#battle ready battle maids

[makeitlookdecent]

inside everyone is a piece of the world. and this world was made for you.

[snargl-com]

Character Design. Snarglion Maids of War.

Meet the unique Snarglion Maids of War — mythical beings ready to fight. These characters embody a balance of beauty and strength, prepared for any battle. Get inspired by the design of these fantasy warriors!

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Gladiator! Ghost

Warnings: 18+, Dub-Con, Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Dominant! Ghost, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Master/Servant Dynamics, Voyeurism, Public Humiliation, Sexual Coercion, Scene Inspired by ‘Spartacus’, Based on Spartacus’ In-Universe History, Profanity, Implied Fem! Reader, Images Used aren't Mine.

Gladiator! Ghost abuses his power over you every chance he gets. No exceptions.

And all because you had to go and show him voluntary kindness, tending to his post-battle wounds and praising him for his efforts, all while touching him as delicately and as gently as you could. More so than anyone ever has.

It’s not long after this interaction that you find yourself stationed as Gladiator! Ghost's personal handmaiden; the perfect servant to see that his every desire is satiated.

And, unfortunately for you, that often includes him coercing you into compromising positions.

Even when he’s been training all day, his muscles bulging, skin glistening with sweat, eyes ablaze with bloodlust, he finds time to seek you out and take you someplace isolated and quiet – where nobody else can see or save you – and pumps his fury into you.

He’s never gentle with it, either. He isn’t trained to be.

He’s panting, chest heaving and broad at your back as he presses you into the stone wall of the cellar, your legs forcefully parted by a thick, toned thigh – the skin of which is covered in your dripping essence – as he pounds into you with all his might.

He calls you his maid – only his. Tells you that no-one else can have you, that they’d have to kill him if they wanted to possess you as he does.

And you take it because that’s all you can do. All you’re allowed to do.

You let him make your body feel like this is right, that the cracks of euphoria splintering between your legs justifies the way he grabs your hair and pulls you back to face him, only to force his eager tongue into your mouth.

You clench around him – unwillingly so. Encourage him.

You hear him groan, feel his voice heavy on your tongue before he pulls away, slipping a hand beneath the fabric of your tunic and squeezing your clit between his fingers. You cry out, pressing back into him, taking him deeper.

“You’re mine,” he tells you. He punctuates his point with a quick, harsh slap to your clit – one that leaves you whining. “I’ll give you my babe – give you the privilege of bringing my son into this world.”

Amidst the reluctant pleasure electrifying your every sense, you know he’s close. His tip – pressing into the deepest part of you, a place you didn’t even know existed before he found it – bulbous and aching, pulses in time with his heartbeat. You close your eyes and brace for it – the warmth, the wet. The inevitable.

And, sure as rain after thunder, Ghost growls, pressing as deep into you as your body will allow and then some, as he cums, hot and heavy. You can physically feel his semen pumping through his shaft as he empties every ounce of his seed into your wanting womb – filled beyond full – leaving you whining and trying your best to pull away from his cock.

He holds you still and glowers, a vein across his bicep twitching – almost winking at you – as he slams his hand beside your head, caging you . As if to remind you that he’s the one in charge here.

So you still, panting, sweating and almost crying, as his seed nestles inside you, knowing there’s nothing you can do until he’s ready to let you go – until he’s sure his efforts have taken. And all you can focus on is how heavy he feels inside you, the feeling of his chest almost crushing you against the wall as he breathes deeply. The gradual softening of his tip at your cervix as he grows flaccid.

The hand between your thighs – coated translucent and white – comes to rest upon your stomach. You can feel him looking down at the phantom bump from over your shoulder. His voice is obsidian.

“If I haven’t imparted him upon you already.”

In Ghost’s head, he’s justified in his actions. Even though he can feel you trying to peel away from him, your heart racing to the rhythm of fear and not of lust. Even though he knows you will likely retreat to your shared chambers and weep into your pillow. He knows, deep down, that you want as he does. A family.

It’s all he can think about aside from the bloodshed and the fight for survival. You are all he can think about. The only thing that can placate his rage.

It’s his reason. His only reason to continue.

In his own way, this is his manufacturing of a family. Turning you from a servant into the mother of his children, and transforming him – a beast – into a father.

Not that you’d know this, but he has more influence within the Master’s residence than most – especially as his most prized gladiator. 

Whenever the Master throws parties, he convinces him to put the maids – you – on display, to show the other houses that his gladiators are not just fighters, but incessant lovers, too.

More often than not, you’ve had to strip bare and bear the weight of the stares of party-goers as Ghost, assigned to be the night’s show pony, makes sure everyone knows who you belong to.

It’s an exercise of power. Of ownership.

He makes no effort to hide his endurance, his speed, often finishing at a rate that leaves you terrified knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it, to hide away and prevent your seemingly inevitable pregnancy at the hands of the man you call Master.

Truth be told, you’d be ashamed of enjoying the weight of him inside you – the familiar feeling of his tip hitting a note within you that leaves you whining a wanton tune – if it weren’t for the fact that your situation could be worse – that it could be another of the Master’s loyal fighters pounding you, holding you and bruising your waist. Degrading you from a maid to a whore for all to see.

Ghost can see, during times like these, the women who wish to be you and the men who crave to be him. And he hides his smile beneath learned stoicism, even as he’s overcome with the euphoria of emptying himself inside you, lifting you by the hips so nothing of his making is wasted.

And you can do nothing to fight against it.

And, when he’s asked by some curious voyeur, he’ll do it all again. And again. And again.

This is the only way he can guarantee his seed takes – the only way he can make sure you won’t go off running trying to cleanse yourself of his semen rolling down your thighs, of his efforts taking form and bearing fruit inside you.

He knows it’s just a matter of time until he can afford both your and his freedom, until he can take you away from this place and raise your family together – someplace far from this spectacle of murder.

Until then, he’ll convince his Master to fund these social affairs, to allow you to remain as his maid.

His.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist Gladiator Ghost AI

AO3 Wattpad X

[sena-seastar]

Burning Desire

Aemond x Older!sister Reader

Summary: You rush off to confront your brother Aemond after discovering he hurt your sister, only to find him crying. You are angry at him for what he has done, but you cannot stand to see your little brother suffer.

Warnings:  Angst, Smut, Sibling incest

A/N: This was supposed to be an angsty comfort fic, but it very quickly got out of hand. All dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in High Valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. (Gif is not mine!)

You stormed through the castle halls, ignoring the maids and knights who quickly stepped out of your way. Usually, you would give them some sign of acknowledgment, but tonight, you couldn’t— not when your anger was boiling over. Your hands trembled with repressed rage, and your fingers curled into fists as you tried desperately to refrain from lashing out. There was only one person who was deserving of your wrath, and you were headed to find him now. 

When you arrived at his door, you entered the room, not bothering to knock. The loud sound of the wooden door slamming close behind you echoed in the air. The room was dark; only a few candles were lit, though they were burning dangerously low. You squint your eyes, searching until you find the silver-haired man hunched over in his chair. Your robe made a slight whooshing sound as you stormed over to his side. 

“How dare you!” Your voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, every word dripping with venom and contempt.

Aemond says nothing. His head is lowered, and his long silver tresses conceal his face.

“You dare to lay a hand on our sister?! Has she not suffered enough?! And now you wish to send her into battle?!” Your chest is heaving wildly as you lose what little composure remains to you.

Once again, you are met with a deafening silence that angers you even more.

“Have you nothing to say?!” you yell, each word cracking like a whip. Your brows furrow and your lips curl into a snarl.

Yet once again, your words go unanswered. You open your lips, prepared to berate him even more until quiet sobs reach your ears. Your blood runs cold, and you freeze. Aemond’s body jerked with every gasp that escaped his throat. 

“I am alone,” he whispers . “As I always have been.”

His words move you to tears. 

“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.

You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but pull it away just before reaching him. Your mind is suddenly conflicted. Your rage is quickly converting into sadness with every second that passes. The two of you rarely saw eye to eye these past few weeks. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay had left you horrified. The abhorrent murder of your nephew, Jaehaerys, happened not long after. You blamed Aemond for that and did not bother trying to hide it from him.

Then, Aegon returned from Rook’s Rest, burned and broken beyond repair. Your mother came to you shortly after, sharing her thoughts about what had happened. She believed Aemond to be responsible, but you could not bring yourself to believe it at the time. But as the days passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly unsure. Especially after today, when the horrific details of his actions at Sharp Point reached you. Most days, you could hardly even recognize him—this strange man who shares the face of your sweet little brother.

You take a deep breath before reaching out. Your hand trembles as you place it on his shoulder, but he does not flinch from your touch. He leans into it. Aemond raises his head just enough to look you in the eyes. His face is stained with tears, and his eye is red and gleaming with tears, ready to fall. His silver hair is unusually messy and unkempt. The leather eyepatch is gone, exposing the beautiful sapphire embedded into his eyesocket. It is a sight he has entrusted very few to see.

“I am sorry,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulling him close.

He buries his face into your stomach. His large hands gripped tightly at your sides, and you did your best not to wince. You lift a hand, brushing down his unkempt hair. You were angry at him. You had come here to yell at him, maybe even hit him, but you couldn’t. Not when it filled your heart with great sorrow to see your brother in so much pain. Your little brother. The boy you had always tried so hard to shield from the cruelty of this world. The boy who had always run to you for comfort after being humiliated by Aegon time and time again.

Aemond continued to sob. His tears made the thin fabric of your nightdress stick to your skin, and the cold wetness sent a chill down your spine. You gasp as you feel him pull you down, sitting you on his lap. He held you close, burying his face into the curve of your neck. Your hands rested against the warm, bare skin of his back as you held him. He must have been preparing for bed not long before you arrived as he was only dressed in a pair of black lambswool breeches.

“You are not alone,” you reassure him, gently kissing the scar that marred his brow. “I am here, as I always have been.”

There is a slight chill in the air, but the heat radiating from his skin keeps you warm. Aemond sniffles but says nothing. You can feel his tears sliding down your neck. You move a hand up to his head, toying with his hair. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. Aemond shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider, making the position more comfortable for you. A quiet gasp escapes your throat as you feel the taut muscle of his thigh pressing into the most intimate part of your body.

The feeling sends a rush of heat through your veins. Your breath quickens as you try to push the sensation aside. Your face burns as shame begins to overwhelm you. He just wanted to be close to you, searching for comfort in your arms as he had done many times before. But your body is turning it into something perverse.

Aemond bounced his knee ever so slightly, almost like a tremble. You squirmed, trying to press your thighs closer together in hopes of stopping the heat growing in your stomach. One of Aemond’s large hands rests firmly against the small of your back. The other moves to grip the outside of your thigh.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you feel his lips grazing against our collarbones.

“What?” He asks, his voice so nonchalant.

“I think I should go,” you replied, trying to stand up.

But his hands hold onto you tight, refusing to let you go. 

“Please stay,” he begged, burying his face into the curve of your neck once more.

“Alright,” you whisper, trying to calm him.

His hair tickles your nose. You lift your head a bit, resting your chin on the top of his head. You trail the tips of your fingers against the muscles of his back. Aemond nuzzles his face against your neck. He bounces his knee a bit harder. You wonder if he is doing this on purpose.

“Aemond, stop it,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fire sparking in the pit of your stomach.

“Stop what?” He asked, ghosting his lips over your jaw. 

“You know what,” you whine.

He ignores you; his lips press soft kisses against your jaw. Aemond bunches the skirt of your dress into the hand that grips your thigh. He steadily inches it up higher. The cold air touching your now bare legs makes the hair on your body stand up. Suddenly coming to your senses, you gasp, slapping a hand over his as the skirt of your dress reaches just above your knees. He tries to continue, but you use all the strength you can muster to keep his hand still. 

“We must stop,” you command, trying to stop yourself from giving in to him completely.

This was wrong. You were both betrothed to other people—him to some Baratheon girl and you to the Lord of the Arbor. They were political matches, as most marriages are. You held no love for Lord Redwyne, but you would do your duty as was expected of you.

Aemond easily pushed past your hand, slipping his hand between your thighs. You gasped, trying to squeeze them together to keep him at bay. Your stomach flutters as his thumb rubs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingernails dig into his forearm. You pull back, and he lifts his head to look you in the eyes. 

He removes his hand from between your thighs, moving it up to your face. You find yourself melting into the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips, but his eye never leaves yours.

“You were supposed to be mine,”   he says in the gentlest tone.

“Aemond,” you whine, trying to push him away.

But he refuses to let you go. The hand on your back kept you from standing. His fingertips trail down the side of your neck down to the neckline of your nightdress. His touch on your skin leaves you feeling almost delirious. The fire in your stomach is fully ablaze now. You squirm in his lap as his fingers graze over the tops of your breasts. You cursed yourself for this, as the feeling of his tense muscles sends waves of heat straight to your cunt. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. Your eyes close, and you bite your lip to stop crying out. 

“Look at me.”  

It is a command that you are unable to ignore. Aemond is the prince regent. In this moment, he speaks with the king’s voice. His absolute authority leaves you fearful and painfully aroused. Once again, your eyes meet his. He says nothing, simply watching you like a predator stalking its prey as his hand moves over your nightdress, cupping your breast. You gasp, slapping a hand over his. You know you should push him away, but you don’t. 

A chill runs down your spine. Under his gaze, you feel completely exposed, almost powerless—a feeling you usually dislike greatly. You were a princess of the realm and a dragon rider. You were anything but helpless. Yet you find yourself wanting nothing more than to surrender yourself to him, to escape from your worries and sorrows, to be free from all the tiring expectations that have been placed upon you since your birth.

“Am I so hard to love?” 

His voice trembled, as he struggled to hold back tears. The authority is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. The sight broke your heart in two. You had always worried about Aemond, your sweet, sensitive little brother. Since he had come of age, he had changed. He was colder and more distant, not just from you but from everyone, even your mother, whom you know he cared for greatly. It was like he believed he had to be this... pillar of strength, or all would crumble.

You remove your hand from his, moving it up to cup the scarred side of his face. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on his brow. You have done this so many times over the years, yet it has never felt as intimate as it did now. Aemond closed his eye, leaning into your touch. A sharp pain stabs at your heart as you watch how desperate he is for your comfort.

The hand on your breast slid back down to your thigh. Aemond’s fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. Your thumb traced down the deep scar that marked his cheek. You lean down, peppering kisses from his cheek to his jaw, where the scar stops. He turns his head slightly, so that your lips hover above his, almost touching. You rest your head against his. His violet eye stared into your own.

“What of Floris? She is to be your wife.” You say, hoping he may come to his senses, as yours have fled from you completely.

“You will be my wife... for tonight.” A single tear drops from his eye as the words leave his lips.

It is such a beautiful, harrowing sight. One that leads you to shedding tears of your own. Aemond’s hands grip you by the waist, hoisting you up just enough for you to straddle him. Your knees rest on both sides of his legs, trapping him between your thighs. A wave of heat runs through your veins as your bare cunt presses against his clothed bulge. He leans forward, capturing your gasp with his mouth. One of your hands cups his face while the other pushes his hair away from his face. 

The two of you shared passionate, frantic kisses. You had not been prepared from when Aemond’s tongue slid into your mouth. You whine, caught off guard, but do your best to follow along with him. You had no experience with such things. The only kisses you had ever experienced came from tall, handsome knights in your dreams. But even then, those kisses were nothing like this. They were short and sweet. A quick peck on the cheek or lips, but this was much different. Aemond kissed you with such urgency, such deep burning desire.

Aemond lifts his hips, pressing himself against you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your aching cunt makes you cry out, though your noises are muffled against his lips. The feeling is so foreign, yet exciting, that you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to palm him through his trousers. His hardened cock is thick and throbbing beneath your touch. A newfound confidence blooms in your chest.

A sound rumbled in his chest; his large hands gripped your ample hips. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as you rocked yourself back and forth, your bare cunt grinding against his clothed bulge. He hissed, knitting his brows together. You watch as his face contorts into one of pleasure. Your own burning desire is growing too much. Your desperate, heavy breaths fill the air as you grind yourself against him even faster, desperate to reach your peak. He looked up at you; his mouth hung open slightly as he watched you use him for your own selfish gratification.

It’s exhilarating- him watching you- seeing you in a way no other ever has, touching you in a way no other ever has.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises.

His praise sends another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room suddenly feels unbearably hot. You’re so close; you can feel it. The pressure building up in your stomach is eager to be released. You roll your hips even faster, harder. But it is not enough. The throbbing in your cunt is almost painful. You are nearly sobbing at this point.

“I want more,” you whine. “I need more. Please, brother.”

“I am at your mercy, sister,” he smirks. “Take what you want.”

You reach down, huffing as you struggle to untie the laces of his trousers. You can feel his chest vibrate against you as he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.

“My apologizes-” he shudders as your hand wraps around his thick cock. Finally freeing him from the confines of his trousers.

A triumphant smile crosses your face. You give his cock a few strokes, admiring the way it stands so prettily for you, so thick and full. Suddenly, you begin to fear the thought of having to fit it inside of you. Aemond seems to sense your worry. His hand cups the back of your neck, making you look at him.

“Take it slow,” he warns.

You nod, lifting yourself on your knees a bit. Your wetness coats your fingers and his cock as you press the tip into your aching cunt. You whine as the head breaches your walls, and you clamp tightly around him. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable but not painful. You may be a maiden, but you still had desires. Many nights, you have had to satiate your hunger with your fingers.

You lower yourself on him slowly. Thankfully, your wetness makes it easier to take him. You take a deep breath as you take him to the hilt. It takes you a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Are you okay?” Aemond asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, I just ... need a moment,” you breathlessly laugh as he lifts a hand to trail his fingers against your jaw.

He nods, raising his chin to kiss gently against the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, pressing your lips to his. A soft tongue gently licks at the swell of your bottom lip, and you grant him entry. The gentleness comes to an end. He licks into you with a fervor that steals your breath away. Your thoughts fade, and you melt into his arms. 

Aemond kisses you like he wants to devour you, and you want nothing more. You lift your hips before lowering yourself. Aemond finally breaks the kiss, and his hands move to your waist.

“Ah-h,” he whines against the corner of your lips.

You begin to move slowly, easing yourself into up and down on his cock. Your eyes never leave him, watching as he presses his head to the back of the chair. His chest moves with his deep breaths, his eye is closed, and his mouth is partially open. He shudders, and a desperate, eager moan emits from his throat. It is a sight to behold.

He lifts his hips, pressing deeper into you, making you cry out.

“Aemond!” You whimper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

His eye fluttered open as he watched you struggle to find the right pace. He gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your fleshy sides. He guided you, raising you up and down on him. The newfound pace made you mewl pathetically, but you were too desperate to reach your peak to care. He called out your name. It sounded almost sinful coming from his lips. 

You drop your head, resting it against his. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp and moan. The faint scent of pine and smoke fills your nose. It’s him, his scent. The smell is almost intoxicating. Your mind is swimming, dizzy from the pleasure of him bucking up into you.

You feel one of his palms cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He lifts his chin, closing the small distance between you pressing his lips to yours. You try your best to follow the frantic rhythm he sets. He swallows every sound you make as he holds the back of your neck, refusing to let you pull away—not that you want to. 

Aemond plants his feet on the ground for leverage as he pumps into you. His thrusts are more erratic now as he approaches his end. The air in your lungs is incinerated, and a shameful, high-pitched moan escapes from your lips. You move your hips, rocking against him, dangerously close to finally reaching your peak. 

He doesn’t stop, bucking into you with a force that would be strong enough to toss you off of him if not for the hand holding onto your waist. Your hot cunt clenched around him, the muscles in your legs burned from remaining in this position for so long. 

It’s not fair- how good he is at this- how good he is making you feel. It’s all too much. Your poor wet cunt is overwhelmed with pleasure. The hand on your neck moves down, and the pad of his thumb rubs circles around that sensitive button between your legs. 

“That's it,” he coaxed, his hot breath fans on your mouth. “Let go, give it to me.”

You don’t stand a chance. Not when his cock makes you feel so full, reaching that one spot that makes you throw your head back. One of your hands tangles in his hair, tugging. Your chests’ are flushed against each other as you both rock against each other. You clench around his cock as you finally reach your release, hard and blinding. The world around you seems to disappear. It’s only you and him who matter.

“Ha-ah ... ah,” he sputtered, becoming more desperate.

You cry out as you fill his hot mouth, which latches into one of your breasts. He suckles at your breast like a starving babe. His tongue lashes back and forth around your hardened nipple. The sensation is strange but has you clenching around him even tighter. 

His teeth graze against your nipple. Every grunt and moan that leaves him vibrates against your breast. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. His cock pulses inside of you, it feels too good. Aemond releases your nipple, resting his forehead on your breast. Choked gasps and grunts slip past his lips as he reaches his peak, releasing inside of you, filling you with his seed.

The two of you stay pressed against each other as you come down for your highs. Aemond’s hips relax, his body melting into the chair. Your body sinks into him, boneless and spent. You lay your head on his shoulder, resting your chin on his collarbone. His fingertips trail over the curve of your back. Your eyes feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologized.

“I know,” you reply weakly.

You can feel his warm breath against your ear. His scent, mixed with his sweat, fills your nose, bringing you comfort.

“Our sister has too much of our mother in her. I see that now.”

You frown but say nothing, letting him continue. His lips press against your ear. He nudges your face with his shoulder, making you pull away. He grasps your chin between his thumb and index fingers. Your eyes flicker between the sapphire and his violet iris. You lift a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jaw.

“But you and I,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “We are two flames kindled from the same fire. We were always meant to burn as one.”

“Aemond,” you sigh.

“I am afraid,” he admits, rendering you speechless. “I cannot fight this war alone, sister.”

“You are not alone,” you argued. “You have Daeron.”

“Tsk,” he turns his head. “He is still young, as is his dragon.”

“Young or not, Tessarion is still a dragon.”

Aemond says nothing. His eye stared at the plain stone wall of his bedchamber. You watch him silently, trying to read him.

“Come with me,” he asked, turning his head back to you. 

“What?” You gasp.

“Mount your dragon and go with me to Harrenhal.”

“Mother would never allow it,” you shake your head.

“Our mother has made it clear that she does not hold our best interest at heart.”

“She means well,” you protested, trying to defend your mother, no matter how true his words seemed.

“If we do not fight, we will die. Rhaenyra may spare you and Helaena, but she will not be so merciful to the rest of us. She will have to take Aegon’s head, mine, and Daerons's as well. So long as our father has a living son, she will never be able to rule in peace.”

“You don’t know that-”

“I do,” he insisted. “Is that not what our mother has told us our entire lives?”

You blink, and memories of your childhood flood your mind. He was right. Over the years, your mother had repeatedly stressed the dangers that would follow should your sister ascend to the throne.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

Your eyes flickered from his trembling lips to his tear-filled eye. It was not an order but a plea. He was afraid and desperate for aid. You were afraid as well—you had been since Ser Criston placed that crown upon Aegon’s head. It has only been a few weeks, and already, your life has been turned completely upside down. 

You had no desire to fight this war. Many times, you have had to stop yourself from climbing on your dragon and leaving. But you could not abandon your family, just as you could not abandon Aemond now.

You nod your head. He smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. One of his hands finds yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his lips to yours, giving you one last sweet and adoring kiss. Once he pulls away, you lay your head back down on his shoulder.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You mumble against his skin.

“Yes,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “You can sleep now.”

[arpicityandneed]

The King's Man

18+ f!reader. King!Bucky. Head Knight!Steve. dirty talk. bi!Bucky. bi!Steve. sequel to You, Me, and the King. Sir kink. switch!Steve. switch!Bucky.

You'd received word from your maid that the King and his Knight were waiting for you in the King's chambers but still, you didn't expect to walk in on this when you passed the royal guard on the way in.

Steve was fucking your husbands throat like he'd done so countless of times before. His sword was resting on the table and he was shirtless, his creamy flushed skin on display as he threw his head back- and expression of rapt pleasure on his handsome features as he found his release. James' lashes were wet as he swallowed every drop, but he was looking up at his Steven with such adoration you almost wanted to be jealous.

Only when the door clicked behind you did Steve acknowledge you. James finally let Steve's shaft go, nuzzling the vee of his hip and catching his breath.

"I won a wager." Steve explained with a grin, "He thought I wouldn't be able to wait until the physician's officially declared the pregnancy."

"But you did.. so this was your reward?" You murmured, your mouth dry and your cunt throbbing. Your heart pounded in your chest realizing you'd finally have them both the way you wanted for months now. What was once a strange kingdom full of enemies was made bearable by the love you'd found in your two men.

"No, the reward was you. I'm just helping him last long enough to thoroughly enjoy his reward." Your husband's voice was hoarse, but as he stood you saw just how much he'd enjoyed being used by Steve. His breeches did little to hide the large bulge of his arousal.

"Come here my sweet," Steve held his hand out for you, and you took it shyly but stepped into his space without fear. "I'll take good care of you, I promise." He murmured as he lifted your hand to his lips kissing your knuckles gently.

"I know." And you did, you trusted him with your life, and to finally be able to see him in all his glory was a treat in and of itself. His cock was thick even when soft and his body was covered in scars and marks of battle that made him all the more attractive to you.

James came to stand behind you, trapping you between them as he kissed your shoulder. You shivered remembering vividly how wide they'd been stretched over Steve's cock.

"My wife." James worked at untying the laces of your dress, Steve's possessive gaze keeping you locked in place.

When the dress fell down your body James sighed at your beauty before stepping back. That’s when you noticed the chair placed in direct viewing of the bed. A shiver went down your spine as you realized your King would be watching everything.

“Pants off James, I want to see you too.” Steve commanded with an ease that made your knees buckle, and your King obeyed with a pretty flush on his cheeks. You wanted to devour him and the new shyness you saw in his eyes.

“He’s so pretty..” the words slipped out before you could help it and Steve laughed, warm and rich. Your husband however didn’t say a word. He looked to Steve instead for guidance.

“James, what do you say?” Steve wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, his naked body all hard lines and raw strength that made you melt against him.

“Thank you, love. You two—you’re beautiful together.” His voice was hushed and awed.

“Sit.” Steve murmured as he trailed his lips over your neck, his blue eyes clashing with James’ grey ones. When James obeyed, sitting with his thighs spread showing off just how eager he was, Steve smiled against your skin. “Good boy.”  James’ cock was leaking and flushed an angry red. But he made no move to touch himself without Steve’s permission.

“Now, I think I’ve waited long enough for this.” Steve led you to the bed and urged you to lay down, drinking in the sight of you bared for him with hungry eyes. “Let’s see if you’re ready for me, my queen.” Steve’s hand trailed up your thigh slow and possessive and you squeaked. Instantly he stopped and returned his gaze to yours.

“Just—just, y/n.” You mumbled shyly as you reached out to cup his jaw, not wanting to be anything but his lover in this moment.

“Y/n then.” Steve’s voice was thick with emotion as he kissed your palm. His hand resumed its path until he could cup your sex, his fingers growing slick as he played with your clit and fed one thick finger into you. You moaned softly and spread your thighs wider, eager and aching for your Knight.

“Not quite, think you need to give me one orgasm first.” Steve mused to himself as he lowered his mouth, hovering over where you needed him most. “Missed tasting you.”

“You spent two hours with her sitting on your face yesterday.” James snorted, unable to help himself as Steve glared at his King over his shoulder.

“Let’s say no cumming for a day since you want to be smart mouthed.” Steve smiled as James immediately flushed bright red and mumbled,

“Sorry, Sir.”

You whined for attention, squirming under Steve’s hold. “Shh, love. I’ve got you. I shouldn’t make you wait anymore should I?” Steve murmured gently with a crooked smile before latching onto your clit with single minded focus.

His fingers made a come hither motion, practiced and easy as he worked your body. It took everything you had not to scream—he always touched you just right.

“Jesus, James, she still tastes like you.” James made a strangled sound but wisely kept quiet, stretching you further and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

All it took was one hard suck and you were flying, a million pieces of stardust as he groaned into your folds. You soaked his chin and fingers shamelessly. By the time you were back to the land of the living he was over you, gliding his cock through your slick folds and lubing up his shaft in your juices. Just tasting you was enough to make his cock hard as steel once more.

“You’re going to scream for me, and I don’t give a fuck who hears. Do you understand?” Steve was usually a gentle man, soft spoken with you and always so considerate. But the Steve on top of you was a barely contained animal. Wild eyed with a will strong enough to subdue even your King.

“Yes, Sir.” You knew it was the right answer when his pupils dilated, and he lined up his cock against your entrance that clenched around nothing—aching more than anything to be filled.

“That’s a good girl.” He kissed you as he pushed in, inch by inch. Steve’s shaft was thicker than your husbands and you cried out your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him deeper into you.

Greedy, that’s how Steve’s cock made you feel as it split you open.

“Fuck, James, you shouldn’t have let me have her.” Steve growled, his girth safely tucked inside your gummy walls so deep he could feel his cock when he pressed his hand into the softness of your belly. “I’m never going to get enough of her.” You were whimpering at every word. Just a prize to be passed back and forth between the only two men worthy of you, the thought made you clench down on Steve’s cock even tighter.

“You can speak, James.” Steve’s smug voice, his cock throbbing inside you as the leaking tip pressed a loving wet kiss to your cervix, it was all too much and he’d barely started moving yet.

“Can—" you’d never heard your husband’s voice so wrecked. “Can I come closer, Sir? I want to see.”

“You may. Hold her hand like a good little husband.” Steve ordered and within a few seconds you felt a warm hand slip into yours, James’ gaze heavy as a touch as he stared where you and Steve were joined.

“She’s barely able to take you.” Why did he sound so pleased? Why wasn’t Steve fucking you yet?

“Shh, pretty thing. I got you.” Steve cooed at you, cupping your breast in one hand and pinching your nipple lightly—groaning when it made your pussy flutter around his cock hungrily. “Just making sure there’s no pain.”

“None, promise, promise, just please!” You begged shamelessly, having waiting as long as he had to feel him.

“Please what?” That’s when you realized the game, he wanted you to say it. Scream your intentions like you had with your husband.

“I want you to fuck me!” You cried, tears gathering on your lashes in frustration.

“Not your husband?” Steve taunted as he gave your breast a squeeze.

You shook your head frantically, your bottom lip jutting out as you looked up at Steve. “Want you now,” you admitted honestly. James’ hands tightened in yours but he didn’t need to say a word as his cock leaked. “Waited, I was good, so good, want your cock Sir, please.”

“Good girl, my good girl.” Steve groaned and started fucking you slow and filthy, rolling his hips and staying mostly buried inside you as his fat cock hit every pleasurable spot with ease.

“You’re doing so good sweetheart, taking his cock isn’t easy.” You moaned at your husbands words, realizing exactly what he’d meant. He’d taken Steve’s cock before. But you couldn’t focus on anything other than Steve’s controlled thrusts. You knew he was holding back but it was already so much, your pussy gushing on his cock and making each thrust a little easier.

“More!” You begged, barely able to keep your eyes open as you tightened your legs around his waist. Steve grinned, feral and sharp.

“As you wish.”

Then all coherent thought was lost, Steve starting to fuck you in earnest until he was splitting you in two ruthlessly. James never let go of your hand and you were drowning in the pleasure you were given.

Steve’s cock squelched through your juices, your arousal coating his heavy balls as he fucked you hard and deep. He was a hurricane and all you could do was hold on for the ride. You free arm was thrown around his neck holding him close as you screamed out,

“Sir! Please, please, more!” You couldn’t stop yourself. Every thrust of his cock was melting your brain, and James’ encouraging words in your ear was only fanning the flames.

“You can take it can’t you my love? So good for us, you’ll have his baby next won’t you? I want to see it, our children playing together. Just gotta do what you did for me. Take all his cum right in your pretty little pussy again and again.” James was rambling, aching to touch his cock but too obedient to disobey Steve’s order not to cum.

“Fuck,” Steve was lost in your pussy. Couldn’t look away from your pussy sucking him in, like you couldn’t wait to milk him for his load.

“Want his babies, need it!” You squealed as Steve shifted the angle of his hips, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. If you’d been coherent you’d be able to see the toothy grin on Steve’s face.

“That’s it, make all your prettiest noises for me y/n. Feel so fucking tight love,” Steve groaned as he got close, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust aching to fill you up. His thumb found your clit with practiced ease and with quick tight circles you were thrown off the edge without warning.

“’m not pulling out. You’re gonna take what I give you, when I want to give it.” It wasn’t a question and yet you nodded immediately, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squirted, your arousal splashing out of you—Steve fucking you through your orgasm without mercy.

Only when he started to cum did he slow down, grinding in every spurt of seed into your pussy like he could force your body to accept his seed into your womb.

“Beautiful.” James murmured as he kissed your forehead, squeezing your hand and checking over your face. You were drifting—so safe and full of light you felt like you were floating.

Steve had to gently pry your legs off his waist before he could slowly separate himself from you, his copious amount of cum leaking out of your gaping hole in a lewd display that made Steve wish he had the stamina to fuck you again immediately.

“She’s still feeling it,” James murmured above your head as he looked to Steve, and if you strained you could focus on Steve’s reply.

“That’s alright, let her rest.” Steve whispered back, his thick fingers spreading your pussy lips wide so he could stare directly at your hole as it gushed and twitched.

But then he turned to his friend and grinned.

“Would you like sloppy seconds, my King?”

[lokisgoodgirl]

Successional Pleasure: The Rite (II)

A Masterlist for The Rite is here A link to my regular Masterlist is here Summary: (2) Loki arranges a meeting, and you're offered the opportunity of a lifetime (w/c 4.8k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Thirsting for unattainable royals. Language. Heavy petting. Ridiculous Asgardian HC lore. Smuttish.

This morning the palace criers announced mandatory palace court attendance for all of Asgard.

Word travels fast, you muse as another person shoves into your shoulder; especially when the Odinsons will be in full ceremonial dress.

A swell ripples through the crowd, pulsing forward. Only one row of people stand in front of you, and the guards lining the jostling mass are becoming impatient.

You always make an effort for these events; everyone does. However bland and self-aggrandising the subject matter (and with the Allfather, when is it not?) – one never knows who’ll attention you’ll draw. But this time, it’s different.

This time, as you fixed your hair and let your solitary maid tighten the laces of your dress – there was only one person you wanted to impress. Him. Because this time, for the first time, he may actually notice you.

But that’s madness, you think as you try and focus. His lovers are legendary. He has his pick of…anyone. Literal deities.

But then, the memory of Prince Loki’s glistening chest emerging from the palace baths with wet hair plastered over his brow as he grunted through his orgasm erupts in your mind. That’s a memory not easily forgotten. In fact, it’s very easily encouraged. And each time you think of it, more layers appear.

In the extended, delusional version, he crosses the pool, the lapping water licking around his proud cock snug to his stomach as he wages a path to cage you by the stone edge and—

Trumpets blare. “They’re here,” a woman beside you squeals. Her hand flies to yours, clawing with unhinged excitement. The guards straighten, spears thudding against marble in ceremonial greeting.

He probably does that shit all the time; wanking in the palace baths with people he doesn’t know. He won’t see you amongst thousands of faces. That’s madness. But when it came to Loki Odinson, didn’t that make it more likely? Nerves tighten your stomach. The glint of their ostentatious headwear is the first sign of approach; two small figures against the expanse of the ancient doors floor to ceiling of the hall. Cheers thunders like a burst dam through a canyon as they move in sync down the wide aisle, each set of guards they pass thunking their staff in salute. Each thud made your pussy clench. And finally, you catch sight of his face.

It's the picture of haughty expectation at the wild crowds losing their minds as he passes. Every slice and draw of his bone structure is set like marble. He’s above it all; stunning decorative armour that would be absolutely no use in battle accenting broad shoulders at sharp angles. Impeccable posture, as ever. Today, the prince wears full leathers beneath – ridiculously fitted trousers which melded seamlessly to a forest green tunic stitched in golden trim.

To complete the act of war that’s his outfit, a stiff collar cut to the curve of his jawline sweeps up to his earlobes; a solitary curl of ebony hair lying against the leather, freed from his helmet. Thor wears the same red and garish gold he always does, beaming greedily at the crowds.

Your eyes roam over Loki’s sweeping entrance and you smile to yourself that the last time you’d seen him – he’d been naked. The woman beside you begins to breathe heavily as they draw closer. You have no idea, you smirk.

Loki’s cape billows with theatrical elegance down the open aisle, and you wonder briefly if his magic has something to do with it. Thor’s certainly doesn’t flutter around his ankles with the same effortless gravitas. Thor’s doesn’t undulate with every stride, timed with the military precision of its master’s thighs.

The guard in front of you lifts his spear, ready to thrust it to the marble floor. You hold your breath, biting your lip, their glory radiating with each falling step. And then, time seems to stop. Because then, Loki, Prince of Asgard, looks at you. His eyes flicker to the side, narrowing softly in your direction. A low dimple in his cheek flashes, only for a moment. And then - -thunk

The metal clang makes you jump out your skin, and by the time you get your bearings, the princes have moved on. They each face the platform, sinking on one knee with bowed heads while Odin pats down the cheers. He begins to rumble on, something about war, or tradition or blah blah.

The dark prince’s jawline is a work of art as he kneels in performatively rapt attention. With each swallow, his cheekbones flash. The golden helmet highlights the harsh lines of his face, lids dropping every few minutes as he struggles not to roll his eyes. You smile.

“Oh that’s good,” the woman beside you hums. You frown at her, concentration broken. It was her turn to frown. She shakes her head, gazing back to Odin. “Thor reached a treaty with Muspelheim.”

The next hour passes slowly, and for once, you’re grateful. When Odin stops, it’s the Crown Prince’s turn to regale the audience of thousands with his diplomatic success. Only half-listening, you use the time to your advantage, perving on Loki kneeling on the polished floor with those long, pale fingers clasped around one knee. When the dark prince stands, the rest of the high-nobles do the same. He whips his cape back, allowing the crowd a gratuitous view of his muscular ass and thighs flexing beneath tight leather while he unfurls. Loki’s imperious eyes scan the heaving crowd with an air of disdain. The look rolls like a sea wind, cold and unforgiving until you feel its weight land on you.

You’re pinned by that stare as plainly as though it’s his hands; his body. Goosebumps ripple beneath your dress. I see you, he mouths silently, subtly, before his gaze falls on his brother once more.

The royal family wave a final time before slipping to the doors at the back of the Great Hall. Loki’s attention hadn’t fallen upon you again, but the waiting. The anticipation; it was exhausting.

Around you, the bustle of a thousand conversations grows to a roar. The front rows of the crowd begin to file out and follow the same path the royal family had taken through the golden doors. High-court, only. Friends and family, that sort of thing. A huge curtain hangs behind the throne, buffeting gently from some unseen breeze. It’s a rich amber with threads of green and red and blue, shimmering patterns that no mortal fingers could accomplish woven over centuries, millennia even.

Gods, noted warriors and chancellors all dutifully bow to the empty throne before circling around the platform and disappearing behind the curtain. On their way to a feast, no doubt.

A set of bird-like fingers wrap around your wrist. With a yank you pull it away, whipping round to see the expectant face of a young boy.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. Pickpockets are rife at these sorts of things. The boy stares. Puberty hadn’t darkened a shadow on his skin, and despite his age, he was un-phased by the abruptness.

“You are requested,” he says, bored eyes searching your face. People jostle by your shoulders in annoyance. “By who?” you scoff. They’d try anything these days.

The boy tugs your hand. “Requested,” he says again as though it explains everything, turning and pulling you earnestly towards the line of guards. With a single glance at an insignia on his tunic, they part for him.

You traipse behind him at pace, clutching long skirts in one fist while eyes in the crowd follow you down the marble aisle against the sea of people and behind the mysterious curtain. “Name?” a voice grunts.

You look from the back of the boy’s head to the bulky figure in front of you. He’s dressed in robes of scarlet, the hint of a dagger’s hilt beneath a thick belt. A wiry red beard hangs down his chest, resting on a buckle of black steel. “I know you not…” he sneers slowly. “No names,” the boy snaps. He barely came up to the gatekeeper’s stomach. “She’s been requested.” The gatekeeper’s face crumples and his eyes dart to the emblem on the boy’s chest before standing aside, holding his tongue.

The youth gestures with his head to follow him, and you do…. down a short corridor flooded with buttery light. Delicate jangling of lutes and laughter ring to ornate cloisters, a glittering view of Asgard below the balcony-walkway taking your breath away. “Hurry,” the boy snips without a backwards look. “Master is not a patient man.”

He claps his small hands three times and a set of golden doors at the end of the cloister swing open. Thor comes into view mid-conversation, still wearing his ceremonial armour, a goblet spilling over the sides clutched in one hand as he gesticulates wildly. There’s a rumble of polite laughter. Your hand shoots out, grabbing the boy’s shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you mutter. He shoots a scathing glance over his shoulder, casting a salty look down to your feet and back again. “You have been—”

“—requested,” you finish petulantly. “Yeah, I know.”

Your ribs thrum as you walk through the doors, pulled by invisible hands. There can only be one person who harbours the desire to have you at this exclusive gathering. And even that’s beyond insanity. Has he mistaken you for someone else? The boy, that is. He’s a barely more than a child. You were about to ask where you should go, when you realise he’s gone. Casting a frantic look around the room it’s evident that familiar groups have already formed, jokes cracking in waves; picking at piles of nuts and fruit and meats. Frigga herself stands by an ornate silver trolley, ladling wine into a goblet while Lofn whispers in her ear. Your knees buckle slightly. There he is.

A small figure works through folds of silk and armoured angles to the back of the room. You follow him, before halting abruptly, steadying yourself against a table. The boy’s come to a stop in front of a shadowed figure, exchanging a conspiratorial nod. Loki Odinson claps him on the back, raising a goblet to his lips. He rests against a pillar, choosing to stay apart from the revels. Watching. Waiting. His eyes meet yours as he sips; dark and dangerous over a rim of gold. One brow twitches upwards in, you presume, greeting. Sweaty palms run slip the front of your dress and you fight the sudden urge to run. It’s pale blue, the finest you own. Which isn’t saying much. The same colour as his eyes, you realise.

The Prince lowers the goblet, cocking his head. He’s still adorned with the ensemble his part in the day’s festivities required save one, the helmet. Dark curls spill freely over the shoulders of the cape fastened to guards beneath, intricate folds of fabric worked to perfection.

He raises a hand, forefinger beckoning twice in subtle succession before lowering it again. Just like the baths, you think with a shameful thrill. Your gaze darts to faces you’ve only seen in paintings around the court as you glide over, trying to look like you belong - but no one bats an eye. Loki unhooks one foot from behind the other, nudging himself off the column. Leather boots gape teasingly around his calves. You wonder, if you beg like a common trollop, if he would fuck you wearing those boots. Only those boots—

“You’re not wearing green,” the Prince drawls. You open your mouth and close it again, irritatingly mute while his blue irises smoulder. “Usually they wear green.” You press your lips together, collecting yourself. “Who?” “Those trying to bed me,” Loki says.

“I’m not trying to—” The prince waves a dismissive hand. “—Catch my attention, then.”

You feel your cheeks heat under scrutiny, a very obvious swallow working its way down your throat. “I don’t know what you mean your Highness,” you say. “You summoned me.”

“Indeed, I did. So I imagine I must have a very good reason,” the Prince murmurs. He brings the pad of a fingertip to his lower lip, brushing it across the skin as you stand in silent bemusement. “Loki! Did you send for a jester? What fun!” You inhale sharply as Fandral slides into view beside your shoulder. His hair is on point this evening, a lush wave cresting over his forehead and swept to the side as his eyes trail to your feet and back to your face. “Oh, my mistake. Just someone getting a little a carried away with the rouge, it seems.” Your stomach tightens. “I’m leaving, your Highness,” you say with a lacklustre bow and a bitter taste in your mouth. “But you do not have my permission,” Loki growls quietly. His feet come into view on the floor and you raise your head, inhaling the sweet breath from his lungs clouding your lips. “More wine, Loki?” Fandral asks brightly, already pouring into Loki’s goblet. The prince’s eyes don’t leave yours, but his mouth hardens.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he asks through gritted teeth. Fandral looks at you with mock-surprise. “Oh yes, most recent conquest is it? Come for a peek behind the gilded curtain before you’re sent back to the depths of banality? I thought he’d run out of new faces.” He winks; it makes your stomach churn.   “She’s not a conquest,” Loki says, hovering the goblet by his lips. “Not one of mine, anyway.”

Your eyes dart to his and catch them narrow slightly. Fandral looks genuinely confused. “Well, what then? Why is she here? Who is she?”

Suddenly there’s a loud crash to the side. Thor stumbles against the table laden with wine-soaked pears and pastries and mounds of tartlets, knocking a pile of cold meats to the ground. He wobbles after them, kneeling on the floor and beginning to pick them off the stones as if they were jewels. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Loki mutters, and you feel the gentle pressure of a hand on your waist. “Walk with me,” he urges in your ear and a shudder rolls down your spine.

“Loki?” Fandral calls as the figures around you start to blur and the Prince manoeuvres you through the crowd like a feather. “Loki, I must speak to you about the…matter, I’ll…later. Yes, later. Quite.” A wall of fresh air skates over your skin. You hadn’t realised how warm it was inside. The two of you come to a stop at the wall of the balcony, nails skimming against polished marble. Loki clears his throat.

“I apologise for Fandral he’s…” Loki looks up from beneath his lashes, a performative sheepishness softening his face, “well, himself.” You stifle a laugh, focusing on the edge of the moonlit waterfalls in the distance. Silence hangs between you, made louder by the jumbled festivities inside. “Why am I here, Prince Loki?” you whisper, not daring to look at him. “If it’s about what happened in the baths, I won’t tell a soul I swear—” “—It’s not.” Irritation begins to brew in your stomach. “Well then Fandral has a point. Why am I here? I’m no one.” “Exactly.” A prickle of heat rises up your neck, stinging your ears. “Am I a joke to you, your Highness?”

Loki’s eyes flashing in moonlight, but he says nothing. It stings.

“You bring me here to make a fool out of me in front of your friends? In front of Frigga? Frigga.” “I needed to see if any of them knew you.” Loki’s voice is eerily calm, his gaze as unflinching as a cliff jutting into night. “And clearly, they do not. Fandral would recognise you if they did; that little fishwife knows absolutely everything.” “Why would they know me? And what does it matter?” “It matters a great deal. To me, at least. And to you, perhaps.” You push a strand of hair back from your forehead, hating that its damp. The skin feels hot. Hot and flustered and clammy with embarrassment and…shit, arousal. Can he tell?

Black strings of lax curl blow gently around Loki’s jawline, pale lips stained with wine. “Tell me, my Lady…have you heard of the Rite of Successional Pleasure?” he asks, and suddenly all other noise vanishes from your ears save the hum of his voice.

Loki’s eyes run down the blue chiffon of your robe, wondering if he could peel it off and cast it skating across the stone with a solitary swipe of his hand. Allowing you a moment to collect yourself, he decides that yes, he could. “Surely just a legend, my Prince…” you answer demurely, busying your hands and staring off into the distance as an unmistakable waft of heat courses from your bare neckline. He licks his lips, feeling a smirk curl the corners.

“Aren’t we all?” he purrs. Their eyes meet. “I assure you it is very real. A relic, to be sure. But real enough. And I require a partner to enact this Rite, else my succession to Asgard’s throne will not be entrenched in law. I have waited too long as it is, as I keep being reminded.”

“That’s very…interesting,” you say.

Loki straightens. He hadn’t taken you for a dullard, but he does appreciate the delayed gratification of enthusiasm at the proposal. Loki can hear your heart thud faster; he wonders how much of that blood is flushing to your sex beneath the gown billowing about your ankles. You glance at him and quickly look away. It makes Loki’s stomach twist. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps events in the bath-house were simply…opportunity. Or worse, fear. You clear your throat. “What is it, exactly? The Rite of Successional…” “—Pleasure,” Loki finishes abruptly. He rolls his shoulders back, steadying the flurry of unwelcome nerves in his chest.

“One of my family’s farcical traditions. When Asgard’s twin moons are in perfect equilibrium within the heavens, once every half millennia – eligible members of the royal family suitable for rule must, in order to be considered for finite succession, perform the Rite.” “Which is?”

Loki’s eyes fall down the curve of your neck, hovering on your moist lips. He’d thought of nothing else in the days since the bath-house; those lips sucked between his teeth, stretching around his cock; swollen and wet and…

“Pleasure.” It comes out sterner than intended. “To be given, only. A king must not just be skilled in diplomacy, in combat, in war and sacrifice, but in giving pleasure,” he says, imitating the cadence of his father’s voice with a caricatural wave of his hand. “How else can Asgard’s citizens know we are to be trusted, to be benevolent, if is not documented in the annals?”

“You can’t be serious,” you say. “I thought it was a joke, like the other things.” “Contrary to belief, I can be very serious indeed, little owl,” Loki replies with a smile. It fades. The weight of the pet name plucked from nowhere hangs in the air like smoke as you fidget with a fold of your dress. Gods, how he hates that it’s blue. “I still don’t see what it has to do with me,” you posture meekly. Loki tenses, words hissing between his teeth. “Bifrost’s blood, woman. I’m asking you to be my partner for the Rite. Must I carve it in stone?”

The widen of your eyes makes his stomach flutter and you attempt a clumsy curtsey which makes Thor’s staggered collapse among the strewn meats look elegant. “I…I don’t know what to…I—” Suddenly, you look up. “Is it witnessed?” “Of course.” Horror blossoms in your eyes. “Oh…it’s very tasteful,” Loki says, inspecting his nails. “Much more so than the Ceremony of the Sacred Seed, I assure you. It relies more on…aural methods. For the most part.”

“I’ve never been invited to that,” you reply absently, and Loki notes that your fingers have curled around his wrist armour, steadying yourself. “When is the…the moon thing?” “Five nights from now,” he says, and your jaw drops. “I understand I’ve left it rather late, but I really am in rather a bind.” The irony of him practically begging this unknown woman of the court to bring her the greatest ecstasy she’s ever know wasn’t lost on Loki, but for the moment at least…he decides to restrain his natural urge to remind her of that fact.

“Your reputation will only be enhanced, I assure you,” he adds. “It’s a great honour. And I am, if I may say, quite renowned for my skill in that department.” “Why me?” she asked. And there it was. He grimaced. “Don’t lie to me,” she added bravely, and his grimace deepened. “The Rite will only be valid if the recipient has never known the touch of a god. Or, more specifically their…essence. Our essences must never have touched each other. The punishment is severe; there are tomes and everything; rules…how I loathe them,” he says, offering a weak smile. Realisation blossoms in your eyes. “And…I’m afraid my roster has been rather full these past centuries.” A small laugh erupts from your throat that makes it incredibly difficult not to shut you up with his mouth. “Surely you can’t have fucked everyone in the high-court?”

Loki bit back a laugh of his own. “Rather brazen, aren’t you?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Regrettably, my options in that circle are limited to Fandral. And I’m afraid I cannot bring myself to give him the satisfaction he most desperately desires; it’s far too much fun tormenting him.” You raise an eyebrow and Loki scoffs, smoothing a curl back. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. I know what they must say about me.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, your Highness,” you say with a conspiratorial smile.

“Liar,” Loki replies softly. The sparkle of your mischief fades, and he finds he immediately misses it. “So, I’m…a last resort, then?” “Somewhat, yes.” You bristle, goosebumps rising along your bare arms in the evening chill. Loki watches them flare, fighting the urge to soothe them with his fingertips. Another eruption of his brother’s drunken laughter bounces from the archways.

“What happened in the baths,” she says, eyeing him warily. “Wouldn’t that count? Wouldn’t your…uh, essence have…travelled?”

A small noise scratches from Loki’s throat. “Far too diluted. Fortunately…we were rather far apart.” She moves a step closer, looking up at him beneath her lashes. Her scent makes his mouth water. “And besides, if memory serves you made rather a hasty exit.” “If I agree to this, what’s in it for me?” you ask with a coolness he isn’t expecting. He frowns. “Aside from the obvious?” You shoot him a scathing glare. “You’ll be an honoured guest of Asgard’s highest echelons until the ceremony; luxurious quarters, the finest garments…yours to keep, naturally. A feast in your honour, the honour of my escort, a place in Asgard’s history, and of course…my eternal thanks.” He waits until you turn fractionally towards him before deploying a calculated wink. Your expression is stamped with suspicion, and yet he sees the intrigue nestled beneath the veneer of resistance. He’s not surprised when you shuffle closer, glancing over your shoulder. “Is there um…practice, involved?” Loki feels his brows shoot up. “Practice? Norns haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? Our…”

He whips his cape as he spins, eyeing over his shoulder, catching the glint of Fandral’s flaxen hair hovering by the feasting table. “Our evidence of arousal cannot be in contact before the Rite…not a single drop, lest the entire ceremony be declared null and my honour as a successor questioned.” “Right,” you say stiffly. “Of course.” He can feel the heat of embarrassment radiating from your skin.

You need her, fool. Loki clears his throat with a dry rattle. “But we may…get to know each other. That is expected, at least. If you agree, of course.” You turn to him, eyes shimmering in moonlight. Loki wonders again how he could possibly have missed such a rare jewel in the drab sameness of Asgard’s court. He straightens as your finger runs over the metal at his wrist, trailing up the hem of his cape. “Are you allowed to kiss me?” you ask. A thick swallow works down his throat, his trousers tightening as you add, “What do the rules say about that?” Suddenly it feels as though he could be three-hundred again, unfamiliar nerves sizzling in his belly like fire. “I…there is no impediment to that particular act, no.” “Don’t you think it would be wise to…make sure we’re compatible before you make such a momentous decision?” A flush creeps up Loki’s neck above the high collar of his tunic as the clink of goblets and laughter continue inside the archway and he’s thankful for darkness. A muscle in his jawline twitches, fingers clenching and unclenching by his sides. There it was again, that audacity. So wilful, and yet…

In a flash his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you back with him into shadow. He slips a hand around your back, cushioning your spine as you meet rough stone with a gasp. Your sultry eyes look up at him with manufactured innocence.

“Let’s spare ourselves the virginal theatrics,” he hums, drawing his nose up the line of your cheekbone. The shiver that racks your body makes the toes in his boots curl. “You will be my partner for this sacred Rite?” You catch his lips with the brush of an autumn breeze, grazing against the words. The scent of you overwhelms him; a deep forest tang with overtures of a fragrant sweetness he can’t place.

He groans into the kiss, hungrier with every work of his mouth against the reach of your tongue. Loki’s hands slide up the swell of your breasts, each moan shivering from your throat into his making him want to explode.

As your fingers card through his hair, he realises the other hand is working down the harsh wall of tunic, sliding down his abdomen, hungry for the engorged lust strapped to his hip. There is a barrier, he thinks wildly, tempering his fear. There is a barrier. You squeeze. “Norns, woman…” he growls between gritted teeth, steadying a forearm against the wall behind your head as his gnawing kisses work down your neck. Stone veins spread in crunching crackles under the pressure. “Loki,” you gasp beneath him, bucking into the press of his armour into your endless curves. The realisation he can’t sate it hits with sudden, unwelcome clarity.

“Far too familiar,” he chides against your ear with a feigned derision that makes another moan snake from your throat. Loki’s cock throbs harder. “I remain your Prince, and you will address me as such.” You crush his lips with a kiss full of such desire Loki thinks he might shatter. His cock rubs against your stomach, harsh friction sending jolts of pleasure lancing through his body and suddenly, you break from him with a pant. “Do you want to know my name now, my Prince?”

His saliva rings your mouth; lips swollen and puffed. He nods twice, keeping his chin low on the second as his eyes flutter closed as you lean to his ear, whispering the word. Now that he knows it, he can’t imagine it being anything else.

“…and I’m no one’s last resort, not even a god,” you say, meeting his eyes. Loki steps back, jaw hardening as you smooth down the front of your dress. “I didn’t mean to imply—” “—Well, you did. So, if this still seems like a good idea in the morning, I expect to see you again under less…crowded circumstances.” Loki bit back the urge to protest, but as much as he was loathe to admit it…she had a point. Preparations for the Rite were usually conducted over months, and as he widened his stance, clasping his hands behind his back, a familiar coiffured sheaf of golden hair glinted and disappeared with suspicious urgency. “Unless you’d rather partake with Fandral?”

Loki’s stomach flips but he swallows down the urge to answer. “You’re familiar with my apprentice?” he asks. You nod. “He shall come for you at noon tomorrow.” A small smile flickers at your glistening lips. “Very well, your Highness,” you say, sinking into a curtsey that makes Loki’s cock ache before rising and gliding towards the open archway. He rolls his lips together, fighting the urge to follow you – but he’s already shown his hand too heavily tonight.

As you pass through the arch, Thor wobbles in the other direction, casting a quizzical glance backwards. “There you are, brother,” he slurs, slumping onto the balcony. His arm makes a heavy gesture towards the party, swinging wildly. “She is the one?” Loki bristles. “Yes, brother.”

“Finally. Norns preserve us, I thought you’d never make it. You know she is not suitable for the ceremony if she has been...sampled, already?” he asks as both eyebrows rise. Loki scoffs and throws his brother an incredulous stare. “I know that,” he snarls. “What do you take me for, some kind of rube?” Thor sighs, picking a slice of cured boar from his breastplate and dangling into his mouth. “Let’s hope you can satisfy her, then – in every way. For all our sakes.” Loki’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “If you can scrape past the requirements, we both know I shall have no issue.” “Mmm,” his brother hums. “If it wasn’t for the other matter her response will be measured on.”

“It’s all in hand, brother,” he lies, ignoring the thump of his heart, watching the bob of your head as you wind between intoxicated council members towards the door. “Five moons is more than enough time for that.” And beside him, Thor snorts.

Chapter Three: Measurement The Masterlist for the Rite is here Tags in comments (≧ヮ≦) 💕

[delulujuls]

the true one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the pt3 of my jace series. i was having few ideas for how to end this one but i got carried away and i even started to feel bad how i decided to solve it.

we will see if i will end this up on here or write another part because man i do really feel bad for aegon:( im not gonna lie, at one moment i started to smell a love trangle forming up here lmao

summary: love lifts you up, but it can also hurt you. in case of dragon princess and young prince from dragonstone, love saved westeros from war, but it broke one heart that was already broken enough. a shattered heard from someone who since the beginning wanted love, not the crown.

warnings: mentions of sex, nothing crazy though

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. cregan stark aka the-best-wingman-in-whole-westeros and aegon 'the broken boy' targaryen)

King Viserys did not engage in many wars during his reign, for he was considered a wise and good ruler. However, those that were unavoidable, he almost always managed to win. There was one battle he unfortunately could not win, and that was the battle with his illness.

Death came for the good king shortly after his 52nd Name Day, leaving Westeros without a ruler. There were two candidates vying for the Iron Throne, each equally certain of their right to it.

Many believed that Rhaenyra, the king's first child, was the rightful heir to the throne. However, because she was a woman, the crown fell to Aegon, Viserys' eldest son. Ultimately, he was proclaimed the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, but not everyone agreed with this decision. One of those who did not was Rhaenyra herself.

The Princess of Dragonstone, believing there had been a misunderstanding, began to gather allies around her who were willing to support her claim to the throne. Aegon, of course, did the same. At some point, however, there was no more talk of a peaceful resolution, and gathering allies turned into gathering armies. A cold wind blew over Westeros, heralding not only the coming winter but also war.

The most distant from the sunny King's Landing to the south was the North. There lay many settlements rich in resources and armies, which were now more valuable than gold. Both Rhaenyra and Aegon had no intention of wasting time. They had to secure allies faster than their opponent.

"You will go North," Rhaenyra told her eldest son. "Lord Cregan is closer to your age than mine. I am sure you will find a common language."

Jacaerys nodded silently and embraced his mother. He understood the weight of the task entrusted to him and intended to fulfill it to the best of his ability. Similar words Alicent Hightower directed to her eldest daughter when she visited her in her chambers one evening.

"Me?" the young princess asked, sitting in front of the mirror and brushing her hair. The maid who had been doing it earlier quickly left the room as soon as the queen appeared. "You have the King's Best Sword and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard at your disposal, and you want to send me to the North?"

"Aemond may wield a sword skillfully, and Ser Criston may be an envoy of even the Father himself," she said, gripping the back of the chair her daughter sat in. "But they are still men. They are driven by the desire to fight and pride."

When she looked at her daughter's face in the reflection, the girl merely shook her head.

"The people of the North must see the sacrifice we are willing to offer. You will not gain their support by intimidating them with a dragon but with gentleness and a good heart, burning with zeal and the desire for peace."

"The desire for peace," the girl scoffed. "You want to send me there to gather people ready to go to their deaths."

Alicent lowered her gaze. She looked at her daughter's bright hair, flowing down her back like liquid gold. She took it between her fingers and began to braid it.

"You are betrothed to the king, soon to be his wife and queen of the Seven Kingdoms," she said. "You will present yourself to them as the king's prudent right hand and future good queen. No one warms the image of a ruler better than his wife."

"Rhaenyra doesn't need to send anyone to the North to gain their support," she replied, glancing at her mother in the reflection. "You know well that no one will stand by the usurper."

"Perhaps not by the usurper, but by the future queen, they might."

The young princess knew that her mother left her no choice. Knowing that her journey was doomed to failure, she mounted her dragon the same day and set off in the direction from which the cold, winter-foretelling wind blew.

The eldest Targaryen princess and the prince of Dragonstone had not seen each other since they had celebrated Rhaenyra's 32nd Name Day together with King Viserys. Much had changed since then. News of the king's death spread across Westeros, and the Targaryen family split in two. Nothing indicated that the young princes, bound by feelings, would ever meet again. Certainly, none of them expected to meet hundreds of miles from home on frozen ground.

Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, knew this well. Ravens informing of the visit had reached him from both King's Landing and Dragonstone. The Small Council, in which the Wolf of the North sat, tried to dissuade him from the crazy idea of bringing both warring sides to Winterfell. However, Cregan was hopeful that Jacaerys was not driven by his mother's spirit and that the young princess was not a reflection of her cruel brother. He believed he would see dragons dancing while playing on the snowy sky, not waging war. He believed that youth and good hearts would prevail.

The prince of Dragonstone arrived in Winterfell first. Vermax swooped down from the sky with a roar, causing the inhabitants to watch the winged beast in horror. Neither the dragon nor its rider had any ill intentions. The same intentions did not drive the young princess, who arrived in the capital of the North shortly afterward. Just as the relatively small Vermax instilled fear in the people, so did the sight of the massive Vermithor prompt many to clasp their hands in prayer. May the Old Gods watch over the North.

When the Bronze Fury descended from the sky, Lord Stark and Prince Velaryon were on their way back from the Wall. They learned of the guest's arrival only when a rider came to meet them, announcing the arrival of a dragon.

"A dragon?" Jacaerys furrowed his brow and looked questioningly at the host. "Another dragon has come to Winterfell?"

"Yes, my prince," Cregan replied, urging his horse forward. "Let us hurry, we must not keep the guest waiting."

The young princess was informed that Lord Stark would soon arrive and was taken from the cold and invited to the chamber set aside for her stay in Winterfell. She removed her warm cloak and sat by the fireplace, rubbing her cold hands. She had been uncertain during the journey, but now she began to feel genuinely nervous. What was her mother thinking, sending her here?

Jacaerys remained silent throughout the return journey, gripping the reins so tightly his fingers went numb. Who had come to Winterfell? Had his mother sent someone after him? If so, why? And if it wasn't Rhaenyra, someone from King's Landing must have come North. Aegon? No, that would be too prudent. Aemond? Had he come to secure allies? And why had Lord Stark accepted this so calmly? Was it an ambush?

When they arrived at Winterfell, they headed straight for the castle. Instructed which chamber the guest awaited in, they went there immediately. Jacaerys' heart pounded wildly, and he did not share Lord Stark's calm demeanor. When Cregan knocked and pushed open the heavy door to one of the chambers, Jacaerys felt his heart leap into his throat. Hearing the knock at the door, the young princess felt the same. She took a deep breath and rose from her seat, smoothing her tunic with her hands. She looked up at the entrance and saw a tall, young man. She guessed that the steely-eyed youth was Lord Stark. However, he was not alone; someone else entered right behind him. The princess could not believe her eyes. She felt as though her mind was playing tricks on her after the exhausting journey.

"Jace?" she spoke uncertain, almost questioningly.

Jacaerys was in such shock that he felt as if his legs had grown roots into the ground.

"Princess," was all he could stammer out as she quickly approached him and hugged him tightly. The young prince closed his eyes and returned the embrace strongly. Feeling her in his arms, her hair tickling his face, he realized it was not a dream. It was truly her.

Cregan smiled at the sight of the dragons lost in each other's embrace. He knew he had no reason to worry. Kindness and youth would always prevail.

Still holding the girl, Jacaerys glanced at the Wolf Lord. Cregan smiled at him and quietly left the room.

"I thought I would never see you again," the girl whispered after a moment, pulling away and cupping his face in her hands. Tears shone in her violet eyes. Jacaerys took her hands and kissed each one.

"I feared the same," he admitted, not hiding his own emotions.

The pair sat by the fireplace, talking animatedly. They held each other's hands tightly the entire time, as if afraid that one might disappear at any moment.

They talked for a long time, forgetting the world around them. They spoke of what had happened to them since their last meeting, about the events that were tearing their family apart, and about the looming war. When their conversation turned to more serious topics, a servant entered the room, announcing that Lord Stark invited them to dinner. The Dragon Princess and the Prince of Dragonstone joined the Wolf of the North. The dinner was sumptuous but did not have many guests. The dining room hosted only the three of them.

"I hope you don't hold this arranged meeting against me, your Highnesses," Cregan said, pouring them wine.

The princess shook her head while eating, taking a sip from her goblet.

"It was a bold move, my lord," Jacaerys admitted. "I guess you had no certainty about how it might end."

"Indeed," Cregan acknowledged. "But I felt that neither of you held the dark values that sometimes blind your families. Luckily for me, and even more for the people of Winterfell, I managed to avoid making another Harrenhall here."

"You can't deny your courage, my lord," the girl smiled, glancing at him. "A bit of madness too."

Cregan smiled at her words and raised his goblet in a toast.

"I hope we can reach a good understanding together."

The princely pair also raised their goblets in a toast. That evening, there was no lack of wine and ale, and the topic of the impending war, though important, was left for another day. That evening was spent on more pleasant and mundane conversations. It did not resemble an evening where three representatives of different values gathered, but rather three friends.

As the wine started to buzz in their heads and the table was cleared of food, Lord Stark declared it was time to retire. After wishing each other a good night, Jacaerys went to escort the princess to her chamber. He held her securely by the waist to prevent her from falling, as their legs wobbled like reeds in the wind. The pair giggled quietly in each other's arms, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

"Stay with me," she whispered when they reached her chamber. "I guess the nights are exceptionally cold here."

"How could I refuse you, princess," he smiled, and she returned his smile and pulled him inside. On unsteady legs, she walked to a small mirror and sat down, beginning to undo her hair. Jacaerys approached her and gently, with great reverence, began to help. He carefully untangled her braids, occasionally glancing at her face in the mirror. Their eyes met frequently, eliciting soft giggles. The young prince had never stopped having feelings for her, feelings that had blossomed so vividly when they spent time together on Dragonstone. The young princess couldn't recall a day when she hadn't thought of him. Her heart, which she was supposed to give to another, loved the Velaryon youth unconditionally.

"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," he whispered. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair, feeling as if he held velvet in his hands.

The girl smiled and stood up, facing him. She touched his cheek and ran her thumb along it. Jacaerys did the same, pulling her by the waist closer to him with his other hand. He noticed a necklace with a three-headed dragon, each head holding a green emerald, around her neck. The young prince's face saddened.

"Have you already married him?"

"No," she replied. "And I still don't want to."

Jacaerys looked up at her, about to say something, but she kissed him impulsively. Realizing what she had done, she wanted to pull away and apologize, but the young prince caught the back of her head and deepened the kiss. She cupped his face in her hands, returning each kiss.

"Marry me, princess," he whispered. "We'll run away to where the map doesn't reach. Away from all this."

The Dragon Princess smiled and nodded, kissing him tenderly in response. Their wine and ale-soaked lips exchanged deep kisses, and their hands clumsily removed each other's clothes. Shortly after, they found themselves in a fur-covered bed, lost in each other's embrace. They didn't think about whether what they were doing was wrong. What was wrong was marrying someone you felt only fear and hatred for. The young princess knew she could never feel for Aegon even a fraction of the feelings she had for Jacaerys.

As night turned to dawn, the pair lay entwined together. Their naked, sweat-drenched, and kiss-marked bodies lay intertwined, almost as one. The girl pressed her cheek against the prince's chest, stroking him gently, and he held her, tracing patterns on her bare back with his fingers.

"Let's get married here," she said after a while. "Here, in the Godswood."

Jacaerys smiled sleepily and hugged her tighter. "Do you think Lord Stark would agree to that?"

"I think he'd be the first to bless us."

The young prince chuckled softly at her words. The girl lifted herself and looked at his face.

"I love you, Jace," she confessed almost in a whisper. "And I'm afraid I won't be able to stop."

The boy smiled and cupped her face. His heart swelled at her words. The love he saw in her eyes was boundless.

"I love you too, princess. I would give my life for you."

The next day, even before the three of them sat down for breakfast, Lord Stark knew what had transpired in one of his castle's chambers. He had heard that the bed in Jacaerys' room remained unmade and that he had arrived at the dining hall in the company of the princess. Cregan would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased. He hadn't realized the feelings the pair of dragons had for each other. It turned out that love could indeed conquer war. Still filled with apprehension, Jacaerys decided to present the Wolf of the North with the idea of marriage.

"Who am I to dissuade you from this idea?" he replied. "I will gladly lead the princess to the wedding myself."

That same day, in the Godswood, the wedding ceremony took place. Compared to weddings held in the Faith of the Seven, it was modest. Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, fulfilled his promise and led the dragon princess to the Weirwood tree, where her Velaryon prince awaited her. Beyond the wall of the Godswood, two large dragon heads watched, occasionally breaking the silence with squawking and growling.

The witnesses to the wedding were dragons, the Wolf of the North, the Heart Tree, and the Old Gods, who silently observed the marriage. Dry leaves rustled in the icy wind, and snowflakes settled on the rosy cheeks of the soon-to-be-married couple, who became husband and wife after a brief ceremony.

"So, it is done," Lord Stark smiled. "But what kind of wedding would it be without a feast?"

The newlyweds exchanged smiles and, holding hands, followed the Wolf of the North towards the castle. That day, the specter of war had to wait as well.

However, the next day, the issue of northern allies and whose side they would take had to be addressed. The dragon princess represented the greens, while Jacaerys the blacks.

"Have your lords side with us," the princess proposed during a Small Council meeting, gripping her husband's hand tightly under the table. "Not with Aegon or Rhaenyra. Let them withdraw from this battle for allies."

"With all due respect, princess, are you planning to fight? To be a third party in this conflict?" one of the men at the table asked.

"There will be no war," Jacaerys interjected. "And even if there were, it wouldn't be the North's war. They won't participate in what's happening in the South. This will weaken the military forces."

"We can't be neutral," another man stated. "Lack of a side is worse than betrayal. What if someone less benevolent than you comes on a dragon and razes us to the ground?"

"No one will do that," the princess assured. "I guarantee your safety."

"I do too," Jacaerys added. "The capital must understand that this conflict has no higher purpose and will only bring unimaginable misery."

"I'm afraid, Your Highnesses, that neither Princess Rhaenyra nor King Aegon will relent," one of the men replied. "Do you think your marriage would dissuade them? The King could annul it at any moment."

"The King can continue doing what he does best, drinking himself into oblivion and fucking whores," the girl snapped, involuntarily squeezing Jacaerys's hand harder. "If the news of the wedding isn't already on its way to the South, it will be soon. Tomorrow we'll head back and announce that the marriage is a peace treaty. And if that doesn't impress anyone, we'll send a message to all who have allied with both Aegon and Rhaenyra to withdraw their commitments. I swear by the Seven, no one, given the choice, will go to certain death. The fight between dragons will bring nothing else."

The princess's words brought silence among the gathered. After a moment, Lord Stark stood up and drew his sword, kneeling before the girl.

"You can count on me, princess. The Stark family will side with the young couple."

The dragon princess smiled and nodded to him. Grateful, Jacaerys did the same. Soon after, each of the men at the Council meeting followed the Wolf's lead. The girl's passionate and convincing words withdrew not only the Stark family but also the Umbers, Karstarks, Mormonts, Boltons, Ryswells, Reeds, Hornwoods, and Cerwyns from the conflict. And it was just the beginning.

That same day, ravens were sent to all who had castles from the Wall to Moat Cailin, from the Stormy Shore to Widow's Watch. Each message was signed by the young couple and the Wolf of the North himself.

"I wish you much perseverance, Your Highnesses," Cregan said before they mounted their dragons. "But I believe you will manage to dissuade us from war."

It might not have been appropriate, but the girl hugged him tightly in farewell. Cregan had done unimaginable things for them in just a few days. The Wolf of the North smiled and hugged her back.

"I've never met someone with a heart like yours, princess," he admitted. "You have my word that the North will always protect it."

Jacaerys extended his hand to him, but Cregan hugged and patted him on the back. The Prince of Dragonstone smiled and returned the embrace.

Two dragons left Winterfell, but the icy wind carried them for a long time. That same wind brought news of the wedding to the South shortly after, before they had traveled even a quarter of the way.

"May the Seven protect us," Alicent sank into her chair when the maester came to her with the news. She strictly forbade anyone to speak of it, especially to Aegon. She quickly sent for the Hand.

Otto laughed when he heard the news. His daughter, however, found no humor in it.

"Brilliant," he remarked, filling his goblet and taking a sip of wine.

"Brilliant?" Alicent thought everyone had lost their minds. "She broke off the engagement. Aegon could burn Dragonstone to the ground when they return."

"If I were Aegon, I'd pack the crown in the finest cloth, seal it with the best wax, and send it to Dragonstone immedatiely."

Alicent shook her head and buried her face in her hands. Otto did not share his daughter's pessimism.

"Or better yet, he should place it on dear sister's head himself when she returns from Winterfell," he corrected. "The girl circumvented a code we didn't even know existed."

"She caused a catastrophe!" Alicent exclaimed, looking at her father in disbelief. "She was Aegon's betrothed and the future queen. She was only supposed to go North to gain allies!"

"And she decided to end the war," he replied. "We definitely placed the wrong child on the throne."

Alicent shook her head in disbelief. She didn't know if her father was joking or if he genuinely saw no problem with the situation.

"So what should we do?" she asked, looking at him.

"First, we should wait for them to return and announce this joyous news," he said.

When the dragons reached the South, they decided to separate. Jacaerys returned to Dragonstone, wanting to personally deliver the news to his mother not only about the marriage but also about the withdrawal of the northern armies from the war. The princess returned to King’s Landing and immediately made her way to Aegon’s chambers.

She didn’t know if the news had reached her brother, but she decided to handle the matter herself and as a priority. A small dagger hung at her belt, and she had no guards with her except for the two standing in front of Aegon’s chamber doors. The men greeted her and bowed slightly, but she dismissed them as soon as she stood in front of her brother's chambers. She took a deep breath to muster some courage as she raised her fist and knocked on the door.

When a voice from inside instructed her to enter, the young princess pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. Aegon stood before a large mirror, dressed in armor. Three men were fussing around him, making adjustments, adding and removing parts of the armor. Three guards stood beside Aegon, talking animatedly with him. However, when they noticed the princess, they bowed, and the two tailors did the same. Aegon saw in the mirror’s reflection a figure he hadn’t seen for several moons. He smiled and turned, taking a sip of wine from the goblet he held.

"My brave, sweet sister," he said, stepping down from a small stool. He was drunk, as always. "Did you secure the North for me, my dear?"

"I need to talk to you," she approached, glancing at him. "In private."

"You heard the future queen, out!" Aegon commanded, waving his hand. Shortly afterward, the room was empty except for the siblings. The young king finished his wine and set the empty goblet aside, stepping closer to the girl. When he was within arm’s reach, he raised his hand to touch her cheek, but she pulled her head back.

"I hoped that your visit to the North would cool your temper a bit," he admitted, lowering his hand. "But i see that even the harshest cold can’t chill a dragon."

"I married Jacaerys," the girl said quickly, almost as quickly as if she had shot an arrow from a crossbow. Her voice didn’t tremble. She raised her eyes to her brother’s face. "I won’t be your wife, Aegon."

The boy snorted, but seeing her serious expression, he couldn’t help but laugh.

"What did you do?" he chuckled. "Repeat it, because I must have misheard."

"We got married in Winterfell, and Lord Stark decided to withdraw from the war. His vassal lords too, and the whole North was given the same choice."

Seeing that his sister wasn’t joking, Aegon wiped the smile from his face. His eyes, though glossy with alcohol, looked at her in shock. His eyelid twitched.

The young princess clenched her jaw. However, she didn’t take a step back. Her muscles tensed involuntarily, readying for a fight or flight. Aegon, however, didn’t say a word. He was the first to retreat. He reached for the goblet and poured himself some wine, drinking it greedily. The girl expected anything. She was ready for his screams, insults, and threats. She was even ready for him to raise his hand against her. But Aegon did none of that. He sat on the stool he had stood on moments ago and gripped the goblet in his hands.

"Why did you do it?"

The princess didn’t expect to hear that question. Now it was she who felt as if she had misheard.

"To weaken and humiliate me?" he asked, raising his eyes to look at her. "Or to hurt me?"

"I love him," she admitted sincerely. She wasn’t lying. It had never even crossed her mind to strike at her brother in such a way. "And he loves me. He is kind to me."

Aegon lowered his gaze, staring at the goblet in his hands. Despite the armor he wore, despite the title of king he held, he felt like a rat. His reaction surprised the girl. To such an extent that she didn’t know what to say.

"Would I be incapable of loving you?" he asked after a moment, looking at her again. The girl couldn’t meet his eyes.

"You only fill me with fear," she admitted quietly.

Aegon’s eyes roamed her face. He recalled a time when he had gone too far and threatened her with a knife, the times he bullied and intimidated her. He lowered his gaze. You fill her with fear, monster, he thought. You are a monster, Aegon.

In silence, the girl raised her eyes to her brother’s face. Deciding that the conversation had no chance of continuing, she turned to leave his chambers.

"I'm sorry," his voice called out behind her. The young princess turned and looked at her brother. Aegon’s cheeks were wet with tears. "I apologize for everything I did to you."

"I was never your enemy," she replied. She couldn’t muster anything more to say.

She quickly left her brother, heading to her chambers. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation with her mother. She needed to recover from what she had just experienced.

Nevertheless, Westeros managed to dispel the looming specter of war. The wind from the North brought only winter, not bloodshed. Every few days, ravens arrived at Winterfell with news that another castle had joined the young dragons’ marriage and withdrawn from the war. Families from the east, west, and south did the same, sending their assurances directly to Dragonstone. Rhaenyra and Aegon had to abandon the conflict. Viserys’s eldest daughter even planned to go to King’s Landing to reconcile with her brother and acknowledge him as king. The same day she planned to set out, a messenger brought her a small chest.

"What is this?" she asked, glancing at the young man. She accepted the gift uncertainly.

"From King’s Landing, Your Grace."

Jacaerys stopped his mother’s hand as she reached for the latch on the chest. "It could be a trap."

"Would Aegon want to kill me in such a way?" she looked at him with amusement. The young prince hesitantly withdrew his hand.

Rhaenyra opened the box and had to blink several times. She reached into the chest and pulled out a crown. The same one her father had worn on his head.

In shock, she looked at her son and niece, who were as astonished as she was.

"Aegon returned your crown," the girl said quietly.

"It doesn’t have to be Aegon," Jacaerys shook his head. He didn’t believe in any good intentions from his uncle.

The girl took the crown from Rhaenyra and examined it in her hands. In several places, she noticed fingerprints stained with wine. She had no doubts.

"It was Aegon."

[captainamericasmotercycle]

Can you write a Cregan Stark x Targaryen wife where she is readying to go to the battle since she is the rider of Cannibal and he is with her nervous and makes her promise to come back to him and before she leaves he tells Cannibal to take care of her, he is nervous the whole time that she is away only calming down when he sees her and Cannibal come back.

omg i love this 🥹 wc: 1.7k

warnings: reader is a targaryen (parents and family are unspecified), cannibal's rider, ooc cannibal, cregan loves his wife and will never stop, reader has silver hair and is shorter than cregan (its okay tho he's huge)

After being away all day, the only thing that Cregan wants is to be in your arms. He searches around Winterfell, looking to find a glimpse of silver hair. He finds you in your chambers, hunched over the small desk by the window.

The candle you had lit was almost gone and you didn’t hear him enter. He stalks over to you, noticing your riding clothes on the settee by the bed.

“Did you go out today, my love?” He leans over you from behind, kissing you on the cheek.

You are hesitant to respond, just staring at a message that had arrived this morning. Cregan takes a knee beside you, trying to read the message that has taken all of your attentoin grasped in your hands.

My dearest kin, the Hightower usurpers have taken the lives of the Prince Lucerys Velaryon and the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, along with their dragons. The Rogue Prince and his dragon still remain to be of any help in our time of war. The Queen remains cautious and Vermax is still much too young to be of great help. Baela is doing the best she can on Moondancer, patrolling the East ends of the Riverlands and the Reach, but we need more. My mother has recruited mongrels to ride Seasmoke, Vermithor, and Silverwing. We need you and Cannibal, here, on Dragonstone at once — a command from the Heir to the Iron Thone.

Cregan freezes. You rub a hand over his knotted hair. He reads over the message again, and again, and again. You were going to war, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He stood from his position, making his way over to the settee where your clothes were layed out. He cleared his throat, pushing out the feelings he was having.

You followed his actions, standing from your place at the desk.

“I must go.”

“I know,” he wouldn’t look at you, running his hand over his face.

You sauntered closer to him, “Cregan, look at me.”

He turned his body and his head, but his eyes were still focused on the floor of your chambers. You walked to him, pressing your body against his and taking his face in your hand; you could feel the beginning of a beard forming.

Pushing his face, you forced him to look at you, “Talk, please.”

“I do not know what you want me to say. You must go. It was a command, so it is final. They need you.”

His tone was soft and quiet, much different than the harsh and commanding tone he usually had. He held his hands on your waist.

“When shall you go?”

You take a breath, “I shall leave at first light.”

He brought his head down to rest on your shoulder. You pull him further into you, holding the back of his head tightly.

You pull from him, getting in your shared bed. You pat the spot next to you, asking him to come to bed with you. He discards his pelts, weapons, armour, outer clothes, and shoes, and gets into bed with you.

He lays against the headboard, you lay against his chest. He wraps his large arm around you, rubbing circles into your bicep.

“Rickon…” you began, thinking of the son you had become a mother to when you and Cregan had wed.

“Rickon will be cared for only by me and any hand maids of your choosing. He will have the best education and training - your name will be spoken highly at every meal and at every sleep—”

You sniffled softly, thinking of your boy, “I do not wish for him to forget me.”

Cregan felt his eyes get hot with tears, he pulled you closer into his warmth, “He will not forget you. I will make sure of that.”

Your breathing started to stable and your grip on his arm faltered. As you slept, Cregan could not find any shut-eye, worried about you.

He watched you the whole night. Watching as your chest rose and fell, and how your silver locks were splayed across the feather pillows and across your face.

It was nearly sun-up when your husband woke you. Your eyes fluttered open, you blinked roughly a couple of times to adjust your vision. Cregan paced around the room.

Instead of your handmaiden, Cregan, himself, helped you to dress for battle. You stopped in your son’s chambers, only waking him for a second to say your farewells. You kissed him back to sleep, tucking him in tightly; tears only fell after you closed his chamber doors and headed out to your dragon.

Making your way out of the walls of Winter Town, you found Cannibal in a large field dusted with snow. At your arrival, he huffed out to greet you, trying to rub his head over your chest.

You smiled, brushing over his scales with your hand. Cannibal awaited your mounting as you turned to your husband.

Grabbing his hand, you looked at him solemnly, “My lord husband, if the Gods decide I have served my time and served Westeros well… and I do not return,” you paused to take a breath, “I want you to take another to wed. Do not spend your life grieving over me. Rickon deserves a mother and you deserve more heirs—”

He grabbed both sides of your face, “I do not want to take another to wed. I do not need more heirs. I only need you,” he shakes his head roughly, the morning light hitting his features majestically.

“I will not even look in the direction of another. I will not take another to bed or wed. I will wait at the gates of Winter Town for your arrival. I will pray every sun-up and sun-down for your safe return. You will not be forgotten and there will never be another.”

“Cregan—” he cut you off with a kiss.

“Promise me you will come back,” his brows were furrowed, his face still close to yours.

You nodded to all of your extent, “I promise. I promise.”

He kissed you feverishly once more, finally letting you go, “I will send thousands of greybeards after you. They will meet you at the battle.”

Smiling, you sighed, beginning to mount Cannibal when he called out your name loudly. You turned your head one last time towards his booming voice, “Fight hard. Like a Northerner!”

A single tear ran down your face as you took off. Cannibal screeched, his sounds filling the Northern air. Cregan waited until you were out of site before he turned back to Winterfell.

-

He kept his promise; that night he began his prayers in the Godswood, dragging Rickon along with him.

After your departure he became cold and distant from his people and his men. He would spend many weeks at a time North of the Wall, trying to distract himself from you, but never forgetting his prayers.

His bastard sister was chosen to care for Rickon, and even as his sister, he could not stand seeing another woman care for him.

After the first year, he began bringing the young lord to Castle Black with him, though he was only about 4 years old.

He would occassionally get ravens from wherever you were in battle, but after a while, the messages lessened, eventually stopping. He did not want to assume the worst, thinking you were too busy to write to him.

After tireless pleas of his advisors telling him to remarry, he had killed nearly all of them for even suggesting such a thing. He had never been tempted to take another to bed; the only thing that kept him going was thoughts of you.

He grew his beard out in those long years you were away, his face seeing many harsh winters.

His eyes were sunken, he had become someone he no longer recognized in the mirror. His son had blossomed into a strong young lad, becoming great in battle at his ripe age of seven.

Rickon and his father were very close, only really having one another. They prayed for you every morn and night together, they prayed for you over every meal, and Cregan told many stories of you to his son.

Your memory never faltered, almost as if you were still in the North.

Nearly 5 years after your departure on that cold, dark morn, whispers in the wind had said the Blacks had succeeded in taking back the throne. The realm had lost the Prince Regent, the Usurper King and his wife, the dowager queen, and the youngest hightower prince.

The Starks were at supper when Winterfell’s guards yelled from every tower and station, “Dragon!”

“Dragon!”

Cregan and Rickon immediately perked up, sharing a look and sprinting to their horses. They raced to the gates of Winter Town, shouting at everyone on the streets in their way.

Almost jumping off their horses, Cregan and Rickon watched you and Cannibal land in front of them.

You looked a lot older, your silver hair was much longer and braided up, you held a stoic and stong look on your face. Cregan could tell you had been changed by the war.

You dismounted, running through the snow to your small family. Cregan grabbed you tightly, breathing into your hair, tears overflowing.

You kissed him hard, crying through it. You held his face and smiled through your tears, “Look at this beard!”

He laughed softly, “Five years and that is the first thing you say to me?”

You notice your son standing not too far away, turning to him, you cried more. He was so grown, standing at almost 8 years of age now. You knelt, holding out your arms, “My boy.”

He ran into your embrace, squeezing you tightly. Cregan knelt with you, taking both of your bodies into his arms. Cries and sniffles surrounded your family as you reunited.

Rickon finally broke the silence, wiping your tears, he held onto your shoulder, “Tell us stories about the war! Father told be the same stories of you for years, now we have more!”

You laughed, looking at your husband, “I will tell you all about my adventures tomorrow, but now I just want to be with my family again.”

———

taglist: @wolvestitches

[moonlightazriel]

Love Sick ///Aemond X F!Reader

Summary: Alys Rivers had a vision about the prince’s arrivals, using her charm to lure him, she haven’t anticipated you, his new wife. So a little something might help him see who he truly belongs.

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 1,8K

Notes: I have read a lot of love potions fics and decided to give it a try. So here we are.

Main Masterlist

Alys Rivers always had visions, the flames would always tell her their secrets, this made it easier for her to survive. Yet, one vision kept appearing for her, a Targaryen Prince, dressed in his battle gears, long silvery hair tied to his back, a scar across his beautiful face.

She anticipated his arrival at Harrenhal way before it was even decided he should go. So when she heard the roar high in the skies, and saw the huge dragon landing in her home, she knew her time had come.

She had tended to him since he stepped his foot in Harrenhal, preparing his bath, serving his food, and occasionally flirting with him, she noticed how he looked at her, she was a pretty woman, long black hair and emerald green eyes, she was sure that it would just take a couple of days and he would fall for her.

Whoever, what Alys Rivers haven’t seen in her visions, was the Baratheon beauty arriving a week later. Lord Borros' third daughter, known for her breathtaking looks and even more impressive brain.

Lady Baratheon strolled through the front door, guards behind her as she walked through Harrenhal. And Alys watched with horror as the woman entered the dining room, giving a little smile to the Prince before slowly making her way towards him.

“Lord Husband.” She greeted, kissing his cheek and squeezing his shoulders, Aemond gave her a small nod and gestured for her to join him.

“How was your journey, my lady?” He inquired as the servers prepared her a plate, she politely thanked the maid before taking a piece of green bean with her fork.

“Quite exhausting, I am happy to finally settle down.” She bites her food. “Your dear mother was right, it feels good to be away from the Keep.” Aemond chuckled.

“Do not remind me of all that chaos.” She smiled at him, Alys kept in the corner watching the exchange in silent anger.

“Queen Helaena sent her greetings to you, my dear.” He held her hand.

“Did she talk to you?” Y/N nodded.

“Just a few words, but she seems better.” Helaena was still grieving the loss of her children in the hands of Daemon’s assassins.

“More wine, my Prince?” Alys intervened, her voice low and sensual, the prince turned his eyes to her, lifting his goblet. She could be his wife, but Alys knew what desire looked like, perhaps the prince just needed a little help.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Prince Aemond was in his study room, book in hands as he took some time off. Alys knocked, hearing his powerful voice commanding her inside.

“I brought some tea, my prince.” She placed the mug with the hot tea on his desk.

A simple love potion, she knew that he had feelings for her, so this would simply amplify them, make them so unbearable that he wouldn’t have any other choice than to go looking for her. He would claim her as his, as it should’ve been.

Alys excused herself, going straight to her room in the servants wing, she needed to get ready for when Aemond Targaryen knocked on her door and took her in his arms.

She had cleaned her room, and then, took a long shower, rubbing a scented soap on her skin, making herself look flawless. She sat on the bed and waited for him.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Y/N brushed her hair, Harrenhal was quite hot, so she asked the maid to run her a bath, she didn’t plan on leaving her chambers, so a silky nightgown covered her body while she took care of her hair.

The door was abruptly opened, making her jump in her seat. Her husband, without his coat and with four buttons of his linen shirt open, looked at her, a smirk on his lips as he entered the room.

“You know, dear wife?” He closed the door, walking towards her. “It was always you, when I went to Storm's End that day, it was you I had in mind.” His tone was slow, like he had been drinking.

He grabbed her hand, removing the brush and placing it on the desk. His other hand brushed her shoulder, pulling the straps down just a little.

“So beautiful, such a smooth skin. I know I had to have you.” He pulled her up, spinning her around until she was facing him, her hands splayed on his chest while he held her close by the waist. “You smell so good.” The prince said, smelling the skin of her neck.

Y/N felt her cheeks flushed at the attention, heating pooling in between her legs, forcing her to close them for some friction, as Aemond started to kiss her neck.

His touch was delicate, his lips cold against her hot skin. Kissing, licking and biting, making her whimper at the sensation spreading across her body.

“A-Aemond.” She half spoke half moaned, making the prince grow impossibly harder, his cock painfully restrained by his pants.

“You sound divine when you moan my name.” He said, getting away from her and walking towards the bed. He sat down, still looking at her, his shirt was messy and fully opened now. “Come here, my dear wife.” She made a move to walk to him but he stopped her. “Take it off.” He ordered.

She shivered as she saw the lust on his gaze, with shaking fingers, she undone the laces holding her nightgown in place, letting it pool at her feet, standing there completely bare to his hungry eye. His pink tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he eyed her up and down.

“You’re a goddess, I cannot wait to see you choke on my cock.” He grabbed her hand as she got close, pulling her straight to his lap. He kissed her, tongue exploring her mouth, hands cupping her ass.

She reached for the eyepatch, throwing across the room, she hated that damned thing, covering his beauty from her.

“You’re so beautiful, my prince.” She breathed, his lips attached to her breasts. Sucking the nipple in his mouth and moving his tongue in circles, making her squirm in his lap, brushing his hard cock.

He squeezed her flash, kissed her like he was going to die in the next second, and she moved her hips against his clothed cock, making it very hard to keep controlled. He never felt that kind of lust before, but he was ready to give in.

Y/N got up, and slowly kneeled in front of him, she had heard the ladies in court talking about the pleasures the mouth could bring to a husband, and despite the lack of experience, she wanted to try.

She reached for his belt, removing it and opening his pants, he lifted his hips just enough for her to slide all the pieces of clothes he was wearing down, freeing his dripping cock from its cage.

She swallowed hard, hesitantly grabbing it in her hands, earning a hiss from him. She moved her hand up and down, slowly, taking encouragement in his groans, the pleasure growing in him as she gently stroked him.

In a more bold move, she lowered her head, giving it a lick in the tip, Aemond shivering as she did so, she looked at him, giving him a small smile that could be the death of him. Then, she took him in her mouth, bobbing her head and masturbating what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. Aemond closed his eyes, buckling his hips and enjoying the sounds of her choking on his cock whenever she went too deep.

She hummed, sending vibrations down his cock, making his balls tight and the orgasm wash over him, his cock twitching, sending hot cum down her throat. She removed her mouth, coughing a little.

“You look so beautiful, kneeling in front of me.” He praised, his thumb caressing her cheek, making her blush as he looked at her. “Allow me.” He said, pulling her up and laying her down.

He got in between her legs, his breath fanning over her hot core, he circled the back of her legs, squeezing her skin and pulling her thighs apart. Smirking at her glistening cunt, he sank there, lapping at her folds, collecting all of her juice as she arched her back, moaning his name like a prayer.

He kissed her clit, rubbing circles with his tongue, making her see stars. Freeing one of his hands, he inserted two fingers inside her cunt, pumping them inside and out, in the same ruthless pace as his tongue. She moaned his name loudly enough to echo around the walls, feeling the knot in her belly grow until it was ready to snap. Driving her over the edge, her walls clenching around his fingers and closing her shaking legs around his head.

Aemond smirked against her, feeling her recover from her orgasm, he looked at her, sweat coating her forehead and panting, her chest moving up and down rapidly.

“Do you want more, my goddess?” She looked at him, smirking at her like the devil and she nodded. In a second, Aemond was on top of her, without any clothes and his cock ready for a second round.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Alys tapped in the bed frame, growing restless as the potion should be working in this exact moment but Aemond was nowhere to be seen. She got up, grabbing a robe and sliding it over her shoulders.

She walked towards the Prince chambers, forcing the door open just a little, she gasped as she peeked inside.

Lady Baratheon was facing the door, her eyes closed and mouth slacked open as she moaned loudly for him. “Do not stop!” She begged, her voice hoarse from all the screaming.

She was on all fours, her ass high in the air as Prince Aemond pounded inside her from behind, moving so fast that her breasts bounced back and forth.

Alys wanted to move but she was rooted in place, the potion had clearly worked but with the wrong person.

“Please, Aemond. I am going to cum.” She whined, and the prince pulled her hair behind, forcing her to look at him.

“And i am going to stuff you full with my heirs, make you swell with my seed and birth my children.” His tone so raw that Alys felt her cheeks hot in embarrassment, Lady Baratheon moaned his name, her body convulsing as her orgasm crashed down on her again, followed by him spilling inside her.

Alys watched as the prince removed himself from inside her, his hands stuffing his cum back inside her cunt. “I love you.” He breathed, pulling her by the hair again and kissing her with all he had.

“I love you too.” She replied, face flush red as she tried to recover from the amazing sex.

Alys walked backwards, running away from the scene, knowing that no matter what she did, she could never break the bond the two shared.

[gojoidyll]

stubborn heart ch. 9

yan!capitano x wife!reader

summary | or in which capitano is told he needs a wife. and he begrudgingly agrees.

previous | next

You paced your shared room with the Captain, the urge to bite your lip in nervousness becoming strong until you heard the bathroom door open. Your pacing came to a quick stop as you glanced towards the door where Capitano stood.

“Bed, now.”

The way his voice reverberated in his chest sent chills down your spine when he came up to you, his hold all but firm when he grabbed you. Then, he bent down. His mouth pressing to your neck and your senses went on overdrive.

And that was all could remember when you woke up the next morning, but it was clear what had happened.

Groaning to yourself, you sat up in the bed and tugged the covers up so you could hide your face into the soft blankets, “I- I can’t believe I fainted again!”

You could feel your face become increasingly hot at the mere memories of everything that had happened yesterday. How you admitted to being experienced, how he said he would show up what a wife and husband do, and consummating a marriage…, “when am I going to stop making an idiot out of myself in front of him?!”

You plopped back into the bed, your hands pulling the covers just enough for your eyes to peek out so you could stare up at the ceiling.

“I wonder if he is already regretting taking me as his wife,” you all but muttered to yourself as someone gave a few knocks to your door – that someone being Atri as her voice piped up behind the barrier separating you both.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!”

You, in fact, did not want to rise and shine. You would much rather fall and dull. Granted it seems you did enough falling last night.

“I’m getting up,” you called out to her, your body moving on its own but quickly winced when you felt a slight sting on your neck. Raising your hand to the sensitive area, you felt a few indents that suspiciously mirrored a set of teeth. The realization was quick to slap you in the face as you felt your face grow hot again.

He bit me?!

Your mind was working on overdrive as you stumbled over yourself to get ready. Pure steam basically coming out your ears as you got your clothes on.

You weren’t mad, far from it. You were just incredibly embarrassed. When he kissed and bit onto your neck, you must have gotten to overwhelmed and fainted. You seriously wanted to hide away by this point. What was wrong with you?1

Shaking your head, you exited your room.

“Good morning, y/n.”

“Morning Atri- what’s wrong with your face?”

You quirked an eyebrow when you looked at her and then you followed her gaze and realized what she was looking at.

“Atri, no-“

“Ohh! I’m so happy! I wonder if you’ll have a boy or a girl. Maybe even twins-“

You covered her mouth to quiet her. Your face darkening a deep shade of red across your (color) cheeks, “we didn’t- we didn’t do anything like that! I mean, we were, at least I think we were, but I- I- fainted the moment he got his mouth on my neck-“

You talked fast, almost in a panic as you talked to your maid, and when you were done she had gently pried your hands from her mouth and patted your head, “it’s alright-“

“No it isn’t.. I’m supposed to be his wife, but I- I mess everything up. I can’t even be in the same room as him without fainting. I just… I just think he’ll be better off within someone else.”

Atri studied you for a moment before smiling. Her hand gently running through your hair as she pulled you in for a hug, “it’s been tough on you, hasn’t it? Getting married to a harbinger without a say in the matter, being moved to an unknown place with unfamiliar people. Then there’s your life before Capitano. Your life at the hearth. I may not know what you went through, but I can tell it’s been an uphill battle. And you want to know something?”

You opened your eyes and looked up at her then.

“You’re stubborn.”

You deadpanned, “what?”

“What?”

You quirked an eyebrow again, your previous sorrow momentarily forgotten, “I’m… stubborn?”

Atri smiled and nodded, “yep! Stubborn hearts like yours are hard to come by in such a cold place, Lord Capitano must have seen that and immediately took interest in you. You being here is a testament to all the hardships you endured, so it’s ok to embarrass yourself and to relax, ok?”

You nodded along while trying to keep up with everything she was saying. Back then, there was never any room for error. You either do it and succeed or don’t and let the cold kill you. There was never an in-between.

“So… it’s ok to just… not do anything at all?”

Atri nodded almost enthusiastically, “of course! No more silly work, or worrying about stupid bills. It’s just you enjoying your new life with Capitano, and don’t think for a second of trying to back out of this. You deserve this. So just sit back and relax.”

You sighed but eventually surrendered causing Atri to be pleased with herself as she grabbed a hold of your hands again, “now, time for breakfast, and afterwards we can go shopping for a dress for you!”

“What for?”

“For a small party the Tsaritsa is holding for her harbingers that you and Lord Capitano will be attending.”

“Oh, ok- wait, what?!”

taglist

@littlekohai77 @lvtuss @kreishin @floffytofu @nastylilcvnt @nas-ha @simp-simp-no-mi @emmathecouchpotato4583 @sendria @riotakire @mikoslightnovels @feral-childs-word @barbatoss-bitch @venicecherryblossom @squirrelboxer @temperamentupgrade @avalordream @immahuman @xavlyzn @greensunflowerjuna @sarah22447 @naviabestgiirl @nevermoresworld @depressedbearblogs @ppancakesforu @0vendettaself @lilyalone @mochiivqi @pbjts @chewwyaaa @c4xcocoa @ren-ren23 @tazuduck @atrebiusr @simpingbigtime @aryuunachigiri @judithregulus @crowleysthings @yns-sister @satori-runa @meowmeow999999 @beeskn3es @tamikahoshiko @shoyosdoll @ngadasblog @sugacor3 @xiana21 @melancholyae @jjkysnk @s1mppp @that1weirdshipper @himikoquack @sugaryesplease12 @gallantys @wiltedpoison @vamqyx

[imperatorbaronius]

So I'm a little too obsessed now and ordered this and the art book (which comes out in February) and it's got some very interesting information about ages and relationships that'll be very useful going forward so I'll drop the ages below and anything else interesting I found

Helm: 55 years old, king for 5 years at this point in time, spent almost his entire life fighting the hill tribes and Dunlendings. This is what makes him a king who dislikes to be challenged ok his authority and decisions

Héra: 19 years old, deep love for nature and especially the more fantastical kind, her horse is Ashere. The rest, I'm sure you remember from the movie itself

Lief: 16 years old, main roles are protecting the old maps and scrolls that keep the laws and customs recorded

Haleth: 30 years old, first in line to the throne, not expected to rule for another 20 years based on Helm's own life. A brawler by nature, he's very intimidating to those who threaten his family and he's known as one of their best warriors skilled in sword, spear and axe

Háma: 22 years old, more of a gentler spirit than his father and brother, more passionate about the songs and legends. He likes to think of himself as a warrior poet and is always carrying his carved lyre. A skilled swordsman but an expert with bow and arrow

Fréaláf: 28 years old, lord of harrowdale and first marshal of the Riddermark, the highest military rank and is charged with protecting Edoras and the surrounding lands. His horse is named éored. He was raised alongside his cousins and so has a deep bond with them all but is not above teasing them frequently. He's also very ready to stand up to Helm if he believes a decision unwise

Olwyn: 45 years old, lady's maid to Héra but more become a mentor than a simple maid or servant. Thought in many battles over the years and has known great loss but finds ways to move forward and doesn't suffer fools. She sees herself in Héra as only she and a few others know Olwyn's past as a shield maiden

Freca: 40 years old, lord of the west-march. He claims to be descended from the fifth king of Rohan, Fréawine but his hair and beard instead cast doubt and suggest the Dunlendish blood runs through his veins instead. Has very little love for the kings of Rohan. Spends a lot of time dwelling on what he doesn't have and pays little heed to the king refusing summons to attend the witan

Wulf: 20 years old. Only son of Freca. His mother has also passed like with Héra. Quiet and intense most of the time, dressing in sombre colours. His belief that Héra loves him is very fragile. Expert in swords and bows. Has very little personal ambition at the start, growing up under his father's shadow and subject to his father's whims, despite this he loves his father and should anything happen he'll repay it tenfold. Should his youthful affection be spurned, that love will turn into a pathologically hatred for Helm, Héra and all the people of Rohan

General Targg: born and raised in Dunland, he has become a trusted advisor to Freca and will likely be key to Wulf's own reign. He is wise and calm but in the heat of battle will fight fiercely yet he retains a deep sense of honour as a warrior

[makeitlookdecent]

ah ba = papa

[muffinsin]

muffin! Muffin! I just saw something interesting. Babies ears are more developed by 25-26 weeks and can hear and recognize voices and sounds especially of the parents.

And I got a request if you can, can you do the sisters talking to their unborn child that is still in the womb of their female s/o and how they react when the baby kicks when they hear the sisters voice.

Oh? That’s cool, hon! :) Absolutely🙌 :)

Let’s get into it📝

Masterlists

Bela

Bela is there throughout your pregnancy, every day, day and night

She sticks to your side, helps you through everything that has happened and all that is yet to come

She understands, this is difficult for you and will do all she can to make it easier for you

And really, she is an incredible help, easing pains and satisfying cravings within minutes

But, pregnancy is not only a discomfort

The two of you find the joy in it, too

Of course, both of you look forward to your unborn child

Sometimes, the two of you like to joke around, listing names the little one might receive when they’re ready to come out

Sometimes, your little one joins in on this

Bela giggles every time her voice causes a kick. You two figure it either means the baby loves, or hates the name she proposes

Doing this turns out to be one of your favorite activities

After all, not only does it distract you from your struggles and grants her a break from work, but it also gives you both the opportunity to bond with your little one already

Often, you’re sat up in bed or on a sofa, giggling as she caresses your stomach

“How about….Mary?”, she asks, having already decided the child’s middle name to be Alcina, should it be a girl

No kick, and both of you giggle when your lover pouts

“What abouuuut, Anna?”, she asks playfully

Feeling a kick, you write it down on a list of names the two of you have collected over the past days

“What are we thinking about…ugh, please don’t give us a kick, little one…Daniela?”, Bela asks this time, sticking true to her promise to not immediately rule the name out after her sister woke both of you up in the middle of the night, insisting it would be such a perfect name for your unborn child

You laugh, holding your stomach as a series of little kicks follows

Bela is sure; it’s just because of her voices and playful tone!

Still, you note the name down

“Let’s try Susan!”

No kick, and you quickly turn Bela’s frown into a smile when you pull her in for a kiss

You both smile, whispering gentle love confessions as the little one within your stomach kicks again

Just when she’s about to try another name, you interrupt;

“What if it’s a boy?”

Bela looks shocked for a moment, as though utterly surprised at the mention of the other gender

Ah, yes, she nearly forgot about that

Giggling, she speaks; “Daniel”

Cassandra

When thinking of this particular Dimitrescu, words such as “gentle”, “loving” and “parental” don’t quite come to mind

Alas, this is exactly what the sadistic woman is with you

After all, she does not like pain she doesn’t cause you, of course

But, more importantly, she feels so very strongly towards your unborn child already

She loves them so very much already, feels so protective of them already

She loves you and your little one more than anything else

And your little one loves hers

The sound of her voice seems familiar to them already

Each time she crackles loudly as she chases her sisters or some poor maid throughout the castle, the sound echoing loudly, your little one gives a happy kick

And every time she sleeps by your stomach, her hand and face near to protect you and the baby in all cases, and small purr-like sounds come from her, the baby is blissfully calm

Almost as if they recognize their mother and feel equally calmed by the sound

When you tell Cassandra about this, she immediately takes the opportunity to spend time with you and your unborn child

Often, you need to remind her not to share battle stories

You doubt the small thing can even understand words- in fact are sure of it- but with Cassandra’s DNA…you don’t want to risk it

The two of you also uncover another thing, though:

Cassandra’s voice not only alerts the baby, but calms it, too

Often, the little one will be kicking wildly just around bedtime

It’s frustrating, somewhat painful and annoying when you’re just in need of sleep

Cassandra gets by your side immediately, stroking your hair and stomach, trying to calm the little one down

She speaks calmly, whispers gently as she talks

And it helps

The little one, despite being unable to make out what she says, quiets down at her voice and calm, quiet tone

She jokingly calls herself the baby-whisperer

Daniela

Loving as she is as a partner, you knew she would be just as sweet with your little one

Even in the womb, Daniela already is head over heels in love with the little one

She knows, she will love and care for them forever and protect them for eternity

The first time the two of you find out the baby recognizes her voice, both of you are blown away

You feel so tired, resting in bed, clutching your stomach and whining at the little kicks happening just about every time you close your eyes

You’re at your limit, it seems, whining and groaning

You’re so tired…

You smile exhaustedly as Daniela slips in bed with you, stroking along your bare stomach lovingly

“Hey, little one”, she whispers quietly

“Why don’t we let mama have some rest? Or else she’ll take it out on me”, she adds, giggling when you smack the back of her head playfully

To your surprise though, the sounds of her giggles has the little one kick

“Oh? You like that?”, Daniela coos, giggling more as more kicks follow

“You like when mama smacks me around?”, she gasps playfully, giggling when another kick comes

The two are so precious, you feel as your eyes water already

You love them so incredibly much

“I think they got that from their aunt Cassie”, Daniela whispers, giggling when another kick comes

You feel her adjust your position, allowing you to lay down comfortably

“Now, why don’t we let mama get some rest, you little stinker?”

A last kick, no more follow when Daniela stops talking

She curls up by your side instead, stroking your stomach until you fall asleep

Not wanting to draw another kick from the little one, she stays quiet

Instead, her fingertip trails against your stomach, lightly drawing out a shape

A shape of a little heart

[justwinginglife]

Wait For Me

Inspired by ideas from @adaizel (my dude, you really do be milking the longest fics out of me lmao I appreciate you though)

You'd known Soshiro Hoshina your whole life as both of you came from respectable kaiju-slaying clans, and though you knew most everything about him, you wanted to ignore one particular thing about him- that he was probably not into you.

Having seen you in diapers and then seen you in braces, you were more likely to be seen as a little sister to him rather than a love interest. He'd bandaged you up too many times after you got hurt and wiped your snot from your tear stained face too regularly to think any different. You denied the painful thought frequently though, continuing your active pursuit of him.

He was several years older than you, but you never stopped trying to remind him that you were a woman.

You recalled the first time you'd ever worn a bikini in front of him. He'd wanted to take you swimming in the ocean, the way he always did every summer, and you thought that it was high time that you show off what the lord gave you. But unfortunately, if he was shocked or awestruck at all by the lack of coverage over your body, he didn't show it. Even when you'd jumped in the air trying to hit a beach volleyball and your boobs had bounced their way to kingdom come, he still didn't react.

It made you want to try anything to get his attention. Suck a popsicle a little too hard, little too deep. Dry your dripping body off with his towel, because oops you forgot one. And you even made sure to drag the towel extra slow in between your legs.

Eventually you resorted to trying out different hairstyles and different makeup to try and get any sort of reaction from him. You thought the man should try gambling because he had one hell of a poker face, always treating you the exact same as he always did.

You thought it might be hopeless after all, but you had found out that Soshiro planned on leaving to join the Defense Force soon and you didn't want to give up on him, not after having pined for him your whole life. You felt you needed some sort of closure at least.

You already knew your parents would never let you follow him into battle, you were the sole heir to the clan. It was your duty to run the household, settle down, make more heirs. But before you resigned yourself to your fate, you needed him to know how you felt even if he didn't return the feelings (though you desperately hoped he did).

Your heart pounds as you begin to write him a letter and then you think your heart might just give in and collapse as you hand the letter off to your lady's maid to deliver to him.

Soshiro had been packing the last of his things in the dead of the night, getting ready to ship out in the morning, when he got your letter. He reads it over carefully, his eyes widening as they trail down the page. He rereads it again, making sure he didn't misinterpret.

Then he slips his shoes on quick as he can, and makes the short walk to your house, knocking gently on your bedroom door.

You open the door and smile when you see him but when you notice the letter in his hand and the solemnity etched into his face, you know he's not here to deliver good news. Before he can say anything, you begin to speak, wanting to get your words out before the tears come. "Can you- can you just wait for me? Please? Wait for me to be someone you can love? I'll be finished with my lessons soon and they say I'll be the lady of the house in no time at all. I can come visit you when I find the time. I can... I can make it work. Just please. Wait for me."

He holds both of your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. For the first time in your life, you see his poker face wavering. He musters up his best smile for you, but it's not the sweet smile you know, it's apologetic from top to bottom.

"Thank you... for entrusting your feelings to a fool like me. If I'd known how you felt... well never mind that. I can't change what I would've done just as much as I can't change the different directions we're going in. We- we're living separate lives now, darling. And I can't wait for you, much as I'd like to. I need to do this, I need to go. And you have to stay here. I can't take you with me. Please forgive me."

With every word he says, the tears spill out more and more aggressively until all you are is a quivering mess, watching your one and only true love fade from your life.

"You'll forget me soon enough." He whispers as he pulls you into a quick hug, then he wipes your tears and begins to walk away.

Before he fades from view completely, you yell at the top of your lungs, not caring that it's the middle of the night, "I'd never forget you! I'll wait for you then! I'll always wait for you."

All you can see is his back, and you wonder if he heard you. If he smiled at all. If he reacted at all.

Then he rounds the corner and disappears with all your hopes and dreams.

You fall to the floor, knees crashing against the hard surface, but they don't hurt nearly as much as the ache in your empty chest.

You don't get a good sleep that night. In fact, you don't get a good sleep for many nights to come.

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

Soshiro made Vice Captain of the Third Division rather quickly. The view from the top (he was told) was supposedly rather glorious, but when he got there he found it empty and lacking, realizing there was no one to share in his triumph. No one to cheer on his victory, to tell him they knew he could do it.

Then he thought of you again. It'd been years since he'd seen you but he still thought of you. Nearly everyday, against his will. He'd tried to force the feelings down, tried to ignore the picture of your tear-stained face in his mind, tried to stop hearing your voice echoing in his ears. He'd stayed up late training every night, until the ache in his heart was drowned out by the aching in the rest of his body. He'd even gone on random dates with random women to try to break the cycle of dreaming about you day and night, but he'd hear your voice in someone's laugh or he'd see your sparkle in someone's eyes, and he knew he couldn't deny himself any longer.

Trying not to love you was like trying to stop the push and pull of the waves, or trying to stop the rotation of the Earth, it couldn't be done.

He opens the top drawer of his desk again. Your letter is sitting right there, where he'd left it, for easy viewing access whenever he felt like wondering about what could've been. Wondering about how you're doing, about who you're with.

Do you still visit the secret spot he'd found for the two of you? Do you still play the violin, the one that he bought you? Do you... still love him? Did you wait for him?

The downward spiral of his thoughts sends him into a frenzy, as he hurriedly jams random clothes into a suitcase with just one clear thought in mind- he wants, he needs to see you. He needs to smell you, to hear you, to tell you how he feels. To make up for making you cry. To make up for all these years of lost time. To beg you for another chance. To let you love him. To let himself love you.

Captain Ashiro approves his hasty request for leave (having never seen the man take any time off at all in the many years he'd been in the Defense Force) and soon enough he's on the first bullet train back to his hometown.

He knocks on the familiar wood of your front door. His hands are shaking and his mind is scattered, filled with endless, useless, worrying thoughts, but he knows when he sees you everything will be okay. If he can just see you again, he'll know what to say, he'll know what to do, he'll be whole again.

The door opens and his smile is at the ready, waiting to greet you, but it's your mother that answers the door and his lips freeze mid-smile. He listens intently, his heart dropping into his stomach, as she explains that you've eloped with his brother- Soichiro.

He tastes salt and he realizes he's crying on your doorstep the way you did for him all those years ago. He hurriedly wipes his cheeks and thanks your mother quickly, before backing away. She gives him a sympathetic look as he stumbles down the street, lost in a daze.

For the first time in years, he doesn't know what he wants. What he should do. But he still needs to see you, married or not, and that desire drives him to get onto the next train to the Sixth Division.

When he arrives, it looks like they're throwing some sort of party. He checks his reflection in a nearby window, making sure the crying he did on the way here isn't visible in his eyes or his cheeks. When he's fixed his hair and adjusted his collar to his liking, he heads into the main building.

He asks around and it appears they're inducting a new Vice Captain.

He watches from the back row as the new Vice Captain takes the stage, waving and grinning. His heart roars in his chest when he realizes it's you.

Your speech is sweet and short but he hangs onto every word, watching your lips as they move.

Then you step down from the stage and the ceremony is concluded. Officers start to file out of the room and then eventually it's just you and him.

He lifts a hand awkwardly, giving you a little wave.

He thinks you might ignore him. Thinks you might turn around and walk away. Leave through the nearest exit. Run through the nearest exit, desperate to get away from him. From the man who broke your heart.

But he never could've expected what you'd do.

You do run but you run towards him, leaping into his arms.

He's shocked but he quickly pulls himself together and pulls you tight against him, inhaling the sweet scent of you. He doesn't want to talk about what happened or what is going to happen when you finally let go, he just wants to hold you and let this be enough. But the erratic beat of his heart isn't satisfied with just holding you. He needs to make you his.

He pulls away and grabs your hands, checking for a ring. He almost cries again when he doesn't see one.

You laugh, looking at him puzzled. "Yes? Something you need?"

"You're... you're not married." His breath is so shaky it's a wonder he was able to form words at all.

"I said I'd wait, didn't I?" You whisper, pulling your hands away from his so you can cup his face and stroke his cheeks with your thumbs.

Now he starts crying.

You kiss the tears away from his cheeks. "Hey, I don't remember you being such a crybaby. What happened to the tough Vice Captain of the Third Division?" You tease him but your voice is still soft, filled with concern at his sudden burst of emotion.

"H-he's not here right now. Just me. Just a man who's in love with you, wondering if you can still find it in you to love him back."

You smile warmly at him and he thinks he might just die now and go to heaven, having finally seen your smile for real and not just in his haunting dreams.

"I said I'd wait, and I have. I'd wait a thousand years for you. I'd wait more than that. It's you, it's always been you and it always will be."

He sighs, relieved. He takes you in his arms again, pulling you close and trailing kisses all over you. Then he freezes.

"Wait, I heard you ran off to get married with my brother?"

You laugh and the sound is enough to melt his heart and ease his nerves. "Well I guess that's partially true. I mean I did run away with him but only to join his division, that's it. I was hoping to run into you."

Soshiro squeezes you tighter, afraid if he lets you go this might be a dream. "So marry me then."

The waves continue to push and pull, the Earth continues to spin on its axis, and Soshiro continues to love you immensely and infinitely the rest of his entire life.

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

𝐀-𝐙 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐌.𝐀

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x F!reader | WC : 3k | Proof read : KINDA | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN

Summary: Every letter of the alphabet with little nsfw thoughts or drabbles about our favorite Roman general

Warnings: NSFW TOPICS OF SEX AND KINKS ASWELL AS DESCRIPTIONS OF SAID ACTS

A/n: this is my first time doing something like this so yeah be kind and enjoy

A = Aftercare 

After more rough sex, Marcus becomes the epitome of tender care and devotion. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close, refusing to let you go. The contrast between the rough passion moments before and his now incredibly gentle touch is almost surreal. He'd call for a maid to draw a warm bath, and with the utmost care, he’d carry you to it, his muscles flexing effortlessly as he lifts you. As the warm water envelops your body, he’d join you, his lips tracing a path of tender kisses all over your skin, a soothing balm to any lingering soreness. He’d wash your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp, whispering sweet nothings and praises. If the encounter had been quick and urgent, he’d still hold you tight afterward, savoring every second until the very last moment, reluctant to break the intimate connection. He’d stroke your hair, his breath warm against your ear, murmuring, “You were amazing, my love,” as he cradles you in his arms.

B = Body part 

Your favorite part of Marcus’s body is his back, broad and strong, a testament to his domineering presence. The way it flexes and moves is mesmerizing, a silent promise of his power and control. Every muscle ripples under your touch, a tangible reminder of his strength. Marcus, on the other hand, loves every inch of you, but he has a particular fixation on your breasts. The sight of your nipples hardening through your thin tunic in a chilly room drives him wild. His large hands can’t resist kneading your soft flesh, his fingers deft and knowing. He’d say, “I can’t get enough of you,” as his mouth follows suit, peppering kisses all over your chest. His lips are warm and demanding, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He’d groan against your skin, “You taste like heaven,” as he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before biting just hard enough to make you gasp.

C = Cum 

 MARCUS HAS A BREEDING KINK OK IM SORRY BUT, every time he reaches his peak. He wants nothing more than to fill you completely, to mark you as his in the most primal way. When he's close, a low growl rumbles from his chest, and his hands become possessive, grabbing onto your hair, your arms, your head, your body—anything to ensure you stay in place. He’s driven by the need to make sure every drop of his cum stays inside you, a visceral claim that sends shivers down your spine. His intensity in these moments is overwhelming, leaving you breathless and utterly fulfilled. He’d whisper in your ear, “You’re mine, all mine,” as he holds you tight, his seed filling you to the brim. He’d watch with dark satisfaction as your body responds to his, feeling you tremble and clench around him, a perfect fit.

D = Dirty secret 

 he masturbates before battles to relieve the stress. The weight of command and the anticipation of combat leave him tense, and he finds release in the privacy of his tent, his fist providing the perfect outlet for his pent-up frustrations. He’d fantasize about you, the way you look, the sounds you make, driving him to the edge and beyond. The image of your body writhing in pleasure on his cock would push him over, making him ready to face the battlefield with a clear mind and a calm heart.

E = Experience 

 Marcus is confident and experienced, having been sexually active ever since he joined the empire’s army. He needed a way to de-stress, and seeing and feeling a girl lose control on his dick was the perfect way. He knows exactly how to make a woman scream his name, how to draw out her pleasure until she’s begging for release. He’d smirk down at you, his eyes dark with lust, saying, “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” before thrusting deeper, hitting just the right spot. His experience makes him a master of your body, knowing every touch, every kiss, every thrust that drives you wild.

F = Favorite position 

 Marcus’s favorite position depends on the situation. If it’s rough, he loves doggy style, the way your muffled moans fill the room as his skin echoes against yours. He’d grab your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with a force that makes you see stars. “You like it rough, don’t you?” he’d growl, his voice thick with desire. If it’s a more casual or de-stressing situation, he loves a good cowgirl session, letting you take control as he praises and degrades his perfect girl. He’d look up at you, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements as he says, “That’s it, ride me like the good girl you are,” his voice low and commanding. His eyes would lock onto yours, watching every expression of pleasure that crosses your face, his own pleasure evident in the way he moans your name.

G = Goofy 

 For Marcus, being goofy really depends on his mood. He's the type to let his jealousy flare up, his possessive side showing when he sees other men looking at you. But he’s also not afraid to make you laugh, his charm and wit coming to the forefront. After a dinner party when you’re both tipsy, he’d pull you close, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Did you see the way they were looking at us?” he’d say with a chuckle, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. Or after winning a battle, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, he’d be ready to joke around, seeing the lighter side of life. He’d spin you around, lifting you off your feet, his laughter infectious. “Come here, my victorious queen,” he’d say, planting a playful kiss on your lips, his hands wandering, teasing, making you giggle and blush.

H = Hair 

Marcus’s hair is a testament to his rugged masculinity. It’s messy but not overwhelming, a happy trail leading down from his chiseled abs to his pubic hair. It’s a sight that makes your mouth water, a promise of the pleasure that lies beneath. He’s meticulous about keeping it just right—not too much, not too little. When you run your fingers through it, you can feel the softness and the coarseness, a blend that’s uniquely him. It’s a reminder of his primal nature, a part of him that’s untamed and wild, just like the passion he ignites within you both.

I = Intimacy 

 Marcus is a lover through and through, and his primary goal is to make you feel cherished and desired. During doggy style, he peppers kisses along your back, his lips soft and warm against your skin. Each kiss is a promise, a reassurance of his affection even in the throes of passion. In missionary, he gives you love bites, his teeth grazing your neck and shoulders, leaving marks that are both tender and fierce. He holds you close, his hands cradling your head, his eyes locked onto yours as he fucks up into you. When you ride him, he meets your hips with powerful thrusts, his hands guiding your movements, his voice a low, seductive murmur in your ear. “You’re perfect,” he’d say, his breath hot against your skin. “I love watching you take me.”

J = Jack off 

Marcus has a healthy appreciation for masturbation, finding it a useful way to relieve stress before battle. But he also loves to pleasure himself in general. One of his favorite scenarios is to jack off to your naked body as you kneel in front of him, your eyes locked onto his, waiting for his release. His hand moves with purpose, his gaze dark and hungry as he watches you. “You look so beautiful like this,” he’d say, his voice thick with desire. When he finally comes, he makes sure to aim for your face and chest, his cum painting your skin in hot, sticky ropes. The sight of you covered in his release, your cheeks flushed and your eyes half-lidded with lust, is enough to make him want to start all over again.

K = Kink 

 Marcus’s kinks are varied and intense, reflecting his dominant nature and his deep desire to possess you fully. He has a breeding kink, a primal urge to fill you with his seed and mark you as his own. He loves to switch between leading and being led, finding the balance between dominance and submission thrilling. Degradation and praise are two sides of the same coin for him—he can call you his dirty little whore one moment and his precious angel the next, each word sending shivers down your spine. Squirting is another of his favorites; seeing you lose control and release all over him drives him wild. Bondage is no stranger to your encounters, with ropes and restraints enhancing the intensity of your sessions. Voyeurism, spanking, orgasm control, and gags are all part of his repertoire, each one adding a new layer to the pleasure he gives and receives. “I’m going to make you scream my name,” he’d whisper, his voice a dark promise as he ties you up, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

L = Location 

The location for your intimate moments with Marcus varies, adding an element of excitement and spontaneity. In the coliseum before a battle, the tension and anticipation heighten your arousal. Marcus pulls you into a secluded corner, his hands already roaming your body. “We don’t have much time,” he growls, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss. The urgency and danger make every touch electric, every kiss a promise of what's to come. In the bedroom, the intimacy shifts to a different kind of connection—a place where you can take your time and explore each other fully. The soft sheets and dim lighting create a cocoon of warmth and desire, where every touch and whisper feels magnified.

M = Motivation 

 Marcus is driven by jealousy and the desire to claim you as his own. The thought of anyone else touching you makes his blood boil, fueling his need to assert his dominance. Winning you and your body is his ultimate goal, a conquest that he approaches with both passion and reverence. “You’re mine,” he’d say, his voice a low growl as he pins you beneath him. “No one else can have you.” His possessiveness is both thrilling and terrifying, a reminder of the intensity of his feelings. Each time he makes you come, it’s a victory, a confirmation of his power over you.

N = No 

Marcus doesn’t share. The very idea of anyone else touching you fills him with a possessive rage. You’re his, and he makes sure you know it. “You belong to me,” he’d growl, his eyes dark with jealousy as he presses you against the wall. His hands would roam your body, staking his claim, leaving no part of you untouched. “No one else gets to see you like this, to touch you like this,” he’d whisper fiercely, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless. His possessiveness is intoxicating, making you feel desired and cherished in the most intense way possible.

O = Oral 

 Marcus is experienced, and when it comes to oral, he knows exactly how to make you scream. His tongue flicks and swirls, finding all your most sensitive spots. But his fingers—oh, his fingers are even better. He loves the way you react when he slides them inside you, curling just right to hit your G-spot. His guilty pleasure is making you squirt, and he’s a master at it. “Come for me,” he’d murmur, his voice a low command as his fingers work their magic. And when it’s your turn to pleasure him, he loves it when you deepthroat him. The sight of you taking him so deep drives him wild. “That’s it, take it all,” he’d groan, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your movements.

P = Pace 

 On a normal day, Marcus starts slow, savoring every moment. He loves to tease you, building up the anticipation until you’re begging for more. But once he’s ready, his pace picks up, becoming so rough you think he’s going to break you or the bed. “You like it rough, don’t you?” he’d growl, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. The bed creaks and shakes under his powerful movements, but you’re too lost in the pleasure to care. His stamina is impressive, and he knows just how to push you to the edge and then pull back, prolonging your pleasure until you’re a quivering mess beneath him.

Q = Quickie 

 Marcus loves a good quickie before battle. The urgency and the risk make it all the more exciting. He’d pull you into a secluded corner, his hands already roaming your body. “We don’t have much time,” he’d whisper, his breath hot against your ear. The quick, rough encounters are exhilarating, a burst of passion that leaves you both breathless and satisfied. He’d thrust into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you back onto him. “I need you,” he’d groan, his movements frantic and intense.

R = Risk 

 Marcus and you love the thrill of voyeurism. The risk of getting caught adds an extra layer of excitement to your encounters. Whether it’s a quickie in a hidden alcove or a more drawn-out session where you know someone might overhear, the danger heightens the pleasure. “They might see us,” he’d whisper, a wicked grin on his face as he takes you in a public place. The thought of others watching, of them knowing just how much you belong to him, is a huge turn-on. His hands would roam your body, claiming you in full view of anyone who might happen by.

S = Stamina 

 Marcus’s stamina is legendary. After a battle, he can go for two rounds without breaking a sweat. On particularly good days, he can manage four rounds with only a short rest in between. Each session is intense and satisfying, leaving you completely spent and utterly satisfied. “I’m not done with you yet,” he’d say with a smirk, rolling you over for another round. His endurance means he can keep going until you’re both utterly exhausted, your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs and sweat.

T = Toys 

 Marcus loves incorporating toys into your sessions, especially ropes and silk ties. He’s an expert at bondage, using the restraints to heighten your pleasure and control. “Let’s see how long you can last,” he’d say, his voice low and teasing as he ties you up. The feel of the silk against your skin is a sensual delight, the ropes binding you in just the right way. He loves to watch you struggle against the restraints, your body arching as he brings you to the brink of ecstasy. The added element of control and restriction makes every touch, every kiss, every thrust even more intense.

U = Unfair 

 In the game of teasing, you’re definitely the worse offender. You love to drive Marcus wild at every opportunity, whether it’s brushing against him suggestively or whispering naughty things in his ear when you’re in public. You can’t help but revel in the way his eyes darken with desire, knowing you’ve got him on edge. “You think you can get away with this?” he’d whisper, his voice a low growl as he pulls you into a dark corner. While you tease relentlessly, Marcus is more calm and calculated, choosing the perfect moments to get back at you. He’d brush his fingers lightly against your thigh under the table at dinner, or give you a knowing look that makes your heart race. “You’re going to pay for this later,” he’d murmur, his lips grazing your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

V = Volume 

 Marcus is a symphony of growls and grunts, his primal sounds adding to the intensity of your encounters. His deep, guttural noises make your heart race, a constant reminder of his raw, untamed passion. Every so often, he’ll slip up and let out a deep or strangled moan, the sound vibrating through you and making you even wetter. “God, you feel so good,” he’d groan, his voice rough with need. Those rare moans are like music to your ears, a testament to the pleasure you bring him, and they drive you wild, pushing you to give him even more.

W = Wild card 

 Marcus likes you in control more than he lets on. When you take charge, he doesn’t have to worry about anything; he can fully let go in a way he usually doesn’t. He loves the way you take the lead, guiding his hands, setting the pace. “Show me what you want,” he’d say, his eyes filled with desire as he watches you take over. It’s a wild card move that brings out a different side of him, one that’s completely surrendered to your touch. The trust and vulnerability he shows in those moments make your connection even deeper, the pleasure more intense.

X = X-ray 

Marcus’s dick is large and in charge. It’s about the girth of four of your fingers and three of his, with a slight curve to the left and a hard length of 8.5 inches 

Y = Yearning 

 Marcus’s desire for you is insatiable. His yearning is always high, a constant, burning need that he can barely control. “I can’t get enough of you,” he’d say, his hands roaming your body, never satisfied with just one touch. He’s always ready for another round, his passion never waning. The intensity of his need makes every encounter feel urgent and necessary like he’s been waiting forever just to have you. His eyes would darken with lust every time he sees you, a silent promise of what’s to come.

Z = Zzz 

 Marcus always makes sure everything is okay with you before he falls asleep. After an intense session, he’d pull you close, his hands gentle as they caress your skin. “Are you alright?” he’d ask, his voice soft and filled with concern. He’d kiss your forehead, making sure you’re comfortable and satisfied. Only when he’s certain you’re okay would he allow himself to drift off, holding you tight in his strong arms. His protective nature is a comforting presence, making you feel safe and loved as you both slip into a peaceful sleep.

[avatar4life]

Sad girl in Westeros

"send me your grace. Rhaenys may have the biggest dragon we have but I have the fastest one. And we need Meleys more then ever." That's what y/n while at the black council after Rhaenyra came back from King's Landing.

She, of course, was worried sick about Rhaenyra being in the enemy's territory but she had the hope she came back safe and sound and it seemed like it., but now, word comes that Criston Cole was leading an army towards one of their allies and they needed aid. That's where it comes the current situation:

"Y/-" Rhaenyra tried to protest against her request "Your Grace, my dragon is the fastest one yet, and Criston Cole is already on his way with his army" reader interjected her before she could refuse the request.

As Rhaenyra didn't say another word, y/n left the council to prepare her dragon Eclipse.

As she prepared her dragon and herself for battle, she was deep in thought about how since her marriage with Jacaerys, his only focus was to his first wife Baela, and even though y/n doesn't hate her, she couldn't help but feel envious of the dynamic between them, as she hoped to have the same with Jacaerys and also have a child with him, as it was her biggest dream: becoming a mother, someone that the child could rely to, someone who she could hold close to herself and adore them, but alas, she only managed to consummate her marriage once. She was also thinking about how she could sacrifice herself for this cause, to protect Rhaenyra's rightful claim to the throne, and how it wouldn't matter to anyone if she died in the battle she's about to go to.

She walked towards Eclipse, and leans her forehead to her dragon's nose "time to shine again my dearest" she said to her dragon, who growls as she gets ready to fight.

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Y/N was on the ground with Eclipse after getting hit hard by Vaghar and Aemond, and even though she feels like she couldn't fight anymore, she couldn't help but feel a bit proudful in making Aegon and Sunfyre fall and tearing out one of Vaghar's horn and clawing her chest. She got off Eclipse's back and went to check on her, and sighed in relief as she saw her safe and sound even though they fell from the skies.

"think you can still fly home?" She asked her dragon and nodded as Eclipse stood up ready to fly. She got on her back and yells "Soāves Eclipse" and they flew away.

Once she got back she instantly made the dragonkeepers go and take care of Eclipse as she goes to see Rhaenyra, even though she was injured. Once she arrived she knocked on the door before coming in "your grace" she greets her "Y/N! You must sit down, you're wounded. Aelys, go fench a maester" Rhaenyra said to her maid as she helped Y/N sit down.

Once she sat down she sighed on relief of her pain lessening before looking at Rhaenyra "I found and killed Criston Cole, but with him there were also Aemond with Vaghar and Aegon with Sunfyre. I managed to wound both Aegon and his dragon, and injuring a bit Vaghar, but they made a sneak attack on me and Eclipse and we fell from the sky. But, most of Cole's army is down and our allies are safe" she reported to Rhaenyra, who sighed in relief at the news and worried about the sudden appearance of Aemond and Vaghar, still grieving Lucerys's death. Soon the maester arrived and y/n got bandaged and treated. "You must go and rest, now" Rhaenyra said to her and y/n couldn't help but agree for once as she was tired both from flying and from the whole battle.

She went to her chambers, as she doesn't share Jacaerys and Baela's chamber, and immediately fell asleep.

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A few weeks have passed and y/n's injuries were healing and with the passing of time Baela's pregnancy continued, causing some jealousy in y/n's heart as she yearned for a child of her own, which brought the current argument

"I have nothing against Baela but I would also like to have a child of my own from our marriage!" She said to Jacaerys frustrated, who only looked at her in indifference as he said words that shattered her heart "you are never going to get my seed, cause only Baela is worthy of it" he said before leaving without even sparing her a glance. She stood there, shocked and hurt as her mind repeats his words like a mantra, feeling like her own heart was burning from the ache she was feeling and the hurt such words caused her. And a few days became weeks, weeks become a month before she sent a raven asking her father this

'Father, I hope you are well, and so is mother and sister. I send you this raven is hope of you to annul my marriage with Jacaerys Velaryon / Targaryen. As i hoped to have a marriage like yours and mother's, such dream never came true and I fear I'll never be able to give you the grandchildren you two always wanted, and never make my dear sister's dream of becoming an aunt come true. So I hope, that if you wish to, to annul this marriage as I am not happy in it. And I hope that even though the marriage gets annuled that our house continues to support Rhaenyra's rightful claim, as you knew her before and know that she's fit for the throne more than anyone else we know or knew.

Hope you are well, Y/N'

She wrapped the paper and tied it to the raven's leg before sending it flying back to her home. She knew that no one could understand her decision, no one but Rhaenyra herself, so she stood up and went to see her.

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"you cannot be possibly asking this" Rhaenyra said as she was shocked of her decision "your grace, as much as I love having you as my mother in law, you and I and many others can see that your son does not harbor any feelings for me, no matter how much i want it. I asked my father to continue his support to your claim. Because, even though there's a possibility that we may not be family anymore, I want you to know I will fight for your rightful claim until my very last breath." Y/N said to her as she sat in front of her in her chamber. She looked at Rhaenyra confused as she stood up and hugged her, shocking her before tears came due to feeling her warm and kind embrace, reminding her of her own mother, and hugging her back, not knowing she will talk to Jacaerys later on about what they spoken about.

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A few months have passed and even though y/n felt the coldness is her relationship with Jacaerys she couldn't help but feel ecstatic when she learn about her pregnancy, finally, a child of her own to love, to protect, to keep safe.

She also noticed how Jacaerys started to spend some time, even briefly, with her and that made her feel hope again in thinking that maybe he's falling in love with her. But, unfortunately, that hope gets shattered just as fast as it came when the announcement of Baela's third pregnancy came and Jacaerys disappeared again.

Y/N's pregnancy was harder than most women, due to the fact that her belly was much bigger than normal, even more than someone carrying twins. And that's when she found out she was having triplets, a very uncommon thing.

She was put under close guard since this was the first time in Targaryen history that triplets came, and it was a certain relief for y/n since it was a very difficult pregnancy, so when she reached her fifth month, she was put on bestest until the end of her pregnancy.

When she went in labour, she was feeling stressed from Jacaerys's neglect, the council getting more tense and the whole pregnancy that she refused the help of her maids, maesters and midwives and gave birth on her own, almost passing out due to the fact that the time between each birth was long, fifteen minutes for each babe, but she couldn't help but feel extremely relieved and happy as she held her babies, two girls and one boy. She was even more happy because they looked exactly like her., and as she kissed each babe's head, she thanked the gods for the strength they gave her during such difficult birth.

Soon Rhaenyra came to look at the babies and check up on her, and she felt her heart melt at the sight of the babies in y/n's arms

"y/n, they're beautiful...they look just like you" Rhaenyra said as she looked at the babies

"thank you, they're my sweet babies, my dearest girls and my little boy" she said as she kissed their heads.

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Three years have passed and the triples looked more and more like y/n every days, anyone could see the resemblance from miles away. Jacaerys spent some time with them from time to time, but was mostly focused on his and Baela's children. This, of course, upsetted y/n's kids but every time they felt sad, she always went to comfort them and make them laugh, hiding the bit of resentment she felt towards Jacaerys's negligence.

One day, everyone was eating at dinner, and while y/n was cleaning one of the girl's mouth from the spilled food, her boy asked a question that made not only her, but also Jacaerys freeze

"Mama, why don't we have other siblings?" "Yeah Mama , why don't we?" One of the girls said "yeah, why?" The other girl said to her with child wonder as she looked at them before making a soft smile at him as she continues to clean the second girl's mouth "cause your mother and father feel like you three are enough for now" she said to them, feeling bad for lying but she knew she couldn't handle their faces if she tells them the real reason.

Meanwhile Jacaerys, was looking at the children, feeling bad for what he had caused y/n, for the pain he inflicted on her and most special, the fact he acted like Daemon and wasn't there for her when she gave birth to the triplets.

After y/n put her children to take their nap, she was about to go and check the children's dragons and see their growth but got stopped by Jacaerys "Y/N wait.... I'd like for us to speak alone, if you wish to" he said to her. She looked at him confused by his request but nodded and went to somewhere more private "is there a reason for you to call me he-" she said but immediately got interrupted by two words she never thought she'd hear from him "I'm sorry" he said to her with a guilt ridden look on his face, with also shame for his actions.

"....what?" She asked confused, shocked and perplexed by what she heard .

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for causing such pain in our marriage, for ignoring and neglecting you in your hard times and in your kind gestures in trying for us to bond. I'm sorry for not being there in your pregnancy, especially because it was hard on you due to growing three children and it being complicated on you. I'm sorry for not being there for their birth, even though I vowed myself to not be like Daemon when mother gave birth to-... I'm sorry for neglicting our children and hurting you and them.... I'm sorry for everything I've done to you and to them. I hope that you can forgive me and for maybe to....try again? I would like for us to try and be a family like we were meant to be: me, you, our children, me and Baela's children too. All of us a family" he said to her as he felt like he couldn't stop talking once he started speaking.

She looked at him with a shocked face bed leaving the private chamber and walking away, not even sparing him a glance as she left.

There it is @aemondwhoresworld hope you like it