#arche alliance

[lesfir]

When people say to me: "oh, what a character growth from a awful person he's become a hero almost, a monster hunter" I hear: "oh what a terrible regression from a awful man, he could have become a brilliant villain, whom the monsters serve, with gold cups, palace, decadence and lover ally. What a waste"

Character growth is not synonymous with the character becoming "better" or a "hero". Staying on the side of darkness if there is an opportunity for redemption is not "not growth". Evil character growth is also growth.

[oflgtfol]

and like at first glance mando armor all looks strikingly similar but then you look closer and you realize theres so much variation like even just in the helmet designs you have different little variations in the visor shape, the fucking "cheek indent" shape, the forehead, the ear pieces, etc and then it comes down to like well how much of that can be personal customization, and then what can you potentially say about the person inhabiting the armor by just the armor design? if the helmet is their face, then what does the helmet portray about their personality? but then i also love the idea of like actual mandalorian families who pass on certain armor characteristics like maybe this one family carries on this one specific visor shape or whatever, so despite it being armor you can still somehow see familial resemblance between them. idk i just think its neat. lol

[seafarersdream]

The Art of Braiding (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

In the harsh, unfamiliar North, Y/N Tully struggles to understand the strange customs that surround her. One of them, however, her new husband Cregan Stark knows all too well—and he’s not above using it to his advantage. The Wolf of the North, as it turns out, has a cheeky side.

*Inspired by the braiding traditions of the Vikings

TW // Strong language and profanities, possessiveness, non-consensual restraint.

“Bloody wind,” Y/N muttered under her breath, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders as another frigid gust swept through Winterfell’s courtyard. The North had its own bite, and it wasn’t just the cold. It was in everything—the stone walls, the silence, and even the people.

Especially the people.

Especially Cregan Stark.

Her husband.

That cold bastard. Honorable, sure, but colder than the winds battering against her face.

Y/N blew a strand of hair from her eyes, resisting the urge to curse her luck again. The riverlands were nothing like this. In Riverrun, there was warmth. Rivers that didn’t freeze over in the middle of freaking summer. Men who smiled, told bawdy jokes, laughed loud enough for the gods to hear. Here, everything was different. Even the laughter, when it happened at all, felt muted by the heavy weight of the Northern sky.

But this was her life now. A wife of the North. Lady Stark. By the gods, it was still strange to hear it. She knew the match had been made for peace and alliances—marriage between a Tully and a Stark was good for the realm, or so her father had said. But no one had prepared her for the rest of it. The weather. The silences.

And Cregan himself.

He was unlike any man she had known. Rivermen were warm, boisterous. Cregan was the opposite. He was distant, cold at times, the weight of Winterfell and the North resting on his broad shoulders. But he was fair, she’d give him that. And gods be damned if he wasn’t handsome. He had that Stark look, all strong jaw and piercing eyes. If only he’d smile a little more, maybe she’d feel less like she was wed to a block of ice.

Not that he wasn’t good to her. No, Cregan was kind in his way. Gentle in the nights they shared, even if he was quieter than she liked. He was a man of few words, unlike the men of her home, who’d fill the halls with stories and laughter. Still, he made sure she had everything she needed. He listened, even when he didn’t have much to say.

But gods, she missed warmth.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow caught her attention, and she glanced up to see him approaching. Cregan. He walked like he owned the place—because he did, of course—but it was more than that. There was a confidence in him, a certainty in his steps. He didn’t need to announce himself. The wind, the snow, the very stones of Winterfell seemed to bend to his will.

He came up beside her, his breath clouding the cold air. “Still not used to it?” His voice was a low rumble, almost lost to the wind.

Y/N snorted, rubbing her hands together. “Used to it? It’s like a gods-damned frozen hell up here.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “You���ll learn. In time.”

She shot him a look. “And when exactly will that be? Because I’ve been waiting for weeks, Cregan, and I’m about ready to march back to the riverlands and throw myself into the water. Ice be damned.”

His brows arched just slightly, amusement flickering in his gray eyes. “The riverlands? You wouldn’t last a day without the North, now.”

Y/N scoffed, turning to him fully. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Stark. I was born by water, not ice. I think I’d manage just fine.”

He said nothing, but the smirk returned. Silence fell between them again, but this time it was… different. More comfortable, somehow. She studied him, wondering what was going on in that head of his. He always seemed to have something weighing on him, some unspoken burden of being a leader at such a young age.

Before she could press further, he stepped closer, reaching out. Her breath caught, not because of the cold this time, but because of the unexpected closeness. His hand brushed against her hair, fingers moving with surprising gentleness.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hold still,” he murmured, focused on her hair. His fingers deftly gathered strands, working them with a skill that surprised her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, confused, but she stayed quiet, feeling the tug and pull as he braided her hair. Her pulse quickened as his fingers brushed against her skin, the sensation at odds with the chill around them. There was an intimacy in the act, in the silence that hung between them. And yet, it was just a braid.

Wasn’t it?

“There,” he said after a moment, stepping back. She reached up instinctively, fingers touching the braid he’d woven. It felt tight, but not uncomfortably so. She had no idea what to make of it. “What… is this?”

Cregan shrugged, that infuriating smirk still lingering on his lips. “Just a braid.”

“Just a braid,” she echoed, unconvinced.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable in their depths. “You’ll see.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “What exactly does that mean, Lord Stark?”

But Cregan was already turning, heading toward the main hall without another word. Y/N stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. Just a braid? She huffed, shaking her head as she followed him inside. Northerners and their damn cryptic ways.

It wasn’t until they entered the hall that Y/N realized something was… off.

Eyes turned toward her. And not the usual fleeting glances. No, these were lingering, assessing stares. Several of the women whispered to each other, and a few of the men gave her respectful nods. She caught the eye of a servant who quickly dipped her head in what almost seemed like… deference?

Gods be good.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” she muttered under her breath, shooting a glare at one particularly nosy maid.

Cregan didn’t answer, his lips twitching as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. The bastard was enjoying this.

“What did you do?” she demanded, her voice sharper now.

Finally, he met her gaze, and there was that smirk again. “The braid.”

“What about the bloody braid?”

“It’s… a tradition,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stone wall. “In the North, braids have meanings. Especially for women.”

Her stomach sank. “What kind of meaning?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “A braid like that? It tells everyone that you’re… claimed.”

Y/N blinked, feeling her face heat despite the cold. “Claimed?” she echoed, her voice rising a pitch. “By whom exactly?”

Cregan’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “By me.”

Her mouth fell open. “You—what?! You did that on purpose? You—sly, stubborn—”

His laughter was a rare, low rumble that warmed the cold space between them. “You’ll get used to it, my lady.”

“Used to it?” Y/N fumed, her cheeks burning as the reality of what he’d done sunk in. “You can’t just—ugh!” She shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing a damn wall. “This is the North, Y/N. My North,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And you are mine.”

A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, mixing with her frustration. The audacity. The nerve.

And yet…

Y/N's face burned hotter than the hearth fires in the Great Hall as Cregan’s words echoed in her ears: You are mine. Claimed. Oh, she was mortified.

She reached up, fingers fumbling to undo the braid that now seemed to burn against her scalp. “Absolutely not,” she muttered, her nails scraping against the tight weave as she tried to pull it apart. “I am not walking around Winterfell with everyone thinking—"

Before she could finish, Cregan’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist, firm but not rough. “What are you doing?”

She glared at him, teeth clenched. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m undoing this bloody braid before everyone in this hall assumes I’m some conquered—”

“You’re not,” he cut in, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. “And you won’t undo it.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden command in his tone. “Excuse me?”

His eyes were intense, a storm brewing behind the calm gray. “The braid stays.”

She tried to yank her wrist out of his grip, but his hold was iron. Not painful, but resolute. “I didn’t agree to this—this.. this claiming nonsense,” she snapped, feeling a wave of embarrassment creep up her neck as she noticed more eyes turning their way.

Cregan leaned in slightly, his gaze unyielding. “In the North, it’s more than just words. It means something. You’re my wife. And you’ll wear that braid like it.”

Her heart pounded, heat flooding her chest. “I’ll wear what I damn well please—”

“Oi, Lady Stark!”

The loud shout from across the hall made Y/N freeze, her head whipping toward the source. One of the Northern men, a burly soldier with a wild grin on his face, pointed at her braid. “That’s a fine weave, my lady!” he hollered, winking.

The hall erupted into whistles, cheers, and hollers. Several of the men banged their fists on the tables, laughing and calling out words Y/N could barely make out. Some of the women were whispering behind their hands, giggling and exchanging knowing looks.

Y/N felt her face go crimson, her fingers still trapped in her hair, halfway through her attempt to undo the braid.

“Looks like the Warden’s laid his claim!” another man shouted, and more hoots followed.

Her stomach dropped. This was a nightmare. Mother save her, this is worse than a nightmare.

She tried again to pull at the braid, but Cregan’s hand didn’t budge from her wrist. “Cregan, I swear to the gods—”

His voice was maddeningly calm, but there was a cocky edge to it that made her blood boil. “You’ll leave it. And if you somehow forget, remember—we’ve got different gods, love. And mine? They’re backing me up.”

Y/N’s mouth opened to protest, but when she met his eyes, something in her faltered. He wasn’t just being possessive. There was something more there—something ancient, deep-rooted. A tradition that ran through his blood, through the very stones of Winterfell. She wasn’t just in his home. She was part of his world now.

But hell if she’d admit that to him.

“Cregan,” she hissed through clenched teeth, trying once more to yank her wrist free. “Everyone is staring!”

“And?” he asked, with that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. “Let them.”

Her eyes widened. “You—this isn’t funny! They’re hooting at me like I’m some prize at the fair!”

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her pause. “You are no prize, Y/N,” he murmured, leaning close enough for his words to be for her ears only. “But you are mine. And in the North, we show it.”

Her breath caught at the warmth in his voice, even as her frustration grew. She had no idea what to say to that. What was she supposed to say? That she didn’t want to be claimed? That she didn’t want him? But the problem was… she did. And that was the most frustrating part.

The hall’s noise only grew louder. Some of the men had started clapping, whistling at them like they were some grand spectacle. Y/N wanted to sink into the stone floors.

“Let go of my wrist, Cregan,” she said, her voice quieter now, though it still carried her annoyance.

“Only if you stop trying to undo it,” he replied, his tone softening.

Y/N glared at him, her lips pressed into a tight line. But the heat of the stares, the teasing from the Northerners, was overwhelming. With a frustrated sigh, she dropped her hands from her hair.

“There,” she grumbled. “Now let go.”

He released her wrist, and immediately she wanted to punch him just a little bit. That cocky bastard.

“Was that so difficult?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “you’re lucky you’re my husband, or I’d throw you from the Wall.”

He leaned in, that smirk still present but softer now. “I’d like to see you try, wife.”

The word ‘wife’ sent another ripple of warmth through her, and she cursed silently under her breath. Why did it have this effect on her? And why did he have to look at her like that, with those damned Stark eyes, all cold and piercing but somehow still full of heat?

She crossed her arms, trying to hide her embarrassment under a glare. “Don’t expect me to be all smiles and sweet words because you’ve won this little battle, Stark.”

Cregan chuckled softly, his breath warm in the cold hall. “Who said I needed sweet words? You’re a Tully. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t fighting me.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt the smallest hint of a smile tug at her lips. Damn him. He knew exactly how to pull her in, even when she wanted to stay mad.

The cheers and whistles finally started to die down, though the teasing looks from the men and women of Winterfell didn’t. She sighed, looking up at Cregan. “You’re going to owe me for this.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Yes,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes. “For the embarrassment. You’ll owe me.”

Cregan grinned, his cold facade cracking just enough to show the warmth beneath. “Fair enough, wife. I’ll owe you.” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eye. “But that braid stays.”

She rolled her eyes. But a small smile tugged at her lips.

As they finally made their way to the high table, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at the braid once more. The claiming. It was still ridiculous. Still infuriating.

But gods help her… it felt good—brutishly, maddeningly good—to be claimed like this. She was going insane, because part of her didn’t mind it half as much as she pretended to.

A treacherous part of her silently hoped that Cregan would braid her hair again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the next. For as long as they both lived.

[eelnoise]

beset fixation (nsfw!)

trafalgar law x gn!strawhat!reader cw: smut, possessive law, law struggles w/ feelings, soft law, piv sex, implied situationship, emotional law an: so in my head this takes place in wano, and is kind of a heat of the moment emotional type thing. in my head law's stupid slutty kimono is draped around his shoulders btw hehe tagging: @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @themushroomofdeath @risenwrites

Law is obsessed with you.

It eats at him, gnaws into his flesh like sharpened teeth. He feels childish, as if being played for a fool - but the fact of the matter is that you’ve clawed your way into his head. Law finds himself aching with an inexplicable pain that he cannot seem to mend on his own, one that snaps any strands of rationality in two and has him second, third, and fourth guessing his own words.

You’re a Strawhat. After this business is done and accounted for and the alliance ends, you’ll be enemies once again.

Yet Law can’t escape the deep-seated, profound, and frankly infuriating way you linger around in his mind. His inner thoughts speak in your voice, perfectly mimicking every single subtle nuance and tonal shift of the words you’ve spoken to him prior. He longs for your presence, even if he cannot reason with why. The only thing that Law has gleaned is that you are the root problem of it all - and he needs to let you go for his own sake.

Then why now does he have you upon hands and knees, back arched perfectly and covered in sweat while he buries himself as deep inside of you as he can?

Lithe fingers cup at your hips to keep you in place, tips digging into the pliant flesh with enough force to bruise twice over. Law’s pace is ruthless, pouring every single one of his feelings into you with every harsh thrust of his hips - and you still just don’t get it. Are you truly this oblivious to his behavior? How he craves the taste of your skin or the touch of your hands? He all but froths at the mouth when you’re with one of your crewmates, jaw clenching and fists balling at the thought of you leaving with them - leaving him behind.

Law grits his teeth in frustration, and takes it out with a rough smack to your ass. Your cry of ecstasy doesn’t go unnoticed, and his hold on you tightens further when your walls flutter against his cock. He can feel himself start to crumble, and with each salaciously delicious sound you spew he borders further and further off the edge of reality. 

What’s stopping him from keeping you, really?

He could have you whenever he wanted – your touch and body available at the drop of a coin. Nevermore would he need to feel the crushing burden of your absence, to mend the seams of woe that have frayed into his nerves. Try as he might to fight it, this burning desire is kindled when you're with him. 

And now, with you at his mercy beneath him, all thoughts feel like lies. Law feels his will breaking, and for a moment he casts logic aside. The smiles, the laughter, the vivid conversations you've shared – he wants them all to himself. It's selfish,and yet it can't be helped. 

Law's thoughts are interrupted by the sound of your voice. Pleas of finality reach his ears – soft, shaky cries of delirium emanating from your tongue. He knows what you want, and he isn’t about to give you what you want. Not yet.

He slips out of you then, giving you a much needed but very much unwanted moment of reprieve that's cut short before you can even turn your head up toward him in question. Law shifts his hold on your hips and flips you onto your back, hands curling against the undersides of your knees and pressing them toward your chest. Just as he’s realigning himself with you he pauses, unable to stop himself from raising his gaze to yours.

Law inhales sharply and can feel his gaze soften as he looks into your eyes. And in another bout of weakness does his heart leap, a warmth spreading within him that feels so unfamiliar but not unwelcome. He leans forward over your body to quickly capture your lips to his, simultaneously sheathing himself back within you. He swallows both the gasp from your throat as well as his own guilt, indulging himself in the wistful tangle of emotions and limbs that is this moment.

Your tongue eagerly twists into his, your arms coming to cross around his shoulders as if desperate to get as close to him as you can. Law obliges you, wrapping his own arms around your lower back and squeezing you to his chest – though he longs to melt into you entirely. He’s slower now, the rock of his hips beginning to move with more purpose and with an undeniable sense of not-so-hidden sentiment. 

It feels like his sense of self has vanished, and in its place stands someone he doesn’t know. As if the sums of his of attempts at reason had subtracted tenfold. His kiss doesn’t end - save for seconds of breath - slotting your lips together in a long sermon of implicit confessions that are long overdue.

The feeling overtakes him, and soon enough he’s muttering nonsense into your ear about how he needs you and how you make him feel. Telling you all the ways he craves your entire being, how much you’ve changed the way he thinks. It's more than he’s said to anyone at once before, and he doesn’t know – doesn’t care – where it’s coming from.

You reciprocate. It shocks him – the words falling from your tongue should sound foreign, but they don’t. They’re real and they’re raw and they bring Law a comfort he shouldn’t crave.

But he does, he craves it like no other. And hearing your revelation solidifies it.

Law isn’t leaving this country without you by his side.

[ellebakers]

☆ Beastly. (+18)

• Cregan Stark x Reader Targaryen.

Summary : Your mother sends you to Cregan Stark to make an alliance, and that's what you intend to do.

Warning(s) : SMUT, Language.

As Rhaenyra's eldest daughter, you were surprised when she asked you to fly north to create an alliance with Cregan Stark, you expected her to ask your brother Jacaerys to take care of it. That's why, before flying away, you turned one last time to your mother.

“Can I ask you something ?”

“Of course my dear.” Rhaenyra replied with a tender smile.

"Why me ? Why didn't you ask Jace to take care of it ?"

The queen smiled and gently grabbed your face "My dear, I have heard of Cregan, I have heard only good things about him as a warrior, a man and... a potential husband."

You raised your eyebrows "I was thinking of negotiating for a war alliance, not a marriage.." you snickered.

“Y/n, I know that you have heard of Cregan too, I also know that you confided to your servant that you wanted to be wed to him.”

Your mother says with a smile.

“I.. um..” You cleared your throat.

"I'm not asking you to marry him, but if you feel like it, know that you have my blessing."

You bowed “Thank you mother”

☆

After flying for what seemed like hours, you arrived at the Stark castle, a servant took you to the Throne room where Cregan sat, waiting for your arrival.

You couldn't help but notice his beauty, everything about him was attractive.

“My lord” You bowed to him.

Cregan stood up and with a smile bowed in turn. "Princess"

You smiled at him. ““Have you received the letter from my mother ?"

Cregan nodded "Sure, let's talk about it over a meal, you must be starving and freezing." He tells you with a seductive smile.

That evening, an alliance was signed between the Starks and the Targaryens, but not as you had imagined, since he had taken you on the meal table between the main course and the dessert, he had made you moan and arch your back more times than you can count.

☆

This is how, six months later, while the war between the Greens and the Blacks was knocking on the doors, you found yourself in Cregan's bed, a wedding ring in your hand, and this morning was the same as every morning for six months .

“Shit” You moaned, straddling Cregan’s face and gripping the headboard.

Cregan was moaning too as he tasted your juices, he gripped your hips as you moved your pelvis for more sensation, his tongue moving in and out as he sucked on your pussy.

"Do not stop" You cried in pleasure.“I’m going to cum.”

It only takes one movement of his tongue inside you and you cum on his tongue. "Oh my-"

He waited for you to come back from your hight to place you gently on the mattress.

"Good morning my love." he whispered as he kissed each of your breasts, taking your nipples into his mouth and sucking on them.

“Good Morning” you moaned.

“I want you” He whispered to you while pressing his hard member between your legs, making you moan. “I can tell.”

He smiled and placed his member at your entrance, he kissed you and with a single movement he penetrated you, making you both moan.

“Still so tight” he moaned as his pelvis movements became faster and harder.

You arched your back and moaned, “That feels good.”

He withdrew completely and turned you onto your stomach, you leaned on your elbows and he penetrated you again, moaning.

“Like that” you moaned, getting wetter and wetter.

His thrusts grew harder as he let out beast moans.

This is how you love your lord, beastly

He grabbed your hair and pulled lightly, making you moan louder. “Cregan, I’m going to-”

“I know, me too” He moaned and soon you felt something hot running down your thighs as he buried himself inside you to leave his seed there.

You gripped the sheets and hid your cries of pleasure in the pillow. He sighed in pleasure as he pulled out of you and gently roll you on your back, letting his head rest on your chest.

"I can't wait to see a baby grow inside of you" He whispered as he caress your belly with his fingertips.

You chuckled and caress his soft hair "Someone's eager to be a father ?" you teased.

He smiled and pressed his lips to your stomach “You have no idea.”

You smiled softly and whispered "I love you."

He smiled back and whispered "I love you too."

.

Author's note : I know Cregan has been cast but i remain in denial and i want Leo in this role even if Tom is gonna be a great Cregan.

[surielstea]

Wedding Crasher

Based on this request.

Paring: Azriel x Fem!Reader (mates)

Summary: Reader is forced into an arranged marriage, and when the day of union comes it is interrupted by two familiar Illyrian warriors.

Warnings: Toxic relationship with parents | forced marriage | Azriel threatens a life | but pretty much all fluff <33

2.4k words.

My white dress hung heavy on my shoulders, my corset too tight, my heels already making my feet ache.

The plastered smile on my face hurt my cheeks, and the thorns in my bouquet prickled my sweaty palms. I released a shaky breath as the music of the string quartet began to play, an unmistakable tune meant for happy brides ready to walk down the aisle.

Which is what I was supposed to be, happy, ready. Heads turned in my direction and my back straightened, my brows creasing the slightest fraction.

My husband-to-be waited at the end of the walkway, his smile broad and malicious. My stomach churned.

I didn't want to be here, here on this beach getting married to some guy twenty years older all for an alliance my parents forced me into. My self-sovereignty for what? For a few pieces of gold and a minor title?

I took a steadying breath and began walking forward, keeping in rhythm to the strum of the music. The groom reached his hand out towards me, my own shook as I took it and he pulled me the rest of the way to the altar.

The officiant began the reading from his script, and with it, my ears began to ring, I tuned the priest out and my eyes fluttered closed. My fiancé's hands squeezed mine, not in a comforting manner, but a warning. I snapped my head up and looked at the officiant, I blinked at him with creased brows.

"Do you, take Rhen Talor to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do you part?" He repeated each word adding another pound of weight to my shoulders.

"I—" I look between the oblivious officiant and the groom, Rhen, to my parents who were watching with narrowed eyes. "I..." I wanted to say yes, I was going to say yes, but the pounding in my heart could be heard in my ears and I got the sneaking suspicion that I was about to vomit all over my white gown.

An unnatural wind blew my hair back as if nature itself was beckoning me to step away, to run.

I looked in the direction of the wind, my hands slipping from Rhen's as I spotted two towering, familiar winged figures in the distance and I realized the pounding in my ears was the beat of their wings.

The crowd murmurs at the intrusion as the two Illyrians casually stroll towards us, arrogance and power in each step.

"Excuse me for a moment," I say, gathering my skirts in my hands and rushing over to the two males as fast as I can in my heels that seemed determined to get stuck in the sand.

"What in the seven hells are you two doing here?" I seethe, looking at the fae warriors who were smiling at me with wicked amusement. Some part of me relaxed to feel anything besides fear and nausea, even if it was anger taking over.

"We're here to save you, what else?" The shadow singer arches a brow, dark shadows swirling up the pure white of my dress.

"I don't need anyone's saving, especially not two Carynthian warriors," I argue and Cassian snorts, taking in my appearance.

"I only came along because Az promised there'd be a buffet," The lord of bloodshed shrugged.

"Not for— this is wildly inappropriate, even for the two of you." I groaned but Cassian only continued walking, towards the guests that were scrambling away from the sight of his seven siphons. Leaving me and Azriel, our words drowned out by the crashing of the waves.

"You're too late. I already said I do," I cross my arms over my chest.

"Liar," He narrows his hazel eyes on me. "You know better than to try and fool me, Love, I could feel you tugging at the bond, you were in distress," Azriel took a dangerous step forward and I sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of the bond, not accepted but not rejected either. A bridge between us that I both refused to sever and to walk across.

H grabbed my hand that was prickled with the thorns of my bouquet, shadows soothed over my palm, relieving the sting of my minor wounds. "You shouldn't be here," I frowned but his smile remained.

"No, probably not, but I can't let you marry him," He said, his voice brooking no room for argument, ever the cool and collected male.

“Go home, Azriel,” I speak quietly, but not weakly.

“Come with me.” He matches my tone, his scarred fingers intertwining with my manicured ones and the sensation was so different than the feeling of Rhen’s grip. "Why did your parents arrange this? What are they gaining from this union?" He asked, voice slightly stiff at the idea of selling me off for their own personal achievement.

"Money, the Talor's have a small title and crop of land, it'd be enough to last us a few centuries,” I shrug. I loved my parents, despite their twisted and corrupt ways, I loved them because they fed and raised me, I loved them because they put clothes on my back and told me bedtime stories. I never assumed I’d have to pay them back, not this way, at least.

"I'll give you every cent to my name if that's the price of my mate's freedom, if money is what they want, they can take mine." The shadow singer stated, his words certain that it made me realize that I’ve never been as sure about anything as he was about this.

"I can't ask you to do that." I shake my head, slipping my fingers from his, knowing the lingering guests were watching.

"You don't have to, I want you to be happy, let me buy you then set you free." He implored, allowing my hand to fall to my side only because he moved to cup my cheek. "And if I'm lucky you'll fall in love with me along the way." He shrugged with a smirk of pure fae male arrogance.

"Az," I deadpan, the words half a growl.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm asking you not to marry him." His eyes flick back to the male watching with furious eyes from the archway. "If you tell me to I’ll leave, and you can walk down that aisle again— but let's not kid ourselves, you never wanted this, never wanted him,” His hand on my face made me melt slightly, and he was right, despite wanting to pay my mother and father back, this is nowhere near anything I wanted.

I swallowed thickly, weighing the options. If I married Rhen my parents would be happy and this would all be water under the bridge— but I’d suffer a life of being both a housewife and broodmare with a male who did not truly love me.

If I went with Azriel my parents would likely attempt to cleave us, unless Azriel paid them as he said he would, as long as gold was placed in their hands I doubted they’d have much argument— and I could be free to choose what I wanted with my life, I could accept my mating bond.

"But where will I go? What will I do?" I ask, my mind filled with questions that could only be answered by my future self.

"It's entirely up to you, you can live with me, or you can move to another court, whatever you choose. You'd be free." He stresses and my mouth gapes open, then closes. I look to the waves crashing against the shore only a few yards away, shouting at me to flee, to go with him.

All of it was too good to be true, Azriel coming to be my savior with this plan. It couldn’t be real and I needed him to punch me so I could wake up from this dream.

"Though I'd prefer if you stayed close, it's painful having you so far even right now— and you're only a city away, I can’t imagine a whole court,” He added and I looked back to him, a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips.

"I haven't even accepted the bond yet and you're already desperate." I tease.

"Yet?" He arched a scarred brow.

I flush a soft hue and avert my eyes again, this time settling them on the approaching figure that formed a knot of anxiety in my stomach.

"You're out of line, get your hands off my bride you bastard." Rhen spat and I flinched at the way he cursed the word, Azriel didn’t so much as shift, in fact, I could’ve sworn there was a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Out of line? No, I'm exactly where I should be, you're the one that's in my way." The shadow singer smoothly replied, Rhen snarled at his retort and grabbed me just above my elbow, his grip as tight and immovable as iron.

"Don't touch me." I gritted out, tugging at my arm but he didn’t budge and simply pulled me back towards where the officiant stood, uneasy on his feet.

"Come on, be a good little wife, and finish the damned ceremony," Rhen growled, and before I could take even another step towards the archway my fiancé halted, freezing in his footsteps as shadows wrapped around his limbs, his neck, encasing his body and shoving into his open mouth, restricting him of oxygen.

"She told you not to touch her Talor, so I'd highly suggest you let go or you won't have a hand anymore." The Spy Master’s voice was death incarnate, I had never heard anything so paralyzing in all my immortal life. It chilled me down to my very bone, and I thought that I might be carrion if I was ever on the receiving end of my mate's deathly stare.

Rhen’s hand releases me if only to grasp at his own throat, silently pleading with his eyes to have mercy.

The shadows released him and Rhen was sent running, sprinting as fast as he could away from the male that stood before me, now looking at me with an incredulous grin. Insane, he must’ve been insane— and I must’ve been too, to be so in love with that smile and the dimples that came along with it.

"You were seriously going to marry him?” He scoffed, hand coming to my arm and inspecting the area Rhen held me for any injury.

"Well, it wasn't really my choice," I grumble under my breath as Azriel lets go of my arm with a gentleness that rivaled his vicious exterior that occurred only moments ago.

Azriel’s eyes flicked over to the few remaining guests and I turned in the direction he stared, at my parents who were staring with both helplessness and fury in their eyes.

"Me and Cass will deal with them later, let's get you out of here, alright?" He tugged at the tether between us and my head whips back to him.

“Okay,” I nod and reach out, my hand finding his. His eyes soften as he pulls me into him, wrapping a wing around me and cocooning us in darkness before he utilizes his shadows to pull us into another realm entirely, it was only a brief moment of darkness and an empty void before my heels were on a hardwood floor and the sweet citrusy smell of Velaris flowed through my nose.

"We left Cass," I say, glancing around to find the second Illyrian nowhere to be found.

"He was in the midst of stuffing his face with bread rolls, I think he'll be just fine." Azriel half scoffed, half chuckled. He pulled away but before he could completely slip from my grasp my hand tightened on his and his brows lifted a fraction, eyes lighting with intrigue.

"Thank you." Is all I can manage to say.

"Don't thank me." He shakes his head. "I should have gotten you out of there far sooner." He spoke as if he was more dissatisfied with himself than anyone else.

"But still, when it mattered you came for me," I utter, taking a cautious step forward.

"You're my mate, even if you haven't accepted the bond, it's my duty to keep you safe— you shouldn't have even been out of my sights," He says, his voice soft as he looks down at me, hand squeezing mine.

"I wasn't, not really." I hum, gesturing down to the shadow that swirled around my ankle, the one that would always remain there.

He smiles at the thought, then says, "You look beautiful, by the way." His eyes flick down to my white gown and I follow his gaze, smiling softly at the dress, it had been the only thing that was my decision in this entire endeavor.

"I only wish that it was your choice to put that dress on, this morning," He added, as if reading my mind, and for a moment I wondered if the mating bond allowed him to see how I felt.

"It will be, one day," I nod confidently and his brows raise with insinuation. A gentle smile blooms across my lips and I cup his sharp jaw. “But for now, baby steps,” I suggest rising up onto my toes, leaning closer, placing a kiss on his adjacent cheek.

When I pulled back he was beet red and I giggled at the sight, it was a wonder that this male, who flushed at a chaste peck on the cheek, was also one of the most feared in Prythian.

“Right,” he swallowed down the lump in his throat, his hand only a phantom at my waist, hovering. "I'll have money sent to your parents by Dawn." He says, then quickly adds, “Even if they don’t deserve it.”

I smile brightly and pull away. “Thank you, Az,” I murmur.

“Anything, for you.” He confessed, and I knew he meant it. I smiled, thinking that in the morning I might reward him with some breakfast, in turn, accepted that golden tether between us and finally allowed myself to be happy, with a mate.

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[andypantsx3]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 : 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 1.7k of unedited alien prince shouto thoughts based on this post from the other day! sfw, gender neutral reader. several elements of this universe were borrowed from my fave sci-fi novel; see end notes for deets!

he's beautiful—the todoroki prince. tall and strong in his high-collared uniform, strapped with lean muscle and handsomely humanoid. he's the first thing that snares your gaze as your party is guided into the hall of the sun—the reception dome that overlooks the rise of the star yuuei in the morning sky, used by the ruling family to receive visiting dignitaries.

it is morning, in endeavorian planetary time, and the sun has begun to rise. its light is weaker than you remember from back home—almost watery, pooling like quicksilver in the panes of the dome's ceiling.

up at the front of the hall, it catches in the strands of the white half of the prince's hair. from what izuku has told you, it's the half that indicates he's part of the himura bloodline. the himura dynasty has ruled the yuuei system from its capital planet of endeavor iv for tens of thousands of earth-years. it's the second longest line of unbroken rulers in mapped galactic history, an impressive feat.

the other half of the prince's hair is a fiery red, like that of the man who stands next to him—todoroki enji, the general of intergalactic renown, who donated half of prince shouto's genome as well as his clan name. each time a himuran royal from the main line marries, izuku had explained, talking at lightspeed in the podship, they take a branch name, typically sourced from the primary gene-donator. it helps keep inheritance lines clear.

prince shouto looks like he's inherited empress rei and todoroki enji's genes in exactly half—his coloring split down the middle, though his features are perfectly, almost hauntingly symmetrical. he wears a pin of flint at his collar that symbolizes his gender—one of yuuei's thirteen official designations. from what you understand from izuku, it most closely aligns with earth designation "man".

it's embarrassing how much you notice about the prince as you file into the hall, stationing yourself right at the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, so you can still see todoroki shouto.

"you don't think they'll reject the treaty and kill us all, do you?" denki mumurs nervously as he presses in behind you.

"no, i don't think so," izuku's gentle voice drifts back to you. he's a three-star ethnologist, studying for a command ethnology post. subsequently he's the most informed of any of the cadets that have been sent along with the treatise party. you and denki are just mechanics, sent along in case anything goes wrong.

"the alliance would be too much trouble for the yuuei," izuku explains. "they have good relations with the surrounding galaxies and tight control over a lot of resources. but the alliance is really large now, compared to the last time they approached the yuuei. they'll likely want to accept at least a loose federation with the allies."

up on the platform at the front of the hall, prince shouto blinks long and slow, like an earth cat. you realize with a start it's the first time you've seen him blink at all, and the subtle reminder that he is not just an extraordinarily handsome human man but the prince of an alien species makes your skin prickle.

"don't you think it's weird they are all this pretty?" denki asks. "it's weird, right?"

"definitely weird," you laugh, your eyes trailing over prince shouto's blade-straight nose, his pert, perfect mouth. "possibly illegal under intergalatic law."

prince shouto stills all of a sudden, and there is the tiniest tilt of his head. two heterochromatic eyes flick over your way, and you are completely embarrassed by the way your stomach swoops in response. you just manage not to grab onto tenya's uniform to steady yourself.

one of the prince's eyebrow arches almost imperceptibly, and you wonder if he's heard you from this distance—but no, that would be insane.

denki picks up his commentary, emboldened by your playing along. you think the prince's eyes linger just a little too long on the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, but then you're distracted by the reception beginning.

the alliance treaty officer strides forward, flanked by a few of the other officials your crew had ferried here. she performs an elaborate bow, as do the other officials. from izuku's muttering you gather it's some sort of ritualistic greeting, and empress rei at least looks pleased with it, waving a gentle hand to gesture the party forward.

there is some shuffling as various aides set up a table and a series of holo-tablets, along with various inks, a leathery roll of endeavorian traditional parchment, and—

"is that a knife?" you ask, peering at the long obsidian blade placed on the table in front of the officials.

izuku's fluffy head of green curls inclines. "treaties are sealed twice. once in the alliance fashion and then again in the local custom, to make it binding per both systems. blood pacts have been used in yuuei for millennia."

the brush of something over your face has your gaze turning back to the prince—to find him staring straight at you, those unblinking eyes boring into you.

"izuku, weird question. can the yuuei hear across rooms?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

a green eye peers back at you. "only in the event of their pair bonds—the yuuei are documented hearing their matepair across approximately ten earth-kilometers. i think we're safe over here though. why?"

matepair. the world settles strangely under your skin, as the prince's eyes brush across it.

"uh, matepair?" you echo.

tenya gives both you and izuku a quelling look, but it's not enough to deter izuku from ducking down to explain in slightly quieter tones. "the yuuei look human but they pair differently. they form a parapsychic bond with only a single partner, which they maintain and uphold for life. it's not just cultural—it's like a physical compulsion. they cannot take another pair, and they cannot be separated for long periods or they grow sick."

prince shouto is still staring straight at you, and it's not quite comforting enough to know that he cannot possibly hear you.

it's only his role in the ceremony that seems to eventually break the prince's weird focus in your direction. he steps forward to perform his duty as empress rei's chosen heir. you almost flinch as the knife draws across the pale skin of his palm, and he adds several drips of silvery blood to the parchment, symbolizing yuuei's intent to uphold the treaty across future monarchs.

the flesh of his palm knits itself back together in seconds, and another little shiver goes up your spine. those mismatched eyes flash back your way as he steps back, and the various aides and officials once again converge on the documents.

there is a brief flurry of activity, various bows and oaths, some stilted endeavorian verse. the chief treaty officer looks relieved when it's all over, and the royal family steps down from the dais to greet the rest of the visiting party, as is the customary honor granted to allies to the yuuei. tenya ushers you into the queue near the back with denki, a symbol of your lower status as mechanics.

you don't mind, as the thought of reaching prince shouto has your stomach doing what feel like backflips in your gut. the longer the delay the better.

izuku had walked everyone through the appropriate greetings on the podship, a few murmured words and a hand touch at chest-level—extremely hard to mess up, even for you. but nevertheless your pulse kicks up the closer you draw to the royal family.

there's a long line of them you greet first. offshoot branch members, then general todoroki enji, whose enormous palm burns hot against yours and who looks he'd rather take your party's hands off than touch them. then rei's unchosen heirs—the princess fuyumi, prince natsuo—and a gap where prince touya would have stood, were he not offworld.

and then you're standing in front of prince shouto, your pulse pounding in your ears. he's extremely tall up close, clearing six feet easily, broad across the shoulders and handsome in a way that almost makes your teeth ache. the yuuei look deceptively human, but this near you can see the tiny details that separate them from you—the slight double-point to their ears, the silvery undertone to their skin, the prolonged space between their breaths and their blinks.

and of course their inhuman beauty. they don't quite look like regular people, and it sparks a tiny note of wariness in the primeval part of your human hindbrain.

prince shouto's mismatched eyes pin you, silver and blue, as a sudden, silvery flush creeps across his face. you hold your hand out in greeting, trying not to wonder if you've somehow managed to offend him already—but instead of pressing his palm against yours, his long fingers suddenly grasp yours, clasping tightly.

beyond him, empress rei freezes too. all at once you can feel every single himuran noble turn to look at you, hundreds of eyes pinning on you.

reflexively, words tumble out of you. "shit did i—what did i do? were you supposed to get a different hand thingy?"

you can hear the treaty officer's horrified inhale at the terms shit and hand thingy, deployed in crass galactic standard in front of a literal prince. you immediately wish you could take them back, but from the look on the prince's face, he's already heard them.

something at the corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying not to smile.

"y/n," he says, in a deep tone. it's crisply accented and just as beautiful as the rest of him.

it takes you a second to realize prince shouto has used your name, which he could not possibly know considering the uniform you'd been issued for the yuuei visit has no unique identifiers on it. you glance down at yourself, then back up at him, befuddled.

"how did you—? where did you—?" you garble out. "did denki put you up to this? how do you know me?"

prince shouto's fingers smooth over yours, delightfully warm, calloused and sure. "i would know you in any universe," he says, voice soft. behind you, you hear princess fuyumi make a tiny sound of delight.

you blink. "universe? what—uh, what universe? how would you—?"

but shouto leans in, tugging you closer with those deceptively strong fingers. he's so very warm up close, and so beautiful it makes your brain short circuit, especially as he lowers his face to yours. a shiver rolls down your spine as his other hand takes you gently by the chin.

and then he murmurs a single word before pressing his mouth to yours—

"matepair."

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: credits where they are due!! the idea of a space general dna donator, an overarching space alliance pursuing a treaty, & the flint pin denoting gender were taken from my fave sci-fi novel winter's orbit by everina maxwell! (if you love heartfelt gay love stories in space i am actually begging you to read it).

[violetflowerswrites]

Sweet Relief

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: servant/master, possession, religious-ish themes, dom/sub, sex pollen, cockwarming, oral (female receiving), pain/discipline, fingering, p in v sex, language, 18+

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: I’m rewatching the Marvel movies in order and my god. I forgot how absolutely diabolical and adorable young Loki is! I was inspired to make this VERY smutty, all-porn-no-plot fic. Takes place before the events of Thor 1. Hope you enjoy my first Loki fic!

Tags: @foxherder @lovingchoices14

The long linen fabric of your healer’s tunic brushed against the cold marble floor as you rushed past. Your steps were gentle and quick, trying to make next to no sound as you swept past the tall columns, and arched ceilings of the royal halls. Finally outside the gilded wood of the giant doors to his bed chambers, your breath seemed to stall in your lungs.

This simply was not done. You were approached, never doing the approaching yourself. Improper didn’t even begin to describe what you were doing.

Your gentle knock was virtually silent the first time, so you steeled yourself and tried again.

“Identify yourself.”

A lazy voice called from within, but his tone was laced with an undeniable authority.

You spoke your name, placed your title in front of it.

Healer.

You weren’t a lady, a warrior—hell, you weren’t even nobility.

You belonged to a class of healers in Asgardian society. Seen as a type of servant, but respected nonetheless. To serve in the court meant you had a sizable talent for basic magic, and for spiritual healing.

But, if you were a woman in this position, it also meant you were a glorified prostitute.

You and your healer sisters before you have served in the healing room for centuries, servicing warriors, tending to their injuries after battle. But Asgard has long been in a season of peace, so the healers needed to fill another role.

Asgard was now a land of paradise, a land of plenty. That is, plenty of food, drink, beauty, wealth, and of course, plenty of sex. The nobility needed a way to make this discreet. After all, the royal court could hardly be seen having frivolous dalliances with just anyone. They needed to marry for alliance, for power, and for proper bloodlines, of course.

That’s where the healers came in. Come to the healing room for a sleeping draught, or an ointment for a sore shoulder, and get a service on top of it. You and your sisters were carefully trained in the ways of pleasure, and secrecy.

But, here you were, in front of your Lord’s chambers, breaking every rule and propriety ingrained in you since you first worked in the court as a young girl.

“Enter.” He commanded.

With shaky hands, you pushed the heavy bedroom doors open with your slender muscles.

The sight was grand, and a bit unexpected. Thick, dark green drapes covered the walls from ceiling to floor, and deep cherry wood bookshelves lined an entire side of the bedroom. A fireplace and candles were lit, making the chambers seem warm, yet a tinge ominous. A sharp contrast to the golden pearly halls of the rest of Asgard’s royal chambers.

Loki sat at a massive wooden desk, cleaved from the center of an oak tree, and absolutely littered with a number of bottles and vials, books and scrolls. A lone curtain was left half open, letting in what little light was left of the setting summer sun.

He addressed you disinterestedly, not even bothering to lift his head up from his book.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Healer?” Loki called out quietly across the vast room.

Your back was pressed up against the door, unable to get your feet to move. Your body disobeyed what your mind wanted, forgetting to curtsey or even duck your head. Instead, your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Loki took a beat in your silence and chuckled lowly to himself.

“I must say, this is quite unexpected, and against the rules I might add.”

Amusement glittered in his eyes at the mention of breaking the rules.

After all, he was the God of Mischief. Breaking the rules was his bread and butter.

Loki finally gazed up and took you in more carefully, wondering why a healer such as yourself would dare incur the wrath of your order by entering a nobleman’s chambers without permission, let alone the prince of Asgard.

Second prince of Asgard, but a prince nonetheless.

Then he noticed you, really noticed you.

He took in your flushed face, the way you absentmindedly kept rubbing your hands up and down your arms as you hugged yourself, and your thighs pressing your legs together to seek any sort of relief you could.

Even from across the room, Loki’s god-eyes could see the steady thrumming of the vein on your neck, moving rapidly with your heartbeat. He wanted to taste your skin and feel your pulse under his hot tongue.

Loki was a keen observer. Knowing how to read body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice was more important than any magical mischief he could get up to. Reading people was enough to get him most things that he wanted in life.

And right now, he decided he wanted you.

“You may approach, Healer.”

As if the spell had been broken, you swallowed to wet your dry throat and stepped towards the prince.

“How did you get past the guards?” Loki questioned.

“I said you needed a sleeping draught. You’ve been having trouble falling asleep for the past few days.” Your voice came out squeaky and feeble, a far cry from your usual tone.

Loki pursed his lips. This was not untrue.

“Leave it here.” He gestured casually to the desk and went back to his reading, while keeping half an eye on you.

Your trembling hands set down the small bottle of liquid with a bit of a clatter, and you quickly stepped back, just a few feet from where Loki sat.

“There’s something else.” Loki murmured lowly, eyes still flicking over the pages.

“Yes.” You breathed out.

Before you could begin to state your wild request, Loki said something else that you didn’t expect.

“I know you.”

You flitted your eyes up at his handsome face, and was startled by his piercing blue gaze. Quickly, you looked down at your feet.

The younger prince of Asgard had long since caught your eye. Every time he returned from battle you snatched the opportunity to treat him.

Rumor had it that he rarely asked for a healer's services, even when he was at the peak of adolescence. Some said he had a taste for the other sex. Others said he found his pleasure off-planet.

Whereas Thor openly indulged in excess, including women, drink, and violence, Loki was careful, calculated, and purposeful in all his actions. His mysterious, unreadable nature only served to make him more attractive to you.

“Yes, m’Lord. I have treated your injuries before, alongside other sisters.”

“You sang to me.”

You gasped, shocked that he remembered. It was a particularly gruesome battle and Loki was crushed badly in the side. You and your sisters forced him into a spell-induced sleep so that you could bind his broken bones. The Queen was distraught and ordered a round-the-clock watch to ensure he was healing well. You ended up on night watch, singing lullabies when he fought demons in his sleep.

“I did not know you heard me, m’ Lord.” You whispered, the heat inside of you coming out in waves off your hot skin.

“Speak freely. What is it that you request of me?” Loki schooled his tone to sound detached, but you could hear the curiosity in his words.

Sucking in a breath, you relayed a stuttered story of how a nobleman asked the healers to create a love potion that would increase ones libido, but it would only work against someone they were attracted to. Eventually, they would be like a dog in heat, and could only be relieved by intense pleasuring from a potential lover.

And you were the unlucky soul who got “volunteered” to take the experimental potion on a test run.

Although they tried their utmost, your sisters were unable to bring you relief and now, a few hours later, you sought after your long-time crush, Loki.

Hoping he’d do something to help relieve you of your suffering.

Although what, you didn’t dare dream of.

Ashamed, you bowed your head, looking at the marble floor and wishing a hole would open up and sink you into the dark waters below your realm.

At best, he’d let you go back to the healing room and never speak of this again. At worst, he’d have you arrested and banished for attempting such a lecherous act against a prince of Asgard.

“Sit.”

Your head jerked up, and you stared. Loki wasn’t looking at you though, he was back to his book, but his palm patted his muscular thigh.

Gods, was he asking you to sit in his lap?

You slowly brought a leg over his until your core straddled his hips. His cool body temperature immediately soothed your hot one, and you carefully brought your arms to clasp behind his neck.

Moving quickly before he changed his mind, you immediately put your training to use.

“Would my Lord like a massage?” You offered quietly.

“Yes, darling, that would be lovely.” Loki agreed nonchalantly, again, eyes still glued to his book.

Your strong fingers squeezed the tight knots on Loki’s shoulders, feeling the firm, yet lean muscles there. You pulled up his flesh, pressing deeply until the tension melted away in your hands.

Moving upwards, you combed your fingers through his jet-black hair, massaging his scalp, and temples.

The man gave no signs at all that he was affected by your touch, or by having an attractive young woman in his lap.

But then, he turned, exposing a pale neck underneath the raised leather collar of his garments. You took that as an invitation to press your lips to his smooth skin. Loki could feel your warm breath exhale in a contented sigh as your thumbs continued to knead circles, followed by soft kisses all over his neck, up his jaw, behind his ear.

Even with your face pressed to his, you almost missed what he whispered next.

“Warm my cock for me, dearest.”

An uncontrollable whimper escaped from your lips at his dirty words.

To be fully honest, you didn’t know how far Loki was going to let you take this. And the answer seemed to be…

All the way.

You pulled off your undergarments and undid the buttons of his leather trousers. His member was already half-erect, but it came to life fully as you gently rubbed him in both of your warm hands.

Your head fell onto his shoulder, and you could feel the breath catch in his chest as his cock breached your tight entrance.

Your eyes squeezed shut immediately at the contact, having not loosened your sensitive core beforehand, and Loki was large. His member wasn’t the thickest you’ve ever had, but it was slender, and long.

Slowly, carefully, you sank down, half-way at first, taking a pause to adjust, then further in until your ass rested on his lap once again.

The tip of his cock pushed up against your cervix, and you’ve never felt more full in your life.

Relaxing, you pressed your chest to his, leaning in as your core wrapped its hot, moist flesh around him. Loki for his part, was completely silent, reaching his arms behind your back to continue flipping through his book.

“What are you reading?” You murmur, content to just be filled for the time being. The initial stage of insatiable desire had been temporarily slaked by simply having his length inside of you.

“A spell-book on illusion magic. Could be useful for battle, or tricking my brother.” A soft chuckle rumbled through his body, the vibrations stimulating your center immediately.

You moaned, losing yourself in pleasure, but Loki shushed you gently.

“Be a good girl and sit quietly. I want to finish this section.”

So you did. After having spent the past few hours in heat, having any kind of relief now was enough to lull you into a daze. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, the crinkle of pages of Loki’s book, and your quiet breath.

Every so often, he would shift his weight and it would push his cock in a different part of your core. You bit your lip each time to keep from making any noise, but the wetness that leaked from your pussy betrayed your arousal. You were sure that Loki’s thighs would be soaked by the time he finished reading.

Abruptly, Loki snapped his book shut with a bang. You flinched automatically at the loud sound.

“That’s enough, my dear.” He stated with finality.

You gingerly pulled yourself off, his still-hard member slipping out of your core, leaving you feeling empty and wanting. Legs wobbly from sitting straddled wide for so long, you tried your best to look put together, smoothing down your tunic, and taking a tentative step back.

“My Lord, thank you for—“ you attempted a statement of propriety, assuming that you were being dismissed.

Wordlessly, Loki grabbed you roughly by the neck and hauled you forward, an arm pulling your hips against his as he crushed you with a kiss.

Your body melted into his immediately, overwhelmed by the pressure of his lips against yours, his tongue forcing his way into your mouth, and —gods was that teeth?—nipping at your lower lip. You had no idea that a kiss could be so utterly demanding and violent.

Loki wasn’t just kissing you.

He was devouring you.

“It’s time for some discipline, healer. Do you know what a bad girl you’ve been tonight?” Loki growled against your neck, biting you not quite so gently there.

“No, tell me m’ Lord.” The response breathed out through bruised lips. Your pupils were blown out with lust and so were his.

“No? Then, I’ll help you count each disobedience.”

With that, Loki pulled your tunic and shift off, leaving you completely exposed before him.

“Exquisite,” he murmured, while licking his lips.

Roughly, he wrenched your arm and pulled you towards his generous bed, throwing you down the middle of the lush mattress.

Before you had a chance to sit up, he flipped you onto your stomach and smacked a hard slap to your ass.

“Fuck!” The expletive exploded out of you at the sharp sting.

“Number one: deceiving the guards.”

Another slap hit your other ass cheek.

“Number two: sneaking into the royal chambers.”

His hand met your bottom again.

“Number three: sneaking into my bedroom, a prince of Asgard no less.”

Another hit. The skin of your ass was already inflamed pink with the first few smacks.

Loki watched the color bloom before slowly raking his icy-blue eyes across your body. A sheen of sweat had broken out along your back and your face was buried in the sheets.

Loki’s never hurt a girl in the bedroom before, but seeing the redness of your ass, and feeling the tingling remnants of each slap on his own hand. Well, that awoke something sinister in his heart, and his loins.

“Number four: you were a fool to take the love potion. You are supposed to be a healer, not a witch.”

This next blow from Loki was even stronger than the last. The contact with your tender skin echoed off the high ceiling of his bedroom.

“Hells—Loki you are going to leave a mark!” The pain had you gritting your teeth, and temporarily forgetting your manners.

Hearing his name roll off your tongue made him laugh with delight. Who knew he would have so much fun punishing a troublesome little girl like you?

He leaned forward, pressing his erection into the swell of your ass, and spoke lowly into your ear.

“My darling, when I’m done with you, your body will be marked permanently.”

The threat made you shut your mouth and turn your burning face away from his, speechless.

“Number five: you were a fool to seek out me for relief.”

The final hit was the most painful. Loki lifted both of his hands and brought them down with so much force that you let out a scream of shock, pain, and pleasure all at once.

He immediately squeezed your pliant flesh in his palms, massaging the slap-warmed skin there.

After a moment of silence, he released his touch altogether and sat back on the bed, watching you.

Cautiously, you crawled up on your hands and knees and sat up, using your arms to hold up your weight rather than sitting on your tender bottom.

He studied your face in quiet contemplation as he watched a mixture of emotions course through you.

Pain, of course.

A bit of fear.

Apprehension, understandably.

But as you drew in shaky breaths, staring back at him, he saw what he was hoping for.

Attraction. Lust. Arousal. Greed.

Even after all of that, you still wanted him. Hells, even without the potion coursing through your veins you would have still wanted to fuck him.

The dominant, torturous streak was a surprise, but you never knew what Loki was capable of, to begin with.

Everything was a surprise with him.

And yet, you craved so much more.

Suddenly gentle, Loki guided you backwards until your head hit his soft pillows.

He settled in between your legs, prying them apart until his face was inches away from your puffy inner lips.

“How did that feel, my dear?” He pressed kisses against your inner thighs, loving how smooth and soft your skin was.

“It hurt.” You ground out, indignance lacing your tone, trying not to show how anything Loki did to you felt good.

Better than good. He was better than any nobleman you’ve ever had to service before. Sex with them was vanilla, predictable. Loki was anything but.

“Ah, but you liked it. Didn’t you, sweet girl?” He paused and looked up at you with those baby blues.

Underneath his steady gaze, you knew there was no point in lying. Loki could see through you in a heartbeat.

“Yes. It felt good.” You confessed.

Tutting with that silver tongue of his, endearments and praise continued to pour out of that sly mouth.

And kisses. Hot, wet, soft kisses to every part of your inner thighs, your mound, your puffy pussy lips.

“You naughty girl. Entering my chambers, asking me to give you relief.”

He pressed his lips to you.

“Sitting on my cock, letting me fill up that tight cunt of yours.”

A regal nose brushed against your slit, dragging wetness up your core.

“Enjoying pain with your pleasure. Letting me ravage your body. You’re a temptress, my sweet.”

A deep inhale. Gods, Loki was breathing in your sex right in front of you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your nails digging into your palms.

“Did you know, darling, that I could smell you the second you entered my chambers?” He exhaled, warm air tickling the moisture leaking out of you.

You didn’t dare reply, knowing that all that could come out of you now would be whines of lust.

“You, my dear, are ripe.”

With that, Loki dove head first into your cunt, licking and sucking like you were his favorite dessert.

The potion made your pussy swollen and sensitive, so everything he did felt ten times more pleasurable than anything your sisters tried.

Your hands gripped his wide shoulders and your knees fell apart as he ate you out.

“Loki—my Lord, I, I can’t!” You stammered out, head falling back as you enjoyed his worship of your pussy.

“Cat got your tongue, dear?” Loki joked, before taking your clit in between his perfect teeth.

“Fuck!” You positively screamed, which only made Loki double down.

Finally, he let go and you slowly loosened your grip, not realizing that you had been knuckle deep in his beautiful hair, tugging it, tangling it in your fingers. You saw pink half moons littered on the pale skin of his neck and face, evidence of your nails digging into his flesh.

Taking a beat to breathe, you smoothed his locks down on his head.

“Did I hurt you?” You inquired, feeling ashamed that you had lost yourself so completely in your lust.

“Yes. But I liked it, dearest. You can hurt me as much as you want to. Just as long as I can do the same.”

The dirty confession made your heart stutter in your chest, eyes wide. Seeing your expression, Loki laughed aloud, the sound blessing your ears.

He crawled up your body now, straightening your legs.

“Let’s see how ready you are for me, hmm?” Loki inserted one finger, then another into your pussy.

“Gods! That feels—!” You whined.

“Good, isn't it?” Loki finished for you. “Now, what about…here?”

He curled his digits upwards and put delicious pressure onto your spongy inner center.

Waves of stimulation shot through your limbs as your voice cried out in broken moans.

“Your knees are trembling, sweet girl.” Loki observed with amusement.

Indeed they were, and they continued to shake uncontrollably as Loki clamped down even harder, his fingers thrusting now.

“I-I can’t help it!” You cried out again, as Loki kissed your breasts, his hot mouth finding purchase on an erect nipple.

Your hands gripped his wrist and he couldn’t tell if you were trying to pull his hand out, or push it in deeper.

Regardless, he ground his palm against your clit, scissoring his digits inside of you, stretching you.

Preparing you.

“Oh my—I’m gonna cum!” You screamed out. Loki had already made you cum a few times. First, when his cock filled you up as you were sitting on his lap. Second, when he bit down on your clit.

And now, with his skilled fingers, he was making your pussy spasm and weep under his touch.

The orgasm was powerful, your whole body jerking up against his. With his free hand, Loki held you down, enjoying the wild ride.

Finally, as you relaxed, Loki released you and sat back. His forehead dappled with sweat, and his own breath coming in hard.

You couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Loki, your prince, was pleasuring, no—worshiping your body like it was his personal gift from Valhalla. He made you feel pleasure at heights you didn’t know existed. Somehow, he simply knew your body even though this was the first time he had ever touched you.

Lost in post-orgasm bliss, your eyes lazily traveled down to his still clothed erection, fighting to get out of his trousers. A thought crossed your mind.

“My Lord, can I undress you?” You murmured, locking eyes with him.

Loki didn’t reply, instead, he simply watched your naked body approach his clothed one as you slowly snaked your hands up his torso. You found each flap, each button, and slowly undid it all as his garments fell down in pieces on the bed.

You pulled his pants off his long legs, and his cock bounced up to greet you. With a gasp of joy, you pressed a soft kiss to his member and continued your kisses up the toned flesh of his chest until you got to his lips.

The action was intimate, like what lovers would do. And Loki let you touch him, admire him, without a word.

In the last bit of light of sunset, Loki’s skin glowed golden orange. He shone like the god he is.

“Beautiful.” You whispered in awe.

An arrogant smile curved along his face and he cradled a hand along the back of your head. He pressed a long, sensual kiss to your warm mouth.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” He murmured the dirty words against your smiling lips.

Stalking over you like a predator hunts its prey, Loki climbed over your prone body, lining up his engorged cock with your weeping slit.

He watched you watch him as he slid in, inch by inch, your eyes watering as he forced his way into your cunt.

A self-satisfied smirk emerged on his face, knowing just how full he could make you feel.

Gently, he lowered his weight on top of you, pressing down so that his toned flesh covered your supple breasts and soft curves.

As he started to slowly thrust in and out of your tight core, Loki found both of your hands and brought them next to your head, interlacing his fingers with yours. Your palms were hot and sweaty, overwhelmed with the intimacy of his actions.

Summoning all the boldness you had inside of you, you dared your gaze to meet his and he was staring back at you with a mixture of lust and affection.

And also, possession.

Fuck.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Without warning, he pushed faster, his hips smacking into yours with a vengeance. You instinctively brought your knees up to allow him deeper access. The wet slap of his cock into your pussy was sinfully loud in the cavernous bedroom.

All manner of helpless yelps and whines came out of your throat, your hands squeezed his as he fucked you raw.

“You need to be fucked, hard and often, healer.” The way he said your title could have been synonymous with whore.

The intensity of his look was almost too much, daring you to look away, but you found that you couldn’t. You were entirely addicted to this man, stronger than any drug you could have created in the healing room.

By Odin, he was the only one for you.

You pressed your forehead to his as he continued to slam his cock deep inside of your womb.

“I’m yours, my Lord.” The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.

“Loki.” An unreadable expression crossed his face as Loki pushed himself up. He pulled your legs to wrap around his hips as he knelt on the bed. Your pussy was still clenched around his cock and you took the opportunity to suck in a few deep breaths.

“Wha-what?” You panted, confusion furrowing your brow.

“Say my name. Say that you belong to me.” Loki commanded. He rose up, pulling his shoulders back, looking every bit like the prince, the god that he is. His dark hair was pushed back on his forehead, sleek with sweat, framing his sharp features like a crown.

Automatically obedient, the declaration left your lips with sincerity and conviction.

“I belong to you, Loki.”

With a laugh of triumph, Loki grabbed the pliant flesh of your hips and slammed your body against his own. He railed your core with his cock, hitting deeper than you ever thought possible. Your ass slid along his strong thighs, the friction smarting your skin that was still tender from his earlier disciplining.

“Loki—it’s too much!” You cried out, losing yourself in pleasure.

“Cum for me, my sweet girl. Worship me with your cunt!” Loki growled out, thrusting impossibly harder, impossibly faster.

The sensation built and built, his name spilled out of your mouth in an endless stream of moans, until suddenly the pleasure peaked.

In that instance, time stopped. Your lips parted in a silent scream, and you saw him.

Veins bulged in his forearm as he pulled you flush against his hips. Nose scrunched up in effort as he fucked you deeply. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, wild in the throes of ecstasy.

Loki was your god.

And he was glorious.

Finally the air in your lungs released in a long-awaited scream and the orgasm crashed down. Nerve endings lit on fire, and your muscles jerked and spasmed underneath his strong grip. In the midst of your pleasure, you heard a faraway groan from your prince, and you could feel jets of hot cum coat the inside of your womb. He was marking you, claiming you as his.

You knew you would be his forever.

A few seconds later, Loki unceremoniously pulled out of your well-used pussy, and collapsed beside you, chest heaving with exertion.

Lying with one arm underneath his head, he lazily stroked your back as you curled up on his naked chest. Finally, the effect from the love potion had dissipated, leaving you with sweet relief.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence, but your mind started to swirl with insecure thoughts. You steeled your nerves to ask a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind.

“Why did you never use me?”

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“Why did you never take a lover? Or ask for a healer’s services? I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, that you’re—“ Your mouth shut with an audible clack of your teeth.

Your clumsy tongue always got ahead of yourself. Worried you may have crossed a line, your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

But Loki answered honestly.

“You’re not my first. But I have long since known that I can’t fuck and forget like my ape of a brother.” He grimaces, and breathes in deeply before saying more.

“When I have sex, I need to own them. Possess them. I'm sure you noticed my dominant streak, my darling.”

“Then why’d you let me come in tonight? Why take the risk?” You wondered aloud.

“I’ve been watching you, my sweet little healer.”

You tensed automatically in surprise. Since when? What did he see? Why did he notice you?

Loki’s gentle voice brought you out of your thoughts as he confessed more.

“If you hadn’t approached me tonight, I would have snatched you from the healing room and made you mine before long.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating deep within his chest as you lay on his skin.

The revelation sank in slowly until finally, Loki pulled you up until your face was level with his.

“You just beat me to it, you naughty girl.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and your furrowed brow automatically relaxed.

“Tell me again. Will you belong to me, and only me?” He searched your eyes for any hint of deception, any trace of a lie.

You were certain that he would find none.

“Yes, Loki. I belong to you.”

…

[rainbowolfe]

Observations of The Goat

The first thing the trailer highlights is the lighthouse. Fully repaired, the yellow crystal gives off a pink light and aura.

Lamb on their last heart hides behind rocks marked with a parenthesis-like symbol with a slash through the lower half. This appears in Clauneck's room.

The light from the lighthouse highlights more of the symbols in a puddle on the ground. In this puddle we can see two chains. This could be a portal to the Realm Beyond. It would also imply that Goat is trapped somewhere they can't leave. A drop of Lamb's blood enters the puddle, triggering the next sequence.

A brand new, never-seen magic circle appears in pink. Placed on a hexagon, the ends decorated with the symbol of the Heretic (see: Fleece of the Old Faith). The inner circle has many of the symbols found on the Bishop's magic circle, but also a few new ones, for a total of 12.

There's this series of flash frames:

It looks like the Goat casts a second magic circle, this one with a prominent triangle in the center.

Lamb is pulled into the puddle. But when they cross over into the puddle, it swaps their position to turn them from being "the pulled" into "the puller". This may imply this was a mild act of possession.

Goat wears the same style of Crown as Lamb, but in purple. They have larger, curved horns and non-curly hair. Their cloak is purple (with a lighter purple stripe) and their bell is white. They've got a very... smug cat face.

Based on this frame, I don't think Goat is quite "alive". You can see them through the sword in pink. They're something non-permanenent, like when we turn our Followers into demons.

Cast in the lighthouse light again, they turn their Crown into an axe. They attack the Enforcer in this shot where the lighthouse is very prominent. (Also more Enforcers have arrived)

Then there's this symbol again as they cut the Enforcer in two. The force of which shatters the ground.

In-game, Goat is summoned from a pool of Ichor, like a demon. Based on the arch the ichor follows, we most likely summon them with a relic. They're summoned using white magic. Lamb's eyes typically turn red when summoning anything. The Goat most likely exists on a "meta level" as Player 2, and as an in-game NPC for people who don't have someone to play with.

Finally, the splash art. Goat and Lamb touch palms, seemingly combining their Crowns in some way, on another magic circle. This specifically is likely the "unholy alliance" this update is named after. The symbols we can see are all used in alchemy. This star seems to be the one that appears when the Red Crown speaks to us as a snake.

Goat uses pink, ground-shattering magic like they do in the animated trailer. But it's interesting to see Lamb using green magic. New curse maybe?

And an 'X' to add to my conspiracy board...

[honeybeefae]

7 Minutes In Heaven (Bat Boys x Reader)

Summary// After a night of drinking and a confession that friends should not say to each other, you find yourself on the receiving end of your three best friend’s wicked desires to make sure you are taken care of.

(Hoooooly hell this was a LOT to write and it took me so long but I am so happy with how it came out. 16 pages, 5K words, and I really hope you guys like this. This is obviously just pure smut but we all know that’s why you’re here. ;) Enjoy!)

WARNINGS: Smut, 18+, Foursome, Double penetration, Spitting

The fire was roaring in the hearth while the smell of bread and wine filled the cabin air. Rhys, Cass, Az, and you were all sitting in a circle by the couch as you joked about old memories, the outside world seemingly far away as you took a relaxing breath and enjoyed the company of your friends.

You had come up here after your father had surprised you with an arranged marriage back in your birthplace within the Court of Nightmares. Despite your job with the inner circle he still felt as if he had control over you and you were lucky that Rhys had been there to swoop you away and hide you here.

It had been three days since then and you had no plans of leaving anytime soon. The four of you were as close as could be and you were thankful they had dropped everything to help you out and be a shoulder to lean on.

Four wine glasses lay empty beside each of you though none of you were drunk by any means, the conversation light and mellow as you reached for the half-empty bottle beside Rhys.

“So, Y/N,” Cassian began, smirking when you rolled your eyes at his prying tone. “Who were you going to be wed to?”

“Really?” Rhys deadpanned. “Do you have to kill the mood?”

“It’s okay. I know he can’t help his gossiping ways.” You say sickly sweet, drinking down the red liquid faster than you should’ve. “It was some friend’s son of Keir’s. A terrible man no doubt looking to climb ranks like the rest of them. And with me being the only daughter of my father, you know he was looking to make alliances to secure his power as well.”

“They’re all like that. It’s pathetic.” Azriel grumbled from his spot on the floor.

“The men are the worst of them all, treating us daughters lesser than.” You snort and lean back on your hands. “It just sucks that us women are caught in the crossfire of your pissing contests.”

“Our pissing contests?” Rhysand echoed, arching his brow as you waved your hand in the air to gesture vaguely.

“Men in general. It’s so much harder for us than it is for you when it comes to scenarios like this. You guys get to go and do whatever you want, fuck whoever you want, etc., while we have to be everything all at once lest we ruin our family image.” Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head in irritation as you ranted to the group.

“If I were a man I wouldn’t have to put up with being treated as a mere breeding sow or a stepping stool to a higher purpose. I could take what I wanted.” They were all watching you with amusement as you crossed your arms over your chest, glowering. “For example, I bet the three of you never once got lectured on the importance of maintaining your purity for a woman or how to please them properly.”

“Well, no, but-” Cassian tried to interrupt but you raised to sit on your knees and snapped your fingers in exasperation, cutting him off.

“Exactly my point! It’s a sexist, ridiculous outlook on women as a whole. We shouldn’t be made to feel bad about wanting our own pleasure when you lot can take part in yours whenever you please.” You realized too late how you had completely derailed the conversation and glanced at your now empty glass of wine, making a note to keep it that way.

“You certainly have very strong feelings towards this subject.” Rhys pointed out, his violet eyes twinkling in the firelight. “I didn’t realize this was such a sore topic. Shall we join you in your celibacy?”

All three of them laughed and you felt your face heat in embarrassment. It was your own fault for making it such a big deal and you were starting to regret the ammunition you had just given them. You rushed to defend yourself from whatever picture they were painting of you. 

“I’m not celibate, I just-” You tried to get out, your voice cracking as you considered your words.

Three pairs of eyes stare at you as you clear your throat and straighten your spine, finding a small stain on the rug underneath you to focus on. “I mean that in the sense that you don’t have to feel obliged to do that since I’m not. I just think the issue needs to be talked about more.”

“The issue of your sex life?” Azriel quipped, grinning when you threw a pillow at him.

“No! The issue of the scale of men and women.” You retort with a flip of your middle finger. “Can we just change the topic?”

“I just can’t believe you’ve actually had sex with someone. What would your mother think, Y/N?” Cassian faked a dramatic gasp and you resisted the urge to chuck the glass bottle at his head. 

"Listen-” You try to cut in but your pleas fell on deaf ears as all three of your best friends started to gang up on your blushing state.

“You have had sex before right?” Rhys smirked devilishly. “Touching yourself doesn’t count, it takes two people.”

“Or more.” Azriel gave you a wink and you blushed crimson, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to regain control of the situation.

“Yes, yes. I’ve done it before with someone else.” You felt self-conscious even admitting to that and you could tell they wanted more details. Before they could even ask though you held out your hand to silence them. “Why am I in the hot seat? Can we move on to someone else? Or a new topic entirely?”

“Oh no, this is very interesting. I want to know more.” Rhys raised an eyebrow, shooting his brothers an amused glance as you shook your head.

“Well if it’s so interesting how about I ask you how many people you’ve had sex with, hm?” You challenged your High Lord, blinking in surprise when he simply shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no problem telling you how many. What was it you said, we shouldn’t be made to feel bad about seeking our own pleasure?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as you puckered your lips in silence. “I would say at least thirty.”

“Thirty?!” You were shocked.

“If you think that’s scandalous you really don’t want to hear Azriel’s…or Cassian’s.”

“How do you even? Were you courting all of them?”

Rhysand snorted while Cassian and Azriel grinned, the former laying sideways and propping his head up on his elbow. “You do know you don’t have to be courting someone to fuck them right, princess? Sex isn’t magically unlocked by writing poems and delivering flowers.” Cassian teased.

“I know that.” You snapped, frowning. “I just don’t see why. It doesn’t even feel that good.”

The room immediately fell into silence and your body tensed. All three of your friends were staring at you, mouths open, with shocked expressions. You brought your knees up to your chest, a comfort action, as Azriel cleared his throat and clicked his tongue.

“What doesn’t feel good? Sex itself?” He questioned, watching you shrug. “How many people have you had sex with, Y/N?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You went on the defense immediately, knowing they would laugh. However Rhys held out his pinky for you to hook, his face serious as he promised you that no one would make fun of you.

You mulled over lying or not but you knew they would be able to tell. It wasn’t something you were proud of but you truly never got the appeal of it. A few girls back in the Court of Nightmares were constantly bragging about it but you didn’t get the desire.

“Two.” You whispered, wincing when Cassian almost choked on his drink.

“Two? Did you say two?” He said hoarsely, hitting his chest with an open palm to clear his throat. “How old are you?”

“Why does it matter?” You ran a hand over your face frustratedly. “Why is any of this relevant to our friendship? Yes, I’ve only had sex with two people. It was painful, lasted a couple of minutes both times and just left me feeling frustrated and used. I didn’t like it. Can we move on?”

They watched you and you saw their gazes turn from shocking to pitying. 

“So…no one has made you cum before?” Azriel whispered, voice tight as you closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.

“No, they aren’t supposed to.” You said as if it were obvious. “I was always told sex is for the man, to make a baby. It’s not really something that we enjoy but we just pretend we do.”

“Oh you sweet, summer child,” Rhys cooed. “That’s….that’s just cruel. And not what sex is at all.”

You felt agitated, embarrassed, and frustrated all at the same time. It was like they all knew some secret that you didn’t, that they were teasing you again. The night was not supposed to have taken this turn but you had dug this grave yourself.

“I’m going to bed.” You huffed and began to stand, grunting when Cassian grabbed your wrist and pulled you back down.

“I’m sorry if we made you feel uncomfortable or anything, Y/N. It’s just that is a very…shocking thing to hear.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as you glared at him.

“Are you telling me that you all care about the women you sleep with? That you make them cum every single time?” Your voice was tight as they looked at each other and then back to you, nodding. A snort left your lips as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Another pregnant pause filled the room as you watched them, their eyes darkening while they looked you over. There was a noticeable shift in the air, your mouth suddenly dry as you squirmed on the floor.

“Would you like to see it, darling?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as Rhys’s words reverberated through you. They all had the same look in their eyes, one of hunger, but you were convinced they were messing with you. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You laughed without humor, your eyebrows knitting together in anger. “You all are assholes for teasing me, you know that? I’m going to bed.”

This time it was Azriel who stopped you though not with his hands. Two silky, dark tendrils of smoke curled around your arms and held you on the floor. It made your breath hitch and goosebumps rise on your skin as you looked up at him with doe eyes. “Az, this isn’t funny.”

“We aren’t joking, princess.” Cassian purred, one of his hands wandering to your thigh as he made his way beside you. “There are many things we would joke about but your pleasure isn’t one of them…and trust me when I say that we would love to help you out.”

“What-all of you?” You asked softly as your gaze moved across all three of them. “I don’t…I mean you are all very handsome, obviously, but don’t feel obligated to-”

Rhysand sat in front of you and grabbed your chin with his thumb and index finger, the former dragging over your bottom lip as you held back a moan at the contact. Azriel’s shadows were drawing shapes into your soft skin while Cassian’s hand seemed to drift higher and higher, all the attention making your head spin.

Your High Lord knew it too, a smirk working its way to his lips as he bent down until he was a hairsbreath away from your lips.

“This is anything but an obligation to us, darling. This is pure, carnal desire in its rawest form. A primal need.” His voice was smooth as silk, your eyelids fluttering as his lips moved to ghost over your ear. “A desperate urge to take care of you until you’re drowning in pleasure.”

“Look at her,” Azriel growled from your other side, his hazel eyes appearing behind Rhys. He had on a wicked smile, his head slightly tilted as he surveyed you. “She wants it so bad.”

“Do you, princess?” Cassian asked teasingly, his hand stopping at the waistband of your pants. “Do you want us to take care of you?”

“Yes.” You breathed, your sultry voice surprising you as all three of them pulled away and grinned. All of their warmth and comfort disappeared and you almost let out a whine, wanting it back desperately. 

“How about we make this a game?” Rhys asks his two friends, standing tall over you. There was already a noticeable bulge in his pants that your fingers were itching to touch. “Seven minutes in heaven?”

“Person who makes her cum the hardest gets to fuck her?” Cassian finished, licking his lips. “Gods, I need to go first.”

However, before he could grab you, Rhys hoisted you up bridal style into his arms. You giggled as he looked over his shoulder and said, “Go ahead and start the timer. I won’t need all seven.”

The bedroom door swung open and then quickly shut again as you were pressed right against it, his lips on yours before you could make a sound. It felt so wrong and yet so right, your fingers immediately running through his midnight black hair.

“Stars above, you’re so beautiful.” He grunted into your ear as he kissed down your neck, his lips latching onto your pulse point while he shimmied off your pants. “I could smell how badly you want this.”

“Please, Rhys,” You whined, his fingertips ghosting over the wet spot on your panties. “Please touch me.”

He didn’t answer you by words but by actions, as he pushed your underwear aside to rub your clit with his thumb. It made your knees wobble from how good it felt. One of your hands came up to grasp his forearm, your head hitting the door behind you. “Oh my gods, that feels-I feel…”

“So fucking good,” Rhys finished for you. He kissed you hungrily, his own cock straining against its confines. Two more fingers dipped down and circled the entrance of your cunt before he thrust them in sloppily, choking back a moan. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

Your nails dug into his skin at the roughness of his motions, his upper lip curled as drank in every expression on your face. “Fuck me,” You gasped as a pleasure you had only read about overtook your body, those thick fingers curling each time they entered you. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

“Never.” He promised. “I will never stop making you feel this good, never stop making you scream around my fingers. You’re mine. Forever.” His words were like ice to a burn as you felt a strong surge of ecstasy boil over. Rhys held you as you exploded around his fingers, working you through the best orgasm of your life with words of praise and soft strokes.

“That’s it, darling, that’s it.” You mewled at his tone as your pussy tried to swallow his fingers deeper. “Such a good girl. You did so well…”

“Rhys that was…I’ve never…” Your words were breathless as you watched him with hooded eyes, your lips slightly parted as he gave you a knowing smile and kissed you. It was loving and warm, like a blanket on a cold winter’s night, and you melted into it.

He threaded his fingers through your hair to deepen it, taking control, and just as you felt him start to rut into your thigh the door behind you shook with a pounding force.

“Don’t need seven minutes my ass! Time’s up, High Lord!” Cassian chuckled, his grin feline as Rhys opened the door with a glowering look. “Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt?”

“Just remember who just made your eyes roll back, darling.” Rhys purred into your ear before kissing your cheek, purposefully hitting Cass’s shoulder as he made his way back out to the living room. You tried to follow him with your eyes but Cassian was quick to step forward and make you step backward., your thighs still shaking.

“Was it that good, princess? Or were you just pretending for him?” He teased as he strode forward, making you retreat until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fell back, your smile growing when the general appeared over you. “You don’t have to lie, I promise I won’t tell.”

“It was pretty amazing…” You sighed as he rolled his eyes before sinking to his knees at the end of the bed. He threw your legs over his shoulders before you could process what was happening and by the time you tried to squirm away, he had you pinned.

“Nuh-uh, you’re not going anywhere.” He growled as he gazed at your swollen cunt, your lips puffy and glistening. “You have such a pretty pussy, princess. Is it sensitive?”

Before you could answer he blew a cool breeze across your sex, making you jump. Cassian smirked and used both of his hands to spread you wide open. He leaned forward and spat on your clit, watching it mingle with your wetness as he inserted one finger. “Gods you’re making it so hard to be gentle.”

“Then don’t,” You urged, your pupils blown wide in desire. “Treat me how I deserve to be treated.”

Cassian let your words sink in before he dove headfirst into your pussy, three fingers roughly fucking into your hole as he scraped the hood of your clit with his teeth. It was sensory overload and you bucked forward with a small shout, your hands immediately fisting into his hair as he ate you out like a starved animal.

Every nerve in your body had already been shot but this was mind-numbing pleasure. It had you crying out for more, fucking his face as his stubble rubbed against your thighs. He was no better as he sucked and fucked your cunt until he could feel you start to tighten around him.

You hated how fast you were cumming but you also didn’t know if you could hold it any longer, your cries to slow down falling on deaf ears. Cassian swirled his tongue up and down, side to side, making sure to not waste a drop of your excitement. He knew how to eat someone out.

“Cass, Cass-” You tried to warn him, shifting your hips, only for him to tighten his hold on you. “Cass I can’t. I can’t hold it.”

“Cum all over my face, princess,” Cassian grunted as he watched your face contort in pleasure, your body already falling over the edge of the abyss. “Soak my beard, fuck my face, use me to get off. It’s all for you.”

Whereas Rhys had been sweet, Cassian was a little bit of both. It made you yearn for more of his degrading praise and you quickly found yourself following his orders, your hips rolling over his face as you came loudly.

The door started banging again but you didn’t care and neither did he. In fact, Cassian was so lost in what he was doing he almost lashed out when Azriel appeared behind him. You whined when he was pulled back but quickly settled when you felt cool hands running over your body.

No, not hands. Shadows.

Your eyes widened when Azriel’s hazel gaze appeared inches from your face. He had a dark look and an even darker smirk as his shadows lazily rubbed along your skin, his hands gently pulling off your top.

“Did my brothers fully satisfy you or are you still wanting more, mouse?” Azriel cooed into the empty room, tossing the last of your clothing aside so that you were now bare before him. “Answer me.”

“I want more.” You gulped, drinking precious air as the Shadowsinger tilted his head in wonder. “Please.”

“Who taught you those manners, pet?” He raised a curious brow while both of his hands cupped your sensitive tits, thumbs barely grazing over your nipples. It was enough to make you squirm though which he was counting on. “I’ll be happy to give you more but I want you to beg.”

“Beg?”

“Beg.”

You faltered at first, not sure what it was he wanted to hear, but when he went to pull away from your breasts you ran with it. “No, no, please keep touching me!” You whined, groaning when one of his tendrils of smoke circled your clit. “Oh, Gods, that feels so good.”

“I’ll stop if you don’t fucking beg for it, Y/N. I want to hear you tell me how badly you want my fingers. How greedy you are for already cumming twice but still needing more, like the dirty slut you are.” He sneered, his nostrils flaring as he resisted the urge to just fuck you then and there. 

“I am greedy! I want more, I want it so fucking bad, Az!” You cried, desperate for his touch to grow stronger. He was keeping you on the edge. “I am a, fuck, I’m a dirty slut. I want you so bad, so so bad, please.”

“You’re a quick learner.” He smiled before bending down and capturing one of your nipples in his mouth at the same time his shadows started stroking your slit. Your mouth opened wide in a silent cry of euphoria as he bit and nibbled his way over to your other boob, the pressure on your clit increasing with each second.

“I always knew you were dirty, mouse,” Azriel murmured as he gave a harsh suck, enjoying the way you arched into it. “Always knew this how you wanted to be fucked. Just look at this greedy little cunt, hm? Look at how it’s swallowing my fingers.”

You couldn’t see it but you could feel it as he thrust two fingers inside of you, the walls sensitive as he stroked them and found that special spot with ease. His fingers plus his mouth on your breasts was heaven as your head thrashed back and forth, your body desperate to just be fucked.

But he wasn’t going to give that to you. At least not yet. No, Azriel was focused on making you cum one more time. The tip of his tongue flicked over your hardened nub as his shadows came back to rub your clit, all of the stimulations becoming too much, too fast.

“Azriel, fuck!” You squealed as you came for the third time that night. This time you felt yourself ascend from your body, watching yourself from below as he worked you through it but didn’t slow down. “Ohhhhh fuck…”

“Fuck you’re so tight.” He growled as he removed his fingers, smirking when your eyes had that glazed look to them. You whimper as he picks you up gently, shushing you, then turning to see Rhys and Cassian waiting in the doorway. “I think she’s done for the night.”

“No…” You mumble softly, needily. “I want you…all of you. Please.”

There was a beat of silence as they considered your state and each other before you were brought back to the bed and spread out for their viewing pleasure. You felt like you were cock drunk at this point, especially as Rhys pulled his cock out right in front of your face.

You wasted no time in bringing him into your mouth, your saliva dripping out the sides of your mouth as you worked his cock up and down. Rhys threw his head back and growled, the room seeming to shake before he grabbed a fistful of your hair to help guide you.

“If your mouth is this good I can’t wait for your cunt.” He laughed airly before moaning once more, watching as Azriel stood to your other side with his cock standing proudly. 

The bed dipped behind you and before you could blink you felt Cassian rub his cock up and down your folds, words of praise or prayer spilling from his lips as he sunk in inch by inch. It felt amazing and you pulled off Rhys’s dick long enough to moan loudly.

“Shit, Cassian,” You groaned. “You’re so big.”

“You’re just tight as fuck, princess. Gods, I don’t think I’m going to fit.” He cursed, his fingers squeezing your hips as you whipped your head to look back at him.

“Make it fit.” You said lowly, your eyes narrowed in challenge which had him grinning. He gave you a shrug of his shoulders before pulling out and slamming back in, rocking your forward and straight into Azriel’s cock. He took advantage of the situation and forced you to swallow him whole, his biceps straining as you gagged and cried around his dick. 

“Look at you, look at the little whore you’re being for us,” Azriel said as you started to go back and forth between him and Rhys. Cassian was fucking you like a beast, his balls hitting your clit with every thrust. It was intoxicating in every sense of the word and you never wanted it to stop. “You like being treated like this, don’t you? Like our own personal fuck toy?”

“You’re doing such a good job, darling.” Rhys’s voice soothed, your heart beating in your ears as you gazed at him. “Taking Cass so well. He’s close, I can tell.”

“I’m gonna fucking fill you up.” The Illyrian General growled as he pistoned in and out. You could feel him in your stomach as you closed your eyes and let yourself feel. “Take it, Y/N, fucking take it.” He ordered as he finally stilled in you, hot ropes of cum coating your insides as you hung your head in rapture. 

He seemed to cum forever and when he finally pulled out, you watched his cum drip down onto the bedsheets from just how much it was. Cassian smirked and collected the leaking seed onto his fingers, holding it out for you to take before Rhys snatched it and sucked it off himself.

Rhys’s eyes darkened at the taste of both of you and he quickly yanked you to him, lying back on the bed and positioning you on top. He helped guide you onto him and when you started sinking down, both of your groaned. The rhythm was soft and slow as you got used to his size, your hands coming to palm at your breasts until you felt a nudge against your asshole.

“Shhhh, relax,” Azriel’s voice shushed as he spat on his cock, lubing it up even more before he started to press into your ass. “Relax for me, mouse. I want you to take us both together. Can you do that?”

You nodded, a stupid smile on your face as you leaned back into him for support at the intrusion. It felt weird but the longer you waited, the more pleasurable it got. Soon you were rocking on to both of them in need, your sex hungry for more as they started fucking you at the same time.

It was a fullness you had never felt before but you don’t know how you could ever go on without it. They worked beautifully with each other, their moans mixing with yours as Azriel replaced your hands with his own. Rhysand watched from below, his violet eyes burning with desire as he pulled you down for a heated kiss.

They were fighting over you and it was driving you crazy. And just as Azriel went to pull you back to him, Cassian appeared at your side with his cock in his hand. It was already hard and leaking and you wasted no time in shoving him inside your mouth.  

“That’s it, that’s it,” Rhys praised. “Ride us, darling. Be a good, needy girl for us.”

“Our good, naughty little whore.” Cassian purred, choking when you took him down to the base. 

“Or just our whore.” Azriel growled as he smacked your ass, watching the recoil. “A whore we can use and abuse whenever we want.”

Their words filled your veins until you felt as if you were about to burst. You could feel a fourth orgasm coming, could feel the now painful clenching of your cunt, but there was nothing you could do to stop it. You had enough mind to pull away from Cassian’s cock before you let out a blood-curdling scream, your body collapsing on Rhys’s chest as you squirted all over them.

All at once, together, they also found their releases and followed you with reckless abandon. The sheets were soaked, as were the rest of you, as Azriel came in your ass, Rhys came in your cunt, and Cassian came over your back. You felt like you were leaking cum from every opening you had and you loved it.

You struggled to catch your breath as they all fell into bed beside you and Rhys, the smell of sex and cum permeating the room. Rhys’s soft hand stroked up and down your back lovingly while Cass and Az whispered praises. It was slow coming back down to Earth, to the three men who you had just slept with, and you realized that you never wanted to leave the room. Never wanted to leave them.

After a few minutes, you hear rustling before Azriel stands up and asks if anyone wants to shower, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when you sat up sleepily and said, “Second round in the shower?”

[throneofsmut]

Kinktober Day 4: Spanking

Eris Vanserra x Reader || WC: 1.7K

You stood on the right side of Rhys’s throne, shoulders back and head held high, a queen in your own right as he spoke to the nobles of the hewn city. 

Dressed in a gown of night court black that clung to your curves. The neckline plunged almost all the way down to your navel, a high slit on one side revealed a long toned leg, and sleek, glossy high black heels. 

Your eyes, cold and piercing, making the nobles of the court of nightmares who dared to meet your gaze flinch. Perhaps it was your unleashed power.

The very air around you darkened and thickened with menace as your power radiated outwards. Pressing down on the nobles trying to reach out with their own powers in the room like an invisible weight.

The power you exuded was a palpable, living thing, wrapping around you and making it clear that you were not just the sister of a High Lord, but a force to be reckoned with in your own right. 

And yet it seems like every time you visit the court of nightmares they test—doubt—you and your power. 

“Rise,” your brother commanded. 

All the nobles stood. 

Rhys continued speaking to them when you felt a talon lightly graze your mental shields. 

You dropped them just enough for him. What?

Eris has glanced at you twice. 

No, he hasn’t—

Three times now, he chuckled amusedly. Does my baby sister want to tell me why the High Lord of the Autumn Court is interested in her? 

I don’t know what you’re talking about, you replied nonchalantly. And you’re only twelve minutes older than me!

Rhys’s laugh fills your head and you shut him out before he can say anything.

You glance at him and his face is a cold mask, betraying nothing, but if you weren’t his sister you would’ve missed the glint in his eyes when he met yours. 

“The High Lord of the Autumn court has come tonight to find himself a bride of noble birth,” Rhys announces. 

It takes everything in you not to glance at Eris, not to shift on your feet, not to react.

Rhys continues, “A high fae female of the Night Court will be his wife and rule at his side as High Lady. Forging an alliance between his court and mine.” Your brother grins. “Now, enjoy yourselves, but remember—behave or you’ll answer to me.”

Rhys, Feyre, the rest of the inner circle, and you look at each and every noble in the throne room. The threat is clear, don’t embarrass the Night Court. 

Then with a single look from you to the musicians they begin playing. 

Azriel steps in front of you with an outstretched scarred hand. 

Arching a brow at him, “You want to dance?” He nods. “Right now?” 

He smirks. His eyes flick to your left, to Eris. “Why not? Remember what Rhys said, behave.”

“I hate you,” you mutter. Sliding your hand into his. 

He fights back a smile. “I know.” Then leads you to the center of the throne room, placing a hand on your waist, guiding you through the dance.

The music is a symphony of flutes, strings, and drums that echo throughout the throne room as Azriel and you move gracefully across the polished marble floor. Your movements, fluid and enchanting, like two shadows twining together. You spun and dipped, your steps perfectly synchronized, creating a mesmerizing display. 

A shadow seemed to whisper something in his ear. He leaned down, “Everyone is staring,” he murmurs. He spun you again, and it was true, everyone was staring at both of you. 

Smirking, “It’s because you never dance when we’re here.” 

Azriel tilts his head. “I don’t know who’s staring at us harder, them or Eris.” You glare at him. He smirks, amused, “What do you think Y/n?”

Before you can respond, you’re interrupted. 

“Shadowsinger,” Eris says from behind you. He’s standing so close to you that you feel the heat radiating from his body on your back. 

You see Azriel nod and then it’s Eris who has a hand on your waist, his other hand holding yours as he guides you through the next song. 

His amber eyes burning into your violet ones. 

You scrap a talon lightly against his mental shields, and feel him lower them for you. You’re not very subtle, you tease. 

I don’t like you dancing with other males, he growls.

It was only Azriel. 

He doesn’t say anything, he just glares at you.

Are you jealous, Eris? 

Again he doesn’t say anything, his jaw clenching and unclenching. 

You throw your head back, laughing, his hand on your waist tightens, signaling to keep your eyes on him. 

You do, still laughing softly. You are jealous. 

Brat, he mutters. 

Princess, you correct him.

The corner of his lips twitch, and he dips his chin, his eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite name. The brat Princess of the Night Court, he says. 

The second song comes to end and you pull out of his grasp. Spinning on your heel, you start in the direction of the dais, but stop mid step when Eris blocks your path. 

“What?” you snarl. 

“Dance with me.” Not a question, a demand. 

“No. Like Rhys said you’re here to find a bride.”

He steps into you, forcing you to crane your neck back to meet his gaze, “I already did. . . centuries ago. Now I’m here to claim her. In the traditions of her court.” His brows pinch together. “Is three songs not the custom?”

You don’t say anything. 

His eyes dart between yours. “By my count, it was only two.”

Leaning in so close that your lips nearly touch, “No.”

His eyes flare. And that’s your only warning before he fists the back of your hair and winnows you to the Forest House. 

The throne room to be exact. 

He releases you and walks backwards to the dais. 

Eris sits on his ornate throne, lounging back with one leg casually crossed over his knee, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked comfortable but there was no mistaking the power coming from him. It reached out to you like it was eager to play. 

His eyes rove over every inch of your body. “My High Lady is beautiful—of that there is no doubt.”

“I am not your High Lady.”

His eyes settle on yours again. “You will be.” 

“Fuck you.”

He grins, “You will, fawn. After I teach you how to count.” Your eyes narrow, and he continues. “We danced to two songs and you disagreed, so I’m going to make sure you know how to count by the end of the night,” he explains.

You know what he means, he’s going to spank your ass red and make you count. Your thighs press together, trying to find some relief, his eyes darken and you know he saw. 

“Strip.” He orders. 

You don’t move. 

Eris cocks his head, “Was I wrong to assume that my mate and I aren’t equally matched?” 

“No,” you breathe and slowly, tauntingly, strip in front of him. 

Moving to step out of your heels when he stops you. “Leave the heels.” 

Without him having to tell you, you stride gracefully up to the dais, your heels clicking against the marble floor every step of the way until you’re standing between his legs. 

His hands immediately fall to your hips and thighs, reveling in the feel of your soft skin as if he couldn’t help himself to touch you. 

Then he guides you to lay over his lap. 

His left arm settles across your back, holding you in place while his right hand rubs your ass soothingly. “Count,” he commands. 

No sooner did the word leave his mouth than Eris’s palm connected with your ass. The sound of it echoing in your ears along with your sharp intake of breath. “One.”

He rubs the skin soothingly before slapping your ass again. 

“Two,” you say, biting back a moan. 

Eris soothes you’re already redding skin, “So you can count to two,” he taunts. 

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Prick.”

His dark chuckle is followed by another slap to your ass. 

You whimper, “Three.” Thighs rubbing together in need of friction. 

“You’re so wet, fawn,” Eris murmurs smugly. “Even the inside of your thighs are glistening.” One of his fingers dips between your slick folds and he grunts when you try to buck your hips. 

“Eris,” you whine, frustrated. 

“Shhh.” He coos withdrawing his finger then landing another smack.

You cry out, “Four!” at the same time he slides a finger into you. Pumping and twisting it in and out. Shuddering when his thumb plays with your clit. 

Your chest rising and falling faster and faster as he picks up the pace. “Oh!” You gasp, eyes fluttering closed, as he curls his fingers, getting you closer and closer to the edge. 

Fingers digging into his leg as you squirm beneath his touch. Walls clenching around his finger, about to tumble over the edge when he pulls out. You growl in frustration and his palm connects with your ass in response. “Five,” you moan. 

He doesn’t soothe the skin before pushing your legs apart, baring your wet pussy to him, and spanking your clit. The slap to your clit igniting a wildfire in you.“Six!”

His palm connects with your clit again.

“Seven!” Your back arches and your thighs shake. Heat spreads throughout your body. Consuming you with a burning need. 

Again. 

“Eight!” You cry out, teetering on the fineline of pain and pleasure. 

Again.

“Nine!” Your muscles tighten, your body going taunt. The pressure building within you is like a volcano, threatening to erupt with one final push. One final slap to your clit.

Again. 

“Ten!” You erupt with a hoarse cry ripping from your throat, tears spilling from your eyes, vision blurring, as you erupt.

Your orgasm consumes you the way fire does everything in its path. Intensely and mercilessly. Turning you into a writhing mess of pleasure on his lap.

Your body is still trembling from the aftermath of your orgasm when Eris rubs your throbbing skin soothingly. “You did so well, fawn.” He praises.

****

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[nanamiscocksleeve]

18 with Geto 🙏

-🎃

Pumpkin anon! I love it when I see my regular anons coming in. Hope you're liking everything so far! This is one of my favorite kinks/tropes. Suguru is around 28-ish here and reader is 18.

Age Gap

--------

You were the shy bride brought to him in hopes of forging an alliance. Sorcerers needed all the allies they can get. You had heard stories about him which sounded more like myths; of his powers, and the terrible goals he wished to achieve.

Which is why when you first met him you couldn't believe how normal he looked. Just an ordinary, albeit handsome, man. Nearly 10 years older than you. Just seeing him brought a blush on your face and you hopeed he was pleased with you.

The wedding happened without a glitch and soon you were in his bedroom, watching him lock the door. You felt very aware of your movements and nervousness kept making your stomach do flips. You'd had one lover before him and your experience was lackluster, carrying none of the passion or romance most young girls had hoped for.

Suguru removes his outer robes and hangs them over the back of a chair before sitting down on the bed and beckoning you to join him. You hesitate, then oblige, the mattress sinking under your weight, your body actely aware of the way his thigh brushed against yours. He reaches out to pull you against him and your heart hammers in your chest.

"You keep acting like something will crawl out from under the bed and eat you," he observes and you blush, shaking your head.

"Are you nervous about your first time? Are you a virgin?" Your eyes meet his keen brown ones and the truth comes tumbling out.

"No but I know what happens."

"Is it making you worry?"

"No, but I know it isn't anything special." His eyebrows raise at your comment.

"Not special?"

"Not at all. Our bodies join. Some movement happens. You release your seed and it's all over."

"My sweet wife." Suguru captures your chin in between his fingers and makes you look at him. The endearment causes your body to tingle. "Is that all you think happens?"

"I know that's all that happens. I've experienced it before."

"What sort of idiot did you waste your virginity on that you are so unenthused by the idea of sex?"

His question stuns you into silence before you mumble, "He was my classmate."

"Ah. Same age as you?" He doesn't let go of your chin. "Let me correct this impression. Your classmate is a young, inexperienced, pathetic little boy. Do you understand I'm different than that?" His thumb strokes your jaw. "I am not like your little classmate. I'm a man, your husband. I know exactly how to treat a delectable little thing like yourself. I know how to touch you."

His large hand rests on your waist, drawing patterns into your skin, making your breath catch. "I know how to kiss you." His lips move confidently, capturing yours in a passionate kiss that has your head reeling. "I know how to pleasure you and make you forget everything around you except for me. I know how to make love to you so intensely that you'll never remember what it was like before me."

His hands undress you sensually, taking his time to sip and sample every inch of you, your ear, your collarbone, your pert nipples, hardening under the soft lick of his tongue.

You moan, feeling the blood in your veins humming as he lays you back on the bed to pay attention to your drenched cunt.

"Look at that. Already so wet for me. Were you like this with your classmate?"

You shake your head no, unable to form words, aroused and feeling your clit throb with each passing second. He licks your folds, savoring the taste before finding your swollen bud and lapping at it, then running the tip of his tongue in figure 8 movements over it.

A mewl leaves you as your hips arch towards him, body quivering in ecstasy as the orgasm crashes in your being, fisting the sheets as you fall apart on his tongue.

Suguru doesn't waste a second and gently moves your legs apart, his tip probing your entrance until he surges forward, you feel your core splitting apart to accommodate him. His cock gives you the most delicious stretch and sits snugly inside you. You're weak from the pleasure of it all, unable to believe you had been blind to the pleasure of this act.

His hips thrust against yours as he moves inside and you whine your pleasure as he sets up a rhythm.

"I'm all there is. Only me. I'll fulfill all your desires. Just trust me hmm?" He nips your ear as he ruts into you. "The experience of an older man is just what you needed. Now show me how good you feel."

You throaw your head back, noises of pleasure escaping your throat before Suguru pulls you back towards him, his lips covering yours.

"Mine. My precious little doll."

His words echo sweetly in your ears as he gives all of himself to you, spilling his seed into your quivering walls.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [33] - Ex Boyfriends

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Making deals with ex boyfriends can cause tension.

Word Count: 2800

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

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The one thing about this business was that even though everyone pretended to trust each other, no one actually trusted each other.

It didn’t matter how many alliances were there or how many deals were made, the war could start at any moment with any attack, and you had to make sure it wouldn’t.

This deal with Rhett was going to ensure you to climb to the top and to keep the city safe from your cousin at the same time.

As you left the elevator to make your way to Bucky’s office, you could see his assistant by the door but as soon as she stood up, you waved a hand in the air.

“Please,” you said with a smile. “I’ll just get him and get out.”

“My wife will not be put in a situation where she might be in danger!” Bucky’s voice reached outside as you grabbed the door handle. “We don’t know if we can even trust the guy—”

He stopped talking when you opened the door and stepped inside, and he cleared his throat, tightening his grip around the phone he was holding to his ear.

“I’ll call you back,” he said curtly and hung up, making you tilt your head.

“Hey,” you said. “Who was it?”

“Stark,” he muttered. “He has this idea…never mind.”

“That it’d be better for me to meet Rhett?”

Bucky scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. That’s not gonna happen.”

“You do realize that I wouldn’t be in danger though?”

“Not risking it.”

“Why not?”

He blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“Why not?” you asked again with a small smile. “I don’t recall you having that problem with your other business partners.”

He stared at you for a moment, then scoffed and made himself busy with his phone.

“No?” you insisted, still smirking. “Nothing to say?”

“Nope,” he said, making you groan.

“Bucky, I feel like we should talk about this.”

“Not at all. So, this asshole—”

“Rhett,” you corrected him and he clicked his tongue.

“Rhett,” he repeated. “Anything else I should know about him? Other than the fact that he’s your ex?”

You had your whole attention on your book so much that you didn’t even realize someone had approached your table until they pulled a chair. Your head shot up but a frown pinched your brows as soon as your eyes fell on Lucas.

“The fuck do you want?”

Lucas smiled slightly and held up his hands, gesturing surrender.

“Hello to you too,” he said as you looked around the library before turning to glare at him.

“Rhett sent you?”

“Nope,” he said, still smiling. “I just wanted to see whether you’re okay, you know? After your breakup.”

You arched a brow.

“Right,” you said. “I’m fine, you can go now.”

“So who dumped who?” he asked. “He’s been bringing a different girl to his place every night and is in a terrible mood lately, gotta be you huh? What did he do, cheat on you?”

You scoffed. “Why are you acting as if we’re friends?”

“Maybe I want to be friends with you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why?”

“I think we can be very beneficial to each other,” he said. “Especially if he broke your heart.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back in your seat.

“The last I heard, New York still wants to do business with Chicago,” he said. “Rhett’s father isn’t interested, and Rhett will definitely follow his footsteps when he takes over. But…there are people in Chicago who can be more open to a deal with New York.”

Oh.

Alright, this was interesting.

“Your father would be quite impressed if you made a deal with Chicago, wouldn’t he?” he asked. “Two birds one stone. You take your revenge, and your father gets a deal.”

Fucking traitor.

“Sounds like the perfect plan,” you mused. “Hypothetically speaking, having the new king in my debt when I go back to New York....”

“I agree.”

“Too bad I can’t trust you,” you said. “How do I know you’ll make the deal after he’s gone?”

He chuckled and took out his phone, then put it on the desk and pushed it in your direction. You grabbed it, your eyes scanning the lines on the screen, then let out a breath.

“You already have a draft?”

“I’m nothing if not planned.”

You scrolled down on the file, then handed him his phone back.

“What do I need to do?”

“Get back together with him,” he said. “Make him feel safe and all that bullshit, and then make sure he’s in the location I’ll send you when it’s time.”

You nodded your head, pretending to be in deep thought. “And then guns go off.”

“Didn’t take you for the type to get intimidated by that.”

“I’m not,” you said without hesitation. “But I want your word that once you get that crown, you won’t double cross me.”

“You have my word,” he said. “I assure you, you help me with this and I’ll help out your father.”

You bit inside your cheek, then held your hand out.

“Fine then,” you said. “Pleasure doing business with you, Lucas.”

                                               *

Rhett’s men were rather surprised to see you, and two of the bodyguards by his door exchanged glances before turning to you.

��Ma’am?”

“Hi.” You smiled at them. “Tell him I’m here please.”

One of them nodded before opening the door to step inside, and you leaned back on the wall, inspecting your fingernails until he stepped out again.

“You can go in, ma’am.”

You thanked him and walked past him into the apartment, Rhett standing in the hallway with his shirt halfway done, his curls messier than usual with a confused look on his face, but before he could say anything, the sound of heels reached you and you both turned to look at the girl who was glaring daggers at you.

“What is she doing here?” she asked, making you smirk and Rhett cleared his throat.

“Alice, could you give us a moment?”

She looked like she would say no but then scoffed and walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her. You let out a small laugh.

“Didn’t lose any time huh?”

“You were the one who dumped me, in case it has escaped your notice,” Rhett deadpanned and eyed you up and down. “So what the fuck is this? You don’t return my calls but decided to show up?”

You threw your head back before walking to the living room with Rhett following you. The whiskey bottle on the small table caught your eye and you made your way to it to fill a glass, then turned to him and sipped your drink.

“Stop pretending like this would go anywhere if I didn’t break up with you,” you said and deepened your voice to mimic him; “Chicago rules are different—”

“Oh because you’d stay in Chicago,” he said with a dry laugh. “You and I both know you want to rule New York.”

“Rich, coming from the prince of Chicago.”

“Did you seriously come here to fight?”

“No,” you said after a beat, then licked your lips and put your whiskey glass down. “I’m here to save your life, you idiot.”

“That he doesn’t trust anyone outside Chicago,” you said, and he hummed.

“Except you.”

“Except me,” you said. “Are you seriously not going to talk about this?”

“If he flirts with you, I’m shooting him.”

You raised your brows. “That sounds like a very healthy approach to a partnership.”

“We’re not partners, we’re married.”

“That’s not what— I mean him and us, Bucky,” you said. “We’re trying to be business partners with him, in case it has escaped your notice.”

He blinked a couple of times. “Right.”

“And if you’re going to be like this, I can meet Rhett alone,” you said, making him shake his head. “I mean you have meetings anyway—”

“I’m coming with,” he cut you off and stood up, checking his wristwatch. “Let’s go.”

You threw your head back but followed him out of the office, stomping on your feet all the way to the elevator.

                                             *

Rhett’s private jet hadn’t still landed when you got there, which was good news for you because that gave you some alone time with Bucky. Even if you played it cool, not talking to him for the last two weeks had been making you so anxious that you could barely focus on anything else. You sat on the hood of the car, drumming your fingernails on your knee while he typed something on his phone, leaning back to the car.

“Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“Rhett can be a bit…uh—” you paused for a moment to think. “He can be a bit arrogant.”

He turned to look at you better, raising his brows.

“He’s kind of like you on that,” you pointed out, making him frown.

“I’m not arrogant.”

You gawked at him.

“…Have you met yourself?”

“I’m not!”

“I’ll share that with the therapist on our next appointment,” you said. “Anyways, Rhett being arrogant, just keep in mind that we’re trying to make a deal with Chicago.”

“You’re trying to make a deal with Chicago,” he corrected you. “I’m just here to get you into meetings, apparently.”

You ran a hand over your face. “You know it as well as I do that it’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked with a dry laugh and you looked up at the sky as a jet appeared, making you cover your ears and grimace at the loud noise. Soon enough it landed and people started rushing around as you lowered your hands, jumping on your feet.

“He might try to provoke you so don’t let it happen.”

“To repeat, I’ll shoot him if he does.”

You shot him a glare but turned your head when you noticed the movement by the jet. The door opened and Rhett stepped outside, then ran a hand through his curls before descending the stairs, making you suppress a smile.

Rhett had always been very attractive, but now that he was the king of Chicago, he looked somehow calmer. That chaotic, restless energy back when he was the prince seemed to be replaced by complete and utter confidence as he made his way to you, a smile curling his lips.

“Wow,” he said when he reached you. “I didn’t know you could get prettier, but here we are.”

You let out a giggle before wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him.

“Hi Rhett.”

“Hi cupcake,” he said softly, squeezing at your upper arm as you pulled back to look up at him. “How have you been?”

Bucky cleared his throat loudly and you looked over your shoulder, then stepped back to entwine your fingers with his, plastering a lovesick smile on your face.

“Sorry, where are my manners?” you said. “Bucky, this is Rhett. Rhett, this is Bucky.”

Rhett held out his hand and Bucky shook it, nodding at him.

“Bucky Barnes,” Rhett said. “I’ve heard about you.”

“Good things or bad things?”

“Mixed reviews,” Rhett said, making you squeeze at Bucky’s hand but he completely ignored you.

“Makes one of us I guess,” he stated and you faked a cough.

“So uh…I’m guessing you’d like to rest a bit?” you asked Rhett and he gave you a serene smile, his gaze falling on your hand holding Bucky’s before shooting up to your face again. “Your driver will take you to your hotel, and once you’ve rested you can call me.”

“Will you give me a tour?”

“Can’t have you return to Chicago and tell your father New York was anything but nice to you,” you told him, making him let out a laugh.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “I’ll talk to you then.”

“Sounds good.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” he said and Bucky gave him a dry smile.

“Likewise,” he said and Rhett walked to the car, the driver opening the door for him so that he could get in. You turned to Bucky as Rhett’s car drove off, and he bit inside his cheek.

“I don’t trust him,” he stated, drawing a scoff out of you.

“You don’t say?”

“He’s up to something.”

“He is just here for the deal.”

“Does he know you’re not a part of the deal?”

You held up your hand so that he could see your wedding ring. “I’d say so.”

“You know,” he motioned at the direction Rhett’s car had driven off, “Guys like him—”

“To repeat, why do you care?”

His blue eyes snapped to yours and he stared at you for a moment before clearing his throat, his brows pulling into a frown.

“We have a deal,” he brushed you off, making you tilt your head.

“Right,” you said, your heartbeat getting faster. “And that’s the only reason here?”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes locked in yours and he opened his mouth to retort but as if on cue, his phone started vibrating in his hand. You let out a breath, your cheeks burning as he touched the screen, then threw his shoulders back.

“I’m going back to the office,” he said. “I’ll drop you off, come on.”

“Nah I can go with them,” you pointed at your bodyguards leaning against the other car and Bucky blinked a couple of times.

“Why?”

“Obviously you don’t want to spend time with me, so I’d hate to force you.”

“That’s not—”

“I’ll see you at home I guess,” you cut him off, painfully aware of the petulant tone of your voice and you turned around to approach the other car, ignoring him calling out your name.

“Ma’am,” the bodyguard said, rushing to open the door for you and you smiled at him, then got in.

“Well,” you muttered to yourself. “If that’s not open communication, I don’t know what is.”

                                            *

After going home and taking a shower, you decided to go outside just to get your mind off your issues with Bucky and to work more on the offer you would make to Rhett. Your whole attention was on your tablet as you went over the numbers, then clicked on the other file but your head shot up when someone pulled the chair across from yours and sat down. A smile you couldn’t stop curled your lips as you tilted your head.

“Do I want to know how you knew where I was?”

Rhett grinned at you. “Lucky guess.”

“Or people on your payroll.”

He hummed. “You’re telling me you don’t have people in Chicago?”

You rolled your eyes at him playfully and he raised his hand to motion at the waitress for a cup of coffee, then turned to you.

“So,” he said. “Mrs. Barnes.”

“I use my surname as well, there’s a dash between.”

He nodded his head, still smirking.

“All that talk about not dating people in the business,” he mused. “Here I thought I was special.”

You sipped your coffee. “Oh come on…”

“Hey, no judging,” he said, holding up his hands. “I get how it works in the business.”

“Oh it’s different with Bucky and me,” you said and he raised his brows.

“Is that right?”

“Uh huh,” you said, “And you?”

“Me?”

“I know how it works in the business,” you quoted him. “You’re the king of Chicago and you’re telling me people aren’t trying to fix a marriage for you? Uniting the families and stuff?”

He heaved a sigh. “Can’t escape it forever, as my father loves reminding me.”

“Who will it be?”

He thanked the waitress when she brought his coffee, then took the cup to his lips.

“Alice, I think.”

Your eyes widened and a laugh escaped from you.

“I mean she did lay down the groundwork,” you pointed out. “And herself in your bed, but…”

“Nothing happened while you and I were together.”

“Oh I know that,” you said with a laugh. “Doesn’t mean she wasn’t flirting with you.”

He bit back a smile, giving you a mischievous look.

“I specifically remember us having a couple of fights about her, now that you mention it.”

“Does she still hate me?”

“Probably,” he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “She said—oh, I heard your father officially named your cousin his heir.”

You bit inside your cheek. “He did.”

“Why haven’t you killed him yet?” he asked, curiosity laced in his tone and you scrunched up your nose.

“New York has truce,” you said after a pause. “Between families. Killing an heir is breaking the truce, not to mention this war with HYDRA... It would just make everything more complicated.”

“But you will have to,” Rhett pointed out. “This business is medieval, you know how it goes.”

You turned your cup in its saucer. “Mm hm.”

“And Bucky?” he asked. “You trust that he will help you get the crown?”

You dragged the tip of your tongue over your bottom lip, deep in thought.

“I’d trust Bucky with my life,” you said, making him raise his brows, a look of surprise crossing his handsome face.

“You, trusting someone in the business…” he muttered. “You have changed, cupcake.”

You felt a smile warm your face, and heaved a sigh before you leaned back.

“Maybe,” you said. “Finish your coffee, will you? I’ll give you a tour of our territory.”

Chapter 34

[novaursa]

Legacy (union of fire and gold)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Just a reminder how events of this story differ from the canon.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: homecoming

- Next part: by his design

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

The day dawned overcast, with a pale, muted light casting a gray hue over the city as the bells of the Sept of Baelor tolled, echoing throughout King’s Landing. The streets were lined with onlookers, commoners and courtiers alike, whispering in anticipation of the union about to take place. News had spread quickly, tales of the Targaryen princess returned to the capital and soon to be bound to the most powerful lord in Westeros. The marriage of a lion and a dragon—an alliance many had once thought impossible.

The Sept itself was adorned for the occasion, candles flickering in every alcove, their soft glow illuminating the vast marble hall. The high arches soared above, casting an almost ethereal light across the space as the silent sisters moved through the aisles, their white robes sweeping the floors in solemn reverence.

You stood in the antechamber, waiting for the ceremony to begin, your heart steady but your mind a storm of thoughts. The gown you wore had been chosen carefully, a testament to your heritage as well as a nod to the new life you were stepping into. The fabric was deep crimson, almost black in certain lights, shot through with threads of silver that shimmered faintly as you moved—a tribute to the colors of House Targaryen as well as House Lannister. The gown’s neckline was modest but elegant, dipping just enough to reveal a thin, intricate necklace of Valyrian steel, a rare piece that had been salvaged from the relics of your family. It rested cool against your skin, a silent reminder of the bloodline you carried.

The sleeves were long, fitted tightly down your arms before flaring at the wrists, each cuff embroidered with delicate silver dragons coiling around golden lions. The waist was cinched with a slender belt of red and gold, inlaid with small rubies that glinted like fire in the dim light. Your hair had been swept up, held in place by delicate silver pins shaped like dragon wings, with a few tendrils left to frame your face. You’d refused a veil; this was no ordinary marriage, and you would meet the eyes of every witness with your own head held high.

As the silent sisters moved to open the door for you, a figure approached—Ser Barristan Selmy, his white cloak a stark contrast to the richness of the ceremony’s decor. He regarded you with a warmth that softened the lines of his face, a faint smile touching his lips.

“Your family would have been proud to see you today,” he murmured quietly, his voice steady. “I know they would have been.”

You nodded, offering him a grateful smile, but said nothing. The memories of your family weighed heavily on you, but this day was one of duty, of survival. You took a steadying breath as the doors to the Sept opened, revealing the crowd of nobility that filled the pews. Each head turned, and whispers began to ripple through the hall as you entered.

Ahead, Tywin stood waiting at the altar, his posture as commanding as ever, dressed in rich red and gold that seemed to amplify the severe lines of his face. His expression was impassive, though his eyes met yours with a piercing intensity that was both reassuring and possessive. The High Septon stood beside him, adorned in robes of white and gold, his hands folded before him as he waited to perform the rites.

You moved forward with steady steps, feeling the weight of every gaze upon you, each step a deliberate, measured acceptance of the path you had chosen—or had been chosen for you. As you neared the altar, you caught a glimpse of Cersei in the front row, her expression a tightly controlled mask of resentment and bitterness. Beside her, Joffrey watched with a cruel smirk, his eyes glittering with an amusement that made your skin crawl. Sansa was seated a few places away, her eyes wide, filled with something close to awe and hope as she watched you.

The High Septon began the ceremony, his voice solemn and resonant, echoing through the hall as he recited the ancient vows. His words seemed to fade into the background as you faced Tywin, your eyes locked on his, each of you a picture of calm control amidst the ceremony’s grandeur.

“Do you, Lord Tywin Lannister, take Lady Y/N of House Targaryen as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, to honor and protect, from this day until the end of your days?” the High Septon intoned, his voice formal.

Tywin inclined his head, his voice strong and unyielding. “I do.”

The High Septon turned to you, his gaze solemn. “And do you, Lady Y/N of House Targaryen, take Lord Tywin Lannister as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, to honor and protect, from this day until the end of your days?”

You swallowed, the weight of the vow settling over you as you answered, your voice steady. “I do.”

The High Septon lifted his hands in blessing, and the audience fell silent as he spoke the final rites, joining your hands together in a ceremonial binding. The feel of Tywin’s hand over yours was firm, unyielding, his grip a silent promise that left no room for uncertainty.

“With this union,” the High Septon proclaimed, “House Targaryen and House Lannister stand as one. May the Seven bless this bond, now and forever.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd as the ceremony concluded, and Tywin leaned in, placing a chaste but possessive kiss on your forehead—a public gesture of claim, a declaration to all present that you now belonged to him.

The bells of the Sept tolled once more as you and Tywin exited the altar, arm in arm, each step echoing through the hall as you faced the court together. The nobility stood, bowing as you passed, each of them aware of the significance of this marriage, the union of two great houses brought together by fire and ambition.

When you reached the doors, they opened to reveal the courtyard filled with onlookers, each one craning to catch sight of the newly wed couple. Tywin’s gaze was fixed forward, his grip on your arm as steady and unrelenting as his own sense of purpose. This was his victory, his triumph—and now, it was yours as well, even if it had come at the cost of your past.

The crowd cheered as you descended the steps, and the sound grew louder as you made your way toward the Great Hall, where a grand feast awaited. The tables were laden with the finest dishes King’s Landing could offer—roasted boar, honey-glazed fruits, thick stews and freshly baked bread, each dish arranged with meticulous care.

You took a seat at the high table beside Tywin, your gaze sweeping over the hall as you settled into your new place. The nobility began to fill the room, each one eager to partake in the feast, to toast to the union of fire and gold. The sounds of laughter, music, and clinking glasses filled the hall, the air thick with the scent of wine and spices as the night began.

You kept your gaze steady, a quiet resolve in your expression as you prepared to face what lay ahead. This was your new reality, your new path. And as the feast began, you knew that whatever challenges awaited, you would meet them head-on, just as you had met the vows you’d taken that day.

The hall was alight with celebration, filled with the sound of laughter, clinking goblets, and lively music. Nobles from across the realm raised their glasses to toast your union with Tywin, each vying for favor, some more genuine than others.

At the high table, you sat beside Tywin, who remained as composed and impenetrable as ever. His gaze swept over the crowd, his mere presence commanding respect, if not fear, from those who dared approach.

Not long into the feast, you noticed a figure making his way over to the high table, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips: King Joffrey. His golden hair gleamed in the torchlight, and his green eyes held a glint of malice barely concealed behind a play of princely decorum. He stopped in front of you, giving an exaggerated bow that was more mockery than respect.

“Lady Y/N,” he drawled, his tone dripping with insincerity. “Or should I say, Lady Lannister? My, my… congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

You inclined your head, meeting his gaze with a calm, steady expression, refusing to rise to his bait. “Thank you, Your Grace,” you replied, your voice polite but cool. “It is kind of you to offer your well wishes.”

Joffrey’s smirk widened, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Yes, I imagine it must feel… different, being back in King’s Landing after so long. Such a shame, really, that you had to spend all those years in the North. But then, not everyone can be so… fortunate as to live here in the capital.”

You held his gaze, letting a faint, knowing smile play at the corners of your lips. “Indeed, Your Grace,” you replied smoothly. “But I’ve found that those who endure hardship often come out stronger for it. And King’s Landing, as I recall, isn’t without its own… challenges.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Joffrey’s face, and you saw his hand twitch as though he longed to wipe that smile from your lips. Before he could retort, Tywin’s voice cut through the tension, cold and commanding.

“Enough, Joffrey,” Tywin said, his tone laced with steel. “This is neither the time nor the place for your petty provocations. Show respect or be silent.”

Joffrey’s smirk faded, and he flushed with anger, but he dared not defy his grandsire. He cast a sharp look at Cersei, who was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, a mixture of irritation and helplessness on her face.

“Mother,” Joffrey snapped, turning on his heel. “It seems I am unwanted here.”

Cersei stood, a warning in her gaze as she took her son’s arm, steering him away. “Come, Joffrey,” she murmured, her tone firm but placating. “You have guests to attend to.”

As they left, Tywin’s gaze remained fixed ahead, a faint look of satisfaction in his eyes. “That boy would do well to remember his place,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

Moments later, you noticed another familiar face approaching, and this time, your heart lifted with genuine joy. Sansa, dressed in a soft gown of light blue that brought out the gentle hue of her eyes, approached tentatively, her expression filled with a mixture of awe and warmth.

Rising from your seat, you extended a hand, and she took it gratefully, allowing you to pull her into a gentle hug. Tywin said nothing, merely casting a brief glance in her direction before returning his attention to the festivities.

“Sansa,” you murmured, your voice soft, filled with the affection of long-lost family. “It’s so good to see you.”

She pulled back, her gaze brimming with warmth. “And you, Lady Y/N… or should I say, Lady Lannister?” she teased lightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You offered a gentle smile. “I think for you, Sansa, ‘Y/N’ will do just fine.”

Guiding her a little farther down the hall, away from the prying ears and eyes, you found a quieter corner where you could speak more freely. Once you were sure no one would overhear, you turned to her, an apology already forming in your eyes.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner,” you said softly, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “I had hoped to speak with you before all of this began.”

She shook her head, her gaze filled with understanding. “I know… I understand. Everything has been so chaotic.”

A shadow crossed your face as you recalled the recent tragedies. “I heard about your father, Sansa,” you whispered, your voice laced with sympathy. “I am… so deeply sorry. Lord Stark was an honorable man.”

Sansa’s eyes welled up, and she quickly looked down, her voice barely a murmur. “Thank you. It’s… it’s been difficult.” She glanced up at you, a flicker of hope in her gaze. “But having you here… it’s like having a part of Winterfell again.”

You smiled gently, squeezing her hand. “Then perhaps I can be that, in some small way.” Leaning closer, your voice dropped to a near-whisper. “And Sansa… I saw Arya.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching as she gripped your arm. “Arya? She’s… she’s alive?”

“Yes,” you replied softly, your gaze warm and reassuring. “I saw her, briefly. She was dressed as a boy, keeping herself hidden. But she’s alive, and she’s strong, just as you’d expect her to be.”

Tears gathered in Sansa’s eyes, and she stifled a small, choked laugh. “That sounds like Arya,” she murmured, her voice filled with a mixture of relief and longing. “Thank you… for telling me.”

You brushed a hand over her arm, giving her a look of quiet assurance. “She’s out there, Sansa. And she’s doing everything she can to survive. Just as you are.”

Sansa nodded, composing herself as best she could, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips. “Thank you, Lady Y/N. You don’t know how much this means.”

You shook your head. “You don’t need to thank me, Sansa. Just remember, I’m here for you.”

She gave a final, grateful nod, her gaze filled with gratitude as she glanced back toward the high table. The weight of everything unsaid lingered between you, but the connection you shared was unbreakable, stronger than any marriage or alliance. And as you both returned to your places, the sounds of the feast washing over you, you felt the quiet strength of family—a bond that would survive the walls of the Red Keep and beyond.

Returning to the high table, you slid back into your seat beside Tywin, feeling the weight of the hall settle back over you. The brief conversation with Sansa had brought a sense of warmth and familiarity—a small reminder of the bonds that had shaped you. But now, as you glanced at Tywin, that warmth turned to steel, a reminder of the duty you now carried.

Tywin watched you with that piercing gaze, a subtle gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He gave a slight nod, as if approving of your composure. For a moment, he was silent, his attention seeming to linger on you a moment longer than usual.

“You handled yourself well,” he said, his tone low, barely carrying over the noise of the hall. “The nobility are already whispering of you. They’ll see you not as some relic of the past but as an ally to House Lannister.”

You met his gaze, reading between his words. His approval was visible, but there was something else—a faint softness beneath the iron, something almost akin to pride. His voice, though guarded, held a trace of something warmer, something almost close to affection.

"Thank you, Lord Tywin,” you replied, letting your own tone carry a subtle warmth. “I’m merely living up to the role I’ve been given. And, I must say, I find myself… intrigued by it.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, almost imperceptible but enough for you to notice. “Good,” he said, his gaze softening, just for a moment. “The strength to endure is as important as any alliance. I expected nothing less of you.”

The hint of pride in his voice surprised you, leaving you momentarily speechless. Before you could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, loud and already tinged with the effects of a fair amount of wine.

“Ah, Father!” Tyrion’s voice carried a note of barely restrained amusement as he approached, goblet in hand. His eyes were sharp with mirth as he took in the sight of you and Tywin seated side by side. “I trust everything is precisely as you envisioned? After all, I took such great pains to ensure every detail met your exacting standards.”

Tywin’s gaze turned to Tyrion, a faint flicker of irritation flashing across his face, though he maintained his composure. “It will suffice, Tyrion. I see you managed not to make a mockery of the occasion.”

Tyrion raised his goblet in a mock toast, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “High praise from you, Father. I shall cherish it.” He turned his attention to you, his smile widening. “And as for you, Lady Y/N, I do hope my arrangements have been satisfactory. It was quite the ordeal to bring King’s Landing up to par for a Targaryen-Lannister wedding. One can hardly imagine the stress.”

You matched his grin, letting a glint of amusement show in your eyes. “I daresay you succeeded, Lord Tyrion. The feast is exquisite, and I confess I’ve never seen a hall so thoroughly adorned with lions. Though I imagine it’s less about my comfort and more about making a statement.”

Tyrion laughed, clearly pleased with your wit. “Ah, perceptive as well. My, my, Father, it seems you’ve made an excellent match. A woman who sees the truth behind all the finery.” He raised an eyebrow, giving you an appreciative nod. “Quite a feat, Lady Y/N. I can only hope my efforts haven’t gone entirely unappreciated.”

You inclined your head, playing along with his jest. “On the contrary, Lord Tyrion. I’ve found your touch to be both charming and… pointed. King’s Landing certainly knows who reigns here.”

Tywin’s gaze shifted between the two of you, a glimmer of something like amusement, though he hid it well. “Perhaps, Tyrion, you’d fare better showing less charm in your wine and more restraint in your presence,” he said, his tone clipped but lacking its usual severity.

Tyrion merely chuckled, entirely undeterred. “Ah, but Father, what is a wedding without a bit of wine and wit?” He leaned in closer to you, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “After all, Lady Y/N, you’ll soon find that in this court, a sharp tongue can be a most valuable ally.”

You smiled, meeting his eyes. “A lesson I learned long ago, Lord Tyrion. Though I’ll admit, it’s refreshing to see it wielded so… skillfully.”

Tyrion laughed, clearly enjoying your exchange. “And here I thought I might have to work to keep you on your toes. It seems, Father, that Lady Y/N has a mind of her own.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive, though you could sense his approval as he studied you. “A mind put to use in furthering our family, I trust.”

Tyrion raised his glass once more, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as he looked between you and Tywin. “Indeed. A toast, then, to our union and to the surprises yet to come.” He grinned, bowing his head in your direction. “And to you, Lady Y/N. May you continue to be every bit as sharp as you’ve shown yourself to be tonight.”

With that, he gave a small, mocking bow and moved off, blending back into the crowd, his laughter carrying over the music as he raised his glass for another drink.

As you watched him go, Tywin’s gaze lingered on you, the hint of approval in his eyes once more. “You handle him well,” he remarked, his voice low. “Perhaps even better than I expected.”

You smiled, letting your gaze flicker toward him. “I’ve found that wit is a language, Lord Tywin. And I’ve learned to speak it well.” You paused, choosing your next words carefully. “I believe I’ll find my place here, as I have wherever fate has taken me.”

Tywin regarded you in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a trace of something warmer, perhaps even respect. “Excellent,” he said, his tone softer, almost approving. “Then perhaps this is where you’re meant to be.”

You held his gaze, a silent understanding passing between you as the noise of the feast rose around you.

Tyrion moved through the bustling hall, goblet in hand and a lightness in his step that came only after a certain amount of wine. He spotted Jaime leaning against one of the pillars near the edge of the festivities, his face thoughtful as he observed the high table where you sat beside Tywin. Tyrion approached, raising his goblet in a silent greeting.

“Enjoying the spectacle, dear brother?” Tyrion asked, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he joined Jaime.

Jaime’s gaze didn’t waver from the table, his expression thoughtful, almost nostalgic. “I was just thinking,” he murmured, “about how strange it is to see her there. Lady Y/N… sitting beside Father, wearing Lannister colors.” He shook his head slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I remember when she was a girl, wandering these halls. Back then, she moved through the Red Keep like she was born to it, like it was her domain.”

Tyrion took a long sip of his wine, studying his brother’s expression. “And now?”

Jaime chuckled softly, though there was a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Now… she’s a guest in her own home. She’s not the same as she was, but she still carries herself with that Targaryen pride.” His gaze flicked to Tywin, then back to you. “It’s strange, seeing her beside him. Like fire and stone.”

Tyrion nodded, his gaze shifting thoughtfully as he watched the high table. “A strange match, to be sure,” he mused. “Though it seems they understand one another in a way that few could. A meeting of wills, perhaps.”

As they spoke, Ser Barristan Selmy approached, his white cloak trailing softly behind him. He inclined his head to both brothers, his gaze lingering on the high table with a look of quiet pride.

“Ser Barristan,” Jaime greeted, a glint of interest in his eyes. “Admiring the new Lady Lannister?”

Barristan nodded, a faint, almost wistful smile touching his lips. “I am,” he admitted, his voice carrying a rare warmth. “It’s a relief to see her alive and well. She was… always a light in these halls. Her family’s pride and spirit lived through her, and it’s heartening to see she survived.”

Tyrion tilted his head, intrigued. “You almost sound proud, Ser Barristan,” he remarked, his tone playful but curious.

Barristan’s gaze softened as he watched you, his expression almost paternal. “I am proud,” he replied quietly. “To see her here, despite everything. Princess Y/N survived when so many of her kin did not. But I can’t help but feel sadness too.” He sighed, a shadow passing over his face. “She’s separated from her family, from the brother she loved and the sister she never met. A Targaryen alone in a city that once belonged to her blood.”

Jaime’s gaze hardened slightly, his expression sharpening. “She’s no longer a princess, Ser Barristan,” he pointed out. “Lady Y/N is a Lannister now, by marriage.”

Barristan’s expression didn’t change, his voice steady as he replied. “Titles are given and taken by men, Ser Jaime. Blood, however, is eternal. She was born a princess, a Targaryen. No marriage can change that.” His gaze shifted to Jaime, a subtle challenge in his eyes. “Even now, sitting beside your father, she holds more claim to the Iron Throne than any in this hall combined.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange with interest. “A bold statement, Ser Barristan,” he murmured, swirling the wine in his goblet. “One that I suspect would be poorly received by certain parties in this room.”

Barristan’s eyes held firm, unwavering. “The truth doesn’t change to suit the comfort of others,” he replied, his tone measured but resolute. “She is the last of her line, the daughter of a king. That is not something even Lord Tywin can strip from her.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking back to you as you sat beside Tywin, poised and composed, your Targaryen heritage evident even in your Lannister colors. “Perhaps not,” he conceded quietly, though his voice held an edge. “But claiming the throne and ruling are two different things. And she seems… content with her place.”

Barristan’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “Perhaps. Or perhaps she’s merely playing the game, biding her time. That’s what a true Targaryen would do. Endure and rise, against all odds.”

Tyrion chuckled, taking a long sip of his wine. “Well, I can certainly drink to that,” he said, raising his goblet in a small salute. “To fire, and to survival. Qualities, it seems, our new step-mother possesses in spades.”

Barristan inclined his head, his gaze lingering on you, admiration and loyalty etched into his expression. “She’s her family’s legacy, as much as she is her own,” he murmured. “And I, for one, am grateful that legacy endures, even in these halls.”

The lively atmosphere of the feast was beginning to settle as goblets emptied and platters were slowly cleared. Laughter and music filled the hall, though an underlying unease lingered in the air, an anticipation that rippled among the guests. As the night wore on, Joffrey rose from his seat, a sly, mischievous grin spreading across his face. He raised his goblet, calling for attention.

"Well, now that we've all had our fill of wine and merriment," he drawled, his voice carrying across the hall, "it's only fitting we send the bride and groom to bed, don't you think?" His smirk widened, and he gestured theatrically toward you and Tywin. "After all, what would a wedding be without a bedding ceremony?”

The hall fell into a hushed silence, a murmur rippling through the guests as they turned to look at you and Tywin. The flicker of amusement on some faces hinted at their eagerness to indulge in Joffrey’s suggestion, but Tywin’s expression remained unreadable, his gaze fixed coldly on his grandson.

The young king leaned forward, his grin growing sharper, relishing the moment. "Come now, Grandsire. Surely you don’t mind allowing the court a bit of sport? I’m sure Lady Y/N would love to be escorted to her marital bed in true royal fashion.”

You felt a flush rise in your cheeks, your stomach tightening as the weight of every gaze settled on you. But before you could respond, Tywin’s hand gripped yours firmly, grounding you, his touch unyielding.

With a single, cold glance, Tywin silenced the murmur in the room. "There will be no bedding ceremony tonight," he stated, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable authority that cut through the hall like a blade. “This is a matter of dignity, not sport. And I expect the court to respect that.”

Joffrey’s face twisted in irritation, his eyes narrowing. His pride had already been bruised earlier, and he was clearly in no mood to back down. “But it’s tradition,” he argued, a petulant edge creeping into his voice. “The people expect a show, a proper send-off. Surely, Grandsire, you wouldn’t deny them that?”

Tywin’s gaze turned icy, his grip on your hand never loosening as he rose from his seat, standing to his full height as he regarded Joffrey with a look of utter disdain. “Tradition,” he repeated, his tone laced with contempt. “Is not an excuse for vulgarity, Your Grace.”

Joffrey flushed, anger sparking in his eyes as he clenched his goblet tightly. “I am the king,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “And I think I’ll decide what is or isn’t vulgar.”

Before he could continue, Cersei rose quickly, placing a calming hand on Joffrey’s shoulder, her voice soft and soothing. “Your Grace,” she murmured, her tone placating, though there was an underlying edge of desperation. “Let us not ruin such a joyous occasion. Your grandsire only wishes to maintain the dignity of the court.”

Joffrey shook her hand off, his gaze fixed stubbornly on Tywin, his face red with frustration. “I am not a child to be chastised in my own hall,” he spat, glaring at Tywin. “You do not command here, Grandsire. I do.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t waver, his gaze steady, cold, and unyielding. “Then act like a king, Joffrey,” he said, his voice low but filled with steel. “A true king commands respect, not indulgence.”

The hall fell into tense silence, every eye fixed on the standoff between Tywin and Joffrey. For a moment, it seemed as though Joffrey would argue further, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. But under Tywin’s relentless gaze, his confidence faltered, his resolve wavering. He looked away, muttering under his breath as he took his seat again, his face twisted in humiliation.

Cersei exhaled quietly, her expression a mix of relief and simmering anger as she settled back into her seat beside her son, casting a sidelong glance at Tywin that spoke volumes.

Tywin’s attention returned to you, his hand still firmly gripping yours as he turned, addressing the guests in a final, dismissive tone. “The feast is over. The court may enjoy the remainder of the night as they see fit. Lady Y/N and I will retire.”

Without waiting for a response, he drew you to your feet, guiding you away from the high table. His grip was steady, possessive, a silent reminder that he had claimed you, that tonight, you would not be subjected to the mockery and spectacle Joffrey had intended.

As you left the hall, the noise of the feast faded behind you, replaced by the quiet footsteps echoing through the stone corridors of the Red Keep. Tywin’s silence was as unyielding as ever, his gaze forward as he led you through the winding passages, his presence a wall of unbreakable resolve.

Finally, as you neared your chambers, he spoke, his voice calm, his tone laced with something you could almost mistake for gentleness. “This is your night, Lady Y/N,” he said, glancing down at you. “And no one—not even a king—will take that dignity from you.”

You met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude and perhaps even warmth in your expression as you nodded. “Thank you, Lord Tywin,” you replied softly, feeling the weight of his protection as much as his authority.

He didn’t respond, merely nodding as he continued forward, guiding you into the privacy of your chambers, where the rest of the night awaited you—without the eyes of the court, without the mockery of a bedding ceremony, and with only the silent understanding between you and the man who now, irrevocably, held your future in his hands.

As the heavy doors of your chambers closed behind you, the sounds of the feast, of laughter and music, faded away, leaving only silence in their place. The faint light of candles cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating the rich tapestries and the faint gleam of polished silver in the dimness. You could hear the soft clicking of your jewelry as you began to remove the more intricate pieces, each one a reminder of the ceremony, of the role you had stepped into today.

Tywin moved to unfasten his cloak, his motions slow and deliberate. The silence between you grew, thick with unspoken words and expectations. He caught your gaze in the reflection of a nearby mirror, his expression impassive, though his eyes held a glint of steel.

“Do you know what is expected of you, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low but firm, carrying an authority that left no room for hesitation.

You met his gaze steadily, nodding as you removed a bracelet, feeling its weight slide from your wrist. “I do,” you replied, your voice calm, though there was a trace of quiet defiance there. “I am well aware of my duty, Tywin.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of approval mixed with his usual severity. “Good,” he replied. There was a beat of silence, and then, his tone became almost matter-of-fact, his words carefully chosen. “You understand, then, that I have no clear male heir for Casterly Rock. Jaime’s oath binds him to the Kingsguard, and I would sooner see Casterly Rock crumble than pass it to Tyrion.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “Yes,” you said, lifting your gaze to meet his. “That particular… predicament has been common knowledge since my first time at court. The succession, or lack of it, has always been a concern, hasn’t it?”

A flicker of something crossed Tywin’s face, a momentary shift in his expression. He looked away, his hands pausing briefly on the golden clasp of his ceremonial cloak before continuing. “Indeed,” he replied, his tone taut, controlled. “It has.”

As you removed the last of your jewelry, a thought crossed your mind, one that lingered at the edge of this silent conversation. “Then why wait so long to address it?” you asked, your voice soft but curious. “Why didn’t you… find a solution sooner?”

For a moment, Tywin was silent, his back turned as he removed his cloak, laying it across a nearby chair with precise care. The question hung in the air, unanswered, but his silence spoke volumes. There was a slight stiffness in his stance, a subtle shift that hinted at something unspoken, something deeply personal, though he would not allow it to surface.

He turned back to face you, his gaze colder, more focused, as though he’d shut down any hint of whatever sentiment had momentarily slipped through. “This is not the time for speculation, Y/N,” he replied, his voice as unyielding as iron. “You have agreed to this union, and you know your role in it.”

With that, he moved to unfasten the buttons of his doublet, his movements precise, measured. His gaze lingered on you, a silent command as he spoke. “Undress yourself,” he said, his voice low, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his authority but also recognizing the power you still held. You began to undo the fastenings of your gown, your movements as calm and deliberate as his own, feeling the layers of fine fabric slide from your shoulders and pool at your feet. The air felt cooler against your skin, a reminder of the vulnerability and duty that now lay between you.

Tywin’s gaze remained steady, a flicker of something akin to satisfaction in his eyes as he continued to remove his own attire, his gaze unwavering as he observed you. There was a quiet intensity in his stance, as he guided you to the bed.

The cool night air of the room barely reaches you, as Tywin’s weight starts pressing you down into the silken sheets. His gaze is steady, his hands firm yet surprisingly gentle as he guides you beneath him. There’s a glint in his eyes—something raw, something primal. You’re all too aware of the closeness between you, of his warm breath as he hovers just above, taking in every detail of your face.

Tywin’s hand moves between you both, adjusting as he positions himself. You feel the pressure as he presses forward, the unfamiliar stretch drawing a sharp, stifled yelp from your throat. His expression doesn’t soften—no, Tywin Lannister isn’t the sort of man to show tenderness in moments like this. But his eyes close briefly, and a low, rumbling exhale escapes him, something between pleasure and satisfaction.

When he begins to move, his pace is deliberate, calculated. His breaths, warm and shallow, mingle with yours as his mouth hovers just near enough to feel the brush of his lips on yours without fully meeting. Each motion is purposeful, and he watches you, every flicker of discomfort and pleasure written across your face. His hand comes up, fingers threading through your hair, holding you close as his body presses deeper, filling you in a way that sends ripples of sensation down your spine.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel, both commanding and restrained. You meet his gaze, feeling yourself yielding under the weight of it. His thumb strokes along your cheek in a rare gesture of softness as his movements grow a fraction more urgent, his rhythm deepening.

The ache in your body slowly melts away, replaced by a growing, unfamiliar pleasure. Small sounds escape your lips, and you sense the change in him as he takes them in, each soft moan seemingly driving him further. His mouth hovers near your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, almost as if to himself, “You’re mine now, truly.”

Your hand rises instinctively, finding purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body adjusts to the rhythm he’s set. “You didn’t need to send me North for that, Tywin,” you manage between breaths, the faintest hint of defiance lacing your words.

A smirk tugs at his lips, a rare crack in his composed facade. “It was necessary,” he says, his voice steady even as his own breathing grows heavier. “Winterfell kept you safe… untouched, unspoiled, exactly as you should be.” His words settle over you, a possessive edge to them that sends a thrill down your spine. It sounded almost like a confession.

As the pace quickens, any response dissolves into breathless gasps, the friction of his movements drawing forth pleasure in waves. You arch against him, feeling the tightness between you, the way his hands press into your sides, urging you closer with each thrust. His hand slips down to your waist, securing you firmly as he drives forward, every part of him focused on drawing out every sound, every sigh.

The sensation builds, your body yielding to his with every motion, every glance, the sound of his breath mingling with your own until there’s nothing else—only this connection, this raw and unspoken understanding between you.

As he finally stills, the silence in the room settles around you both. His eyes are still on you, a lingering intensity in his gaze as he brushes a stray pale strand of hair from your face, his thumb resting briefly against your cheek.

“You’re mine now,” he repeats, quieter this time, as if sealing a promise with each word.

Tywin remains within you, his presence filling every space, grounding you beneath him. His weight and warmth press down, possessive, as he settles himself closer, his hands still resting on either side of you. His gaze sharpens, fixing on you with a commanding steadiness, yet there’s something more—a shadow of restrained intent.

“You understand, of course, that you’ll be expected here often,” he begins, his voice low, each word crisp and certain. “Until you are with child, my needs in the bedchamber will be met… regularly.”

You don’t flinch, don’t look away; instead, you meet his gaze with equal resolve. “I’ve told you already how I know my duty, Tywin,” you reply, a calm edge to your voice. His expression doesn’t shift, but there’s something in his eyes—just the faintest flicker of acknowledgment, of approval. You continue, your voice soft but unwavering, “But I am more than that.”

A rare silence follows your words, and you watch as his jaw tenses, a flicker of something that almost resembles surprise crossing his features. His fingers brush down your arm, lingering, and for a moment, Tywin seems almost… caught, suspended in a gaze that feels somehow intimate, yet distant. His eyes search yours, calculating, introspective, as though weighing every word, every glance. There’s something in his expression—something unspoken, raw, and real—that betrays a hint of what he might not dare to say aloud. Perhaps he’d imagined this moment more times than he would admit, even to himself.

You feel his hand tighten gently at your hip, and his voice comes, low and rough, the barest hint of a softened edge. “More than that… perhaps.” He leans down, his mouth lingering just above yours, close enough to feel his breath. “But I am not a man who permits sentiment to cloud his purpose. You are here because you serve that purpose. You are mine, in name and blood.”

There is a pause, one weighted with the tension between you, the undeniable pull beneath the surface of his words. “But understand,” he continues, his tone dipping as his eyes trace your features, “you are not some idle decoration or a tool. If you wish to be ‘more,’ then prove it. Show me what more means to you, and perhaps… I’ll allow it.”

His words hang between you like a challenge, his gaze penetrating, unwavering. And as his fingers brush your cheek, there is a finality to his touch, a promise that neither of you will speak aloud but feel all the same.

“You know well enough,” you murmur, your voice steady and unyielding, “that I am more than that. And if I am yours, then let it be known that you are mine as well. I will not be merely the mother of your heirs.”

A rare, subtle smirk pulls at his lips, and he lets out a breath, something between resignation and faint amusement. “Bold words,” he replies, his voice softening ever so slightly. His gaze intensifies, locking onto yours with a fierceness that borders on admiration. “Perhaps that boldness is what drew me to this arrangement after all.”

His lips find yours, a kiss as demanding as the man himself—hungry and consuming, yet just gentle enough to hint at a restraint he rarely affords anyone. When he finally pulls back, you feel his thumb brushing over your cheek in the barest hint of tenderness before his gaze hardens again, as though the moment of softness never existed.

“You will come to know your place here,” he says quietly, but there is an understanding in his words, a promise that, while unspoken, settles deeply between you both.

In this silence, his hand lingers on your skin, a shared recognition passing between you—one that speaks of purpose and strength, of duty and the rare, guarded understanding that neither of you may ever speak aloud.

[barbieaemond]

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath. 

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells. 

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.”  He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

 “Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King. 

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him. 

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth. 

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”  

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

[surielstea]

Ensnaring Marks

Eris week day one: Bargains

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Rhys’ sister!Reader

Summary: Reader and Azriel decide to take part in Eris’s coronation, only to end up in one of the new High Lords traps.

Warnings: Mentions of UTM | petnames (bunny, love) | reader is lonely

A.Note: I wrote this last year as a one off so it might be a bit… well, not good, but I promise the rest of the week will be better 🙏😭

4.3k words.

I sat on the hardwood floors, leaning against the base of the couch, Azriel seated behind me as he flitted through a chapter book. I had my head back on the cushion, waiting for his chapter to end so he could finally give me attention, this silence was beginning to grow deafening.

I stared at the elegant panes of his face, his sharp nose and his hazel eyes scanning the words on the pages rapidly. My eyes trail down to his hands that clutched the book, sickening scars trailing from his wrist down to his fingertips. The white marring was a pattern I've memorized, trailing my hands along the grooves when I got too anxious and occasionally a small kiss to his knuckles to remind him that he shouldn't be ashamed of them.

"You're staring." He grumbled and a small grin formed on my face as shadows curled through my hair.

"You make it hard not to, Shadowsinger." I tease, it was no secret that Azriel was the most attractive of the three Illyrian brothers, no matter what your type was— Azriel was quite the stunner. He closed his book and put it on the armrest beside him.

"What is it that you want then?" He arched a manicured brow and my grin widened as I pulled myself up onto the couch, swinging my legs over his lap as I lounged back.

"I'd like you to tell me something," I ask as shadows come to swirl around my ankles. "Tell you what?" He mutters confused.

"Anything you want, what's on your mind?" I tilt my head and he closes his eyes like he needs to sift through his thoughts before he can answer.

"Beron died." He muttered and I rolled my eyes.

"Old news." I wave him off, the event happening weeks ago.

"Eris's coronation is tomorrow. He asked me to come." Azriel crosses his arms over his chest like the invitation was a threat of some sort. My smile dropped.

"Will you?" My brows knot together and he gives me an incredulous look.

"He invited everyone from the inner circle, but it felt more like a mockery than anything," Azriel grumbled. He knew that talking bad about the people of the Court of Dreams got under my skin more than anything and I had a newfound urge to choke out a certain redhead.

"We should go." My eyes light up and he looks at me like I'm insane, but stays silent, looking down at my feet in his lap. "If he invited us as a joke, we should go." I snort and he shakes his head in protest. "It'll be funny! Not to mention the drama it'd stir." I giggle mischievously and Azriel gives me eyes that were a full lecture on their own. "Oh don't act like you're not a total gossip, shadows tell you every secret you want to know." I kick his thigh playfully and he grumbles under his breath as I remember the nights we would share wine and converse over whoever's tittle-tattle that shadows informed him on.

"I don't gossip, I tell the truth." He states and I snort at the ridiculous claim.

"You need a refresher on the definition then because you've just proven yourself to be a pot stirrer Az." I pat his shoulder and he shrugs me off. We stay quiet for a moment, my hum of laughter filling the silence as he mulls over my ludicrous idea.

"Okay." He nods and I raise a brow.

"Okay?" I ask.

"Okay, we can go to his coronation." Azriel hummed and I blinked, confused as to why in the hell he'd ever agree to such things.

As if he'd seen the shock on my face he supplied a reason, "I have to go there to talk about contracts and alliances the day after so why not just arrive a day early?" Azriel poses and I smile excitedly. "This isn't just some ploy to get me out of the house?" I ask with a chuckle but there is some truth to it.

Ever since Rhys left for Under The Mountain I haven't quite been the same. I didn't leave the house unless I was with another, the whispers on the street about the High Princess. Those long hours spent with Keir in the court of nightmares, hosting it while my brother was away. Hating who I was then, cold and distant, both inside the court of nightmares and dreams. It was rare I got out, much less left courts. I didn't like the rumors, the talk on the streets, the theories. Most of it was idle talk, some of it had truth— and it was that minuscule portion that scared me the most.

"Yeah, I'd like that." I nod and he offers me a gentle smile, slightly forced but comforting nonetheless.

"Do you want to invite the others?" He asks and I take a moment to think about it, but decided that if Mor knew she'd be pissed, Rhys wouldn't go, Amren doesn't care, and I'm pretty sure Cassian would rather chop his own hand off. "No," I shake my head. "Just you and I could burn that court to rubble." I intone, crossing my arms like we'll need to do such things. and he raises a brow— that apparently intrigues him. "Joking." I smack his shoulder and a warm grin came to his face, genuine.

"Are you?" He narrows his gaze on me and I look away mischievously.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the prince's face if I took his court." I give him a gleeful smile, something like pride shines in his eyes. "I wouldn't mind seeing the prince's face in general," I grumble afterward, and the pride he held swapped for something of the opposite. "It's not my fault he's hot!" I throw a decorative pillow at him which he swerves with an ease I envied.

"It's your fault you find him attractive." He pushes my feet from his lap dramatically and I giggle at his childish behavior.

"You have to admit, he could turn you." I tease with a smirk and he glares at me. "If he didn't open his loud mouth he'd be perfect." I sigh dreamily, leaning back into the couch, utilizing the entire space as he gets up to put his book away.

"That's always the problem with the men I date. So pretty, until they start speaking." I huff, standing up and following him to the bookcase like one of his own shadows. "Maybe I should go for the quiet ones." I hum. "I ought to practice on you." I wrap my arms around his bicep and he bristles, lightly shoving me off as I cackle.

"You're not funny." He mumbles, walking over to his desk where he has unfinished work to complete.

"Don't act like I'm some sort of monster for teasing. That's all you and Cass do to me." I roll my eyes as I watch him sit on his stool. "You actually get the ladies, it's easier to joke about when it isn't true." I sling an arm around his shoulder and this time he doesn't shove me away.

"You would get males if you left the house." He grumbled in retort and an idea blooms in my head. "That's the idea for going to the coronation." I grin and he grants me a sidelong glance. "Is that why we're going?" He asks and I shake my head. "No!" I squeeze his bicep. "We're good allies, meaning we're there to support him," I argue and he huffs. He could never say no to me, never has. "And also admire his perfect face." I quietly mutter but it's nothing the Shadowsinger wouldn't notice.

"Go pack your bag." He shakes me off of his arm. "Just for one night. We'll find a hotel on the border." He hums and I nod, following his instructions with a new task rather than talking his ear off like usual.

——

It was the first Friday of the month, meaning that family dinner was afoot. Morrigan had spilled her glass of wine all over the Shadowsinger in a dramatic movement of her hands so he had gone to go change, meaning I was subject to sit in the center of the dining room surrounded by couples ogling at each other, they were practically drooling down their chins— and adding wine into the mix, gods it reeked of arousal.

"Horny bastards," I mutter, standing up and throwing my napkin down onto my plate. I bunch my skirts in my hands and make my way toward the hallway.

"Sister! C'mon!" Rhys races after me, following me all the way to the foyer of the large house.

"What?" I look at him confused.

"Won't you stay for dessert?" He says hopefully and I twist my lips to the side.

"I don't know Rhys, I'm tired." I sigh out and his eyes soften.

"You're always tired." His voice was a whisper his words had my feet bolted to where they stood.

"I trained with Cass this morning, I'm actually tired," I stress and he nods in understanding.

"Let me at least take you home." He reaches his hand out.

"I'm fine." I shake my head.

"Please." He pushes his hand toward me further and I look down at it. "Alright." I accept, sliding my hand into his, mostly out of pity.

He doesn't waste time in winnowing us straight to the house of wind, my feet planted solidly on the marble tiling. "I miss you." He uttered and I looked up at him, detaching our hands.

"I miss you too." I offer him a small smile but it doesn't quite reach my eyes the way he wanted it to.

"I wish you'd come by more often." Something in his violet eyes glazed over and my heart cracked.

"It's hard." I rub my hands together anxiously before deciding it best to just cross my arms. "I should be happy." A frown forms on my face and I don't have it in myself to maintain eye contact. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Something's just, missing." I shrug when he doesn't say anything.

"Something or someone?" He prods and I glare up at him.

"My love life isn't our biggest problem." I shake my head.

"But it is bringing you trouble, therefore it's bringing me grief." He mirrors my stance and crosses his own arms.

"Well that's not something we can just fix, it's an internal problem." I muster the courage to look into his familiar violet eyes. The same color as our father's own but held all the love of his mother's gaze.

"I want to be there for Nyx, for you and Feyre too. But I'm selfish and It's difficult for me to be surrounded by something I want for myself." I confess and he releases a soft sigh, then pulls me in for another hug.

"We'll figure it out, promise." He reassured. I allow myself to sink into the warmth of his hug, how similar it was to our mothers. I nod and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he wraps his wings around us and cocooning the both of us in our own little world of darkness.

"Thank you, Rhys," I whisper. "Feels good to talk again." We haven't really said anything to each other beyond small talk after Nyx's birth, and that's nearly a year ago now. I haven't been the same since the war and found it hard to open up since. It's been a long while since he even hugged me.

"I'll see you again soon, okay?" I back away from the embrace and he nods. "Sooner than next month's dinner?" He hopes with an easy grin coming to his face and I nod confidently.

"Sooner than next month's dinner," I assure.

"Good." He smiles before walking towards the edge of the opening where he winnowed us.

"Night, Sister." He flares his wings outward. "Goodnight brother!" I wave him off and he dives off the side of the house, I'd be worried about him if I didn't hear the steady beats of his wings a moment later.

I release a long sigh and retreat to my room.

————

I stood in front of my body-length mirror, gazing at the gown I wore. It was a deep blue as an ode to my court, I always wore colors of the night when visiting other courts, and today was no exception. The gown itself was beautiful, soft silk material that moved like water. It had a dipping neckline with curtaining sleeves that hung off my shoulders, the excess fabric draping from my back in two long pieces all the way to the floor where the rest of the dress dragged. The skirt was one long piece but had a cone-like figure, excess material swooping along the sides and attaching to my waist, forming a flattering silhouette. The dress was modest in cleavage though had a long slit ripping up all the way to my hip, the toe of my heel peaking out at the base.

I was putting in a pair of silver dangling earrings when Azriel made his appearance known at my doorway. He released a low whistle and I smiled, turning around to face him. "How do I look?" I ask him. "Like the princess you are." He hums, pushing off the frame and extending his scarred hand towards me. "Do they know we're leaving?" I ask, grabbing my bag. "I don't think they'll notice." He shrugs and I slip my hand into his. Shadows twine up our connected arms and I smile at the temporary binding. "Ready?" He asks and I nod with a grin.

He steps into the shadows and pulls me along with him. I squeeze his hand tighter as we walk through the abyss of darkness. It takes a moment to know if I was even awake or not, but by the time I regain consciousness of where I was we were already back in the real world and now in the autumn court.

"I still don't understand how you do that." A shiver runs down my spine and I let go of his hand. "Here," He takes my overnight bag then it disappears into the shadows. Apart of me wonders where it's gone but I know he wouldn't tell if I asked. "Come on." His hand slips back into mine as he pulls me towards the venue of the autumn lords coronation.

At the entrance, we were greeted by two guards with bright red hair and faces that were nearly identical. Eris was a fool to think these two men could hold off Azriel alone. "Court and name?" The guard with a clipboard asked and I rolled my eyes at the extravagance of it, this isn't a wedding. "Night Court. I'm probably titled the Shadowsinger." Azriel hums, his hand squeezing mine a little tighter as the guard flips through the list, going all the way to the bottom where our section resided. "You're here, and the girl?" He glances at me carelessly. "I'm the princess of night, I don't know what the lord would put me down as." I crease my brows and lean over to peer down at the clipboard. Spotting the names put down as high lord of night, high lady, lord of bloodshed— and "Bunny." He glances up at me and my stomach twists. "Section B, seats four and five. Proceed." The two guards step aside. "Enjoy, Bunny." The other guard teases me with a malicious smile and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.

"I forgot how much I hate Eris." I huff.

"I forgot he calls you that." Azriel chuckles and I playfully bumped his shoulder. "He clearly doesn't know that bunnies are animals of Spring not Night," I grumble, picking apart the idiocracy of it.

"What sort of a nickname is owl though?" He defends and I roll my eyes, continuing my march down the long corridor, chairs passing each side of me.

"We're awfully close to the front," I mutter as Azriel sits down in the seat we were told to. Second front row and nearly center.

"Eris's motives are always a mystery." He sighed as I sat next to him.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come," I mutter. "I mean, is this rude of us?" I whisper.

"He's the one that invited us." He shrugs.

"And it was funny at the time, maybe we should go." I offer but before he can reply the music is starting and people immediately settle. Theres nobody to the right side of me, but people sit beside Azriel. Meaning the rest of my family was supposed to be lined along my right.

Royal coronations aren't nearly as fun as mating ceremonies. The best part of them was admiring the venue and all the dresses others came in. I was nearly asleep until Eris finally came out, on the dais with a priestess.

He wore a dark green tunic, nearly black. His dark red hair was stark against the cream-colored background of the manor walls. His golden eyes were practically glowing with power and I was intent on staring right at them as the ceremony went. The golden irises trailed over the crowd, across his mother, Lucien, and his other brothers who were some distance apart, a group of advisors who used to work under Beron huddled in the back, and then finally me. Our eyes locked right when the golden leaf crown was placed atop of his head and I swore it was pure power that shone in his eyes as he became High Lord. Finally high lord.

He didn't tear his gaze from mine. Not when he accepted the crown and definitely not when he sat on that throne, the one that looked as if it could swallow me whole but when he sat in it he was the one to dominate it, an absurd amount of manspreading at play as he lounged back in it. The flawless picture of a careless king.

A smile curved his lips as everyone stood to cheer. Azriel and I stood, but we did not clap, and he didn't look away even for a second as everyone bowed, and I kept my chin held high.

——

The chairs were cleared out and something like a party began, an extravagant ball morphed from a coronation. A long line of men women and children alike filed down the side of the wall, all leading up to the dais where Eris sat and answered any questions the civilians might have had. Who knew the next time they'd get the chance to speak with a high lord?

"We should probably go," I say, sipping from my wine glass. "I wanted to say something to him but there's not a chance I'm waiting in that line." I huff and Azriel hums in reply, sipping from his own whiskey. The autumn court had the best liquor and the best food. The court was always in harvest and the vineyards were always in fresh bloom. I would visit all the time if it weren't for the male that now ruled this place.

"We can go to the inn if you're feeling tired, if not I'd like to eat more." He plucks a grape from a bowl and pops it into his mouth. "I'm going to find a bathroom or whatever place I can be alone in for a moment." I excuse myself and he nods, bidding me a goodbye.

I failed at finding a bathroom but after trying a few doors I managed to find an empty room, the one for holding the guests' coats, but it was quiet nonetheless.

I release a deep sigh and shuffle through the coats, curiously passing time until the Shadowsinger is ready to go. The door of the closet swings open and I freeze as someone enters, getting caught for stealing when I was actually just hiding would be mighty embarrassing.

But I wasn't met with a guard I was met with a worn-out high lord, his head back against the door with the top of his shirt buttons unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. "Running from your own party?" I scoffed and he startled, whipping his head to me.

"Hello, Bunny." He gave a foxlike grin.

"Don't call me that." I cross my arms but his smirk only broadens.

"It's fitting," He leans closer and flicks my nose. I flinch back but there's a lot less room in this closet with both of us in here. "Is that why you call me it then?" I stumble back as he comes closer.

"Do you know what a fox's favorite thing to hunt is?" He questions and I take another step back, my body pressing flush against the cold wall.

"I don't know, mice?" I raise a brow.

"Hm, would you like me to call you mouse instead?" His long legs close the distance between us in one stride and I'm looking right up at him. He reaches towards me and brushes his hand along the column of my throat, his thumb coming to my bottom lip.

"No," I swat his hand away but it comes right back to where it was.

"Because you're a bunny, and you're all alone with me in here, caught in my snare." His smile is malicious if not a little seductive. "I want a bargain with you." He hummed, his eyes flashing something like mischief in his eyes.

"You have nothing I want." I cross my arms in front of me.

"I have plenty of what you want." His thumb caresses against my jaw. "Your little family needs my alliance to succeed in their peace treaty," He hums knowingly. "Tamlin will go down in a feeble attempt at a fight but he'll give in. But me? With my army and skill set, it'd be war." He purrs and my skin alights with his warm touch. We would win, with the Night Courts allies we would win. But war means death no matter what, and that's the last thing we need. If I can avoid that and make sure he stays true to his word with a bargain I was willing to risk anything.

"What do you want from me?" Bargaining with Eris is tricky. He's beyond smart so any loophole he could find in whatever I make him do must be eliminated.

"I want you," His long finger trails from my ear to my lips where his thumb swipes over the bottom one.

"Me?" I scoff with a raised brow.

"Yes, you." He nods.

"Specify," I command him.

"I want you at my side for three days a week, and I'll sign your brother's little peace treaty." He nods, and my stomach drops to the floor. To give up half my freedom to ensure war won't break out— if he even would. I debate my options. I need Rhys or Amren to make this decision for me. I try to think of what they would do, and how they would approach the situation.

I know deep down they'd both sacrifice themselves and a lot more to ensure the safety of our family. So I think about my terms. "Why?" I ask.

"Does it matter?" He hums with a smile. "It's a yes or no." He shrugs.

"So if I agree to this, you'll never call out a war against my court?" I ask. He nods. "You'll sign the peace treaty and stay true to it?" My brow raises and he dips his head again. "You won't hurt any of them?" My voice is a little more soft. His nod repeats. I go quiet, thinking it over.

"Three days a week, whatever days you want." He hums like that gives me any sort of flexibility. "But you have to be by my side." He crosses his muscular arms that strained beneath his tunic.

"Deal," I mutter and his eyes glow in the dark of the closet. I gasp as ink begins to carve up my thigh. I move it out from my skirt where the slit is, revealing a deep maroon color swirling from the back of my knee all the way up and along to my inner thigh. I've never seen a bargain's ink another color than black, I suppose the cauldron liked the high lord. His pale hand came to my golden skin and brushed over the new tattoo, right along my bare thigh. When I realized what he was doing I moved my leg back under my skirt. He looks back up to me with a smirk curving his lips.

"Your neck," I reach up and brush the back of my hand along the new ink forming there, disappearing beneath his shirt. "Mine is a lot easier to hide." I hum.

"Who said I was going to hide it?" He arches a perfectly manicured brow. "I want yours on display when you're in my court," He grabs my wrist before I can pull my hand away from his neck.

"You're a fool if you think I'm ever letting it show." I snarl.

He smirks. "When your brother asks about where you got it, what you bargained to earn it, what will you tell him?"

I swallow thickly, keeping eye contact with his golden irises.

His smile widens when I don't reply. "I'll see you tomorrow, Princess," He mocks a bow and I narrow my eyes on him, about to retort but— cauldron-willed, bargains were unbreakable. I had no other choice. "Tomorrow," I whisper softly, mostly to myself but I know he heard it. How in the hell was I ever going to explain this mark to Rhys?

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