#ashblooddragons reblogs

[ashblooddragons]

This was so fucking good! I loved every moment of it! I truly was just sitting here in shock at each and everything.

The way I wanted to kill Aemond when I read he had another girl sitting on him. I am a jealous person I'm not ashamed of it. If I'm I'm a relationship your mind and I'm yours. So the way I wanted to punch him was unreal.

But I also liked that you let the reader take power in her situation, if only for a bit. And then Aemond went crazy and killed a guy.

But enough of that, the Smut!? The way I gasped when the gun came into play! Holy shit I literally froze as if I had the gun in my mouth. But i also loved all the denials it felt right for some reason. It felt Aemond if that makes any sense. But when they both finally came? The way he went so kind and sweet to her? Holy shit! It felt like such a good way to end it.

I highly recommend if your a Aemond girly but do keep in mind this is heavy and might be triggering to some. Read at your own risk.

You are Aemond’s possession

Masterlist

Taglist

English is not my first language, please be kind

Modern!MafiaBoss!Aemond x fem!Reader

•Warnings: p in v, oral (male), fingering, smut, kissing, taking of sexual themes, orgasm denial, gun play, murder.•

{Request: What do you think of modern maffia with aemond being maffia boss ? And verryy angsty}

It was unfair, really.

You jumped on the bed, your eyes staring at the marm ceiling. You squirmed on the bed, kicking and throwing punches at the mattress to let all the anger out.

When you stopped, you felt a bit better.

Just a bit.

It was enough that you basically lived confined in his house, that no matter how big it was, it was always filled with people, bodyguards or clients.

You had no peace, no freedom.

And he wasn��t a guy for parties, except when he was basically forced to go because of some clients. He rarely brought you, and you hated it.

He spent all the time working, not even looking at you once, and then he didn’t even let you go out dancing?!

But…

He did bring you along tonight. 

“I want to dance!” You whined as you dug your nails in his arm.

“Then go, for fuck’s sake, just stop annoying me.” He growled as he pushed your hand away, turned, and went up the stairs to meet his clients at his table.

You smiled and immediately threw yourself on the dancing floor, swaying your body at the time of the music, dancing even with other people you didn't even know.

Then, after some refused guy approaches and a few drinks, you decided it was time to finally go back to your boyfriend.

Your sweaty skin sparkling under the lights of the club, your make up a bit ruined, you made space for yourself to reach the same stairs you saw Aemond going up to.

You looked around and saw two bodyguards standing in front of a table.

You guessed he was there. 

You approached the bodyguards that both put a hand on your shoulders.

“Go somewhere else, doll.” One of them grinned.

You crunched your nose at the pet name.

“My boyfriend is there.” You pointed at the table. One of the guards looked behind, his body moving enough to give you a clear view of Aemond… with a girl in his lap, her arm around his neck as he talked to his client.

Aemond’s hand rested on her thigh, his thumb moving on her skin.

“That one over there?” The bodyguard turned back to you, a mocking smile on his face. You slowly nodded as your eyes filled with tears.

You stayed there a moment, the image sinking in, when suddenly you saw one of the guards feet moving. You looked up and saw him giving you a sign to go. You immediately looked at Aemond and saw him looking at you, nodding once, silently telling you to go to him. YYou walk with your head low, sitting beside him, as the girl from his lap did not move away.

Aemond kept talking to his client, as you stayed there, covered by the girl on your boyfriend’s lap, humiliated.

“Go get us a drink.” You heard Aemond say as he slapped the girl butt. The girl moved away as you saw another girl go to Aemond’s client, distracting him.

Aemond turned towards you with a harsh glare.

“Crying? Really? Are you a fucking kid?” He growled as your eyes got immediately wet again.

“I–I’m sorry… but– but you….” You sobbed, but Aemond harshly gripped your jaw, stopping you.

“I did what, uhm? Get yourself together.” He pushed you back and you looked away, trying to hide your tears. You clenched your fists as you got up again.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Aemond looked at you. You showed him your perfect smile.

“To get you a drink, love.” You turned and walked away, going down the stairs again, straight to the dance floor again.

Aemond will be so pissed off by your lie.

You knew, and you forced yourself to ignore the thought.

He loved you, in his own way.

You made your way to the middle of the dancefloor.

You loved him.

You started dancing, swaying your hips, moving sensually, as you tried to lose yourself in the music.

He always took care of you.

You moved your hands in your hair, moving them back as you kept dancing, closing your eyes.

His hands, his grip so possessive on your hips as he tugged you back against his body, as he lowered his lips to kiss your neck, as one of his hands moved up to your stomach to your breasts, squeezing your boob as he let out a groan…

“Aemond…” You whispered, as you felt him behind you, his lips close to your ear.

“It can be my name if you want it to.” The guy said. You immediately opened your eyes and looked up at the guy as you both kept dancing.

He wasn’t ugly at all, he was handsome, actually. Not like your boyfriend, but handsome.

Not Aemond.

If he could have a girl on his lap, then you could have a boy for you as well, right?

You turned towards him, and grabbed his face to pull him into a kiss. The guy wasted no time to wrap his arm around your waist and squeeze your butt with his hand, deepening the kiss, slipping his tongue in your mouth.

It was strange, different.

It was not Aemond.

Suddenly you felt something grabbing your arm.

You were harshly turned around and saw Aemond, his hand gripping your wrist as his eyes burned through you, his lips pressed together, and his jaw clenched.

He was angry.

He was furious.

He gripped your waist, pulling you harshly against his chest, his body pressed behind yours.

His hot breath hit your ear as he growled.

“You’re a bad liar.” He growled as his other hand moved to your hip, fingers digging into your skin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asked in a low voice, as he pulled you closer, the heat of his body against yours. 

“You– You had… a girl on your lap… you humiliated me!” You tried to defend yourself, his eyes only darkening.

“We're going home. Now.” He growled, pushing you away from the people, but the other guy grabbed your hand, stopping you.

Aemond glared at him, then at you, then again back at him.

“You two have a problem?” The guy asked with a harsh glare, his hold on your wrist getting tighter.

Aemond got closer, his body right behind yours as his hand moved to your stomach, gripping you possessively, forcing you against his chest.

“She’s mine. She’s my problem, not yours.” He growled as you tensed.

The guy looked you both up and down, letting out a scoff.

“I don’t see any ring.” He teased, as his eye moved down on your body.

Aemond’s grip on you got tighter, his other hand letting go of your wrist to place it on your hips, squeezing it possessively, making you let out a whimper.

The guy clearly noticed, and smirked as Aemond’s glare hardened.

“Looks like you're pretty useless.” The guy mocked, eyeing your body again.

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll rip your tongue out.” Aemond growled, his hold on you getting even more possessive as he pulled you back against his chest, his breath on your neck, making you shiver.

"I'm gonna pull a bullet between his eyes, is that what you wanted, baby?"

He whispered in your ear.

Your eyes widened at the threat, but your body shivered a bit. It was not the first time he did something like this.

He was dangerous, possessive… and you knew that.

You bit your lip, trying to not give in, but Aemond smirked as he saw you biting your lip, his eye lowering on your mouth.

“You like when I say that, baby?” He teased, now in a softer tone.

One of his hands moved again to your hips, sliding under the fabric of your dress to your skin, caressing it with his thumb, making you shiver again as you felt a wave of heat wash over you. You immediately shook your head.

"A–Aemond... don't please..."

“Don’t?” He repeated in a mocking tone, his body now pressed against your back.

His grip on your hip tightened, his thumb rubbing your skin under the fabric.

He looked back at the guy standing in front of them.

"You knew every guy that came close to you didn't end up well."

He smirked.

"Why shouldn't I kill him for what he did?"

You swallowed hard, the shiver increasing at the feel of his body pressed against you, his breath on the exposed skin of your neck, his lips now so close.

“Please. I’m begging you. Don’t.” You whispered, grabbing his hand on your hip and squeezing it.

His eye darkened even more.

"He kissed you. I'm gonna kill him."

You closed your eyes at his words, the wave of heat increasing as Aemond’s words sent a spike of heat through your body.

You knew he was dangerous.

But at the same time it turned you on the way he growled and threatened everyone if they tried to take you from him. Nobody ever did it. Everyone knew who Aemond was and he was never one for sharing.

And clearly now he was furious.

"Just… please don't hurt him, please, I’m begging you..."

He clicked his tongue.

"No. He tasted you, I'm not letting anyone live knowing how you taste."

He gave a sign to a distant bodyguard, indicating him the guy. 

Aemond pulled you away again as the bodyguard grabbed the guy, both going on the back of the club outside.

“Your punishment will come home right after his, baby, don’t worry.” He smirked as he pushed you outside.

You clenched your jaw as you saw a group of bodyguards circling the guy that had been forced on his knees.

You gasped as you looked away, your eyes getting wet… along with your core.

You always hated how Aemond’s possessiveness turned you on.

“No, no, no, baby.” He laughed, standing behind you and grabbing your chin. “You’re gonna watch, alright?” He chuckled as he forced you to look at the guy as Aemond grabbed the gun.

“Aem… Please…” You sobbed, gabbing his thigh. He only smirked more. as He looked at the guy.

“You’re mine.” He growled in your ear as he shot the guy between his eyes. You gulped and screamed, closing your eyes immediately, turning around to hide your face in your boyfriend’s chest. 

He wrapped his arm around you, as he started to walk you to the car, along with a bodyguard, the others staying behind to clean up the mess.

In the car, you couldn’t look at him. You were well aware of Aemond’s life, his job and his rules. You found it out too late when you two started dating, when you were already too engulfed with him, that you decided to live with that.

You never asked about his day, he never told you anything, and you tried to live… serene.

As much as you could.

Still, he had no right to do what he just did. To traumatize you like he just did.

As soon as you got home, the house was strangely empty, no bodyguards or anyone, Aemond pushed you against the wall, making you hit your head on it.

You whined as you looked at him, the anger that started rising in the car now showing.

“What the fuck was that, huh?!” He growled as he grabbed you by your hair, making you tilt your head back.

“You humiliated me, you whore.” He tugged at your hair harshly, making you cry out loud. “Right in front of my client, I— I swear, if it wasn’t for your pretty face I would have already beaten you up.” He shoved you away, letting go of your hair.

You stumbled, not falling for some miracle on your heels.

“And what the hell is that outfit, uh? You wanted to show your asshole to everyone?” He kept screaming. “Do you even ever think about what you do!?”

“You humiliated me!” You spat back. “You… You had that girl on your lap, you touched her! You fucking slapped her ass!” You yelled back. He looked at you, amused by your jealousy.

“Is this what this is about?” He laughed, clearly still angry.

“No! Well, yes! Is this why I rarely come with you? Because you fuck other girls? Y–You go there… your clients offer whores to you?” You yell back, your jealousy burning in your chest.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” He laughed at you.

“Oh, I–I’m the crazy one?!”

“You went off kissing some dude because of a slap on the ass? Are you fucking serious?!”

He yelled at the top of his lungs. You gasped and stepped back, suddenly scared of him. “Get the fuck away from my sight, NOW!”

You ran upstairs, wiping your tears of frustration as you hid in your bedroom.

Now here you are. You got up from the bed, and opened the large drawer to find something to sleep in. 

Or…

You smirked to yourself, getting rid of all of your clothes, going in the bathroom to take a quick shower.

This wasn’t definitely one of your best ideas, considering how mad Aemond is.

It was rare for him to actually hit you. It was most common for him to just push you around or pull your hair, like he did before.

You were aware, though, that if you’d push him enough, he wouldn't be able to restrain himself to hit you.

But you don’t want that, do you?

You used your most strong scent of shampoo, body scrub and soap, to clean yourself, then the most expensive creams, just his favorites.

You dried your hair and body, and went back to the bedroom, laying on the bed that was positioned right in front of the entry door.

You widened your legs, bending them on the knee, the cool air hitting your core sentinel a little wave of pleasure, as you moved your hand between them, your fingers moving over your clit. You let out a long sigh, as you slowly started to massage your clit in circular motion, pressing your fingers just right, letting out a loud moan. 

The mix of Aemond’s possessiveness and the alcohol you drank enough to make you a mess down there.

You moaned again as you slowly massaged your clit, grabbing your boob with your other hand.

You didn’t care about being loud, you didn’t care if he could hear you.

You wanted him to hear you.

To know how good you were feeling without him.

He could go fuck his whores if he wanted to.

You were fine by yourself.

Right?

Then you heard it. The door opened, but you didn’t look. You closed your eyes as you started moving your fingers faster, moaning out loud.

You could feel his eye on you.

Eyes, maybe.

God, you hoped he didn’t have the eyepatch.

You kept squeezing your boob as you felt the climax building. You kept masturbating yourself shamelessly, knowing his eyes were closely studying you.

You kept moaning, knowing his ears were registering every sound you let out.

But you refused to give him the satisfaction of your reaction if you’d open your eyes to see him.

Because you just know, you would moa just at the sight of him looking at you touching yourself.

You started to move your fingers even faster, more dirty thoughts coming in your mind, as you felt his quiet steps, barely giving you an idea of his position.

Then you suddenly felt two of his fingers pushing inside you.

Your body arched immediately as you stilled for a moment, as you whined.

“A–Aemond!” You opened your eyes immediately, looking down at your boyfriend, catching him as he crawled on top of you, pushing your hands over your head, keeping them there, as he kept his fingers inside you, without moving them.

“You like to act like a whore?” He looked down at you, his eyes full of lust, his sapphire reflecting your image. He retrieves his fingers harshly, making you gasp and squirm a bit.

“Tsk…” He pushed his fingers in your mouth as you pouted. Making him chuckle coldly.

“You wanna play hard to get, baby? Are you sure?” He put his legs over your to immobilize them.

You groaned and sucked his fingers, as he looked at you pleased. He pushed his fingers further in your mouth, making you gag, your hands clenched into fists, as you tried your best to not pull back. He smiled as he moved back, standing and pulling his pants down.

His cock will always be a sight for you.

Hard, long, pale, thick and veiny.

Perfect.

Just as the rest of him.

Sadly, you haven’t been able to properly take all of him.

There was a noticeable size difference between you two.

“Get on your knees, now. You have a lot of things to be forgiven, baby.” He said as he stripped himself naked.

You looked at him, sat on the bed, your mouth already watering, but you were not gonna give him that satisfaction.

“I have nothing to be sorry about.” You stated with your head high, and a courage that you’ll regret founding.

Aemond narrowed his eyes at you, his scar creating wrinkles on his cheek and forehead.

“Come here immediately.” He growled, his voice warning you.

“No.” You answered, swallowing with difficulty. He only looked more pissed.

“I won’t ask again.” He warned again.

“Then don’t.” You had barely the time to finish your sentence when Aemond started walking towards you, you quickly got off the bed, trying to get over him, to the door, but he grabbed your arm, pushing you back. You stumbled but did not give up. You tried to side step him, but this time he grabbed you by your throat, squeezing the sides and he backed you towards the wall, despite you kept trying to get away.

“Stay. Still.” He growled as he pushed you against the wall. You got goosebumps as the side of your face and your chest made contact with the cold marm. 

“I should get you handcuffed next time.” He pushed you once again, then he kept you still, shoving his hand on your butt, the slap making you gasp.

“You like this, uh?” He got behind you, pressing you even more against the wall.

“D–don’t touch me…” You weakly said back.

You obviously didn’t mean it, but you had to at least play the part, right?

“I’m the only one who gets to touch you, do you hear me?” He gripped tightly your hip, digging his fingers in the soft skin, surely leaving marks behind. “I’m the only one who gets to do anything to you, whenever the fuck I want to.”

“You killed someone.” You stated again, but he simply chuckled, slipping his hands between your legs.

“You say that, but there is quite a mess here baby…” He groaned as he moved his fingers over your slip, finding you embarrassingly wet.

He chuckled again at the redness that covered your cheeks.

“You’re mine. I’ll repeat it to you all the time if you need me to but—“ He kicked your ankle, making you widen your legs, he bent down to be able to slip his cock inside you. You whined and clawed the wall. “But I think I know a better way to not let you forget it.” He pushed most of his cock inside you in one motion.

“Ah! A—Aemond!” You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to escape him, and the uncomfortable feeling of his cock stretching your walls at their maximum.

“Sh, shh…” He looked down, grabbing your buttocks and opening you up to see his cock almost completely inside you.

“I think it’s time to go deeper don’t you think?” He brushed his hips over your temple as you looked at him horrified.

“W—what? No… N-no— I—I’m not… I’m not ready Aemond… Fuck!” You whined out loud as you felt him getting deeper, so deeper, as he kept your buttocks spread apart to see his cock disappear finally inside you.

“This is so much better baby…” He groaned as he rested his forehead on your shoulder.

You were panting, the line between pain and pleasure getting thinner.

“You squeeze me so good…” He pressed himself against you, stepping closer as you tried to escape, trying to melt with the wall. “So tight…” He gasped, as he slowly started to rock his hips against yours, moving slightly his cock deeper.

“Ah— A—Aemond…” You checked out.

“Shh, sh… You’re ready for it, baby…” He grinned as he slipped out almost to the end, only to push it all back in, making you almost scream as he kept going with his usual fast, hard speed.

“A—Aemond… slow… slow down… too much!” You whined as he grabbed your hips to pull you back so you bent over, your face still pressed against the wall.

“Too much? Is this too much?” He asked arrogantly. “Almost as it was too much to fucking kiss a guy for a slap on the ass to another girl is it?” He slowed down, but only to give strong firm thrusts, making sure to push his cock as deep as it could go.

“Almost as much as accusing me of fucking someone else.” He grabbed you by the throat, pushed your head back, forcing you in an uncomfortable arched position. “As if I could ever fuck another pussy that is not yours?” He thrusted again, harder. He gripped your boobs with his hand, squeezing them harshly. “As if I could even imagine…” He whispered as he pressed his cheek against your temple as he started speeding up again. “… to find someone better that you…” He groaned as he let go of your throat, letting you lean on the wall again, he moved his hand down between your legs, brushing his fingers over your pearl.

You moaned immediately, feeling your legs weak, so you grabbed his arm.

“You wanna cum baby?” He pressed his fingers on your clit, moving them precisely how he knew you liked. 

You closed your eyes shut, as the pain mixed with the pleasure clouded your mind, you found yourself on the principle of the strongest orgasm you’ve ever felt coming.

You let out a long moan as you just felt it building up, Aemond’s thrusts merciless along with his fingers.

“A—Aem… Aemond…” You whined, ready to be shattered compl by your orgasm, when he suddenly… stopped.

“What..! A—Aem…?” He looked behind you, Aemond was standing with a grin on his face, his hands by his sides.

“Why…?” You panted, as he only grinned even more.

“I told you, you would have your punishment once home.” He chuckled, seeing the desperation in your eyes.

“No— Please… I—“ You started thrusting back, trying to get that friction to bring yourself over the edge, but Aemond grabbed your hips, stopping your movements.

“Get. On your knees.” He pulled out and slapped your ass again, grabbing you by the back of your neck and pushing you down, forcing you on your knees. He shoved two fingers back in your mouth, not so gently, making you gag repeatedly, but he kept your head from jerking back with his firm grip.

“As I said. You have something to be forgiven for.” He growled as you looked up at him, your face a mix from anger and frustration. You couldn’t help but let the tears come to your eyes at the horrible denial of your orgasm. That only made him chuckle.

“You gonna cry? Uh?” He fixed your hair back, pulling them into a ponytail, his fist as a hairband. “We can make a deal.” He smirked as he tilted his head to the side, looking down at you. Even his sapphire glistened with mischief. “You do whatever I tell you, and take whatever I give you… and I’ll let you cum,  yeah?” He smirked as he saw the hesitance in your eyes, but in the end, you did want to cum, so you just nodded your head.

“Stay here.” He chuckled as he moved away for a moment. “Close your eyes, baby.” You did as he said, closing your eyes, keeping your hands on your knees, waiting to feel his presence again. After a moment, you felt his fingers back on your lips, his thumb pushing to part them, so you complied, sucking in his thumb and licking it.

“So you know how to behave, don’t you?” He groaned as he slipped his thumb out and bent to slap your ass again, making you wince.

“Keep your eyes closed, and stay still, alright?” He said again.

“Y–Yes…” You waited there, feeling something cold against your lips.

“I know you need a lot of preparation for my cock, princess…” He pushed the cold hard, metal past your lips, and you hesitated for a moment. You moved your tongue around it and you had to restrain yourself from opening your eyes.

It was a gun.

“Something wrong?”

A fucking gun.

“Feeling something familiar?” You heard him chuckle, as he pushed the gun further. “Your friend liked it.”

The gun he used to shoot the guy.

“Look at me, princess.” You immediately looked up, seeing his smirk as he held the gun in your mouth. “You’re learning the lesson, aren’t you?” He pulled the gun out as you nodded. 

“Mh.” He looked down at you, then he threw the gun to the side, grabbing you by your neck. You immediately put your hands on his, whining, as he made you stand and pushed you back on the bed.

“You better fucking do.” He slapped your butt as you fell on the bed, he immediately grabbed your thighs, keeping them up, to put your legs at the sides of his head. 

“Aemo– AH!” You moaned and grabbed the sheets, trying to find something to hold on, to get away from him as he pushed his cock back in, to the very end.

“You’re mine.” He growled. “I want you, and I’m keeping you.” He hugged your thighs, as he started thrusting ferociously like an animal, your grip on the sheets only tightening even more as you cried out.

“Aemond! Ah– t–too much…” You whined as he kept you firm against him, his eye fixed on how your breasts moved up and down by the force of his hit.

He let go of your legs, leaning forward, wrapping one of his hands around your neck, and the other grabbing your boob, squeezing as if to taste its softness.

“I’m gonna break this fucking cunt if I have to.” He growls in your ear, his lips brushing on your neck. “I’ll break it, if this is what you need to fucking behave.” He sucked your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys down to your collarbone.

He raised his head to look at you, your face red and some hair glued to your face because of the sweat, Your eyes tear stained, and your expression mirroring the word ‘pleasure’.

“So beautiful…” He groaned as he sped up, going impossibly faster. You let out a high pitched moan feeling your climax building up again, quickly, but your moans were followed by a groan of desperation when he pulled out again.

“Aemond!” You sobbed as he picked you up in his arms. 

You cuddled up on his chest, as he sat on the bed, his back against the headrest. Your legs were shaking by the second denial, and you were at your limit.

“I’m sorry…” You whined as you let your fist fall on Aemond’s chest, sobbing. “I–I won’t do it ever again, I promise, please!” You let your hands roam on his chest, covered by sweat as well, only making it more attractive. He looked at you with a smirk as he caressed your cheeks gently, wiping your tears.

You started kissing his neck trailing down to his chest as you moved between his legs, as you kept sobbing.

You grabbed his hard cock, directing it in your mouth and quickly sucked him inside.

“Fuck– Baby…” Aemond groaned as he slipped a hand in your hair, pushing your head down. You took as much as you could and more, starting to bob your head, your lips and tongue massaging his girth as your hand worked the rest of him. You arched your back, knowing how he likes to see your ass up in the air as you suck him off. You moved your other hands down to his balls, massaging them in your hands.

“Jesus… Fuck baby that’s it… That’s how you behave…” He moaned as you moved your head down, your tongue pressing on the skin between his asshole and under his balls, making him gasp, as your hand kept working his length. You raised your head again, taking him back in your mouth as you let him guide you with his hand on your head, pushing you down until you gagged and your eyes filled with tears. Still you didn’t give up.

Your hands on his thighs, you pushed your head down completely, somehow, talking all of him in his mouth. You tried to stay there as long as you could, the loud groan coming from Aemond like music to your ears. You finally pulled back, gasping for air and looked at him.

He smiled at your messy face and hair.

“Ride me.” He ordered you, and you complied immediately.

It was one thing to give him a good blowjob as you half laid on the bed, but now, feeling how weak your legs were, you hoped you could keep going enough for his liking.

You crawled on top of him, raising yourself as he aligned his cock to your entrance. He looked up at you as he put a hand on your hip, guiding you down.

It just kept going. 

The moment you resisted a second, he tugged you down.

“Behave. Fucking sit on it.” He growled as he pushed you down completely, making you whine out loud.

You leaned forward, putting your hands on his chest for leverage, feeling him somehow deeper than before.

“A—Aemond…” You whined, but when you looked at him, you found him smiling, looking down at your stomach, as he pressed a hand there.

“Can you feel me baby?” He looked back at you. “You know no one can make you feel like this, right? No one but me.”

He thrusted up once, as a hint to make you start moving, and you did your best, really, but it was all too much for you.

The feeling of his cock so deep, the denied orgasm, not even the desperation to cum could help you move as fast as he would have liked. Still you tried your best, grinding on his cock, occasionally raising yourself to fall back down.

“Have I already fucked you that stupid? Uhm?” He clicked his tongue, as he grabbed you by the back of your neck, pulling you down, your faces side to side, as he grabbed your ass to keep it raised as he started thrusting up from beneath you.

Fast and hard.

You held on to his shoulders, every bit you took making you whine. His hands gripped you harder, his fingers digging painfully in your skin, so you tried to reach back with a hand, but he stopped you before you could even touch him, bending your arm on your back and immobilizing it there.

“Ah! Aemond— I— I need…” You moaned loudly, as again you heard his chuckle.

“I know what you need, princess.” He smirked as he slowed his pace, only to go harder. “But should I give it to you?”

He murmured in your ear, and for you it was immediate panic.

“Aemond please!” You sobbed, too fucked up to even care. “Please I—I will never ever ever let anyone else touch me other than you! I’m sorry I—I swear please I need this! I’m begging you!” You cried out, sobbing and stuttering between one thrust and the other.

“You’re that desperate, princess? You want it that much?” He asked you as he started picking up the pace again, and finally, finally you felt it again, that strong orgasm, one that you’re sure will completely lash you out.

“Yes! Yes— yes please… please… Ah! Ah—Aemond!” You were right there, so close… you were just about to cum, you just needed the last few thrusts.

“I’ll let you cum, baby… Then I’ll cum inside you, okay?” He groaned as he felt you squeezing him like a vice, as you were on the edge.

“Please… Ah— Aemond…” You almost screamed as you finally came, waves of pleasure washing all over your body, you legs started shaking uncontrollably, as you just collapsed on Aemond’s chest, hiding your face in his neck, as you barely registered the feeling of his cock that kept pushing inside you until he finally came with a low groan.

“Shh… shh you’re fine, princess…” Aemond patted the top of your head as he rolled on his side, bringing you with him, carefully holding you close.

You kept sobbing,as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You’re okay, I forgive you.” He kissed the top of your head, moving your hair back as he pulled your head back gently to look at you. “I love you.” He whispered.

You smiled weakly, and kissed him softly.

“I love you too.” You answered as he wiped your tears away. “I’m yours.”

“I know.”

Taglist:@ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever

[ashblooddragons]

This is so fucking good! I love the way you let her have a relationship with her sisters. Because often people make it where they are fighting against one another so this was refreshing. I also loved how you had Aegon ask and then Rhaenys and Visenya say he commands not asks for them. I think it was a good way to show his devotion before the smut and then let the smut amplify that devotion.

Also the smut? Um hello amazing! I loved how they just couldn't stop, like they'd come and then start all over again. I think it was a good way to show how much they desire each other.

If I'm honest I hope this becomes a little mini series because that cliffhanger has me by the throat.

Needless to say I will be re-reading this often and I highly recommend.

Duty And Desire - Aegon I Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : As you stood in the shadow of your duties, Aegon began to notice the smallest things about you—the way your eyes flickered when you thought no one was watching, the quiet strength you held within yourself. His words, when he spoke to you, lingered longer than they should have, making your heart race with a mixture of confusion and longing. But what began as mere moments of attention soon blossomed into something far more complicated. He was no longer just your king, and you were no longer just his wife. In his presence, the walls you had built around yourself began to crumble, and the desires you had long buried inside began to surface.

Word Count : 7.4k

Aegon I Targaryen Mastetlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The laughter that fills the chamber is soft yet genuine, a rare moment of peace between the three of you. Rhaenys lounges beside you, her head resting in her hand as she watches you with a knowing smile. Visenya, ever poised, sits behind you, her fingers weaving through your hair with the skill and precision she applies to all things.

“You have been patient,” Rhaenys murmurs, her voice carrying the warmth of an elder sister who has always looked after you. “More patient than most would be in your place.”

Patient. The word makes something stir within you. You had been patient, waiting in the shadows while Aegon ruled, while his other queens shared his nights and bore him children. You had never demanded his attention, nor sought to claim what had never been freely given.

Visenya, quiet yet always watching, speaks next. “Aegon notices more than you think,” she says, her fingers tightening slightly around your braid as if to ground you. “He is not blind.”

You blink, turning slightly to glance at her over your shoulder. “If he notices, he does not show it.”

Rhaenys laughs, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Oh, little sister, you are clever, but in this, you are blind. The dragon may be slow to stir, but once he does, he does not turn away so easily.”

The thought lingers, curling around your mind like a whisper of prophecy. Aegon has never sought you out, never claimed you as he had his other wives. And yet, Visenya and Rhaenys speak as if something inevitable looms on the horizon.

“You think he will come to me?” you ask, almost hesitant to give voice to the question.

Visenya hums thoughtfully. “I think he already has.”

You frown, confused, but Rhaenys only smirks, as if she knows something you do not. You do not press them for answers, but as the night fades into morning, their words stay with you, curling like embers waiting to catch fire.

The morning air is crisp, the distant roar of dragons filling the skies as Rhaenys and Visenya take flight. You watch them disappear into the horizon, their dragons nothing more than specks against the vast sky. Unlike them, you remain on the ground, where you have always been—watching, waiting, but never truly seen.

You turn away from the sight, intending to return to your chambers when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Come,” Aegon calls, his voice steady yet carrying an unmistakable command.

You hesitate for only a moment before following the sound of his voice. When you step into the dining hall, you find him already seated, a feast spread before him. His silver hair gleams under the morning light, his presence filling the room with an aura of quiet authority.

Wordlessly, you take your place beside him. The weight of his gaze is heavy, but you do not meet it. Instead, you keep your eyes lowered, focusing on the meal before you. Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. You can feel him watching you, as if searching for something in your expression.

“You are quiet today,” Aegon finally speaks, his voice softer than before.

“I have little to say,” you reply simply, keeping your tone even.

He exhales sharply, as if amused by your defiance. “And yet, when you are with our sisters, your tongue is sharp enough.”

You glance at him then, finding a hint of something unreadable in his violet eyes. He is studying you, as he often does when he thinks you do not notice.

“If you wish for conversation, husband,” you say, voice carefully measured, “then you must ask the right questions.”

Aegon hums, leaning back in his chair. “Very well, then. Tell me—will you come to my chambers tonight?”

Your breath catches for the briefest moment, but you recover quickly. You should have expected this. You are his wife, after all. It is your duty to obey.

But you do not answer immediately. Instead, you hold his gaze, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps something more.

“Do you ask this as my husband or as my king?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon tilts his head slightly, as if considering your words. “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckles—a quiet, low sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You are not like them,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Visenya would command me. Rhaenys would tease me. But you… You always make me think.”

You lower your gaze once more, unsure of how to respond.

Aegon leans forward then, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. “Come to me tonight,” he says again, but this time, it is not an order. It is an invitation.

You do not answer. Not yet. But as you rise from the table, his words linger in your mind, curling around you like a flame waiting to consume you whole.

The candlelight flickers softly, casting golden hues across your chamber as you sit by your vanity, hands delicately folded in your lap. Your heart thrums an uneven rhythm beneath your ribs, anticipation curling in your stomach like a coiled serpent.

“Bring me the best,” you had told your handmaidens earlier. And so they had.

A gown of the finest silk drapes across your form, a deep shade that flatters your complexion. Your hair is carefully arranged, each strand in place, cascading in soft waves down your back. The scent of the most fragrant oils clings to your skin, a subtle mixture of jasmine and amber, meant to entice.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

What am I doing?

It is not as if this is your first time in Aegon’s presence—he is your husband, after all. And yet, the weight of tonight feels different. He had not ordered you to his chambers; he had asked. The difference, however slight, sends your thoughts into disarray.

A soft knock at your door pulls you from your reverie, followed by the unmistakable sound of giggles.

Your eyes narrow even before the door swings open.

Visenya and Rhaenys stand before you, their faces alight with amusement, their matching violet eyes gleaming as they take in the sight of you—adorned and waiting.

“Oh, sister,” Rhaenys purrs, stepping into your room without invitation, her golden hair catching the candlelight. “You look like a bride on her wedding night.”

Visenya smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Technically, she already had her wedding night. But I suppose it does not count if the groom never visited her bed.”

Your face heats instantly. “Must you both be so insufferable?”

Rhaenys twirls a lock of her hair, her grin widening. “We only came to check on you, dearest sister. Imagine our delight when we found you like this—dressed as if awaiting a lover.”

Visenya raises a brow. “Which, I assume, you are.”

You scowl, turning away as you fuss with the bracelets on your wrist. “Aegon asked me to come to him tonight.”

Rhaenys gasps in mock surprise. “Did he ask, or did he demand?”

You hesitate. “He… asked.”

That earns a genuine reaction from both of them. Visenya pushes off the doorframe, and Rhaenys tilts her head, intrigued.

“Interesting,” Visenya murmurs.

“You sound surprised,” you note, glancing at them.

Rhaenys folds her arms, considering. “Our dear brother, Aegon does not ask for things, sweet sister. He takes. For him to ask you to come to him… that is something new.”

You try not to let their words affect you, but a small, treacherous part of you holds onto them.

“So, tell us,” Visenya presses, her smirk returning. “Do you intend to go?”

You glance at the mirror, at your own reflection—the way the candlelight softens your features, the way the gown clings to your form. You think of Aegon, of his gaze lingering on you at breakfast, of the way his voice had softened when he spoke.

“I—”

Before you can answer, another knock sounds at the door. This time, it is not accompanied by laughter.

Your handmaidens scramble to open it, revealing a messenger dressed in the black and red of House Targaryen. He bows slightly before speaking.

“His Grace awaits you.”

Silence stretches in the chamber.

Rhaenys bites her lip, barely holding back a delighted smile. Visenya simply watches you, her expression unreadable.

Your heart pounds.

“Well?” Rhaenys teases. “Shall we escort you, dear sister? Or will you find your own way?”

You take a steadying breath and rise from your seat, smoothing out the fabric of your gown. You do not need an escort.

You walk past them, your head held high.

Let Aegon wait.

The door looms before you, the carved dragon sigil of House Targaryen illuminated by the soft glow of torches lining the hallway. You inhale slowly, willing your heart to steady.

Behind this door, your husband awaits.

Your fingers curl slightly against your gown as you steel yourself. You have shared meals, exchanged polite words, stood beside him in court—but this, standing outside his chambers in the dead of night at his request, is different.

The air is thick with anticipation as you finally lift your hand and push open the heavy door.

Inside, the chamber is warm, the glow of the fire casting long shadows along the stone walls. The scent of burning wood and aged parchment lingers in the air. Your gaze lands on Aegon immediately.

He is seated by the hearth, one leg stretched out lazily, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. The firelight flickers across his bare chest, his tunic hanging open, revealing the lean muscles of his torso. His silver hair is slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it more than once.

His violet eyes lift to you the moment you step inside.

You see the way they move—slowly, deliberately—drifting from your face down the curves of your body, tracing the fine silk of your gown, lingering at the delicate swell of your waist before traveling lower. You feel the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch.

A shiver runs down your spine, though whether it is from the warmth of the chamber or the intensity of his stare, you cannot say.

You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter a single word, Aegon moves.

He rises from his chair with unhurried ease, his tunic slipping further off his shoulder, exposing more of the smooth, pale skin beneath. His steps are soundless as he approaches, closing the distance between you in mere moments.

Then—click.

The sound of the door locking behind you sends a jolt through your chest.

Aegon stands before you now, mere inches away. He does not touch you, not yet, but his presence alone feels overwhelming, like standing too close to a flame.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You hesitated outside my door.”

You swallow. “You heard me?”

“I always hear you.”

The words send a different kind of warmth through you.

Aegon leans in, his breath fanning against your cheek. “Why did you come?”

You know why. You know what he expects to hear. But something about the way he asks—the way his voice lowers, rich and smooth—makes you pause.

“Because you asked me to,” you admit softly.

He hums, as if pleased by your answer. “And if I were to ask something more of you?”

Your breath hitches, but you do not look away. “That depends on what you ask, husband.”

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “I think we both know what I want from you.”

His fingers reach up, brushing against your wrist, a touch so light it is almost a whisper. Your pulse quickens.

“Tell me, sweet wife,” Aegon murmurs, his voice a low purr. “Will you give yourself to me tonight?”

Your breath is steady, but your heart is not.

Aegon’s fingers are slow as they work on the delicate buttons of your gown, each one undone with an excruciating patience that sets your skin aflame. His eyes, violet and piercing, do not leave yours—not even for a moment.

“You say it is your duty,” he murmurs, his voice like silk laced with something darker. “But is that all this is to you?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

“I am your wife,” you say, though the words feel small in the space between you. “It is my duty to—”

He exhales sharply, cutting you off. “Duty.” He repeats the word like it offends him. “I did not summon you to fulfill an obligation.”

Another button undone. Then another.

“I want all of you,” he continues, his tone lower now, rougher. “Not just because you must. But because you want to.”

You shiver at the weight of his words.

Aegon’s fingers brush against your collarbone, tracing the newly exposed skin with a featherlight touch. His warmth seeps into you, making your breath hitch. He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an expression that is unreadable.

“Tell me, sweet wife,” he murmurs, leaning in so that his lips hover just above the shell of your ear. “Do you want this? Do you want me?”

Your pulse pounds in your throat.

You could lie. You could tell him what he expects to hear, what a dutiful wife should say. But something about the way he looks at you—hungry yet patient, demanding yet restrained—makes you hesitate.

You have watched Aegon from the shadows for so long. You have seen him fight, drink, command armies, laugh with your sisters. But now, here, in the quiet of his chambers, you see him as something else. A man who, despite his crown, wants not power, but you.

Your hands, trembling yet determined, lift to his chest, pressing against the exposed skin there. You feel his heartbeat beneath your palm—steady, strong, waiting.

“I want this,” you whisper.

His breath stirs against your cheek. “Say it again.”

You meet his gaze, your voice steadier this time. “I want you, Aegon.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, and then his hands are on you—not rough, not hurried, but firm. He peels the silk from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms, pooling at your feet. The cool air kisses your bare skin, but you barely register it.

Aegon lifts a hand to your face, cradling your jaw as he studies you, as if memorizing every inch of you.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “And tonight, I will make sure you never forget it.”

And then, finally, he kisses you.

Aegon cradles you in his arms as if you weigh nothing, his grip firm yet gentle as he carries you toward the massive bed draped in silk. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel the hunger in his kiss, the restrained desperation that has been brewing for so long.

The moment your back meets the soft bedding, he hovers over you, his body pressing into yours, yet he does not rush. His thumb brushes over your cheek, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you shiver.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this," he murmurs, his voice thick with something unreadable.

Your breath catches. "Aegon-"

He silences you with another kiss, slow and deep, drawing the air from your lungs. He kisses you as if savoring every second, as if this moment is something sacred to him. When he pulls away, his violet gaze is darker, filled with emotions you cannot name.

"You are the only one who has never demanded anything from me," he says, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips. "Not power. Not a crown. Not a child. You have given me nothing but your presence, your quiet loyalty—" He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. "And yet, you are the only one I have ever wanted."

Your heart clenches at his words. You had always been the overlooked wife, the quiet one, the one people whispered about because Aegon had never called for you as he had his other wives. You had assumed it was because he did not desire you, that you were merely a political arrangement, a piece on the board of conquest.

But now, here he is, looking at you as if you are the only thing that matters. Your fingers trail over his tunic, tracing the exposed skin of his chest, feeling the warmth beneath your touch. "If you wanted me, why did you wait so long?"

Aegon smirks, but there is something almost vulnerable in his expression. "Because I was a fool," he admits. "Because I did not want to ruin you." He leans closer, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth. "You are not like the others. You are not meant to be caged or conquered."

Your breath shudders at his words. "Then what am I meant for?"

His fingers slide down your arm, his grip tightening slightly. "For me," he whispers. "You were meant for me."

A silence falls between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths.

Then, slowly, His fingers skim over your bare skin, eliciting a gasp from your lips. He watches you, his gaze never straying, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

"You are mine," he murmurs, his hands framing your waist. "Say it."

Your throat is dry, your pulse wild, but you manage the words. "I am yours"

A satisfied hum leaves him. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "And I am yours," he confesses, as if it is a secret only meant for you. "Tonight, I will prove it to you."

As soon as Aegon pushes into you, a sharp pain spreads through your body, and a soft cry escapes your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body struggles to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion. Aegon stills above you immediately, his breath ragged, his hands framing your face with unexpected gentleness.

"Shh," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your damp cheek. "I'm sorry, love. I know it hurts." His voice is rough, thick with restraint. "Breathe. Just breathe, sweet girl."

Tears well in your eyes as you cling to him, your body trembling. It is too much, too overwhelming, but Aegon does not move. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses along your skin, whispering soothing words against your ear.

"You are doing so well," he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over your sides. "So perfect for me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will the discomfort away, trying to focus on the warmth of his body against yours, the way his hands never stop moving, never stop comforting you.

"Tell me what you need," he says softly, his lips ghosting over your temple. "I'll do whatever you ask of me."

You hesitate, then exhale shakily. "Just... give me a moment."

Aegon nods, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers intertwine with yours, holding your hands tightly as if anchoring you to him. The pain begins to dull, slowly replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through your limbs. You shift slightly beneath him, and Aegon groans, his control slipping for a brief second before he catches himself.

Your name leaves his lips in a desperate whisper, his hands tightening around yours. "Gods, you feel-" He cuts himself off, exhaling harshly. "Tell me when."

You swallow, meeting his gaze. His violet eyes are darker than you have ever seen them, filled with longing and something deeper, something raw. He is waiting, holding himself back for you.

A flicker of courage sparks in you. You nod. "Now."

Aegon curses under his breath, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before he moves, slow and careful. The pain still lingers, but there is something else now-a heat coiling in your stomach, a sensation unfamiliar yet not unpleasant.

"That's it," Aegon breathes, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. "You're taking me so well."

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepens his thrusts, still gentle, still measured, but more confident now. A soft gasp leaves your lips as the pleasure begins to build, overtaking the pain. Aegon notices, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he kisses your jaw, your neck, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"You like that, don't you?" His voice is husky, teasing. "I can feel you squeezing me, little wife."

A whimper escapes you, and Aegon groans, his movements growing slightly more insistent. His hand slides down, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, before gripping your thigh and pulling you closer.

"You were made for me," he breathes, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it."

Your head feels light, your body burning beneath him, consumed by the sensations he is giving you. "I-" You swallow hard, your voice trembling. "I was made for you."

Aegon growls in satisfaction, his lips crashing against yours. He drinks in your gasps, your moans, his pace quickening as he chases the pleasure that coils between you both.

"'I'll never let you go," he vows against your lips. "Never."

Aegon grips your hips tightly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice is low, possessive.

"Don't hold back," he murmurs. "I want them to hear you. I want them to know you're mine."

Your cheeks burn at his words, but before you can protest, he moves-faster, deeper, his thrusts becoming more demanding. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, and he groans in approval.

"That's it," he praises, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you closer against him. "Let them hear who you belong to."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as pleasure overtakes you, your body trembling beneath him. You try to muffle your sounds against his neck, but Aegon isn't having it. He grips your jaw, tilting your head back so he can see your face.

"Say my name," he commands. "Louder."

You barely recognize your own voice as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Aegon groans, his own control slipping.

His movements become rougher, more desperate, as if he can't get enough of you.

"You feel so perfect," he rasps. "Like you were made for me.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he curses under his breath. His forehead presses against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he drives you both closer to the edge.

And then—he finds it. That spot inside you that makes your entire body jolt. Your head falls back against the pillows, a broken moan escaping you. Aegon smirks, his grip tightening.

"There," he growls. "That's the spot, isn't it?"

You can only whimper in response, the pleasure overwhelming. Aegon's pace grows relentless, chasing your release with singleminded determination.

"Come for me," he urges, his lips brushing against yours. "Let go."

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your back arches, your voice raw as you cry out his name. Aegon follows moments later, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he buries himself inside you, claiming you completely.

For a moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Aegon brushes damp hair from your face, his gaze soft despite the hunger that still lingers in his eyes.

"Mine," he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. "And I'll never let you forget it."

You looked at aegon hesitantly, the question you wanted to ask was too risky. he opened his eyes and realized that you were watching him "What do you want to ask sweet wife?"

Hesitantly you murmured, "Are you not satisfied with me?" your voice is less than a whisper.

Aegon blinks at you, momentarily stunned by your question. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. His golden hair is tousled, his skin still warm from the intimacy you just shared.

"Not satisfied?" he repeats, his voice thick with disbelief. He studies your face, searching for the source of your doubt.

You avoid his gaze, feeling foolish for asking. "I just... I know with Rhaenys and Visenya, you wouldn't stop. I heard the servants talk about it." Your fingers play with the fabric of the sheets, unable to meet his eyes. "But with me, you just stop. I just-"

Aegon cuts you off with a deep chuckle, his hand cupping your cheek, tilting your face to look at him. "Do you truly think I would have stopped if you had asked?" His smirk is teasing, but there's something more in his gaze-something raw, something possessive. "Or do you think you could have even found the words to ask me to?"

Heat rushes to your face as the memories of the night flood your mind. No, you hadn't asked him to stop. You hadn't even thought about it. From the moment he touched you, all logic had left your mind, leaving only the overwhelming desire to have him closer, deeper, forever.

Aegon's thumb brushes against your lower lip. "I've had many nights with them, yes," he admits, his voice quieter now. "But none like this." He leans in, his breath warm against your lips.

"With them, it was duty. An expectation." He presses a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth before whispering, "But with you... gods, with you, I couldn't stop even if I wanted to."

Your breath catches at his words, at the intensity of his confession. Aegon had never spoken to you this way before-not as a husband merely fulfilling an obligation, but as a man who had wanted you, who had lost himself in you.

His lips trail along your jaw, his voice growing husky. "Tell me, my queen, did you want me to stop?"

You shake your head without hesitation, and Aegon chuckles darkly. "| thought so."

He shifts on top of you again, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. "And if you still have any doubts," he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, "perhaps I should remind you just how much I want you again."

His hands move, his touch reigniting the fire between you, and you realize that you will never again question whether Aegon Targaryen desires you.

You could feel him holding back, "You don't need to hold back Aegon" He freezes at your words, his hands stilling against your skin. His violet eyes darken, his brows furrowing slightly as he searches your face. The muscles in his jaw tense as if he's holding something back, something raw and dangerous.

"You don't understand," he murmurs, voice rough. His fingers tighten on your waist, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you grounded. "If I let go, if I take you the way I truly want, I might break you."

You shiver at his confession, at the sheer restraint he has been holding onto this entire time. Aegon Targaryen, your husband, the conqueror, the dragon-he is afraid. Afraid of hurting you.

But you are a dragon too. You have been raised among them, molded by their fire, and you are not fragile.

You cup his face, your thumb grazing the scar that runs along his cheekbone. "Aegon," you whisper, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "I know what I'm asking for. I know who you are." Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently. "I am not some delicate thing that will shatter under your touch. I am your wife. And I want you-all of you."

Aegon's breath shudders. His hands tremble as he grips your hips. His restraint, his control —it's hanging by a thread.

"You say that now," he mutters, his voice strained, his forehead pressing against yours. "But when I take you the way I want-"

"Then take me," you interrupt, your lips brushing against his. "Show me."

Aegon lets out a low growl, his patience finally snapping. His mouth crashes against yours, consuming you with a hunger that has been caged for far too long. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the shift instantly-the loss of restraint, the unraveling of his carefully controlled passion.

"You asked for this," he warns, his voice a deep rasp against your ear. "Don't beg me to stop later."

You meet his eyes, fire burning in your own. "I never will."

Aegon groans, something between reverence and possession. Then, he moves, his grip unrelenting, his body pressing you down into the mattress as he claims you without hesitation, without holding back.

You gasp, arching against him, your fingers clawing at his back as he takes what is his— what has always been his. Aegon kisses you fiercely, swallowing your cries as he moves with a desperate need that shakes through both of you.

"Mine," he growls against your skin. "You are mine."

And for the first time, there is no hesitation, no fear. Only fire. Only you and him, burning together.

Aegon's laughter rumbles deep in his chest as he watches you writhe beneath him, his grip on your chin firm but not painful. His violet eyes burn with something primal, something possessive, and the heat of it makes your breath hitch.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his thumb stroking your lower lip. "So beautiful, so perfect like this. My little queen, coming undone beneath me."

You whimper his name, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he moves with deliberate, punishing thrusts. Each one sends shockwaves through your body, making your mind hazy, your vision blur.

Aegon chuckles darkly, leaning down to kiss your forehead, his lips soft against your overheated skin. But his next words send a fresh shudder through you.

"I want my heir in you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I want to see you swollen with my child, to watch you carry the blood of the dragon inside you."

Your breath falters, a soft moan slipping past your lips at his claim. He watches your reaction closely, smirking at the way you tremble beneath him.

"Do you want that, sweet wife?" he taunts, slowing his movements to a deep, languid pace that has you gasping. "Do you want to give me my heir?"

"Aegon-" You whisper his name like a prayer, your fingers curling into the sheets, your body arching into his.

"Say it," he demands, his grip tightening on your waist, his breath warm against your lips. "Say you want to carry my child."

Your heart pounds, your mind swimming in the overwhelming sensation of him-his heat, his strength, his desire. And when you finally find your voice, you give him what he wants.

"Yes," you breathe, your eyes locking onto his. "I want it, Aegon. I want to give you an heir."

Aegon groans, his control snapping completely as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his body moving against yours with renewed intensity. His hands roam possessively over your skin, his touch branding you as his own.

"You are mine," he growls against your lips. "And soon, the whole realm will know it."

Aegon watches you, mesmerized by the way your body moves beneath him, how your breasts bouncing with every thrusts he gave you, how your lips part as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, your nails digging into his arms as he drives into you with a pace that leaves no room for escape.

"Gods," he groans, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "You have no idea how beautiful you are like this, how perfect you look beneath me."

You barely register his words, your mind lost in the overwhelming pleasure he's giving you. But Aegon isn't done yet. His hands grip your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he slows his thrusts, dragging out each movement with a teasing precision that has you whimpering.

"Open your eyes, sweet wife," he commands, his voice rough, edged with desperation.

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze-wild, filled with fire, with something deeper, something that shakes you to your core. His hand cradles your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

"You always ask why I won't let you join the war," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your parted lips. "It's because I can't lose you."

Your breath catches, his words sinking in even as your body trembles beneath him. His grip tightens, his eyes burning into yours.

"I can fight battles, I can burn cities, but if i were to lose you-" He shakes his head, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. "I would lose myself."

Your hands cup his face, pulling him down for a kiss, slow and deep, pouring everything you feel into it. Aegon groans into your mouth, swallowing your sighs, his body claiming yours completely.

"You belong to me," he whispers against your lips. "And I will never let anything take you away from me."

And with that, he thrusts into you one last time, his body tensing, his grip on you bruising as he finally finds his release, pulling you over the edge with him.

He collapses against you, his breath heavy, his heart pounding wildly against your own. And in the quiet after, as he holds you close, his arms wrapped around you like a shield, you know that there is no place safer than here, in his embrace.

Aegon's breath hitches as you slowly lift yourself onto his lap, your thighs trembling from exhaustion, but you ignore it. Rhaenys's words echo in your mind-Aegon likes it when you take control. And now, as you straddle him, his hands resting uncertainly on your waist, you see the truth in it. His violet eyes widen slightly in surprise, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come.

Instead, you lower yourself onto him, taking him in inch by inch, and a deep groan rumbles in his chest. His grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging into your skin as if to steady himself.

"Gods," he breathes, his head falling back against the headboard. "You're going to be the death of me, sweet wife."

A small, breathy laugh escapes you as you place your hands on his shoulders, your fingers tracing the muscles there, feeling them tense beneath your touch. You move slowly at first, rolling your hips experimentally, and Aegon's response is immediate—a low, strangled moan, his hands sliding up your back before gripping your hair and pulling you in for a bruising kiss.

"You enjoy this, don't you?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with amusement, but also something deeper— something desperate.

You meet his gaze, your cheeks flushed, your breaths shallow. "You do too," you whisper, testing your power over him by shifting your hips again. His whole body tenses beneath you, his nails pressing into your skin.

His laugh is rough, almost breathless. "I do." His hands trail down to your hips, guiding your movements now, his patience slipping away as he urges you to move faster. "Take what you want from me, my love. I am yours."

The way he says it-so open, so raw-sends shivers down your spine. You move with newfound confidence, chasing your own pleasure, and Aegon watches you with something akin to awe. His hands never leave your body, touching you wherever he can, like he's memorizing you, like he needs to feel you to believe this moment is real.

"You look divine," he murmurs, his voice strained. "Like a queen sitting on her throne."

You whimper at his words, at the fire in his eyes, and he groans when you clench around him in response. His head falls forward, his lips finding your throat, his teeth grazing your skin before he kisses the spot tenderly.

"I should've taken you like this from the start," he mutters, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "Should've let you ruin me."

Your heart pounds at his confession, at the way he surrenders to you so completely. You lean down, capturing his lips with yours in a slow, deep kiss, and Aegon swallows your moans, his arms wrapping around you as if to fuse your bodies together.

He's close now-you can feel it in the way his cock start twitching inside of you, in the way his grip tightens, his breath growing heavier. And when you finally tip over the edge, calling his name like a prayer, he follows immediately after, his arms holding you close as he loses himself in you completely.

For a long moment, neither of you move. You simply rest against him, your foreheads touching, your breaths mingling. Aegon's fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, his hold on you possessive yet tender.

"You are my undoing," he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. "And I would let you ruin me over and over again."

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you curl against his chest, and for the first time since your marriage began, you feel like you truly belong to him-not just as his wife, but as his equal, as the only one who could ever bring the mighty Aegon the Conqueror to his knees.

Aegon moves swiftly, his strong hands gripping your waist as he flips you onto your back. A surprised gasp escapes your lips, but he silences it with a deep kiss, his body pressing down against yours, molding you into the mattress beneath him. His warmth surrounds you, his presence consuming every inch of your being.

He pulls away just enough to meet your gaze, his violet eyes burning with something primal, something possessive. "Mine," he murmurs, his voice rough yet tender. "Say it."

You shudder beneath him, your hands sliding up his arms to grasp his shoulders. "Yours, Aegon. I'm yours."

A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, satisfied with your answer, and then he moves -slow, deliberate, sinking himself back into you as if to claim you once more. You arch into him, your nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure roll through you.

"Gods," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "You feel-" His words cut off as he thrusts deeper, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He shudders, his lips grazing your skin. "So perfect. So fucking perfect."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, wanting to feel all of him. He grunts at the movement, his pace faltering for a brief moment before he grips your thighs, anchoring himself to you.

"I've waited for this," he confesses, voice hoarse with need. "For you." He lifts his head, his nose brushing against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Do you know how long I've dreamed of this, of you?"

Your heart stammers at his words, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. You press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering, "Then take me, Aegon."

A guttural sound escapes him, something between a growl and a moan, and he does exactly that. He moves with purpose, with possession, as if trying to engrave himself into your very soul. His hands roam your body, memorizing every dip and curve, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch.

And as the pleasure builds, as the world outside this bed fades away, you whisper to him again and again, "I love you, Aegon."

His movements slow for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening slightly as if caught off guard. Then, a soft, almost reverent smile spreads across his lips, and he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep it steals your breath.

"I love you too," he murmurs against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "More than you'll ever know."

And with that, he drives into you once more, worshiping you, claiming you, making sure that from this night forward, there will be no doubt in your mind-you belong to him, just as he belongs to you.

Aegon watches you with hunger in his violet eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he drives into you relentlessly. Your body arches, seeking more of him, your hands clutching his shoulders like a lifeline. Every thrust steals the breath from your lungs, every movement sending you spiraling further into oblivion.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So beautiful like this-mine to take, mine to ruin."

Your lips part, a broken moan escaping as his hands roam your body. He knows exactly where to touch, where to press, where to make you lose yourself completely. You're drowning in him, your senses overwhelmed by his scent, his warmth, the sheer dominance of his presence.

"Aegon-" His name falls from your lips like a prayer, your voice trembling.

He chuckles darkly, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer, deeper. "Say it again," he commands, his breath hot against your ear.

You obey without hesitation, your nails digging into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. "Aegon-please-"

He growls at your desperation, his pace growing rougher, more desperate. His hands slip beneath your thighs, lifting your legs higher so he can bury himself even deeper.

The sensation is too much, your body trembling, your head thrown back as you come undone beneath him. His gaze locks onto your face, mesmerized by the way your lips part, the way your eyes squeeze shut in pure bliss. "Gods, you're perfect," he rasps, his movements never slowing.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he shifts, flipping you onto your stomach. A gasp leaves you as he presses his chest against your back, his lips tracing the curve of your neck. His hands slide down your body, gripping your waist as he enters you again, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through you.

Your fingers grasp at the sheets, your voice breaking into breathless cries. "Aegon-"

"That's it," he groans, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Let them hear you. Let them all know who you belong to."

Your mind is a haze, your body nothing but fire and sensation. He's relentless, pushing you further, pulling you under until you're lost in him completely. Your world narrows to the feeling of him, the sound of his breath, the way he whispers your name like a promise.

When you shatter again, it's with his name on your lips, his hands holding you close, grounding you even as he takes you apart. And as the pleasure fades, as your body melts into his, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing circles against your skin.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your ear, his voice softer now, filled with something deeper, something more. "And I'll never let you go."

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see it-love, raw and unguarded, shining in his violet eyes. A slow smile curls on your lips as you whisper back, "I was always yours, Aegon."

Aegon's arms tighten around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles over your stomach. His touch is almost reverent, as if he's memorizing the shape of you beneath his hands. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his grip lingers as if he's afraid to let go.

"I should have taken you sooner," he murmurs, his voice tinged with something between regret and longing. "Should have claimed you the moment you were mine."

You turn slightly in his embrace, your fingers reaching for his hand, gently lacing your fingers with his. "You have me now," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "And I will give you what you want, Aegon. I will bear your children."

A sharp inhale escapes him, his arms tightening instinctively as he buries his face against your shoulder. His lips press against your bare skin, lingering there, his exhale warm and shaky. "You don't know what that means to me," he admits, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual arrogance.

"Sleep, my queen," he murmurs against your ear, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your stomach.

You sigh in contentment, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Goodnight, my king."

And as your eyes flutter shut, you know this is only the beginning.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow

[ashblooddragons]

Holy shit this was amazing! I adored every moment! The way Aemond was obsessed with her, the way she was obsessed with him? Immaculate!

Also I did not see that plot twist coming! The way I gasped was unreal! I scared my dog it was so sudden and loud.

Also that smit was amazing! I loved how instead of them accepting what they did they both were repulsed at what they did. It matched the time period perfectly.

I loved this, will be reading more from this author, and you all can deal with it!

Highly recommend for all my Aemond girlys!

Sweetly desire, bitterly deprive

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ Victorian Horror • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, partial rape, choking, violence, murder and suicide, obsession ]

[ description: Lost in his own emptiness and cold, Aemond lives with his family in their large estates, wandering their halls like a ghost, lost in his own madness. One day, his mother's friend arrived at their manor with her husband and daughter. He becomes obsessed with her, which leads to a series of unfortunate events. Obsessive, delving into madness, poetic, very dark! Aemond. ]

This oneshot is my idea and a reference to the wonderful work of Edgar Allan Poe, his Eleanor and Morella and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that something in him had disappeared, collapsed when he lost his left eye − he had partly ceased to be human and had become some kind of caricatured creature, menacing, tall as a tower, pale and cold as marble.

He had never lacked anything − his family was wealthy, owning many mansions all over the country, all identically decorated, sumptuously adorned with portraits of their ancestors looking at him melancholy and proudly out of the canvas, continually judging him.

He had the impression that at night their faces changed − his great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers seemed suddenly to be some kind of phantoms, their faces contorted, displeased at the sight of him, his existence.

He still felt watched, he felt overwhelmed, he felt that something hovered over him, but he could not name this premonition, this certainty.

He had tried to explain it to his mother once, but she had looked at him with such concerned, frightened eyes that he decided he would never mention it again.

He knew that his family considered him insane − a man out of his mind, irrational, aggressive in his words, with a gaze that cut like a sharp blade, making interlocutors turn their faces away from him, unable to bear it.

He saw her for the first time when she arrived at their residence with her parents, Mr and Mrs Orwell, at the invitation of his mother, who had been friends with Mrs Orwell as a child. He watched closely her small, graceful figure standing in the corridor behind her parents, her gaze lowered downwards, thoughtful.

She shuddered as if she subconsciously sensed that she was being watched and glanced in his direction − her pupils dilated suddenly, as if from a dream world she had returned to earth with the cruel pull of some unknown force, as if his figure, his silhouette had crushed her.

They stared at each other for too long to be considered in accordance with good manners − only when her parents walked into the living room where he sat did he rise from his chair, reminding himself of such a basic thing as breathing, and straightened up, folding his arms behind him, allowing himself to introduce the people who would be guests in their home from now on.

He knew that Miss Orwell could feel his burning gaze on her, fleeing from him to the far end of the room, looking at the books stacked on the shelves of the old oak bookcase.

He watched from behind her beautiful neck, her hair pinned up in a bun and braids framing her head on either side − her gown was sewn from a delicate, light-coloured fabric, its cut was simple, perfectly emphasising her figure, her almost bare shoulders.

Her neck and her shoulders drove him mad.

The perfect curve of the transition of one part of her body into the other, her shiny, soft skin, the softness of the shape that was forming.

Then he lifted his gaze higher and discovered her slightly rounded, short, proportionate nose, forming a perfect angle with her straight, smooth forehead, the totality of this view framed by her eyes like precious stones, bright, shining, surrounded by long lashes like veils, emphasising its depths, giving her an aura of mystery.

Finally, he struggled to dare to shift his attention to the most intimate exposed part of her body, her fleshy, full, pink lips, both pressed against each other, still remaining virtually imperceptibly parted, the point of their contact seeming incredibly soft and moist.

He saw her throw him an uncertain, frightened look and clench her hands in front of her, not knowing how to act, how to dissuade him − she only relaxed when his sister, Helaena, walked into their living room.

They greeted each other as if they were old friends − even though they were seeing each other for the first time, they grasped each other's hands and from then on they were inseparable.

He often watched them through the window, seeing their silhouettes move unhurriedly ahead of them through their vast park, discussing with each other something in a cheerful voice and laughing, their pearly sounds reaching his ears muffled by the glass.

In his presence, her smile disappeared from her face, her laughter died in her throat and a faint dread coated her, her pupils dilated suddenly, her lips pressed together in fear.

His tall figure standing over her frightened her, his hands folded stiffly behind his back seemed frozen like a stone − unable to make a sound near him, she lowered her gaze quickly, terrified.

One day, however, she dared to take a step towards him − a step towards the unknown, as, realising that he spent every evening by candlelight sitting in their library reading books, she joined him.

He watched her every move vigilantly, not taking his eye off her − her delicate figure strolled around the room in a light, slow motions, her hands folded in front of her in a humble gesture.

He could not express how melancholic and heavenly she looked walking like that in the faint light of the candles, her person seemed as if enveloped in a mist, a glow.

He felt himself to be merely an observer of events, a point to which all her presence referred, being a counterbalance to her subtlety, spread out around her like the blackness of the night that surrounded them.

She looked at him at last, for the first time as if she really wanted to see him, what was inside him, what was inside his heart, inside his mind − he looked at her with empty eye, knowing that there was only nothingness there, an abyss, a coldness without end or measure.

He was surprised at her courage, at how confidently she walked towards him, standing by his side, looking over his shoulder, wanting to see what he was reading.

He did not turn his head behind her − he only watched the shadow of her silhouette out of the corner of his eye − he could feel beside himself the warmth emanating from her body, her scent, the rustling of her gown made him feel a tickle in his fingers.

"Machiavelli. What a brutal choice." She whispered, but there was no disapproval or judgement in her word, more a soft surprise − there was something in the way she said the last sentence, in the way the tip of her tongue clicked as she uttered the syllables, that made him lick his lower lip involuntarily, turning the page.

"Brutal?" He asked lowly, hearing the timbre of his own voice, glassy, cutting like a blade, clear, assured, cool.

He heard her swallow quietly and draw in the air, her body standing beside him somehow enveloping him in her existence, pleasantly teasing all his senses.

"Cesare Borgia was his ideal of a ruler. That says enough about him." She said lowly − he heard her avert her gaze thoughtfully, looking at some point in the distance.

Involuntarily, the tip of his tongue ran over his lower lip, moistening it − he grinned at her words, shifting in his seat.

"They are both no longer among us and have no way to defend themselves from your cruel judgement." He murmured softly, lifting his eyes to her at last.

Their gazes crossed, her eyes at once full of uncertainty and curiosity − he had the feeling that her figure was quivering and trembling, too filled with life, the desire to breathe, to move, to feel.

They looked at each other and he knew that they had both experienced this when he first saw her, when they were unable to stop, when they both realised that something was happening between them that they could not tell anyone about.

He didn't know how it happened, what moved his loins to stand up, towering over her to grab her with ease and seat her on the table. He decided that it was just purest curiosity, as his fingertips ran over her shoulder, over that gorgeous arm, and traveled up the hill of the length of her neck, his hand tightened around it, again, merely in curiosity, and he found to his surprise that it fit there perfectly.

He looked at her face, into her eyes glittering like the most expensive precious stones darkened by the veil of her lashes, looking at him hazy, hesitant, at once fearful and devoted, wanting and demanding. When he took a step towards her her thighs spread in front of him like a book, as if it were the most natural of reflexes that didn't even surprise him.

Without letting go of her gorgeous neck he began to travel and explore the mysterious nooks and crannies of her body occupying his mind, the finger of his free hand lifting tentatively the material of her gown and her petticoat, running over her ankle covered from him by the soft material.

He ran his hand upwards, higher and higher, as if running his finger over to the surface of the water, until he reached the soft, surprisingly hot skin of her naked thigh and they both parted their lips, looking at each other wordlessly, breathing deeply.

His fingers ran over her flesh as if it were the keys of a piano, pressing her skin, and made their way to what was between her thighs, to what he could feel the pulsing heat from, the source of her trembling, of her sleepless nights.

She let out a shuddering, sweet sigh as he touched her there and found her sticky moisture, with circular motions collecting it on his fingers, both of them looking at each other as if surprised by this discovery, this disturbing, intimate act.

With each movement of his fingers, with each circle across her warmth, her thighs spread wider and wider in front of him, her body finding support on her palms placed on the table top, her breasts hidden under her gown rising and falling, her hips beginning to meet his movements.

He had the feeling that they were both in a trance, that they didn't understand what they were doing and didn't want to understand it − they weren't thinking about it or judging it, they were simply discovering a new experience, testing the taste of the sweet, unspoken secret that hid deep between her thighs, the loud, shameless click of her wetness accompanying every flick of his hand.

He licked his lips when at last the tip of his finger met the tight slit between her folds which throbbed with heat, wet and pulsing. Encouraged by this intriguing discovery, he slid his finger there, wanting to see what she felt like inside − he found with interest that her core was rough and fleshy, throbbing and slick, clenching steadily on his skin, her head arched back with a cry of exertion.

He slid his finger deeper, feeling it stretch her entire structure, pushing deep into her flesh, and a quiet, ungodly mewl erupted from her lips, her eyes clenched, her mouth parted in something akin to elation, delight.

He felt his body react, a pleasant heat and pulsation in his erection, the same as he felt inside her − he thought they were like two parts of the same thing, like two sides of the same story, beginning and end, day and night, sun and moon.

Just as everything had its companion, just as the world had for centuries misunderstood the nature of loneliness, telling people to discover the joys of living with someone, man and woman were destined to explore themselves with amazement.

He slipped his finger out of her and, with a light, unhurried movement, untied the fabric of his breeches, lowering them slightly so that she could not see what was beneath them, hiding that sickeningly physical, animalistic sight beneath her gown.

She knew what was about to happen, and though she didn't understand it, she felt subconsciously that from the moment they looked at each other they were destined to connect, to take something and give something to each other.

She trembled all over as he directed the tip of his length with his palm against her burning, hot entrance, her body instantly refusing this sudden, unholy act of divine violation.

"− don't −" He hissed coolly, and she froze, looking at him tearfully, letting him force the pink head of his erection, dripping with his moisture, inside her.

With surprising patience and devotion she endured the discomfort of fitting him inside her, a weary, helpless sob came from her lips − he opened her slowly on his manhood, bit by bit, stretching her tight muscles, sinking into the warmth of her flesh.

He realised suddenly that he was inside her, that he was her and she was him.

That they were a whole, that he would never be complete again without her.

His hand tightened around her neck and did not let her escape, slamming into her with a quiet grunt of sickening pleasure, sliding into her so deeply that she throbbed, seeking fulfillment in it, any kind of relief.

He gave in to his animal instinct, the feeling that he craved to rub against her, craved for her to squeeze him, craved to move inside her − the thrusts of his hips were violent, intense, deep, sure, as if taking her, filling her with himself again and again, physical stretching of her body with his flesh was written into his nature.

Their bodies pounded against each other with wet, loud clicks of her moisture as if they were fighting, as if he was about to pierce her with himself − her head was tilted back, her expression showing simultaneous delight and horror at this unexpectedly pleasurable act.

She was panting along with him, giving herself over completely to his brutal thrusts, needed to be filled, to be satisfied.

"− you won't escape from me − you know that, don't you? − I'm going to fill you −" He growled between one quick, hard slap of his hips and the next, and she only mewled a desperate plea, refusing and at the same time asking him to do it, writhing beneath him, her face all flushed with pleasure.

"− no − please − God, forgive me −" She cried out with difficulty, tears of effort, pain and delight running down her cheeks, her body leaning back, surrendering at last.

He felt her insides suddenly clench violently against him and begin to convulse, a moan of sweet suffering came from her lips, her body shook with a wave of something he was yet to understand.

This sight made him speed up instead of slowing down, feeling that something was about to happen, that he was already so close.

"− yes − don't resist me − fuck! −" He cursed for the first time in his life, feeling that his whole body was in a hot frenzy, his hips moving deep inside her throughout her fulfilment, her hands trying fruitlessly to push him away with her loud, broken moans, unable to take any more, overstimulated and sensitive.

He made a low, throaty, animalistic sound as a wave of pleasure shook him − he felt his own fluid spilling over her insides, filling her like wine fills a chalice, and he thought it made him feel the most natural reflex in his life, the filling and that she felt exactly the same way about the sensation of being filled, as if it was her primal, most important need.

Not to be empty.

They stared at each other, breathing loudly, feeling the fog around them begin to blur and disappear, their vision began to sharpen, their cool judgement returned to their minds, and with horror they realised at last what they had done.

They pulled away from each other in pain, both feeling that the fact that they were no longer one was unnatural, ungodly, against some fundamental law.

They were incomplete again.

They were imperfect again.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she corrected her gown in despair − she stepped down from the table and ran out of the room with a loud, broken sob, terrified of their act, of what consequences it might bring.

He tied his breeches back, sitting down in his chair with difficulty and listened to the intense pounding of his heart, staring blankly ahead, trying to calm his breathing, feeling more empty than ever.

Over the next few days she avoided him again, her face even paler than when he first saw her − he had the feeling that she was in a progressive agony, that she was dying before his eyes.

Wanting to put an end to their torment, one morning he moved after her, seeing that she had gone for a walk through their park, and asked for her hand.

Only then did she confess to him, crying with unspeakable pain, that her fiancé had been waiting for her for weeks.

He felt like he had fallen into a state of complete emptiness and wasn't sure he understood her words.

He even thought they were amusing as he sat in the living room, taking a sip of wine from his glass, chuckling under his breath, much to the consternation of those gathered.

It wasn't until several hours later that people began to be concerned about her disappearance.

He took no part in the search.

As he walked down the corridor of his mansion in the evening heading towards his room, he looked at the appraising faces of his grandparents, their eyes seemingly bulging, terrified, their lips clenched as if in rage.

He began to rip portrait after portrait off the wall, destroying frames and canvases, causing a commotion all around him − his mother tried to calm him down, but he broke free from her embrace.

It was only when he walked into his bedroom that he noticed her silhouette, pale and corpse-like, her eyes wide open, looking towards the door as if she was waiting for him, his bedclothes all covered in her blood.

He saw out of the corner of his eye an open window facing straight into their park and realised that she had broken in here, taken his letter knife and slit her wrists.

He approached her slowly, feeling the pounding of his heart, the sweat on the back of his neck as he noticed the bruises on her neck, a clear marks matching his hands that he was sure he hadn't seen when he had spoken to her that morning.

How could that be?

He glanced at the floor out of the corner of his eye and saw his shirt, all dirty from the sand and grass.

He began to breathe deeply, feeling the whole room swirl around him.

He pushed from his mind the sight of her terrified face, the sight of her tears when she fell with him to the ground, when he told her that he was empty without her, that he had filled her with himself and she could not be anyone else's, just as he could never be anyone else's again.

It seemed to him that she had come to terms with his words, for she stopped struggling, looking at him with affection, and he praised and comforted her, telling her that the end would come soon, that she would fall asleep, that she would not be in pain.

When she stopped moving and fainted he took her body in his arms, numb and spilling in his fingers, and walked as if in a trance through his open window into his bedroom.

He laid her on his bed, where she belonged, right beside him, and left, longing to return to her in the night, believing that she had fallen into an eternal sleep.

She woke up.

She finished his work.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[ashblooddragons]

This was such a great little smut drabble! I loved how Aegon seemed to get pleasure from praising her as much as she got from being praised.

Highly recommend for all my Aegon Girlys who want something short and sweet!

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 — 𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

кเик†๏вэя, 𝓭𝐚𝔂 ①③

𝖯𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄

Aegon couldn’t help but watch with a smirk on his face as you lied beneath him, begging him to keep talking.

“Aegon! Please, talk t’ me!” You whimpered, tugging on his hair, earning a low groan to slip past his lips.

“Hm, what do you wanna hear princess? You want me to tell you how good you’re doing?”

“Yes!” You moaned, nodding your head as he kept his pace, slamming into you.

“You’re doing so good, so much better than a whore” He moaned, leaning down and placing a kiss on your lips, “Feel so much better, so much tighter.”

“I’m your good girl” You whimpered, bucking your hips up to meet his pace, feeling your high approaching.

“Yeah? say it again,”

“I’m your good girl! Only yours! My husband!” You rambled, your nails digging into his neck slightly, feeling yourself cum on his cock.

“My pretty little wife” He agreed, placing yet another kiss to your lips, “Only mine, only a good girl for me”

“Only for you” You nodded as his cum spilled into you.

“Gonna get my good girl full with my child, make you swell, you want that, princess?”

“Yes!” You nodded as he smirked, using his fingers to push his cum back inside you, another string of praises falling from his lips.

[ashblooddragons]

I will always reboot gifs or art of these two because I love them so fucking much and we were robbed!

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐋 as 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇 as 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

House of the Dragon 1.06. smiling at laena, putting a cushion behind her back.

[ashblooddragons]

AHHHHHHHH! I literally can't right now!

I love how even in her time of struggle she's thinking of her sisters. I love how she wants to learn but is afraid to. I love how even though she's scared she still tries.

But what I loved most is how Azriels shadows just can't stop touching her. Like they don't need to move around they just need to hold her wrist or finger but they CHOSE to slowly hold her more. I think it shows Azriels desire in a way.

I can't wait for her to talk to someone else! I hope she picks Azriel because his shadows helped him!

Amazing chapter I am literally OK the edge of my seat for more!

Whispers Woven in Shadow. (2/?)

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧? 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚? 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚? 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 ; 𝖠𝗓𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗅 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖮𝖢 (𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; Okay, first of all, you guys are AMAZING. 🥹🩵 Thank you so much for all the love and comments on the first chapter! I honestly didn’t think anyone would like it because of all the Azriel fics out there, but I’m grateful for how well-received it is! I hope you enjoy this just as much!

𝖳𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ; 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲, 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿-𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗹.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ; 3633.

The shadow spoke in a breathless whisper, trickling in with the cool breeze of the night, and a hand flew up to her mouth. She held in whatever sound was threatening to burst free and struggled for a minute to remain focused.

I can hear you in my head! Just like I do myself. Oh! Ariadne blinks in a rush, her vision becoming watery. You’re the first voice that I’ve ever heard in my life besides my own! This is incredible! Have I always been able to do this?

Since you were Made.

Does this mean I can talk to anyone now? Ariadne felt like she was going to explode, every one of her limbs trembling as she tried to process exactly what it was that was happening; she could hear - not in a traditional sense, but it was still something - and it was the most exciting thing that she had ever had.

Once you learn.

She supposed that made sense. It would be just like anything else; practice makes perfect and being immortal meant she had nothing but time, right?

Will you… help? Ariadne opens her palm as the shadow circles around before wrapping around her arm. Normally, I’d teach myself but this isn’t exactly the same as what I’ve done in the past. I don’t even know where to start. Does Azriel know you’re here? Did he send you? Does he know too? Does anyone else?

You will be led in the right direction. And no to your other questions.

How did you end up knowing? Especially when no one else did? That was what was bothering her the most. If the shadows were commanded, then why had this one in particular broke away from the rest to come to her?

The shadows gather information from all across Prythian and have come across Daemati before. They are rare, but they are out there. Feyre Cursebreaker is one. We could sense it in you.

Then why wouldn’t Azriel know? Aren’t you supposed to report everything to him?

Not always.

It sounded almost amused at that and Ariadne was beginning to realize that Azriel’s shadows had a mind of their own. Emotion too. That would definitely be something.

But for now, you need to sleep. There are bruises under your eyes.

She rests her other hand in her lap, trailing the tip of her finger along the embroidered filigree. I don’t sleep very well.

You have nightmares.

Her eyes widened a fraction. How did you know that?

When you made the entrance in the wall in your mind, you allowed access to what is inside and everything is chaotic in here. I did not snoop.

A tickling sensation bubbles up in her throat and Ariadne quickly swallows it back down; she didn’t know what her laugh sounded like, so she didn’t do it often. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed.

I don’t know why, but I believe you. I’ll… work on the chaos, the corner of her mouth curves upwards, not quite a smile but it was progress. And I’ll try to sleep too. I won’t make any promises though.

Good. Tomorrow, we will go to the library.

Ariadne’s gaze flicks to the closed door and she nibbles on the inside of her lip. Today was the first time she had left this room and now she was going to do it the very next day? Even if - she had to admit - it wasn’t so bad. Nothing horrible happened to her and she had managed to do what she wanted, almost, on her own.

Surely she could make it to the library and back with a similar result.

Alright, she nods. I can do that.

Of course you can. Sleep now.

The shadow’s whisper leaves her mind and she blinks, feeling around at the opalescent wall to see the opening was still there. How could she close it? Think of it molding back, Ariadne takes a breath. Piece by piece until it’s shut.

She grits her teeth with the effort it takes, a bit of sweat forming on her brow as the pressure builds beneath her skull; her breaths were heavier and there was a flash of bright light behind her eyes, yet she continued on until it began to come together.

It wasn’t happening as fast as she would’ve liked and it hurt, but by that damn Cauldron, she was doing it.

And she couldn’t help the glimmer of pride that shone in her when the opening closed completely, leaving only that moonlight glow behind.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

The nightmares came as they always did. In flashes of images that she desperately wanted to forget and in bursts of pain that reminded her she had screamed in the water after being thrown in, and there had been no one to hear her as liquid filled her lungs, cutting off her air supply and choking, burning. Too much. It felt like everything was on fire and she was being torched from the inside out.

And she never wanted to feel that ever again.

It also led to her only lightly napping for a couple hours, which did her no good at all, but she was in no position to complain either. Everything had happened so quickly, even if she was sleeping well, it would still take awhile to recover.

At least she tried.

Ariadne had managed to wash up in the bathroom, which actually went better than she thought, and was already dressed, though she didn’t eat. Her appetite could still use some work. None of it was appealing and made her want to vomit, in truth, so that was for another day.

The shadow hadn’t come back yet and it was approaching mid-morning. Did that mean she was expected to go alone? She’d never been there before and sure, the kitchen was easy enough to find, but what if this was harder?

And that means what? That you’re going to quit? You’ve dealt with worse and you can make it to the library on your own, Ariadne stands with a huff and strides over to the door, opening it and walking out to the left instead of the right. See, I can do it myself.

She keeps going with purpose in each step and passes by the doors that housed more bedrooms until she reaches the end of the hall. It curves to the left and she decides to follow it, figuring this was the best option right now.

I wonder if Nesta has at least been reading. I know she’s worried about Elain, but she needs to worry about herself too, Ariadne glances over her shoulder as if she would find the steely-eyed gaze of her sister and is relieved when she doesn’t. Maybe you could bring her some after you’re done.

It would give her a chance to feel some sort of connection back to their old life and what she loved to do.

They all needed that.

Ariadne’s fingers twitch and she takes a breath as she looks up to see a set of double doors, made of some sort of mahogany - she guessed - with iron handles. Hilarious, she rolls her eyes and pulls it open to see inside. Ah-ha! I’m good at this.

She’d found the library.

It smelled like ink and paper with a hint of lemons. And it was cozy too, with overstuffed armchairs and a loveseat arranged around the fireplace, decorative pillows, tables with potted lilies and vines, stacks of notes, plush rugs, and rows and rows of shelves filled with books.

You gotta be kidding me, Ariadne walks over to one of the shelves and runs her fingers over the spines. There has to be hundreds in here. This is insane, she bites her bottom lip. Where do I even start?

She squints at the titles and selects a few that she thought might be useful, along with one or two that just seemed like they would be fun to read. It couldn’t hurt to see what type of fiction was over here in Prythian.

After gathering them all in her arms, Ariadne makes her way over to one of the armchairs and sets the stack of books on the small table beside it. She moves to grab for plain paper and something to write with when a bound leather notebook and a cream colored quill with an inkpot appears right before her eyes.

Just like the orange juice, she sits down and pulls her legs up underneath herself. Amazing, really. I didn’t even have to ask you to do that, the first book she grabs is one about magic and powers of the Fae in Prythian; if any of them would have information about Daemati, this would - probably - be the one.

Ariadne flips it open and runs her finger along the page, finding herself wondering how old it was, how far the history went back. It was truly something to think about.

The seven Courts of Prythian each have a type of magic that is specific to that area and the High Lords are the most powerful, some of them even having additional abilities.

Winter Court Fae have ice manipulation, which also extends to frost and snow.

Autumn Court Fae have fire, able to create and wield flames.

Summer Court Fae control water, forming it into any shape, any size, and will it where they wish.

Spring Court Fae are connected to the earth and air, finding their power in nature and blending into their surroundings.

Dawn Court Fae brings the art of healing, producing some of the greatest Healers in Prythian, talented enough to mend any injury.

Day Court Fae have light and are able to break through darkness, showing the truth. High Lord Helion is known as the Spell-Cleaver.

Night Court Fae controls darkness, bending it to their will and stealing sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell.

Ariadne tilts her head and quickly grabs the notebook and quill, settling the inkpot on the arm of the chair and beginning to jot down notes. She wanted to know everything that she could; Feyre came back with multiple powers after being resurrected and who was to say the same hadn’t happened to her?

She deserved to know that about herself if that were the case.

To control the mind is deadly. If a Fae holds this power and wields it against another, death is certain to follow.

That didn’t seem like something she would be able to do, so maybe it was just the mind reading then? Or rather, Daemati? What was the difference?

Ariadne underlines a few times and turns through the pages in search of the word ‘Daemati’, knowing that there had to be something. Rare or not.

They are called Daemati. This is an exceedingly rare gift that the Mother only hands out to those She chooses. A Fae who has this ability can read, influence, and shatter one’s mind.

Many, especially those in positions of power, learn to train against a Daemati. The methods differ for each Fae and each Court.

So it did mean she would be able to do that. Supposedly. But how? Ariadne wasn’t a violent person and to crush someone’s mind and kill them? There was no way she could ever be capable of something like that.

Not in a million years.

All she wanted was to be able to talk with another person - even if it wasn’t the usual way, who cares? - and then it wouldn’t just be her anymore, which was huge. It was something she had wanted for a long time and she would be a fool not to at least venture into the mind reading portion of it.

And letting in another person like she had managed with the shadow last night.

Ariadne wanted to figure out how, but it seemed that whoever had written this one decided not to give out too much information on the subject. I could ask Rhysand? He’s one, isn’t he? But I have no idea how to ask him and even if I did… I don’t really want to, she frowns.

It can’t be too hard. If a Daemati controls the mind, then I’d need something to protect myself, wouldn’t I? That’s what that wall could’ve been. Think about it, she taps her finger on the page. You had to create an opening for the shadow to get in and be able talk to you, then when it left, you had to close it back.

Her finger moves faster and she sits up a little straighter, writing down a few more notes. That keeps people out, but also lets people in, she dips the end of the quill into the ink. And from what the shadow said, it could see I had nightmares and said it was chaotic, so maybe I have to organize everything and keep certain things locked away. Like in a safe.

The movement of the quill across the paper quickened, putting all Ariadne’s thoughts in black and white, her mind racing with how much she was discovering and absorbing already.

That’ll be hard, considering I’ve never had to worry about anyone being in my head before. Not impossible though, which is good. Where should I start? Raising and lowering the wall? That would be the obvious choice, she places the cap on the inkpot and sets it back on the table, not wanting it to spill. Okay, her eyes fall to a close. Imagine a doorway forming in the light, a big enough space for a person. Just like last time.

She takes a steadying breath with her hands clasped together in her lap, beginning to focus on an entryway and feeling her body shake with the effort; her nails dig into soft flesh and she withholds a wince, knowing that her concentration couldn’t be broken, not when the wall was coming apart little by little.

Come on, come on, Ariadne’s brow furrows and she bites down on the inside of her lip, her breathing slightly quicker and more labored than usual. Almost there. A little more and you got it.

With a final push, the opening appears in the same spot it had before and she very nearly cheers aloud, but quickly decides against it and instead, she gives herself a small pat on the back. Well done, Ari! Again.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

She wasn’t sure how long she spent in the library, a few hours at least, or how long she had been practicing opening and closing the door in her mind, but she was sure that she needed a break. It seemed she had gone too far and exhausted herself even more so than she already was.

Probably not the best idea.

And she realized how deep she had gone with the way her once artfully messy bun was now falling to the nape of her neck, strands of rich brown and caramel frazzled in complete disarray; what a sight she must be.

Ariadne sighs and closes all the books she had read through, stacking them on the table along with the notebook and standing up to stretch herself out. A couple of her joints pop and she makes a face. What time is it? It has to be past lunch, she wiggles her toes against the carpet, thinking for a moment.

You should probably try and eat something. When was the last time you even ate? Do you remember? She couldn’t. It must’ve been when she was still human, which definitely wasn’t a good thing.

With a final sigh, Ariadne leaves the library and makes her way back in the direction that she came, knowing that she would be able to find the kitchen again fairly easily. She didn’t really want any food, but it had been awhile and she had to have something eventually, if she didn’t want to waste away to nothing, that is.

She enters the kitchen and finds it empty, as usual, her hands splaying out across the countertop as she mulls over what she might be able to keep down.

Soup, maybe? I won’t have to chew and it sounds less intimidating than anything else, a small hum, followed by honey eyes lifting to gaze at the ceiling. Would you mind getting me some? Tomato, please. Nice and hot.

There’s a shift in the air and in a matter of seconds, a steaming bowl appears in front of her, along with a spoon and a porcelain cup filled with tea; Ariadne offers the smallest hint of a smile. Thank you.

She grabs one of the stools and pulls it over before perching herself on top of it, feet dangling a few feet off the floor as she leans over to take the first spoonful into her mouth. It was smooth and creamy, igniting her tastebuds with the flavor of tomato, basil, and a subtle heat - pepper flake? - that elicited a small groan from her throat.

It was one of the best things she had ever had and she wanted to scold herself for not eating sooner. Better late than never, I suppose. Right?

Ariadne continues to eat, taking a small break in-between bites to add milk and sugar to her tea; she stirs it slowly and taps the spoon lightly on the rim before taking a sip. Her eyelids flutter. Gods, that’s good, she licks her lips and goes back to the soup. I should check on Nesta and Elain after this, shouldn’t I? But what would I be able to do? I still don’t know how to talk to them yet. Maybe waiting would be the smarter decision. I’m sure the last thing Nesta wants to do is read or write anything down.

The youngest Archeron was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the little shadow that had flitted towards her until she felt a cool sensation around her ankle. She looks down and her eyes brighten, immediately working to open the doorway in the shimmering wall of her mind.

It happens fairly quickly, much easier than it had when she first started, and she feels the presence of it enter.

There you are! I thought you said ‘we’ were going to the library.

The shadow wraps tighter around Ariadne’s ankle, its voice still that same breathy whisper. You managed just fine without me. It’s time you realize and accept that you are capable of more than you think.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. How did it know her so well already? It was a bit unsettling, but not entirely unwelcome. Then why are you here now? If I can manage so well without you, as you say.

We were worried.

We?

Yes, Ariadne. We.

There was a part of her that wanted to ask more questions, but she also felt that if she were supposed to know, she would’ve been told. She had never been one to pry, always fearing that she would be overstepping somehow.

And even though the shadow wasn’t a real person talking to her, it was all she had right now and she wasn’t about to make it go away by not shutting up when she needed to.

Which is why she chooses to change the subject instead.

I know how to make the entry in the wall and how to close it. I practiced for a few hours. Not perfected, but that should mean I’ll be able to talk to someone else now, yeah? Ariadne feels goosebumps rise on her skin when it moves from her ankle to her calf, then disappearing entirely. Hey! Where did you g-!

The shadow reappears on her shoulder, the end of it looping through her hair and she felt a small vibration in the back of her mind; was it… purring?

No. Surely not. That was ridiculous.

Very good. I am proud of you. And yes, you should try it.

A warmth blossoms in Ariadne’s chest, spreading through her veins and giving her a sense of something akin to happiness. No one had ever been proud of her before. There was never a reason to be and now that there was, she found she liked the feeling.

What else had she missed out on?

Thank you! That’s sweet of you to say and it means a lot actually, her head turns, hand lifting to brush her fingers over the silken shadow. I’m nervous though, she swallows. I don’t know if how I talk in my head is okay for a normal conversation. What if…

She falls silent. What if she sounded… wrong?

What if how she ‘talked’ was silly and amateur? What if she didn’t make sense and confused them? Ariadne thought she sounded alright, but then again, no one could read minds as humans and tell her otherwise; she could come off utterly ridiculous for all she knew.

Do not think that way about yourself, the shadow’s whisper had changed, now holding a slight edge to its words and she couldn’t help but wonder why. You have a brilliant mind and what you are lacking does not take away from that in any way.

Ariadne blinks, caught off guard and momentarily rendered speechless. It was strange; it almost seemed… upset with her, which didn’t make sense. Why would it be when it barely knew her? Either she was predictable or more had been seen last night than what was admitted.

I just don’t want to be… foolish, her tone had lowered, now a whisper of her own, though it was meek and not at all like how she normally was. I’ve only ever talked to myself and how would I know what I’m going to sound like to another person?

No way to know unless you try.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ; @ashblooddragons , @rcarbo1 , @waytoomanyteenagefeels , @prettylittlewrites .

[ashblooddragons]

AHHHHHHH! I KNOW WE WERE TALKING ABOUT THIS BUT OH MY GOD READING IT IS SO MUCH BETTER!

I loved how you showed how she converses instead of telling. It felt natural and I quickly picked up how she responded to thing.

I also adored how Azriel and her interact! It was so sweet and simple. Almost fluid and from what I understood that was new for her.

Also the plot twist at the end!? I NEED ANSWERS! Who was she talking to? The shadows or Azriel, or someone else entirely?

I loved this and I know my blog is a HotD one but I am also a Acotar junky so you all have to deal with me fingerling over one of my besties!

Whispers Woven in Shadow. (1/?)

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧? 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚? 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚? 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; I’m terrible at summaries, so please don’t hate me for that! This is an OC that I’ve been playing around with for literal ages and I finally made the choice to really dive in and develop her, and then the ideas just started flowing in and I couldn’t stop writing! I’m already working on a second chapter for this, but it all depends on if anyone even likes it. 😅 I don’t post my writing too often, so be kind if you don’t mind!! Oh, && special thanks to @coffeebooksrain18 for the moodboard! 🩵 Enjoy!

𝖳𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ; 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿-𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗹.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ; 3802.

Everything is different now, Ariadne Archeron blinks as she looks out the window to the clear skies of robin’s egg blue with rays of sunlight streaming through to cast a golden hue that emitted warmth and yet, she had never felt so cold, so empty. Her mind was spinning around in circles, jumping from thought to thought, never settling and making her skin itch with such an intensity that she had to refrain herself from digging her nails in and ripping flesh from bone.

It was all wrong. Every single bit of it. And she couldn’t understand what was going on and why she was feeling this way.

The simple answer was because she had been thrown into a massive pot that stripped her humanity from her without consent and replaced it with immortality, which was something she had only wondered about in the stories that Elain used to show her as a little girl; she never imagined that it would come true and become her life.

Feyre had accepted being Made into High Fae graciously, almost eagerly, while Nesta seethed and resented, focusing her pent up emotions into care and concern for Elain. That left Ariadne to deal with it alone and if she were to be honest with herself, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

She was broken, lost, and confused, nearly a shell of her former self. How was she to handle this? What was she to do? There wasn’t a set of rules for something like this and there was no one to turn to for advice, not that she could anyway with her inability to speak.

It seemed that magic couldn’t heal everything.

Ariadne had been born deaf and could only communicate through gestures and looks, which made everything that much harder for her compared to her sisters. She couldn’t get her mouth to form the words that ran rampant in her head, not that she didn’t try, and eventually, she gave up, coming to the realization that what she so desperately wanted to say would never be heard by anyone other than herself.

She had never felt sorry about her ailment before, knowing that Nesta understood when she was irritated by the way her eyes narrowed with a hand placed defiantly on her hip and that Elain knew when she needed a moment away from their father when a frustrated huff emitted from her nose, followed with the incessant picking at the skin around her fingernails.

And Feyre, well, she was able to decipher what Ariadne wanted before she even did.

But it was different now. It wasn’t the same and the changes she was going through had to be dealt with, with no help from anyone. It wasn’t fair.

She wanted to scream and yell and cry and throw things, but she couldn’t, and if she could, she wouldn’t want to. That wasn’t who she was and it definitely wasn’t how she acted when life didn’t go the way she wished for it to. Instead, Ariadne kept it hidden away from prying eyes and suffered in silence, because that’s what this all was.

Suffering.

Agony.

Without any end in sight.

Ariadne works to swallow the dry lump that had formed in her throat and she withholds a wince, knowing that she needed something to drink and she was already dreading the fact that she’d have to leave the bit of safety in the room, that was now hers, to go get it.

Unless she wanted to stick her mouth under the faucet again and she most definitely did not.

Downstairs it is, she gnaws on the inside of her lower lip until she tastes the unmistakable tang of copper on her tongue, the nerves already setting in. You can do this, Ari. Just stand up and walk. It isn’t that hard, her fingers clenched into a fist, nails biting into her palm. Get UP! Get up, get up, get up!

Why couldn’t she move? What was wrong with her?

Ariadne sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment, then releases, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep herself composed. The tears were right there and there was no way she would allow them to fall; she had to be strong like Feyre would be, not letting anything knock her down, and if it did, she’d get back up to try again. She could do that, couldn’t she?

It’ll be quick. Start with putting your feet on the floor. That’s easy enough to do, she reopens her eyes and stares straight ahead for several minutes, working on keeping each breath steady. On the count of three… One, her skin prickles, but she manages to sit up straight, legs unfolding. Two, sweat forms on her brow as she moves her feet to hover over the carpet. Three!

The distance closes and she freezes when she feels the plush material against her skin, finding that it was kind of… nice. See, not so bad, right? One thing at a time. You can do that no problem.

A small bit of confidence surges through her and she quickly rests her arms on either side of the chair, bracing herself before pushing herself up; her knees wobble and her brow furrows, but Ariadne - more determined than she realized - finds her balance and straightens, taking a deep breath in order to calm down a little.

Hey! Look at that. You did it, there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, which she dutifully ignores. Now, another deep breath. Start walking, was it too soon to do this? It had only been a week since- Don’t go there, Ari. You’re doing so well. You aren’t there anymore. You’re fine, she lifts her chin and turns towards the door. Go on, she takes a step.

Ariadne keeps going, one foot at a time, and becomes more steady, making her way across the - her - room to the door and stopping to stand in front of it. Her hand wrapped around the handle, halfway turned, but she froze again. Completely immobile. Why was her heart beating so quickly? This wasn’t normal. It made no sense to feel like this and she couldn’t find a way to understand it, which was incredibly frustrating.

It’s good that you want to see something else besides these same four walls. Nothing wrong with that. No one is even going to be out there, she turns it the rest of the way. Nesta is with Elain, and Feyre, her heart clenches painfully. Feyre isn’t here right now, so you’re going to have to do this yourself, she pulls and it opens. There you go.

Ariadne peers out into the hall and looks down both ends, not seeing anything other than the rest of the doors, all closed, and the sconces that emitted a warm light. She slips through and begins to walk, her feet padding softly against the floor and she was hoping that the kitchen was in this direction or else she was going to be wandering around for a while; the House of Wind was huge.

She continues on with her hands clasped together in front of her, the pad of her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the top and she can’t help but look around, never having seen anything like it before. Not even Archeron Estate. The amount of money that Rhysand had to build something like this? He must’ve grown up rich. Her gaze roams over the intricate carvings on the large columned archways, head tilted in quiet admiration. They were pretty.

The hallway comes to a set of stairs, only four, and Ariadne pauses before taking each one down to find a kitchen to the left that led to what she assumed was the dining room, and held a grand table in the center with multiple high-backed chairs.

Yeah, definitely rich from birth, she walks further in and flicks her eyes over the cabinets, realizing that she had no clue where anything was. Look through all of them. It isn’t going to matter anyway, she reaches up on her tip-toes and her fingertips barely brush against the handle. Oh, great, she sighs. Where’s a ladder when you need one?

She notes the sink only a few inches away and she moves to crouch down in front, beginning to search through and eventually coming up empty. Please don’t tell me I have to climb on a counter, Ariadne stands back up straight. Again, there was really no other way, was there? Of course not.

Her brow furrows as she surveys the correct way to do it without getting hurt, knowing that no one was there to help if things went awry; she finally settles on using the shelf that went across the middle of the bottom cabinet to use to give her a boost and then she’d be able to get her leg up by bracing her weight against the wall.

It seemed simple enough.

After getting into position, Ariadne takes a breath and places her hand to the left as she pushes her foot against the shelf. She grunts from the effort to lift her leg, managing to get her knee onto the counter and use what strength she had to pull the rest of herself on top.

She grasps at the handle on the cabinet to steady herself before she adjusts her knees and leans over a little to open it, only to find plates. An annoyed huff makes her nostrils flare and she carefully shuts it. I should’ve just drank from the faucet again, her arm extends and her fingers wrap around the next handle as she moves over. This is way too much to do for a cup, she keeps her spine straight and prays to whatever higher power hailed over Prythian that this was the right one.

Ariadne pulls, and she doesn’t notice the fabric of her dress shift or when she starts to slide; she peeks inside and her eyes brighten when she sees what she had been hoping for. Yes!

Her body goes to lean like she had done a couple minutes ago and her knees give out from under her, a surprised sound leaving her lips as her other arm flails, unable to find anything to hold onto. No!

Everything went sideways and Ariadne began to fall, the top of her foot hitting the edge of the counter and she hisses through her teeth, eyes squeezing shut and bracing for the impact of her body against the tiled floor. But it never came. There was something looped around her waist, cool and soft, flowing like silk and holding with a gentleness that she had never felt before. What is it? Where did it come from?

Whatever it was had decided to turn her upright and place her down safely, which is when she decided to open her eyes; the first thing noticed were the wings, massive and actually really beautiful, but holding a power that matched that of the one, two, three, four… seven siphons, which reminded her of sapphires, and then it was the deep bronze skin that was littered with dirt, grime, and only the Gods knew what else, followed by a tousle of dark hair, slightly curly.

Though, what Ariadne noticed the most was the golden glow that faded into hazel. There was a mixture of guardedness, curiosity, and worry - maybe? - swirling within the shifting shades of green and brown, but she wasn’t sure if she could trust it. Azriel, I think. The other one is who Nesta can’t stand. Cassian? This is the… Spysinger, her lips pressed together. No, that isn’t right. Oh! Shadowmaster. Yeah, that makes more sense.

She blinks and realizes that she had been staring at him for longer than she should’ve and quickly refocuses to see that he had come around from the other side of the counter to stand a few feet away from her.

It looked like the Shadowmaster had been in a few fights and then slept on the ground afterwards, which was weird to her because she swore Cassian was the aggressive one. Never judge a book, Ari. People look at you and think you’re not capable of anything or that you’re stupid, she lifts her chin and finds that she could now only see his chest when she did that, so she tilts her head back further until she finds his face again.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Azriel watches in silence as the youngest Archeron sister - Ariadne - nearly breaks her neck in order to meet his gaze, the warm honey of her eyes full of questions, trepidation, and a sadness that was trying to hide itself and he was certain it was much larger than what he already caught. He found himself wishing he could ask her about it, but that was impossible for two important reasons; one, Azriel didn’t do things like that and two, even if he did, Ariadne wouldn’t be able to hear him.

And who was to say that if she could, she would answer?

He resorts to raising a single brow, inclining his head towards the counter as he keeps his sights set on her, surveying her expression for the slightest change; it starts with a flicker of surprise before shifting to neutral and she nods, the smallest of sighs emitting from her parted lips and she glances at the still open cabinet that held the cups, then tapping her fingers at the base of her throat.

Ah, he steps forward and reaches inside to grab one, lowering it down and handing it to her. There’s a moment of hesitation, though it doesn’t seem to be an aversion to him. It was more so of someone unsure how to accept help when they had been doing everything without it for a long time. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?

The ever-present shadows that swirled around Azriel became tense at the thought and he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind to be locked away.

Now wasn’t the time.

Ariadne was staring at the glass and he realized that she had no idea that the House of Wind would provide anything she wanted. After all, how was she going to know anything about a world she had been thrown into? Stories that passed over to the human lands weren’t always accurate.

Will you- He hears a quiet gasp and he cuts himself off, attention snapping back to the small Fae in front of him that was watching as… orange juice filled to the brim. Apparently, she figured it out a lot quicker than he thought she would. The corner of his mouth twitches. Smart girl.

Azriel takes a couple steps back and leans his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest with his wings tucked behind. Ariadne turns her head and blinks at him, observing his position before giving a single dip of her chin and he had a feeling that it was her way of saying ‘thank you.’

He returns the gesture and she begins to walk by, more than likely heading back to her room, and that’s when he smells it; cherry blossoms. It was sweet and soft, hints of creamy vanilla bean and almond with a warmth that made him want to reach out and touch her.

It’s his turn to blink now and he waits for Ariadne to pass before he looks over his shoulder, hazel returning to that golden hue as she makes her way back up the steps and disappears down the hall. His shadows begin curling around his neck and ears, whispering to him in cool breaths, some louder than others.

She is special. Yes, special. And alone. Afraid. She is lost. No way to understand. She cannot ask. She wants to understand. Must help her understand. Yes. Help her.

Azriel gives a small tug and they fall silent, though they flick against his skin in protest and to show their evident distaste for his dismissal. He rolls his eyes with a heavy exhale, giving his head a shake before he pushes himself away from the counter and disappears into the same temperamental darkness that matched that of himself.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Ariadne was unsure how to feel about her brief interaction with Azriel; he understood what she’d been trying to do and had even helped her, which was odd for her, but it made him better than most people she had met. He didn’t invade her personal space either, didn’t try to do anything at all that would make her the slightest bit uncomfortable.

In fact, he seemed to be a fairly decent male. She couldn’t remember a single instance over the few times she had been around him - even as a human - where he had ever acted out or caused any sort of problem. And if he did, she had an inkling that it would have to be over something important.

Her eyes lifted to the window and found that the sun had set, painting the sky in magenta and lavender with bursts of burnt orange and yellow; it reminded her of something that Feyre might like to recreate on canvas. There’s a sharp pang in the center of her heart at the thought of her sister and she winces, reaching up to rub the spot with her hand.

It was hard without Feyre. Yes, Nesta and Elain were there, but they were handling being Made even worse than Ariadne was. At least she had left the room. Granted, it was only once and she wasn’t gone for that long. It was still more than what they were doing.

And that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Ariadne had been the closest with Feyre, in age and in every other way. They were inseparable and a lot of love was shared between the two of them, along with a deep-rooted loyalty and respect for who they each were. And now? She felt like she was missing a vital piece of herself that she didn’t know how to get back and the longer the stretch of days went on, the more painful it got.

She picks at the skin around her nails and shifts her gaze to the floor, not wanting to think about any of this anymore. That was the thing about having no way to talk to someone; she tended to inner-monologue and go too into detail about things, overwhelming herself until she disassociated from it all.

Not the best solution, but it worked for her.

A flicker of movement in the corner catches her attention and she zeroes in on it, eyes narrowing slightly. Don’t tell me this place has ghosts now, Ariadne stands, noting how it was darker than it should’ve been with the way the light was streaming in. Because I will find a way to get out of here. There can’t be that many stairs.

She takes a couple steps forward, head tilted with curiosity and a bit of fear if it was actually a ghost. Whatever you are, I’m not going to hurt you, so that means you can’t hurt me either. That’s how this works.

The unknown something moves again, causing a shift in the air that her new Fae eyes are able to detect; it looked like smoke, though more refined and smooth, shimmering with an iridescence that reminded her of the stars. She reaches out. What are you?

It slithers forward and Ariadne watches as it brushes against one of her fingers, almost as if it were curious about her too, and that’s when she feels that same softness that had been around her waist earlier, silken and surprisingly strong.

You’re one of Azriel’s shadows, it curls around her finger and Ariadne hums. What are you doing here? Did he send you?

The shadow moves further up until it’s wrapped around her wrist, the end curled between her fingers and she feels something push at the back of her skull. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange; it sort of felt like someone was trying to fit the wrong key into a lock.

Ariadne keeps her eye on the shadow and takes a breath. Are you trying to get in? Feyre mentioned that before, but I can’t remember what it’s called. It’s mind reading though, isn’t it? Are you saying I can do it too?

There’s an instantaneous pressure around her wrist and she sucks in another breath. Okay, that’s… Okay, her brow furrows; how did the shadow know before she did? Was it because of Azriel being their master? But then that would mean he would know too, wouldn’t he? And he had never given any inclination that he did, so how?

She wished she knew all of the information that Feyre had given back when she first showed them that she was High Fae. Ariadne could read, some, from the few books Nesta was able to get when they lived in the small cottage and then even more so when their father had suddenly been offered a business deal that made them wealthy again, not that she remembered any of that part of their life, and was given lessons; she didn’t like them and proceeded to have a glare off with her eldest sister until it was made clear that there would be no changing her mind.

Ariadne would teach herself.

And reading turned into writing.

But it had been slow going at first and when Feyre had arrived with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, she had only gotten so far and there was some of it that had been written down that she either got mixed up or couldn’t remember at all. It was all bits and pieces.

The tightening around her wrist draws her attention back to the present and she shakes her head. Right. Focus, Ari. If the shadow is trying to tell me what I think it is, I have to try, don’t I?

Ariadne closes her eyes and recedes back into her mind, maneuvering through the jumbled mess of thoughts before she comes across an opalescent wall, shimmering with a moonlight glow and she couldn’t help but think how pretty it was. Why had she never noticed this before? Her head tilts and she probes further, searching for some way to open it.

It brushed softly against her just as the shadow did and she gave an instinctive squeeze in return before the wall of light brightened, beginning to shake and shift, soon revealing a small entryway for a single person to get through. She gasps.

Whoa! How did I do that? Ariadne opens her eyes and looks down to see the little thing was weaving between her fingers. Can you hear me now?

Yes.