I didn’t want to interrupt!” he laughed, cheeks red as he walked backwards. “You two seemed to be having a good time!”

“Get out!” you and Aemond yelled in unison.

You watched him leave. You both continued to hear him laughing even after he shut the doors. Aemond flung back onto the pillows in a sigh and you rested next to him.

“Seven Hells,” you cursed, “He’s never going to shut up about it now.”

“Well, if he does, I can just casually remind him in front of a group of people how I once found him in a brothel tied to a pole blindfolded with a woman and a sheep in the room.”

“I’m sorry, but you found him doing what?” you asked in pure disgust.

“Yes,” he nodded, “He claims that the sheep just happened to be there, but I don’t think anyone would believe him.”

The both of you met each other’s gaze and then laughed. You curled back up to him again, his warmth keeping the chill from coming over you, and rested on him. You felt his seed stick between your legs. You hoped. You prayed that, maybe, a child would quicken there. You worried about what tonight’s events might rekindle, and the fallout from that dinner. It was nothing; a snide remark that can be forgiven if done at the right time. Perhaps Alicent will smooth things over, and the king will never hear of it. He is so old and very ill. You hated thinking Viserys died knowing his last effort to mend his family was broken so carelessly.

“You worry too much,” Aemond’s voice broke through your sleepiness. “Don’t let it bother your pretty head anymore.”

“You don’t worry enough,” you replied, shutting your eyes and letting him pull the sheets over you both.

“I do worry. I worry about you,” you felt his lips peck the top of your head. “Now, sleep.”

And so you did in your husband’s arms, the place you were meant to be.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond smut #aemond fluff #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd s1 #hotd drabbles #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd imagines

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