#copper hot tub

[sevenlittledwarfs]

Rooftop - Deck Inspiration for a contemporary rooftop deck remodel

[noartband]

San Francisco Deck Inspiration for a large contemporary deck remodel with a fire pit and a roof extension

[payetasoiree]

Sauna - Rustic Bathroom Example of a large mountain style light wood floor and beige floor sauna design with an undermount sink

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Thiis place is lacking in the cregan stark department! How about Cregan coming to his chambers to find his southern targ wife in the bath and he join in and offer to warming her up…iykwim

I have two other Cregan wip in my drafts. More is coming <3

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbation (both receiving), p + v, this is not foot fetish,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Warm water enveloped your body like a blanket, making you sigh as you laid your head back against the edge of the tub. The maids who drew your bath had offered to help scrub your body and wash your hair, but you told them you simply wanted to relax after today’s petitions. 

Although you spent your day sitting in a chair, it was exhausting. People’s requests and complaints were exhausting.

You closed your eyes, the crackling sound coming from the hearth and the lavender oils in the water creating a calm ambiance.

‘’Is there room for me?’’ Cregan’s deep voice inquired, standing across the tub. 

Startled, your eyes shot open, having not heard him enter your chambers or call out his greetings. 

A smile curled on your lips as you glanced up at your husband, the warm water in front of you sloshing a bit from the sudden movements. ‘’Always.’’ 

You shifted in the tub, pulling your legs to your chest to make room for him. Its circle shape made it larger than the regular copper tubs, which was perfect to fit two people. 

Cregan swiftly disrobed, his clothes falling into a lump on the floor before stepping in the warm water. ‘’Seven Hells, this it hot.’’ 

A soft giggle slipped from your lips. ‘’The water has cooled down since I got in,’’ you explained as he settled before you, angling his long legs on each side of you. ‘’Us, Targaryens, have a stronger endurance to heat. It’s the blood of the dragon.’’ 

‘’I’ll take you to the hot springs some time, it should please you.’’ 

‘’Sounds heavenly. Will you join me?’’

Northerners were not fond of the Winterfell hot springs, too hot for their likings, but Cregan would never turn down an occasion to be with you. Especially naked. 

‘’If my lady wishes me to,’’ he murmured softly, unfolding your leg with care. His strong hands began to massage your calf, kneading your muscles gently and expertly.

A low moan escaped your lips as you leaned back against the tub, savoring the tenderness of his touch. He continued massaging your leg, his fingers working their way up before going back down and pressing a gentle kiss to your ankle. 

‘’Enjoying yourself?’’ Cregan asked, knowing the answer already from the blissful expression on your face. 

You hummed. ‘’Do you want me to wash you?’’ 

Although there were maids to assist lords and ladies with their baths, you enjoyed running a soapy sponge over your husband’s shoulders and chest. It was a moment of intimacy you cherished. 

And the idea of another woman helping your husband bathe made you green with jealousy. 

You shifted closer and grabbed the bar of soap, lathering it on a sponge before gently scrubbing the soapy sponge over Cregan’s broad shoulders. He made no movement as you washed him, allowing himself to unwind for the first time since sunrise. 

The suds dripped down his hard chest and into the bath water as you moved down his arms. The close proximity caused Cregan's eyes to rake over your bare breasts, drinking you in with a wolf’s appetite. 

He reached forward, tugging at your hip. ‘’Come here.’’ 

The Northman captured your lips into a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You winded your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, kissing passionately. There was no need to make haste as the day was over, so you took your time. Cregan ran his palms up the length of your thighs before hoisting you on his lap in one motion. The water made it slippery, but you held on to your man.

The water swished, spilling slightly over the tub. You paid it no mind, feeling Cregan's large hands roaming up your naked body. He cupped a breast in his palm, his thumb flicking against the sensitive bud, drawing another sound of pleasure from you.

This was what he meant on your wedding day when he promised to keep you warm. 

You rutted atop him until your cunt found his hard cock under the water and rubbed yourself against it. Cregan groaned from the friction, his blood thrumming from the contact, igniting his desires. 

‘’Impatient, are we?’’ he teased, chuckling against your lips. 

Rising on his knees, Cregan pushed you down until you were resting against the tub, and parted your legs. Your needy cunt was begging for his attention. He plunged his hand in the water to toy with your clit, and your soft mewls filled the room. 

‘’Ahh, that feels good,’’ you said, opening your legs wider and catching sight of his rock-hard cock standing against his lower stomach. It twitched under the soapy water, red tip peaking out. You reached to stroke him, getting a low curse in response.  

The foreplay didn’t last long, just enough to get you going. When you had enough, you rose on your knees and turned to grab the edge of the tub, presenting your behind to your lord husband. Getting the message, Cregan kneeled behind you. He took a moment to admire your glistening folds before slowly pushing his thick cock inside.

You sucked in a breath, your inner walls pulsed around him as he entered, filling you up. You couldn’t help but moan from how good it felt. He began to thrust slowly, his low groans mixing with your moans and praises. There was no greater pleasure than this. 

Cregan ran his slightly calloused hands up and down your soapy back and hips, then tenderly squeezed your ass. You whimpered in pleasure, and he smirked at your reaction. This was never a position Cregan thought he would enjoy. He found it animalistic and unromantic. But your adventurous side was bleeding through him. 

After a harder thrust, your hand slipped, reminding you that bath intercourses were not the safest. Fortunately, Cregan was quick, grabbing your shoulder before you could hurt yourself. 

‘’This is not going to work,’’ he decided, not wanting to have to explain to the maester how you split your chin…

You let out an unhappy whine when he pulled out. The emptiness didn't last long. Cregan went back to where he had been sat, and pulled you over him, his cock slipping with ease back into your cunt.

Water splashed over the tub as you began to slowly ride him, gripping onto his biceps and creating moon shaped indents into his skin as he was kissing your jaw and neck. The maids who will clean up in the morrow will no doubt wonder how all that water got out of the tub. 

His breathing began to quicken, and a low groan escaped his throat as you picked up your pace. He buried his head into your neck, nipping at your skin. ‘’Slow down. Don’t want—agh this to end so soon.’’

‘’Can't,’’ you whined, lost in your own pleasure. Your head fell back as you rode him even faster, your breasts bouncing in rhythm, perky and heavy, perfect to nurse his future babes. 

He dug his fingertips into your thighs, trying to hold you back as he panted against your chest, but you were determined to reach your peak. ‘’Seven hells, you’ll be the end of me.’’

Cregan’s control was slipping, his breaths turning ragged. You loved him like this. Your powerful, confident Warden of the North, completely lost and at your mercy.

Your hips rolled against his and your legs were quivering, but you kept up your pace, desperately needing to finish. 

Cregan felt you clench around him, your orgasm reaching its peak, and swallowed your strangled cry as he captured your mouth in a hungry kiss. He didn’t last much longer after that. With a guttural moan, the northman spilled his seed inside of you, his hips bucking up to prolong the release.

‘’I’m going to miss you when you leave for the Wall’’ you said, still attached to Cregan’s body. ‘’Winter is long.’’ 

He drew lazy circles along your bare hip with his thumb as he pressed a sweet kiss under your jaw. ‘’The water is getting cold. We should get out.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

[richardalperts]

Landscape Concrete Pavers in Houston Inspiration for a mid-sized rustic backyard concrete paver landscaping.

[yatamisakis]

Orange County Roof Extensions Inspiration for a large transitional backyard stone patio remodel with a fireplace and a roof extension

[neotattooart]

Great Room in Denver Large mountain style medium tone wood floor and brown floor great room photo with white walls

[ttheodoropoulos]

Boston Pool

[cattasticks]

New York Pool Hot Tub

[facexclaimxcafe]

Pool in New York

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 1st

Day 1: Handjobs // Temperature Play // Breast Worship

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Handjobs, allusions to imbalanced power dynamics, mentions of blood/death, cum

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The moans of the wounded and the tired men can almost be ignored through the thick fabric of the tent. The heavy spices hang in the air, burning flagrantly in the smoldering copper pots you keep lit. Wanting to mask the odor of death and blood. To keep this space free of the oppression outside the tent flaps. 

Marcus groans, his chest heaving and making the water ripple as he throws his head back. “More.” He grunts, his voice raspy from shouting orders during the bloodiest and most hard fought day of this campaign so far. 

Sitting in hip deep water, the blood had been washed away, the dirt and grime of battle swim in the wooden tub outside the tent. This bath is for pleasure. This moment is for him. 

His cock slaps against the small pouch of his belly as you let him go, reaching for the vial of warmed, scented oil to add more to your hands. After so many months in his service, you know what he wants. 

Marcus Acacius is a man who holds himself tightly bound by the code he has lived by. That had been instilled in him by someone who was proclaimed to be the greatest of all the Roman generals. A man who he unfortunately could not live up to his memory, at least in his own eyes. 

Your hands are slicked together, sliding easily when you lean forward to wrap your hands around the thick length of his cock and pull another deep groan from him. 

He looks gorgeous, wet curls hanging slightly as his head tilts back, throat exposed and vulnerable. Eyes closed as a murmured curse passes through his lips. His cock twitching when you squeeze him gently, feeling the vein pulse to the heavy beating of his heart. 

The skin rolls easily. Silky velvet draped over steel, a wonderful contradiction of feelings. Something so hard shouldn’t be so soft, and something so soft shouldn’t burn so hot it feels like Vesuvius in your grip. 

The head of his cock is so raw, leaking the fluids that you smear over it with your thumb, making him hiss and the water slosh as his hips jerk up. His skin looks bronzed in the soft light from the candles and you squeeze him again. 

“Shit!” You bite your lip when he curses, watching his face and his cock with equal fascination, the emotions playing over his features are riotous and changing from one moment to the next as you stroke his cock. As you give him what pleasure he is willing to take from you. 

Up and down, your wrist twists as you pump him, feeling the need building in his body. At the same time other muscles start to relax. His breath catching and becoming short, heavier. 

“Relax dominus.” You coo softly, making his eyes fly open and he reaches down to grab your wrist, stilling your hand.

“Marcus.” He pants, dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that would have you shrinking back if he wasn’t holding you. “Do not call me that. Use my name.”

“Marcus.” You whisper his name quietly, as if you are afraid someone outside may hear it and punish you. A foolish fear, since Marcus would be the one to find offense if any was to be had, but one that is very hard to overcome. 

He relaxes his grip on your wrist and slowly starts helping you pump his length again before letting go. Water drips off his hand and arm as he pulls it back to drape along the edge of the tub and leans back again. Your own name falls from his lips quietly, poised in praise and approval as his eyes slide closer again. “Good girl.”

The wet sounds of his cock in your hand draw your attention back down to his length. Making you wonder how he would feel inside you. How he would taste. Things that he did not allow to happen, and he had only reluctantly let you touch him like this. 

His cock is thick and a good length, enough that you cannot cover all of it when your fingers are around it. The long strokes of your hand have to be quick, the pace steady to build him back to where he had been before you had erred. 

On your knees beside the tub, you wish to crawl in there with him, to mount him. Instead of letting your hand glide up and down his cock, you want the walls of your cunt clenched tight around him. Still you continue to caress his throbbing cock, sliding your other hand down so you can cradle the soft fullness of the balls that are resting below his length. 

His grunts and groans are growing louder, his hips starting to roll towards your hand. The edge of his jaw tightening as he hisses. You don’t miss the way his fingers curl around the edge of the tub, trying to hold onto his composure. He doesn’t like to give up control and that’s exactly what he is doing with every flick of your wrist and downward stroke as you burn the fires in his belly. 

He’s close. You can feel it in the way that his hips tilt, his stomach ripples as it tightens and releases. As if he is trying to stave off his pleasure. To drag it out and make it even sweeter while you pump his cock again and again. His groan breaks, your name on his lips right before his cock twitches violently in your grip. 

Hot spurts of his seed shoot out of the tip, painting his chest while his panting breaths makes his chest heave. Your hand is coated, the thick, creamy seed sliding down into your fingers as you work him through it. Wanting him to work every drop of his pleasure out of his cock until he is spent. 

His cock starts to soften in your hand, his hips dropping back to the bottom of the tub and he exhales in pure relief as he lets the pleasure rush through his system. His head is not dropped down to his chest for a long moment until he lifts it, looking into your eyes with a guilty sense of gratitude that you wish you could soothe away with soft kisses and words. You don’t though, slowly releasing his cock and pushing your hand under the water to wash his seed off your skin so you can pick up the soft cloth to wipe it from his chest. 

Your job is to serve the general and for now, he only requires you to give him pleasure with your hand.

[astrxq]

jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader — prompt list 1.8 and 1.23 from my autumn party!

words: 3.6k

notes: not really sure how used i am to writing smut but i hope you enjoy! "Character B teasing Character A’s nipples with their fingers (or tongue) and enjoying the way they’re making Character A break (in a good way) completely from that; flicking them and rolling the buds between their fingers." and “I’m a mess right now.” “Hmm… And I wonder why that is?” “Hmm, yeah, I wonder why, too.” requested

The warm water enveloped you, soothing your tired muscles as you sank deeper into the copper bathtub. Steam rose lazily from the surface, carrying with it the delicate scent of lavender and rosemary from the oils you'd added to your bath. The soft glow of candles flickered around the room, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls of your shared chambers.

You closed your eyes, letting out a contented sigh as the tension of the day slowly melted away. The castle had been bustling with activity lately, preparations for the upcoming harvest festival keeping everyone busy from dawn till dusk. This quiet moment of solitude felt like a precious gift.

As you trailed your fingers through the water, creating gentle ripples, your thoughts drifted to Jace. Your husband had been even busier than usual, locked away in meetings with advisors and visiting diplomats. You'd barely seen him these past few days, exchanging only brief glances and fleeting touches as you passed in the hallways.

A pang of longing tugged at your heart. You missed him – the sound of his laugh, the warmth of his embrace, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at you. Your marriage may have started as a political alliance, but over the past year, your feelings for Jace had deepened into something you never expected.

The soft creak of the chamber door pulled you from your reverie. You opened your eyes, sitting up slightly in the bath as Jace entered the room. He looked weary, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of his responsibilities. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually neat hair was disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration.

"Jace," you said softly, a welcoming smile curving your lips. "I wasn’t expecting you back so soon."

He turned at the sound of your voice, his tired expression brightening as his gaze fell upon you. "The meeting ended early, thank the gods," he said, crossing the room to stand beside the bathtub. "I couldn’t bear another moment of Lord Baldric’s endless droning about grain tariffs."

You laughed softly, understanding all too well the tedium of such discussions. "Poor darling," you teased gently. "How ever did you survive?"

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Jace’s mouth. "I may have imagined dumping a pitcher of wine over his head once or twice," he admitted, earning another laugh from you.

As your laughter faded, you noticed the tightness around Jace’s eyes, the way he was holding himself so rigidly. Concern welled up inside you. "You look exhausted, love," you murmured, reaching out to brush your fingers against his hand where it rested on the edge of the tub.

Jace sighed, some of the tension seeming to drain out of him at your touch. "I am," he confessed. "These negotiations are dragging on far longer than I’d anticipated. Some days I feel as if I’m trying to herd cats rather than run a kingdom."

You nodded sympathetically, your thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of his hand. "Why don’t you join me?" you suggested softly. "The water’s still hot, and I think we could both use a moment of peace."

For a moment, Jace hesitated, glancing toward the stack of documents on his desk. You could almost see the weight of his duties pressing down on him. But then he looked back at you, his gaze softening as it met yours. "That sounds wonderful," he said, a small but genuine smile spreading across his face.

Jace’s smile sent a flutter through your chest, that familiar warmth blooming at the sight of his weariness easing, if only for a moment. You watched as he began to unlace his tunic, the soft rustle of fabric filling the otherwise quiet room. His movements were deliberate, slow, as if the day's weight was still clinging to him, but the thought of sharing this moment with you seemed to breathe some life back into him.

You leaned back in the tub, letting the warm water cradle you as your eyes remained on him. His tunic fell to the floor, revealing the strong lines of his chest and arms, the muscles that tensed and relaxed with every breath. It was a sight you never tired of, though you'd never confess how much you loved watching him like this, stripped of the layers of duty and titles. Here, he was just Jace, your Jace.

As he stepped into the bath, the water shifted around you both, rising just a little higher as he settled in beside you. The warmth of his body beneath the water brushed against your skin, sending a pleasant shiver through you. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment as he leaned his head back against the rim of the tub, allowing the water to do its work in soothing his muscles.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him finally relaxing, his face no longer tight with the stress that had followed him all day. Reaching over, you let your fingers trail gently through the water, brushing against his hand before weaving them with his. His thumb moved over your knuckles in response, a silent thank you for this moment of peace.

For a while, you both simply sat in the comfortable silence, the only sound the occasional soft ripple of water as one of you shifted slightly. The candlelight flickered around you, casting a soft glow over Jace’s skin, highlighting the lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. You drank in the sight of him, every detail of his face more familiar to you now than you ever thought possible.

After a time, Jace broke the silence, his voice low and warm. “I missed you today,” he confessed, his eyes still closed as if the words were easier to speak when he wasn’t looking directly at you. “I know we haven’t had much time together lately, but... you were on my mind.”

Your heart swelled at his words, a soft smile curving your lips. “I missed you too,” you replied quietly. “More than I expected.”

He opened his eyes then, turning his head slightly to look at you. There was something soft in his gaze, an unspoken understanding passing between you. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of obligations and duties, leaving little time for moments like this. But here, in this quiet space, you could feel the connection between you both growing stronger, like an invisible thread weaving tighter around your hearts.

Slowly, Jace shifted closer to you, the water rippling gently around him as he moved. His arm slid around your waist, drawing you against his chest in a gentle, unhurried embrace. You sighed softly as you rested your head against him, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear grounding you in this moment. His hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through the damp strands, a gesture so tender it made your chest ache with the depth of it.

“This feels right,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder would shatter the fragile stillness around you. “Being here with you.”

You nodded against him, your hand resting on his chest as you felt his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your palm. “It always feels right with you,” you replied, your words honest and quiet.

His hand moved from your hair, gliding slowly down your back, the touch featherlight but deliberate. You felt a slight shiver run down your spine, the warmth of the water suddenly mingling with a new heat that settled low in your belly. Jace’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and you wondered if he could feel the same pull in the air between you, the slow-burning tension that had quietly built up over these past few weeks.

His fingers brushed along your skin beneath the water, trailing along your waist, the touch so subtle yet impossible to ignore. A deep, aching need stirred within you, slow and undeniable. The closeness of his body, the intimacy of this quiet moment, heightened everything. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, could hear the slight hitch in his breathing as his hand traced those lazy patterns on your skin.

His lips pressed gently against the top of your head, soft and lingering, sending a rush of warmth through you. You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze, and in that moment, the look in his eyes was unmistakable. It wasn’t rushed or urgent, but there was a depth to it, an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

Slowly, almost without thinking, you shifted your body, turning slightly in the water so you could face him fully. His eyes stayed on yours, dark and unreadable for a moment, but then his hand slid to the nape of your neck, guiding you closer. The water rippled between you as your bodies moved together, your legs brushing beneath the surface.

Your lips met his in a kiss that started slow, gentle, like the softest whisper. But there was something more behind it, a need that simmered just beneath the surface, growing with every passing second. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer still, until your bodies were pressed together beneath the warm water.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, fast and strong, matching the quickening rhythm of your own. The sensation of his skin against yours, the warmth of his breath as he deepened the kiss, was enough to make your head spin. Every touch, every small movement, was like fuel to the slow-burning fire between you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing harder than before, Jace rested his forehead against yours. His hand still held the back of your neck, his thumb stroking your skin in slow, soothing circles.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Missed you.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. “I’ve missed you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft lapping of the water. Your hand rested against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your palm.

For a moment, the world outside the walls of your chambers seemed to vanish. There was no kingdom to rule, no duties pulling him away. It was just the two of you, wrapped in each other, surrounded by warmth and quiet intimacy.

Jace’s fingers brushed along your jaw, tilting your chin slightly as he kissed you again, this time slower, lingering, as if savoring the moment. His hand slid down to your waist, holding you close, his touch tender but firm, grounding you in the here and now.

Jace’s lips were soft against yours, his kiss unhurried but full of that quiet intensity you'd come to love. His hand, still cradling the back of your neck, seemed to be the only thing tethering you to the moment as everything else melted away – responsibilities, stress, even time itself. It was just you and him, wrapped in the hazy warmth of the bath, the world outside your chambers forgotten.

His lips moved down, trailing along the line of your jaw, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle. You could feel him shifting, his body brushing against yours beneath the water. That familiar heat stirred inside you, slow and smoldering, spreading from the pit of your stomach outward. The feeling of his skin, slick from the water, sent shivers through you, heightening every sensation.

His mouth found the curve of your neck, lingering there as his hand slid slowly down your side, tracing your waist before slipping beneath the water. He took his time, his movements deliberate, teasing, like he wanted to savor every inch of your skin.

Your breath hitched when his lips traveled lower, his mouth now grazing your collarbone. Your heart raced, the tension between you growing with each passing moment. His hand found your waist again, drawing you closer, your bodies almost completely entwined now. The feel of him, of his warmth, his strength, was intoxicating.

Then, he stopped, pulling back slightly to look at you. His eyes were dark, filled with that playful glint you knew so well, but there was something else, something deeper. He held your gaze as his lips curved into a slow smile, the kind that sent a thrill through you.

Without a word, he lowered his head again, and this time his lips found your breast, his mouth teasing the sensitive skin there. A gasp escaped you, your fingers threading through his damp hair as you arched into his touch. Jace’s tongue flicked lightly over your nipple, the sensation sending a shock of pleasure through you, and your body responded, every muscle tightening, your breath coming faster.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration adding to the rush of sensation, and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted – completely out of your control, a soft moan escaping your lips. His hand, still firm on your waist, slid upward, fingers brushing the underside of your breast as he continued his slow, torturous teasing.

You were trembling now, barely able to hold yourself together, your mind hazy with need. Jace lifted his head, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, his voice a low murmur, “I’m a mess right now.”

You managed a breathless laugh, though it came out shaky. “Hmm… and I wonder why that is?”

Jace pulled back just enough to look at you, his smirk returning. “Hmm, yeah, I wonder why, too.” His tone was playful, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him – he knew exactly what he was doing to you, how he was unraveling you piece by piece.

His hand moved again, cupping your breast as he brought his mouth back down to your skin, his tongue flicking over your nipple once more. Your fingers tightened in his hair, a shuddering breath escaping you as you gave in to the sensations, your body arching toward him.

And in that moment, you couldn’t think of anything else – only the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and the way his touch made you feel like you were coming undone, in the best possible way.

Jace’s lips never left your skin, his touch steady yet electrifying as he continued to explore you. His breath was hot against your breast, his mouth working over you with a practiced ease that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. Your heartbeat matched the rhythm of his, fast and erratic, both of you caught in this moment that felt suspended in time.

His hand slid lower, his fingertips tracing idle patterns along your waist, but his lips moved up to your neck once more, pressing soft kisses along the curve of your throat. 

“You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, his voice hoarse with need, “how tired I am of those lords. Tired of hearing them complain, tired of their endless demands.” His words were punctuated by another kiss, this one lingering, just beneath your ear. “All I’ve craved, all I’ve needed…” He paused, his hand tightening slightly on your hip, pulling you closer. “Is time with my wife.”

The weight of his confession settled between you, heavy with longing and the desire that had been building for days, weeks even. You could feel the truth in his words, the weariness from his responsibilities melting away as his body pressed against yours, his heart and mind focused only on this – on you.

You sighed, the warmth of his skin grounding you in the moment, as his lips trailed back down to your collarbone. “I needed this,” he whispered, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through the air, making your chest ache in response.

You cupped his face, lifting his chin so his eyes met yours. His gaze was intense, raw, the weariness still there but softened by the relief of being here with you. “Then take your time,” you whispered back, your voice soft but steady. 

His lips quirked into a small smile, something tender and almost boyish behind it. Then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you, slow and deliberate, savoring the way your mouths met, the connection between you palpable and real. His hands slid back up to your shoulders, pulling you even closer until there was nothing between you but the warm water, your hearts pounding in sync.

Jace’s lips found your neck again, his breath hot against your skin as he trailed kisses along your throat, each one slower, more deliberate. His hands, large and calloused from years of sword training, traced a path down your spine, sending shivers along your skin despite the warmth of the water surrounding you. His need for you was palpable, each touch brimming with the weight of all those days apart.

His fingers tightened at your waist, guiding you with a gentle urgency until you were straddling him, your bodies so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him. The water rippled around you both, the only sound in the quiet chamber the soft slosh of it and your quickened breaths.

“Gods,” he whispered, his voice rough, almost ragged with want. His hands slid up your thighs beneath the water, his grip firm but trembling ever so slightly, betraying just how desperate he was for you. 

You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you, the proof of his desire impossible to ignore. His lips hovered just above your skin, the tips of his fingers brushing across your waist and thighs, and you could feel the tension between you thickening, building like a taut string waiting to snap.

When his mouth finally found yours again, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you down onto him in one slow, deliberate movement, a low moan escaping his throat as he filled you. The sound of his need, so raw and vulnerable, made your breath catch in your chest, and your fingers dug into his shoulders, grounding yourself in the intensity of it all.

He whimpered softly, a sound that made your heart clench in your chest. There was something so unguarded about the way he responded to you, the way he moved beneath you, his head tipping back against the rim of the tub as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft lapping of the water. “Don’t stop.” His hands slid from your waist to your thighs, guiding you, urging you to move. And you did, your body responding to his silent plea as you began to grind against him, the slow, sensual rhythm you set making him shudder beneath you.

Each time your hips met his, his breath hitched, and the softest, neediest sounds escaped his lips – a mix of moans and barely-restrained whimpers that made your heart race. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as if he was afraid you might slip away, as if he needed you closer, needed you to know just how much he craved you.

The water sloshed gently around you both as your movements became more fluid, more deliberate, the quiet intimacy of the moment giving way to something deeper, something primal. Jace’s head tipped back again, his eyes squeezing shut, his lips parted as another whimper escaped him, his body trembling beneath yours as he lost himself in the sensation of you.

“Wife,” he breathed, his voice low and shaky. “I’m so… so close. I don’t want this to end.” His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts as he pulled you down against him, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was hot against your lips, each exhale shaky, unsteady.

Your movements slowed, each grind drawing out his pleasure, and you could feel the tension building inside you too, that same intoxicating need. His whimpers grew more desperate, more ragged, as his fingers threaded through your hair, tugging gently, guiding your lips back to his. The kiss was needy, breathless, as if he was trying to lose himself in the feel of your mouth, your body, everything.

And then he whispered your name, the sound of it filled with so much longing and affection that your heart ached with it. His fingers tightened in your hair, his hips bucking up against yours as his control began to fray.

“Love you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice breaking with emotion, with need. 

His words sent you over the edge, the rush of heat and pleasure flooding through you in waves as you moved against him one last time. He groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he followed you over the edge, his body trembling beneath yours as he found his release, his whimpers soft and needy against your lips.

For a moment, the world fell away, and it was just you and Jace, tangled together in the warmth of the water, your hearts still racing, your breaths coming in short, uneven bursts. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, holding you like you were the only thing grounding him.

As the aftershocks of pleasure slowly ebbed away, you felt him press a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long moment. When you finally looked up at him, his eyes were soft, filled with that quiet, unspoken affection that always made your heart flutter.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if he didn’t have the words to fully express what this moment had meant to him.

You smiled, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. In this quiet, intimate moment, the weight of the world seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other’s warmth, safe in each other’s arms.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Heracles, Poseidon, Buddha, and Hades bathing with their s/o?

Takes a lot of baths due to his extensive training, and therefore sore muscles, and he really enjoys them.

Actually expects his s/o to share his bath with him, after they are officially dating, as it was very common in Greek & Roman cultures to have public baths.

Likes to sit with his back to the rim of the tub with his s/o in front of him, in his lap.

Keeps the bath very hot, due to his high tolerance for heat, so is very cognizant if it’s too hot for his precious s/o. He doesn’t want to boil them alive or anything.

As the god of the sea, he of course has an enormous bathing pool in his Sapphire Palace. It’s peaceful, quiet, and elegant, much like its owner. And is always at a mild, summer ocean temperature.

No one is allowed to enter his bathing room except him. And then eventually s/o.

They sit close to each other, but still at a respectable distance. Poseidon isn’t here for any funny stuff. He’s here to get clean and maybe, for a few short moments, relax.

He’d spend all day in there, if given the chance, but appreciates that that might not be something s/o wants to do. Gets out when they want to but also likely to go back on his own later to be by himself.

Doesn't really take a lot of baths. He showers when he starts to smell ripe. Otherwise he just find them kind of frivolous.

If he does take a bath, he prefers something like a hot spring. The natural, heated pools feel very therapeutic to him.

Gets excited if he finds a hot spring, and the type to swing around & play with his s/o rather than take a proper bath.

The one, and only thing, he finds good about baths with his s/o is getting his hair washed. He loves it. And his hair feels so soft & shiny after.

Takes baths regularly as he’s a strong proprietor in it being a part of mental & physical health.

He has an old copper clawfoot tub in his bath. Very elegant and very large. It can easily fit two, despite how close he sits to s/o.

He prefers to sit across from them, so they can talk easier, but is always touching them in some way.

Also likes to have his hair washed. Prefers they use their shampoo when they do it though, so he can smell their scent long after the bath and remember it fondly.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 3.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a former ward of alicent hightower and aemond's childhood companion, shera stark, returns to king's landing after ten years. ten years after the incident at driftmark that left her and aemond permanently disfigured. after so many years apart, shera and aemond are almost strangers. almost.

shera's voice sounds like blue diamond in this clip. a soft, dreamy whisper.

wordcount: 4.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence

story playlist

Shera didn’t waste much time getting back to her chambers. She was overwhelmed, confused and overall exhausted— and the day wasn’t even over yet. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she padded the stone to her rooms, hoping to the Gods, the old and the new, that someone wouldn’t stop and speak to her. 

“A bath, please,” Shera asked the chambermaids hastily once she reached her solar. “Scorching, as hot as possible. And… my oils, from my chest— if you please…”

They brought in the large copper tub and filled it with hot water, all the way near the top until Shera could see the wisps of steam billowing from it. The maids poured in vials of oil that she brought with her from Winterfell— lavender oil, rosemary oil and sweet honeysuckle oil. The concoction swirled into a lovely light purple color. 

“Will you need help undressing, miss?” one of the maids asked. 

“N-no,” she murmured. “Thank you— you may go. Return just before sunset.” 

Then she was alone. She could finally breathe. Wasting no time undressing, she shed her veil and choker and outer layers until she met the hard exterior of her corset. Fuck. Mayhaps she should’ve asked for help. Unwilling to call them back in, she grabbed a cheese knife from the small dining table near the balcony, slitting through the bindings of the corset like a lovely aged bleu. 

Moongeist nosed the latch to the balcony, prompting Shera to open it and let in the breeze from the sea. Nude at last, she all but jumped into the bath, which to her delight, was still scorching. She watched as the wolf sat on the terrace, nose poking out through the stone barrier. He took in the scent of the sea, the salty spray and lingering aroma of toiling waves— and of course, barked at a few seagulls. 

Her bones relaxed as she unpinned her hair, tossing the pins astray into the room— to either be stepped on later, or never found again. Shera let out an audible sigh, feeling her skin soften from the oils. This was the pinnacle of her days— she was very fond of baths and made her own bath oils. She loved the warmth, the enveloping heat of the water soothing her worry. It was like the most comfortable of blankets and she loved to get clean, to be clean. It was a ritual and a must for her to have a bath at least every other day. 

Her love for baths started because of Helaena, she supposed. When Shera arrived in King’s Landing all those years ago for the first time, she was a grimy and dirty child, wild to the bone, and detested baths. The maids didn’t know what to do with her, until they bathed Helaena and Shera together. They weren’t far apart in age at the time, Helaena being the polar opposite of Shera— but somehow she reeled her into normalcy. The princess would bring her wooden toys into the bath, much to the chagrin of her mother, and play with Shera, blow bubbles and tell stories. It was odd to everyone around them, as the two seemingly switched personalities when they bathed together. Helaena, usually a quiet child, would tell grandiose stories, while Shera would sit quietly, giving her complete and rapt attention to the princess. 

The girls bathed together until they were both eight and ten years of age respectively, but even then, they would be in the room with one another while they did— reading books out loud, gossiping, or just sitting in silence, enjoying one another’s presence. 

Shera’s undoubted companion in the Keep was Aemond, but she had a very close and special friendship with Helaena— a friendship that the both of them very much missed, subconsciously. It wasn’t as huge of a blow to Shera as losing Aemond, as the Lady of Winterfell and the Princess frequently wrote one another throughout the ten years apart. It was one of the only reasons Shera wasn’t completely mad. But, even so, letters can only do so much, can’t they? 

As much as she loathed this marriage and the ramifications of it… she would still be closer to her family, her real family, upon Dragonstone than in Winterfell. She laid in the bath until the water went cool, her mind wandering back to the encounter in the Godswood. Why would Daemon speak to her and with such a… driven attitude? What did he want? 

Her thoughts continued to flow, a finger tracing patterns in the mingling oils that lived atop the water. Did Helaena still like baths? If she so asked, would they be able to bathe together like old times? 

No– that would require… forgoing her veil and choker. Even if it was Helaena– she doesn’t know if she could truly bare herself to her– to anyone.

—

The hours stretched on until dinner, Shera pacing back and forth, working herself up to a point where Moongeist tugged on her sleeve with his teeth as an indication to calm down.

The maids who’d been assigned to her flittered around her like a flock of ptarmigan hens, pleading with her to let them dress her. She shied away from their touch, only allowing them to dress her in a new corset and skirts. 

She stayed in her veil, accentuating it with a few strings of pearls so mayhaps she wouldn’t look so haunting– a hope that always went unfounded, people found her so very terrifying either way.

Shera preferred to wear dark, muted colors and always had on some item of fur upon her; tonight’s being a gorgeous black and white mink stole, which Cregan had gifted her for her seventeenth name day four years ago. It was accompanied with one of her newly tailored dresses, one she sewed herself just a few moons ago and making some last minute alterations on the journey to King’s Landing. It was black lace, falling down to her feet and dragging behind her like a ghostly shadow. Coupled with a laced black veil, she looked in the mirror. 

The maid behind her glanced at her warily. “Are… are you in mourning, Lady Stark?” she asked timidly. 

“... no?” Shera blinked, taking in her appearance from her reflection. Ah. So, this is why people consist with the ‘Banshee’ title. Shrugging her shoulders, she wrapped the stole around her snugly

Letting Moongeist guide her to the dining hall, to which he followed the smell of roasting meats, she mentally prepared herself. Princess Rhaenyra was to attend, and with Rhaenyra was her brood of children and her rogue husband and the extended clutch of hatchlings– Baela and Rhaena amongst them. She felt sickly at the fact that she would be seeing the twins again, the former of whom was who disfigured her.

Walking into the chamber, the music was in full swing and everyone was already seated. Had she really been so late? All eyes turned to her and Shera scanned them with a bowed head, the tips of her fingers shaking as she locked gazes with Baela. A reminder of the pain that she’d caused, how she wielded the knife that cut Shera’s throat and blinded her in one eye. 

The wolf to Shera’s side let out the tiniest of whines, pushing Shera towards the table, and her seat between Helaena and Alicent– thank the Gods for small mercies. Although, she was directly across from Aemond, who hadn’t even blinked since she entered the room. 

“Oh, it's so good to have you here again, my dear,” Alicent hummed, taking one of Shera’s hands into her own. The queen was so warm, where Shera was cold. “It is just like old times, hm?”

“Beautiful pup, Shera,” Helaena whispered to her, a hand outstretched to Moongeist. “You see so well through him.” she cooed, a smile plastering upon her lips as the wolf licked her open palm.

“Yes… old times,” Shera responded softly, adjusting her veil. She looked to Helaena, who returned with a knowing gaze. “Hel?” she murmured, lower than usual. 

“Yes, dovey?” 

“… I’ve missed you dearly.” Shera whispered, offering her hand to the princess— to which they interlocked fingers. The two separately were considered touch-averse, with Shera shying away from touch and Helaena cringing at it. But the two had a deeper understanding of one another, it seemed. They always had, their bond only outshined by Shera and Aemond’s. 

But now, it’d be different, wouldn’t it? Aemond was a hot and cold mess to Shera— but Helaena welcomed her like no time had passed. It made her chest ache in a nostalgic way, tears threatening to spill. The good thing about her veil is that no one could see her cry. The whole day had been terribly overwhelming, taut with too many people wanting something from her, needing her to be someone she didn’t wish to be— is this how Helaena felt when she was married to Aegon? 

Tears did fall and Shera let them drip down her face, sinking and sliding from the mink stole to her legs. Helaena tugged on her hand. “Don’t cry, dragonfly,” she hummed. “Dance with me?” 

Shera blinked the tears away, even though they were replaced by new ones right away. “I… would love to. I will not be the most coordinated, though— will you guide me?” 

“Always.” the princess replied, pulling Shera from her chair and guiding her with a gentle hand to the space in the hall set aside for dancing. The music was lively and jaunty, with a lovely tune strummed from a fiddle, accompanied with a wooden flute. Helaena placed a hand on Shera’s waist, then kept their other hands interlocked. “Put your hand on my shoulder. I will lead— you can pretend I’m a gallant knight.” 

Shera snorted a giggle. “I do not want to dance with a gallant knight,” she mused as they began to sway. Helaena kept her upright and indeed took the lead, allowing Shera to stay close and follow her movements. “I want to dance with the butterfly princess.” 

“Ah, the butterfly princess!” Helaena cooed. “I suppose that can be arranged. What will that make you? Oh— my little wolf spider.” she giggled in return. 

It was the first time the entire day, mayhaps the entire fortnight, that Shera felt… happy. She felt weightless dancing with Helaena and felt like crying again— damn the emotions. “Please don’t leave me, Hela,” she murmured, almost silently through garbled tears. “I’ve been so alone.” 

Helaena led the dance off to the further corner of the room where they would have more privacy to speak, still swaying. “I wouldn’t leave you, Shera. The wolf spider’s been so alone— so alone in the cold,” she hushed. “Now you’ve come back to play with the dragonflies and the butterflies— but we must watch out for the birds, the black tailed magpies, and oh, the hawks and gulls, my sweet.”

“May I steal Lady Stark for a dance, sister?” Aemond suddenly cut in, so silent in his approach that Shera hadn’t even heard him at all.

“I don’t know,” Helaena looked to Shera. “Say the word, and I shall release a clutch of spiders into his bedchamber.” she whispered lowly, as if telling a secret. 

Shera cracked a smile. “It’s alright, Hela. If he is untoward, Moongeist shall bite him.” 

Helaena embraced her once more before giving her brother a mock threatening glance. Aemond swiftly replaced her, putting his hands on Shera’s waist. It felt… different. Different from how Helaena had them, and how Daemon had touched her earlier in the Godswood. It wasn’t friendly, nor slimy— it made her want to turn tail and run away, but it also made her chest warm, heart thumping like a rabbit’s. 

“My lady.” he greeted, putting one hand on her lower back to help her posture. “I do hope you won’t sic your dog upon me– yet.”

“My prince,” Shera responded, looking up at him. “Mayhaps I won’t, we shall see.”

“Does it haunt you? That they’re all here in one room?” he leaned down to whisper, swaying back and forth to the music, albeit a bit rigidly. He wasn’t nearly as good of a dancer as Helaena.

“I am always haunted,” she echoed, blinking slowly. She wondered if he could really see her face under her veil. He was looking so intensely at her and she was unsure if he was putting her together or picking her apart in his mind. “Are you?” 

“It’s an agitation, like a brood of mosquitoes.” Aemond answered gruffly, looking away from her now. He wasn’t telling the whole truth, she noted. His lone pupil wavered, looking everywhere but at her.

“Do you have nightmares about it?” she asked, fingers prickling under one of the buckles of his doublet absentmindedly. “I haven’t outgrown them. Not even after this long.” 

He scoffed. “Nightmares? I’m not a child.” 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The servers interrupted as they began to serve the first course— Aemond helped guide Shera back to her seat. 

“Thank you for the dance.” she murmured as he pushed in her seat. 

“Hm.” 

The dinner continued, Shera staying quiet while she prodded at her food. She preferred to eat alone and only ate enough, slipping it under her veil to not seem rude. Cregan was having a jolly time down the table, talking the ear off of Jacaerys. Baela and Rhaena were whispering to one another, as were Rhaenyra and Daemon. Shera’s skin crawled as she stole looks at the four of them– the twins hadn’t said a word to her, nor did it seem they would, merely whispering like mice. Aegon had excused himself after the first course was served and did not return. Aemond remained staring at Shera the entire time.

Blinking, Shera stared back at him finally, raising her head to lock gazes with him. The subtle shift of her veil indicated she had cocked her brow, as if to say ‘Why are you staring?’

The motion wasn’t lost on Aemond, as they fell back into their own silent communications that they were so well versed in as children. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, responding in kind, ‘You know why.’

Alicent stood up, “I would like to propose a toast– to the return of our beloved Shera, as well as the visit of her brother and warden of the North, Cregan Stark. I cannot imagine it was an easy journey, but we are so blessed that you’ve made it, especially to finalize something that has… been in the making for a few years,” she held up her cup of wine, to which everyone else held up theirs, including Aemond. “Princess Rhaenyra, Cregan and I have been in much talk of betrothals and the like. I would like to announce, formally, the betrothal of Shera Stark,” she paused, taking a breath, “And Jacaerys Velaryon.”

Shera’s breath caught in her throat, her nails sinking into the soft of her palm. She focused solely on Alicent, even if she could feel the searing brand of Aemond’s stare on her. She refused to look, she couldn’t— 

But her sole eye betrayed her, her head turning ever so slightly to gauge Aemond’s reaction. He looked like a statue, his lone pupil narrowed to a slit, like a dragon’s. His hands were placed together dutifully, but the veins near his knuckles were bulging with strain, the fervor of what could only be described as fury coursed through him. The look in his violet iris scared the hells out of Shera. ‘Twas only a moment they locked gazes, but she felt, she saw the barely contained rage, the burning of the city and beyond from Vhagar’s back— 

And then it was gone, as if the candle of ferocity had been snuffed out. He sat up straight, giving Shera one last eyebrow raise before turning his attention solely to his mother. It terrified her how quickly he was able to turn it off, to bury deep as if it never existed at all. 

Perhaps she had imagined it. Surely she did– he didn’t have such a volatile temper as a child, if she could remember correctly.

Clearing her throat, she raised her glass higher as Alicent finished the announcement, gesturing in Jacaerys’ direction, who did the same in return to her. She wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of living upon Dragonstone, nor did she feel she was fit to be the wife of Rhaenyra’s heir. But, ‘twas the way of things. 

She thought Jace, as he had insisted she call him, was well and fine. He was a bit taller than she with a boyish charm and curled brown locks. Their few meetings as adults, where he had so gallantly rode all the way up to Winterfell upon his dragon, he always kissed her hand and smiled at her. It was easy to forget that he was a part of her and Aemond’s maiming when she turned her mind off and became the little puppet Lady that she was supposed to be— but then she would wake up crying in the middle of the night, begging for them not to kill her—

“I would like to propose a toast,” Aemond’s voice cut through Shera’s thoughts like a sharpened blade, the horrid screeching of his swiftly kicked out chair causing her to cringe. “A toast— to our lovely banshee, and her strong husband-to-be. I do hope that Jacaerys is keen on sleeping on the floor whilst a dog warms his wife’s furs– and let us pray for Shera’s health once they ruminate over Dragonstone. Do you still get sea sick, my lady? I cannot imagine a wolf gaining sea legs any time soon.” 

“It’s none of your business, uncle–,” Jace countered, pushing back from his chair to stand.

“Aemond, don’t,” Alicent hissed quietly, gripping her goblet with an iron fist. 

“I’m merely expressing my joy for their coming union, mother. Seems the issue is a bit touchy, hm, Jacaerys?” Aemond’s mouth twitched into a toothy smile, but it was nothing of joy. It was like the open maw of a dragon, daring anyone to walk near, lest they be snapped into smithereens. 

Jacaerys walked a bit closer to Aemond, his hackles equally raised in a challenge. Shera’s observation of the two was quickly surmised; Jace was soft where Aemond was razor-edged. A fight between them would be of little challenge. The underlying rage in Aemond was apparent once more, simmering and bubbling in the pot, threatening to boil over and scald everyone within his reach. His words didn’t sound like he was about to fly off the handle– he was in complete control of every carefully placed barb, every pause in his speech was intentional for added dramatics, to piss off Jace– and Shera, it seemed.

“Do you really expect your nuptials to be fruitful, nephew? Have you ever seen her without her veil? I must say,” Aemond nodded his head toward Shera’s direction as he got closer to Jace, whispering in his ear as if not to let anyone else in on their conversation– Shera heard, though. “I’m quite curious myself– do you think that our dear cousin’s blade,” his lone eye looked to Baela, who was arm-in-arm with Rhaena, Daemon looming behind them like the Dragonmont itself, “Was sharp enough, for a clean cut? Mayhaps it’s a mangled mess under there. Best to keep the covering on for your wedding night, hm?”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys growled, his hand itching as he flexed and unflexed his fist. “You can say what you’d like about me, but you shall hold your tongue before my betrothed.” 

“Jace,” Shera murmured lowly, feeling for Moongeist as she got up from her own chair, shaking. The wolf pressed to her leg, guiding her to where Jacaerys was at arm's length. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, whilst trying to quell the quiver of her bones, while keeping her eye upon Aemond. “‘Twas merely a jest– in poor taste… but a jest.” she had her head lowered diminutively, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Sure, the ‘jest’, as it was, hurt immensely to her already fragile psyche– but she had to keep a level head, especially here. 

Still holding his own goblet, Aemond’s nostrils flared as he watched Shera caress Jace, as if they were truly close. The tip of his brow twitched as he hardened his jaw, lowering his cup and proverbial feathers, remembering himself, remembering where he was. “A jest— of course. Though, I never was the jester of our group, was I? Once upon a time, it’d been you, Jacaerys.” the second son exhaled, eye still trained on Shera. But he approached Jace, hand outstretched. “Congratulations.” he said, his voice clipped. Once again, the rage had been shoved deep down and quelled for the time being.

Jace tentatively took his hand, nodding slowly. “Thank you, uncle,” he squeezed Aemond’s hand before pulling back. “You’re better with a blade than a joke, that is for certain.”

“Mayhaps we shall spar sometime, then?” Aemond suggested. Everyone in the room knew it was a chance for him to kick Jace into the dirt like he desperately wished to do presently. 

“Yes– on the morrow, uncle,” Jacaerys nodded. “Lord Stark should join us, yes? Let’s make a proper gauntlet out of it, then.”

Shera’s hand, in turn, retreated from Jace’s shoulder as she rested a hand on Moongeist’s head. Turning to Alicent, who looked on the edge of an anxious breakdown. “Thank you for the dinner, your grace. I am… feeling quite faint, so I fear I must retire,” Shera whispered, curtsying as best she could. Turning to Rhaenyra and Daemon, she bowed her head. “Princess, prince.” 

Rhaenyra gave a wry smile. “Feel better soon, dear.” 

Daemon said nothing, just nodding his head as his finger traced the rim of his cup. 

“Allow me to escort you, sister,” Cregan was at her side in an instant. 

“It’s not nec—,” 

“I insist.” 

It wasn’t a lie— Shera did feel quite faint from the events and excitement. Letting Moongeist guide her, she escaped the dining hall mostly unscathed, despite feeling a gnawing pain in the pit of her stomach. 

Keep the covering on during your wedding night– mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there.

“O-okay,” she responded monotonously, as if she wasn’t even in control of her own body, her own words. 

Cregan held her in his steady grip, guiding her out of the hall. He was quiet until they entered Maegor’s holdfast. “Dragons are quite tempestuous, aren’t they?” he began.

“… yes.” 

“Your childhood companion— the prince— he certainly had a lot of great things to say about you, didn’t he?” 

“… Cregan.” 

“Listen to me, Shera,” he said as they entered her chambers. “They’re not your friends— not anymore. They’re strangers to you.” 

“But—,” 

“They don’t know you anymore, they only knew who you used to be.” 

And you’re a shell of who you used to be. But that was left unsaid. 

“You shan’t waste your tears any longer on them, on him,” he continued. “And do not give me that look, don’t think I don’t hear you crying at night.” 

“Mayhaps I cry at night because you shoved me into something I am unfit for!” Shera shouted, her voice cracking, followed by a hiss of pain. Something I do not wish for. Jacaerys helped make me this way, Cregan. Don’t you care? Does it matter more than your fucking oath?

Cregan wanted to bite back, but instead furrowed his brow. “Are you alright? Shall I fetch a maester?” 

“N-no…” she whimpered, her voice broken and full of gravel. She pressed a hand to her throat, swallowing a cough. “… tea.” 

“Of course,” Cregan murmured, guiding his sister to sit on the loveseat near the fire. “I’ll get a maid… and… and the tea.” 

Shera nodded, watching him leave. She didn’t care for the pain, even if it felt like someone was dragging a brush of thorns inside of her throat— she felt like she was falling apart at the seams mentally, akin to her old mended dresses, the threads wilting and falling away. 

She felt lost. Lost in the fact that… she wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere. They thought her not cut out for Northern life from her delicate sensibilities— and she wasn’t cut out for King’s Landing for the same reason, except it wasn’t the physical environment, but the barbed tongues, the venomed words, the games of the mind. 

She didn’t belong. 

Would it even matter if she wasn’t part of the equation? Rhaenyra would get her alliance with the North somehow, Cregan would fulfill his oath, Jacaerys would have a number of other betrothal options. 

It mattered not that she was here. 

Didn’t it?

Keep the covering on during your wedding night– mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there.

Her jaw clenched all night as she nursed her tea to soothe her throat– but every other part of her was purely on fire. The one person in the entirety of this Gods forsaken world who knew what she felt, what she went through– the one other person who was there, who was on her side, who she… she lost everything for– was keen to jest at her disfigurement. 

She stood up from her chair, hours after Cregan had left her, throwing the porcelain at the wall. The teacup smashed into bits and pieces and she sunk her teeth into her own lip until she tasted copper. The kettle was next, hocked upon the mantle of the fireplace as it too, split apart. 

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

Her damaged vocal cords mustered her wails they best they could, forlorn and haunting and low– 

Where was home? She wanted to go home, home– but she didn’t belong anywhere. Where was her home? 

The banshee yowled like a creature with a broken leg, echoing against the walls, ever enclosing.

[bradleybeachbabe]

NSFW Alphabet

pairing: Phil Wenneck x Fem!Reader

warnings: 18+ themes, MINORS DNI

a/n: this is my first time writing anything that is related to smut, so please bare with me on this. also i’m currently obsessed with bradley copper as phil wenneck, so don’t be surprised if i post a whole bunch of fics of him. also a huge thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for helping me beta read this!!

© bradleybeachbabe , do not steal or translate my work

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Phil is so good when it comes to aftercare. He’ll clean you up. Also If you need anything, he’ll go get it for you. You want snacks? Phil will go to the kitchen and get snacks. You want something to drink? Phil will go get it for you. You want him to draw a bath for you? He will. Or if you just want him to stay in bed and cuddle with you for the rest of the night. He definitely will.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of his body would probably have to be his abs. Whenever you two are both home, he’s walking around the house without a shirt. You’re looking at his abs, and he lost track of the number of times he has caught you just staring at them. When he does, he just smirks at you.

Phil loves all of you, but if he had to choose one, it would have to be your thighs. He loves to kiss them before he goes down on you. He loves to leave hickies on them, and he loves to lay his head down on them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Once in a great while he’ll cum on your boobs or even on your stomach. But for the most part, he cums in you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Phil enjoys being a sub. He loves when you take control though. He just lays there and relaxes. Sometimes he’ll have a smug grin on his face.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s experienced. He was a frat boy when he was in college. During those times, he was constantly hooking up with girls, so I’ll say that he knows what he’s doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl. He loves watching your tits bounce. Plus, he loves to see you be the dominant one, and of course, we can’t forget that he loves being the submissive one, so that explains it all.

Missionary. He loves that he’s able to look at you. He loves that he can also just lean down and kiss you if he wants.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Goofy sex isn’t rare between the two of you. It happens more than you realize. Phil is always saying something about who knows what, or smiling about something. Honestly, he’s more serious in the moment if he gets upset about something, which doesn’t quite happen that often.

H - Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it pretty well groomed. He’s not completely bare down there.

I - Intimacy ( how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Phil is a romantic guy. He will plant kisses anywhere that he could reach. He will say sweet things to you during the moment too.

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He rarely does it. You’re usually available for him for his needs. If not, then he’ll do it.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Phil has quite a few. Cokwarming, slight innocence kink, breeding kink, slight choking kink, marking, praise, and body worship.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Honestly anywhere. It could either be in your shared bedroom, in the backseat of his car, in the shower, in the hot tub, or either in the pool. It just all depends really.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. You could be doing anything, or doing nothing. Or, better yet, just wearing any sort of clothing, and he’s instantly turned on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wouldn’t do anything that would hurt you. That’s the last thing he wants to do when you two are having sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Phil does love a good blowjob from you, but he prefers giving. Phil loves eating you out. If he could, he would do it for the entire day. He loves the noises you make when he does eat you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It just depends on the day. If he had a stressful day, it’d be fast and rough. But on days when he isn’t stressed out about anything, then it’s more slow and more sensual. On days like that, Phil takes his time with you. He wants to cherish the moment between the two of you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Phil doesn’t mind them. You two will have one, once in a great while, especially if you are in a hurry to get somewhere or to do something. But most of the time, he wants to take his time with you and not have to worry about rushing.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Phil loves to experiment, especially when it comes to wanting to test out something new in the bedroom. Phil loves to take risks too. He loves the thrill he gets when he takes risks.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Phil goes until he can’t anymore. Once he can’t, he’s done. That’s it.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Phil doesn’t own any toys personally. But you do, you have a couple of toys. Once in a while, Phil will use your toys on you. He loves how you come undone when he uses them on you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Phil loves to tease you all the time. He loves the way you react when he’s teasing you, and even the pretty sounds you make when he does.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Phil is loud, and he has no shame in it. He’s either moaning, grunting, or whimpering. No matter what, he’s making some type of sound.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Phil has polaroid pictures of you in the lingerie sets that you or either he buys. Every single time you get a new set, Phil has you model them for him, so then he can take pictures of you with the polaroid camera that you own.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s about seven inches. He is more long than wide. Also, he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is pretty average. Going at least two or three rounds a week, Phil is totally satisfied. But if you are up to wanting to go more rounds throughout the week, he’s totally fine with it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

No matter how tired Phil is, he will wait until you fall asleep. Once you are sleeping peacefully, then he falls asleep.

i don’t have a tag list anymore. go follow my library blog to get notified when i post any fics! @bradleybeachbabe-library

[adarkandmagicalforest]

an irritation part 8

ship: otto hightower/original female character (aella targaryen)

chapter warnings: rough oral sex (male receiving), religious idolatry, prayer

Next: Part Nine, Epilogue

Oldtown was like one large sept.

Seven-pointed stars and statues of the seven seemed to be everywhere she looked. When Lord Hobert Hightower, Otto's elder brother (who looked so similar to a weasel that it had actually made her lover look astoundingly handsome in comparison) had escorted them within the high tower itself, Aella couldn't help the wry look she shot to the Lord Hand as they passed the many carved idols to the Seven that decorated its walls. The entire place was alight with thousands of candles too, similar to the Sept in Kings Landing, their thousands of flames flickering from the floors and window ledges, the wax dripping onto the stone floor and over the rivers of existing wax that none had bothered to clean up.

The candles, she actually rather liked. The way the fires glowed against the diamond patterned windows and cast high shadows on the ceilings was mesmerizing, and the heat that came from them within these cool walls felt soothing as Aella danced her fingertips across them.

"Supper will be at dusk," Lord Hobert then said informatively, after his long-winded talk that he'd begun after their grand entrance at the bottom of the Tower. She of course, hadn't really been listening. Nor had the rest of her family, it seemed. The Lord of the High Tower appeared to have realized this, though his mouth was much thinner now. "Your chambers are prepared, and our servants have already brought your things up for you - unless," he paused, making quick eye contact with Otto, so obvious though she could tell he hadn't meant to be. "We are to be expecting another?"

In this, Viserys spoke, somewhat beleaguered. "I have sent men out to summon my brother from wherever he may be within your city, Lord Hightower. Not to worry. He knows not to cause such mischief outside of the streets of Kings Landing."

Lies. But they were lies Lord Hobert ate without protest before they were all escorted to chambers.

Daemon was going to cause some drama, as he always did. 

What worried her now was what kind of drama. 

Aella had never worried about what chaos Daemon would cause - so often, she was in the middle of it as well, his mirror and shadow, assisting in some, spearheading others. It was what had gained the two of them the notoriety and disdain of Otto Hightower for so very long.

It was unsettling now to not know - to not understand what he had planned.

A bath was waiting for her in the chambers when she finally stepped inside them - the maids, dressed all like some sort of Septa, each bowed to her as they finished their work. 

"The Lord Hand said you would wish to wash before supper, Princess." The oldest one explained with a short nod of her head as the last of the hot pails of water filled the large copper tub. It was steaming with fragrance, like spiced ginger, cinnamon, jasmines and wild vanilla, while of the steaming water was floating with dried rose buds. 

Aella dipped her fingertips in the water. Almost scalding. It made her fingertips go pink just from touching it for a few seconds.

"Would you be needing assistance with your hair, my lady?" 

"No." She said shortly, reaching for the ties of her riding clothes without delay. "You may go." 

The maids finished their work and left without dally, leaving her free to rid herself of her clothing and sink into the hot bath without delay.

The water was so hot that it relaxed her like a cup of mulled wine as soon as she sank inside of it. And it was there, leaning her head against the rim of her bathtub, drawing light designs on the top of her thigh with a warm contentment, that Aella thought it didn't matter what Daemon had planned for that evening. Let Daemon do as he wishes, she thought as she rose her wrist slowly out of the water, keeping a rosebud floating on the back of her hand, the feeling of it like the most gallant of kisses. As long as I am able to continue as I am. And if he irritates me horribly, then I will be chaining myself to Otto's bed.

/~/

Supper in the High Tower's great Hall was a return to childhood.

It had been many years since his House had housed a visiting King, and his brother Hobert had seemed to pull out every piece of elegant finery they had access to within the Tower.

Gold candlesticks from Queen Alysanne's time, finely embroidered tablecloths with silk threads from Yi Ti, and one of the greatest bounties of fresh spring fruits and vegetables from all over the Reach. Strings of blown glass balls with lit oils within them glowed over their table, while ropes of ivory wisteria on dark green vines drooped down to kiss at the cornucopia of grapes and spring cherries. Musicians and singers had been stationed in the corner to fill their dinner with noise, their harps and lyres sending their notes dancing through the hall. 

Though, Otto thought as his gaze became far more trained on the entrance of his princess, each display of finery his brother had brought to impress had all paled in comparison to Aella Targaryen as she entered into the dining hall - ten minutes late, as she usually was.

Her hair was worn in loose waves, intimate and smelling of jasmine and ginger. Her lilac eyes were subdued and calm, and her presence was as it should be - confident, pleased and mischievous. The ivory silks she wore danced around her ankles as she stepped to Viserys where he sat at the head of the table, taking a moment to kiss him on his freshly shaved cheek before taking her seat.

Otto had re-arranged the seating before his brother could complain. He'd switched his princess' seat with his brother's wife, Lynesse's, so that Aella would instead be seated directly across from him. None had appeared to notice that this was changed - none, that is, except for Queen Aemma, who'd looked at him from the corner of her eye when the princess had lowered herself into the walnut chair.

"As you've all arrived at a later hour, we've prepared a days long feast for you all tomorrow, after morning prayers. That is when dear Gwayne will be arriving from the Citadel." Lynesse explained as the lights were lowered and she clasped her hands together over her empty plate, signalling the desire to bless the meal.

Aella looked at him over the glowing candles. Her lilac eyes were half lowered and mocking, the corner of her lips were curled in a smirk and her ivory skin kissed by the flickering candlelight made any image of the maiden pale in comparison. How could any worship a piece of stone as a goddess when the one in front of him, crafted from fire and a rider of an ancient beast tied to her by blood, was sat in front of him? And... with her foot traveling up to rub against his calf, no less? There was no prince, prophet nor priest as blessed as he was, to be the object of her desire.

Even if it was at such a damnably horrid time of her to choose.

Otto clasped his hands in front of him and pointedly shut his eyes for prayer, attempting to ignore the small, wandering stocking covered foot that was currently exploring the inside of his thigh.

Devilish thing. Even now, during the lengthy prayer to each of the Seven, seated with their families within his ancestral home, Aella could not help herself - he didn't know why her lack of respect surprised him. Perhaps it was simply because she was always so keen on surprising him regardless. 

" - and blessed be the Stranger, who upon our final sleep, should carry us peacefully from our beds, and bring our new beginnings." Lynesse finished, finally breaking the trance and beginning the dinner properly.

To his relief (and disappointment) his lovers foot retreated just as supper was placed on the table, though Otto knew better than to believe her mischief was done with. 

Supper was served. Through the soup course, a thin, green soup full of herbs, Aella hummed.

She was not a very musical girl and currently her humming was of a higher tone than her usual register.

Otto mistrusted it immediately.

When the salad course was laid out, with frilly lettuce, cuts of white cherries and crumbled with goat cheese, the princess sighed with satisfaction, in a way he'd heard most frequently when he was deep inside of her. He was convinced every person at that table could hear it as keenly as he could, until he'd darted his eyes at the other dinner guests.

But none of them were paying any attention - only he was as focused on Aella enough that every little noise she made drew his gaze.

The wine, she savored. 

The piecrust, she sucked the crumbs off her fingers. 

It was to his relief that Aella was finally drawn into conversation with the King, so that he could finally begin tasting the food he'd been silently eating. He'd relaxed, marginally, to sip from his wine goblet. He'd barely managed to taste the hint of raspberry in the Highgarden blush before the sensation of a foot pressed between his thighs, sending the wine splashing into his mashed potatoes. 

And the look she gave him. Openly instigating, openly daring and deadly. What man could survive her? What man could resist her? From the long curls of her lowered lashes over such otherworldly pale purple eyes, and the risen smirk on her coy lips. It was a look that said so clearly, 'Too much heat, my Lord?' All the while her foot ran up and down his leg. 

If he were a weaker man, he would've stood from that very table, grabbed her by her loose hair and thrown her over the table and mounted her for the whole table to see. 

"Am I to understand that I'll be calling you niece sometime soon, Princess?" Hobert's voice broke through his increasingly more dangerous thoughts, drawing attention to himself as he addressed Aella. The question made Otto itch, and he wiped his hands clean of the wine that he'd spilled to distract himself.

The princess looked unperturbed at the question, despite it all. Her narrow shoulders shrugged, and with an elegant hand, she reached up and pushed back her silky white blonde hair as she responded coolly, "I'm sorry to inform you that you're rather off-base my Lord. I've made no such acceptance to any man's proposal for me now. Nor will I."

"What do you mean, aunt?" Rhaenyra questioned from across the table, a look of intrigue in her eyes.

This was Otto's own instruction - to deny any proposal from his son. But to any man? This was new, this was not discussed. But Viserys was not scolding her, not instructing her otherwise. The Hand looked between King and Princess, and was shocked to find calm acceptance in the Lord of all Seven Kingdoms.

Viserys had agreed to allow her to be unmarried? No - an unmarried woman, a Targaryen, a dragonrider, was a person so valuable that letting her live unmarried would've been a waste. And yet somehow, it was the truth that her brother agreed to.

"Hatchling, have you not heard yet?" Aella asked, glancing back to Viserys, who did not look surprised but also did not seem like he wished her to speak on it. To his own surprise however, she obeyed the silent command of her brother. "The next Targaryen wedding shall be yours, my love. You'll just need to pick from the noble houses, then we'll have them duel, and then - "

The little princess took a roll of bread from her plate and threw it across the table at Aella, which missed her, instead knocking over a pitcher of water.

"No throwing food, girls!" Viserys said, though it was hardly a proper order, as he was still grinning as he scolded them. 

They each didn't seem all that bothered by the scolding either - even Alicent, urged on by both Targaryen princesses, giggled into her hands at their silliness, which pleased his princess as she immediately began encouraging his daughter to join in ruining supper.

Otto hadn't seen Alicent smile so much since Alerie's passing.

She would make a fine mother.

When dinner was finished, tail-ended by a fine blood orange cake with a thick layer of icing sugar, his lover spoke up again, as innocent and soft as a maiden.

"Lady Hightower," Aella began. "Might you tell me how to enter the Sept from here? I'd like to make a few prayers before I rest for the night." 

Lynesse had beamed with smug satisfaction, as if it was from her blessing over dinner that had turned the dragon princesses' foreign and strange ways, and immediately done so, explaining the exact directions on how to find the Sept below them. From the gilded window of the Warrior, turn left. At the right of the basin of blessed oils, enter the double doors.

They were fine directions - and Otto followed them some twenty minutes after they all disbanded, a future for himself, lovelier than any he had ever once hoped for, on his mind.

/~/

Aella never prayed, but the act of getting on her knees before the pillars of the Seven was arousing enough to keep her in place, lighting the little fires of the many candles. 

The Sept here was different than Kings Landing's. There, a large circle of stone stood in the center of the room, where all of the statues looked on. Here, there was a large marble slab in front of the chosen facet, with it's own prayer candles. She chose the Father, a man with a neater beard and who held in his hands not a sword as the Warrior did, but a set of measuring scales. The inscription on his pillar read, 'The Father, he who divines justice and beholds his protection over all of his children.' 

She knelt before it, placing her knees down on the marble below - only to pause. Aella reached her hand beneath her skirts, rubbing her fingers against the stone floor, feeling it. It was like someone had scattered rice there, embedded in the rock. Made purposely rough so that whoever sat to kneel did not do so without punishment. Hightowers.

It took a lot to not to allow her hand to wander up to her aching core between her legs at the rough sensation below her knees. She'd wait, she though with heady impatience, instead reaching forward and plucking a long piece of yew from the altar. She lit the end with one of the candles, and set a new wick aflame. It's hiss was the only sound in the whole of the Sept.

Until the sound of boots stepped over the marble.

Aella clasped her hands tighter in front of her, shutting her eyes as she listened to the steps come closer. Step, step, step. Closer every time.

Still, she 'prayed.'

Until the steps ceased, inches from her kneeling body.

"Why the Father?" Otto asked her, low. 

"I like his beard." Aella said simply. 

She could feel then the sensation of his leather boots against her silken skirts. He'd stepped over her kneeling form, his legs on either side of hers. The Hand's neat fingers then touched the back of her neck, drawing along the slope of her throat and then down to her narrow shoulders. 

"Do you even know your prayers, princess?" His words were heady. 

"Not even one." 

At her rather pleased proclamation, Otto pinched the back of her neck hard, as if she was a kitten rather than a dragon. The pain was sharp and exciting, forcing a gasp from her lips as the Lord held nothing back as he punished her for her cheek. 

"I know a better prayer than to the Seven, Otto," Aella said then, resisting the urge to put her hand beneath her skirts. Her cunt was hot and weeping, pushing her to touch herself - but she couldn't yet, she wanted this first. 

The Hand's hand grasped at the front of her neck, his thumb stroking her softly. His hand was warm and just tight enough that if she swallowed, he could feel the muscles in her throat move. If he tightened his grip, he could steal her breath away.

"And what prayer is this?" He asked darkly. 

The princess twisted away from the statue of one Father to another, casting her lilac eyes up at him slowly, hungrily, devouring all she saw. 

The Lord Hand was somehow more delicious looking after this trip through the countryside and to the castle where he was sired. He was tall, so much taller than she was, towering over her even when she stood on her highest of tiptoes. His legs were long and sturdy, his waist narrow and his shoulders were broad and stronger than someone could expect of a politicking Hightower. And, she thought as she leaned herself forward to rest her chin on the top of his thigh, after a whole evening spent being forced to look his chinless brother in the face, he was looking all the more good-looking to her.

His beard was now neat and now far more nicely tidied by his barber. His hair was longer and formed loose curls that he'd swept back out of his face. Once, Otto had looked so plain to her. With a boring nose, boring eyes, boring face, which only served to become interesting when she successfully pushed him into outrage. Now, his dark oak-colored eyes were intense and sweltering, his features even and distinguished. 

Aella lowered her eyes, soft as a sweet kitten, and reached for the laces on his breeches, pulling the ties loose in a purposely sloppy manner.

The Hand's breath hitched as he watched her pet his cock through the fabric, his dark eyes becoming touched with desire and something softer. The same look he'd given her when she'd woken in his arms in Cider Hall. The same he'd given her when she'd woven poppies in his little daughter's hair.

The dragon princess pulled his cock from the breeches, it's long, familiar heat welcoming in her palm. 

"This is no prayer." Otto breathed to her, yet not stopping her. His hands ghosted over her hair, only the tips of his fingers moving along her loose white-blonde waves, as if by touching her it would break some spell between them. Some magicks, from her blood or his fire, existed in their air, between the connection of lilac and oak brown. Magicks that would dissipate the moment another looked upon them, as delicate as spun glass. 

"Not to you," Aella countered, stroking him until the dark pink tip of his cock was weeping. "I have a more intimate relationship with prayer than you do." It was tempting like this, long and thick and as smooth as the silks she was draped in. She didn't typically enjoy a cock in her mouth - it was usually too much work and she was far too impatient to have to focus on not choking while sucking and bobbing her head all the while receiving no pleasure of her own. 

But here, in a Sept, with his seven carved marble gods watching them? 

She couldn't help herself. 

"Fuck..." Otto groaned when she finally drew the tip of his cock into her mouth. The pale bead there was salty and unpleasant, but she liked the sound of him, so she rocked herself up further onto her knees, gripping his leg as leverage so she could take more of him in her throat. This served to cause an deep moan to emit from the Hand, who already looked overwhelmed and oh so hungry.

How could she not keep going when he was looking like this? 

Aella swallowed back when her lips wrapped around the base of his cock, the heaviness of his cock in her throat making her want to wince. She began bobbing her head, her hair falling in the way of her face as she began rocking herself up and down on her knees, the coarse sensation of the pebbled marble beneath her causing a whimper to escape from her.

Finally, Otto touched her at the sound - his neat hands darted to her loose hair, gathering up her ivory curls until it was all in his fists, out of the way of her face, clearly misunderstanding the noise. 

She gripped at his legs tighter, grunting as she began moving faster. Her legs were starting to tire from the way she was moving and tears were beginning to bead up in her eyes. 

It was no use though, he didn't taste like he was close to coming. But Aella couldn't wait that long, she was too wet and aching to wait. She delved her hand from his leg to her cunt, shoving her silks out of the way so she could swipe desperately at her soaking folds. Pleasure twisted at her, need demanding more and more, but her hand wouldn't be enough at this rate.

And then suddenly the hands in her hair became as punishing as steel - before she began getting fucked.

All bobbing of her head and sucking of his cock was ceased immediately as her lover took her every action from her. His grip was tight on her hair, and his other hand reached for the side of her face, so she couldn't back away while he began thrusting himself hard and fast down her throat. Otto took no care for her comfort, her squirming. He just fucked her, letting her go limp, just weakly hold herself to his long legs as he drove himself harder and harder into her face. Past him, she could see the stained glass of the Sept, glowing from the thousand low-burning candles at each of the seven altars in the room. Over Otto's shoulder was the Mother, big with child and with a welcome, forgiving expression carved into her lovely features. 

And a daze entered her mind, airy and dreamy and wanting. 

Aella smashed her hand against the back of Otto's thigh, just when she knew he was getting so close to finishing down her throat, his hips stuttering. He stopped and cursed at the strike, but he had no time to protest or punish her before she'd pushed him down onto the floor of the Sept, desperately moving over him. 

"Finish inside me!" She demanded hurriedly, scrambling onto his lap with an urgency that transcended out into the room. If the moths or ants that lived in the Sept were watching, they were surely as transfixed as Otto's Andal gods were around them. "Finish inside me, Otto, if you don't - "

The Hand grabbed onto her waist and thrust hard inside of her, his face strained as he attempted to fuck her properly. But he couldn't last long, not when he'd been so thoroughly debauching her throat the way he had been. He filled her quickly, his fingers digging into her hips as he drove up into her, his own cum dripping out of her and back onto his pelvis as he tried to make her peak with him, but to no avail.

"Let me," he said hoarsely, pulling at her skirts and twisting her until she was on her back. The stone was warm beneath her body. Welcoming. Like the stone of a sacrificial altar, where she was the one awaiting judgement. 

On her back, she was now able to see the stone face of the Father over Otto, while the Mother looked down upon them from behind herself. 

Fingers probed her full cunt, beginning to fuck her back to the precipice she'd been toying and dancing with for the entirety of her womanhood. 

She kissed him as she peaked, soaking over his neat hands, ruining her skirts and soaking into the sacrificial slab of marble that sat underneath their entangled bodies. His seed had soaked it with her. The ivory silk, as light and fine as a maidens cloak, was sullied forever. Filthy. 

And Aella Targaryen wouldn't have allowed it any other way.