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say-al0e · 4 months ago

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Hold Tight

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18. Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aemond has long sought comfort in the arms of the madame at his lowest. Now, he has what he's so long craved; a loving wife who is happy to indulge him. Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, lactation kink, PinV, mention of Luke's death and the war, mentions of the madame, Aemond's a little soft. If you notice anything else, let me know and I'll tag it! Pairing: Aemond x pregnant, wife!Reader Word Count: 7.6k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen knew the secrets of the Red Keep better than most.

As a child, he spent his days studying history and philosophy, learning the language of his ancestors or practicing with his blade, preparing himself for the future he knew awaited him. He kept to himself, tired easily of his brother’s torment and Helaena’s bugs - her riddles - and spent much of his idle time wandering the Keep.

Aegon was bold, slipping out of the gates with a command for the guard on watch to allow him and little regard for who knew. He used his power as the King’s eldest son, as the heir to the throne in the eyes of most, and came and went as he pleased. Helaena never left the Keep without supervision - never wanted to leave at all, really. And Aemond, as always, fell somewhere in between.

Many nights, when he found himself searching for sleep that refused to come, Aemond roamed the labyrinthine passages Maegor the Cruel left behind. He learned most of them, slipping in and out of the Keep as he pleased, and found the ones that he could someday use to his advantage.

Most apartments in the Keep contained an alternate entrance - or exit, if need be - that few knew existed. The royal apartments, he found, were most likely to contain them; Aegon’s, Helaena’s, his mother’s, his, yours.

Though, their existence was a secret he had yet to reveal to anyone, including you.

For as long as he could remember, Aemond made use of the passages. It was not often that he visited the city - he’d never been fond of it, never cared for the revelry in the same way Aegon did - nor did he spend much time by the water. The Keep was his home and where he felt safest. But he slipped from his room to the field where Vhagar resided from time to time, or to the Kingswood, just for a moment of peace.

However, after his thirteenth name day - and Aegon’s insistent ‘instruction’ - Aemond found himself returning to the city more than he ever had.

The unmarked door, one he’d grown to need and hate in equal measure, was his destination. It called to him, a siren song in the dead of night, on his darkest days and it seemed as if each day had grown darker than the last. The incident with Lucerys, the bitter sting of his mother’s wrath, the whispers beginning to fill the ears of all who might hear; every bit his fault, and every bit beckoning him closer to that door.

Aemond lingered there for a few long moments, moments he dared not count, as a war raged in his mind. Seconds could have passed, even hours, as he hid in the depths of the shadows. Many and more moons had passed since he last stepped foot into the city, since he last visited this place, but the song drew him closer.

There was comfort to be found inside, one he once craved so desperately, but he now knew better.

Love, affection, eluded him for so long that he saw this place - the woman inside, the gold he paid her - as his only option, the only chance to feel what others took for granted. A gentle hand, a soft word, a kind smile; he wanted little else and knew she would give it to him.

Inside those walls, the world ceased to exist. There would be no mention of his nephew, his brother, his wife. The woman inside would not ask, would not mention the whispers he knew she’d already heard, and would only listen to whatever he decided to share. There would be no strategy, no attempt to comfort him with words he knew she didn’t mean. Instead, she would hear him confess his gravest sins before attempting to comfort him with the warmth of her mouth around his cock, the pads of her fingers tracing the tense muscle of his shoulder when he curled into her after.

Spending the night there, in her arms - no matter how tempting - would only add to the oppressive weight already crushing his chest. It was a truth he’d come to learn now that he knew real love, true affection, a reality he’d faced.

Despite himself, the tricks his mind played, the comfort he found there had never been real. With his body curled into hers, her fingers carding through his hair and his breath shuddering as he finally allowed himself to feel, he willed it to be a true comfort. He once considered this place, her, the pinnacle of vulnerability, of safety, of comfort.

Now, he knew there was none to be found there.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could give him, that would provide any comfort at all. The siren song had ended, faded into the din of the city surrounding him, and Aemond could hear a new call. This song was sweeter, gentler, had blown in on a strong wind and erased all other noise the moment he fell in love with you.

Though the marriage was one of convenience at first, an arrangement made by your father and Aemond’s grandsire - his hand for the full strength of your house, when the time came - it had grown into something more.

For much of his life, Aemond refused to entertain the idea that any marriage he found himself in would be one filled with love. Marriage was bound to duty, something done for the good of your house - the good of the realm, in his case - and love meant little. Most lords disliked their wives, took other women to bed at any given chance, and the wives often rejoiced as they were no longer forced to share a bed.

The most he’d ever hoped for was a wife he could tolerate.

Aemond shared little of his mother’s faith, even less of her devotion to prayer and piety, but he often found himself thanking the gods for bringing you to him.

Hidden in the Red Keep, very likely in his own bed as you’d taken to spending more nights with him than alone, he imagined you asleep beneath the soft linen. Very clearly, he could see the white of your nightgown - a beautiful, soft material he found himself clutching between calloused fingers as oft as you would allow, drifting to sleep with the feeling of it soothing his warm skin - as your head rested on his pillow in a desperate bid to surround yourself with his scent.

That image - the picture of you he now saw so clearly, stamped in place of the door he’d been staring at without really seeing - was enough to break the invisible bond that kept him cemented in place.

Without sparing the door another glance, Aemond turned and began his retreat to the Keep.

Each step through the city was quicker than the last, eager to return to the quiet of home - the solace that awaited him in his chambers. Aemond knew the route by heart now, could find his way back with his remaining eye closed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he wound through the hidden passages that lead back to his comfort.

The moment the door settled in place, clicked shut with a soft gust of cool air, Aemond crossed the expanse of the room carefully. His footsteps were light, a barely there sound in the quiet of the room, and he was glad for his caution as he perched on the arm of a chair. His gaze fell to the bed he’d grown so used to sleeping alone in and he felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of another body making itself at home, directly in the middle of the mattress.

Just as he’d expected, you rested there comfortably. The white of your nightgown stood in stark contrast to the deep green of his sheets, a bright spot in the otherwise dim tapestry of his room - his life.

Aemond sat there for a few long moments, time beginning to slow as he drank in the sight of you. The Keep was quiet, save for the odd shuffle of guards or servants, and he could hear the soft sound of your breathing as you shifted.

Though you rested near the center of his bed, your head on his pillow and your hand outstretched - reaching for him, despite his absence - your brows furrowed with a discomfort he’d never seen. Beneath the soft bedding, he could see the curve of your body, resting on your side, and the shift of your hand as it lifted to cradle your stomach. The motion set him on edge, drew a sharp breath from him, and earned a fluttering of your lashes as some semblance of wakefulness returned to you.

“Aemond?” you questioned, voice still so soft despite the sleep clinging to you.

“Mm.” He hummed, voice equally soft in the dim light of the room - the lone candle you’d left burning, a beacon for him to find his way in the dark. There was little doubt where your thoughts had begun to drift, the questions you wanted to ask; where he’d gone, how he felt, what came next? But he could not yet describe his feelings in words.

Before you could so much as part your lips, he sighed. “I went to see about Vhagar.” The lie slipped from his lips easily, believable enough, and his eye fluttered shut in a sort of relief - or, perhaps, shame, guilt - when you made a sympathetic noise. “I did not mean to wake you.”

As he stood, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his doublet, you hummed. “’Twas not you,” you informed him, a sigh of your own escaping as you sat up against the headboard. “Your babe is restless and will not allow me to find comfort.” Aemond watched for a moment, keen eye following every move you made, as your hand returned to your growing belly.

The babe you carried was now very visible, obvious to all who spared you a glance, and the sight was one that enraptured him and terrified him in equal measure. Aemond was a proud man, one who was eager to carry on the Targaryen line, but his family was not one of love. There was no comfort, no happiness, to be found in the Keep - none to be found in the arms of his mother, certainly not his father - and he often feared the same fate awaited his own children. But the soft smile that curved the plush of your lips each time you rested your hand on the swell of your belly and the delighted laughter you breathed each time one of Helaena’s babes brought you into their playtime served as another light, shining in the dark; a spot of hope that, perhaps, his children may know a love he never had.

Aemond’s eye finally lifted to yours, met your concerned glance with an even one of his own after a beat of silence that stretched on almost too long, before he shook his head. “My babe? I seem to recall that we both had a hand in his creation,” he reminded you, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he removed his breeches and stood in nothing but his small clothes.

“Mm, perhaps,” you hummed, though the glimmer in your eyes told him you remembered very well. “But her nocturnal nature is solely your own. At this hour, she is yours and yours alone,” you teased, smiling softly as he padded across the stone floor to make his way to bed.

“Still insistent our first babe will be a girl?”

“A mother knows,” you hummed, watching as he slipped into bed beside you. His violet eye raked over your form, still so easily visible in the dim light of the room, and you bit back a sigh as you reached for him. “Come here.”

With little coaxing, Aemond shifted closer to you. The shift of his body was easy, almost as natural as breathing now, and you hummed in encouragement as you pushed away the bedding to allow his head to settle on your plush thighs. His favored position was resting with his head on your chest, face tipped to the crook of your neck, but the swell of your belly and the sensitivity in your breasts left you both with little choice but to find an alternative.

The beat of his heart began to slow when your hand fell from your belly to his hair, fingers softly carding through the silver strands - now free of the tie he kept in it and the lace of his eyepatch. “What happened, my love?”

Silence settled thick over the room and he knew that you weren’t asking where he’d gone. Though you worried, his disappearance was of little concern to you in that moment. The truth would out eventually, he would admit his shame sooner rather than late - as he so often seemed to with you - but this question afforded him a bit more time.

This question was the one he dreaded, the one that truly meant; what happened that night with Lucerys?

“I sincerely regret that business with Luke,” he admitted, voice a whisper in the still of the room. “I… I was angry, but I only meant to scare him. I did not mean to end his life. But Vhagar, my temper; I lost control.” The confession, whispered to you in the only place he’d ever known true safety, felt like a weight off his chest. It left behind a crater, a chasm that he knew would be difficult to fill, but sharing the secret with you made it easier for him to draw his breath. It escaped as a soft sigh, a puff of air blown across your thighs - now exposed, fabric of your nightgown pushed out of the way to allow his own hand to fall to the plush of your thigh. “Aegon is shortsighted. He wishes to throw feasts, to celebrate bloodshed. Mother is angry because she knows what must come next. Peace is no longer an option.”

Aemond’s confession lingered in the air for a long moment. It reverberated in his ears, rang like the bells that tolled on the day of his father’s death, but you calmed the noise with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t believe peace was ever an option,” you confessed, carefully brushing silver strands away from his sapphire eye. “This war started long ago, before you or Aegon or Rhaenyra were even a thought. It will be convenient, for some, to blame you and Vhagar, but this began before you took the sky together. And someday, there will be none who remember what started it or why it was fought. History will only remember the bloodshed that we must now bear the brunt of.”

No response came to him, lost in the thoughts that swept through his mind like a raging storm, but he knew you didn’t expect one. The words were meant to be a balm, soothing the soul he bared only for you, and he took them as such as he allowed his eye to fall closed.

There was something to be said of routine, then, as you followed the familiar dance that started months ago.

Silence lingered for a beat, long enough for his breathing to even and your own to grow deeper - always so shallow now, he noticed, almost labored as your stomach grew ever rounder - before you spoke again.

“I spent the day with the twins,” you informed him, fingers still softly working through the strands of his hair. “Helaena wanted to take Dreamfyre out so I sat with them and we watched her fly. I think Jaehaerys will love being a dragonrider, like Helaena, but it seems Jaehaera has no interest.”

“And Maelor?”

Aemond’s question was reflexive, asked without thought, but you took a moment to consider it. “Too young to tell,” you decided, allowing your hand to drift to his cheek and brush the sharp line of his jaw. “He has no reaction to the stink of dragon, unlike his sister, but he may, later on. Aegon wishes to take him flying on Sunfyre but Helaena has forbidden it.” Another moment of quiet, then, before you hummed once more. “Has an egg been chosen for our babe’s cradle? Or do you wish our daughter to be like her father and claim a fearsome old beast?”

The reminder of the babe you swelled with drew a shuddering breath from him as Aemond struggled to keep the grasp he held on your thigh light. “Our son will have an egg,” he promised, “but they do not always hatch. He might try for one of the unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. Vermithor is nearly as fearsome as Vhagar, nearly as old.”

‘If we can pry Dragonstone from Rhaenyra’s hands,’ went unsaid, though you both allowed the thought to cross your minds.

That thought did not linger, however, as you allowed your hand to drift from his cheek to his shoulder. Soft fingers caressed his skin, warm and strong, and Aemond relaxed into your touch. “How can I help you, my love? I mislike seeing you this way.”

More often than not these days, Aemond found himself here. Many and more nights had been spent curled into the curve of your body, his head resting against your skin as you stroked his hair and spoke softly to him, but they seemed to grow more frequent. Aemond knew that you were observant, that you’d realized he seemed to need your embrace more and more with each passing day, but even he could not articulate why.

Perhaps the weight of his inheritance had finally caught up to him. Or, perhaps it was the knowledge of all he’d done in preparation for his brother’s reign. He even considered it was the possibility that he found himself desiring his brother’s crown, the one Aegon had no desire for.

In truth, he knew that it was you.

The moment you joined hands, the moment you became his wife, Aemond began to feel the walls he’d spent so long building crumble around him. You chipped away at the slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they toppled all the same.

With every moment spent together, with every word of affection you shared or every soft brush of your fingertips across his skin, Aemond felt his world shifting.

Everything he’d ever considered important remained, still mired in the golden glory of his inheritance, only you now loomed over it all. All with the babe you now carried, his babe, alongside you.

“You are with child,” he whispered, shifting to lie on his back and glance up at you.

“I hadn’t noticed,” you returned, drily. When he fixed you with a look, violet eye unamused, you sighed. “I am with child,” you agreed, free hand falling to your belly as you stroked his hair once more. “Our child. That is what we wanted, is it not?”

“It is.” That was always the plan; get married, have children, carry on the Targaryen legacy. Only, the plan had never included losing his eye and spilling the first blood that began a war - killing a child, a nephew.

Aemond could not bring himself to say those words aloud, however, as your fingers carefully carded through his hair, he knew that you understood. There was a fear you both shared, one that had grown heavier since the incident with Lucerys, but he dared not speak it and neither did you. Losing a babe was something that frightened you both - him, nearly as much as losing you in the process - but he willed himself to push that concern to the back of his mind.

Instead, he searched desperately for a thought more pleasant.

Initially, when your betrothal was announced and preparations began for the wedding, he heard murmurs of those who pitied you. It was a shame, they all said, that such a pretty maiden - known for her kindness, her beauty, her wit - would be married to someone like him. He was, after all, noted for his sullen silence and impassive expression.

Everyone wondered how you might fare, locked away in the Keep as your husband-to-be rarely ventured outside its walls, just as Aemond wondered how he might tolerate a highborn lady who doubtlessly believed the whispers.

Those whispers had proven false - just as you’d proven that you never believed any of them.

Love, a curious thing he never hoped to find, bloomed between the two of you. It was not instant, as he learned you had hoped, but slow and cautious. Trust took time, vulnerability even more, but they came, eventually. And with them came a relationship that seemed to stun the whole of the realm into silence.

The pair of you were evenly matched: both highborn, well-educated and eager to continue learning; both fond of the quiet, though you had a natural charm and ability to pretend to enjoy banal chatter that he did not possess; both desperate for a love, a comfort, that you never found at home. There were many similarities, and more differences, but the love that bloomed brought you both a happiness you never knew possible.

And now, as you grew round with the evidence of your love, he discovered another feeling he never thought possible.

Aemond always found you beautiful - he agreed with the whispers of court, that you were much too beautiful to be chained to him for the rest of your life - and he spent the first few weeks of your courtship attempting to ignore his baser urges. There would be time enough for him to indulge in you, for him to see you as no other had ever seen you, but a desperate need for you began to take root then and had yet to release him from its iron grasp.

With every day that passed, Aemond wanted you even more.

Aegon often spoke of the joys of sex, the great pleasure he found in the Streets of Silk, and Aemond never quite believed him. The little experience he had - courtesy of his brother’s goading and gold coin - proved Aegon a liar. However, when Aemond found himself settled between your thighs, he finally believed his brother.

Now, there was little that settled him - anchored him to the moment and cleared his mind of all the noise - quite like losing himself in the throes of pleasure with you.

Since you began to swell with his child, your belly growing round and your tits beginning to spill from your gowns, Aemond found himself even more drawn to you - a feat he hadn’t believed possible. There was something so alluring about the sight of you, wandering the Keep dressed in the color of his house and bearing the most obvious sign that you were his, that it had begun growing maddening.

Luckily, you seemed to be just as desperate for him as he was for you.

The maesters assured you both that there was no harm to be done in satiating your urges and, though he was hesitant in the beginning, soon trusted they spoke nothing but the truth. Now, as he found himself eager for comfort - soft words, loving touches - he allowed himself to seek it in your embrace.

“Are you tired, ābrazyrys?” His question was soft, spoken into the silence that settled easily around you, and met with your hum.

“No.” It was a lie, he knew - could tell by the way your lashes fluttered and your fingers slowly brushed at his skin, the way your lips parted with badly concealed yawns - but you would not be swayed from allowing him whatever he wanted. “I’m here, my love,” you assured him, thumb caressing his cheek. “Take what you need.”

Aemond knew that your body was beginning to grow weary - he’d heard your whispered complaints to Helaena; how your back ached constantly, how your body felt heavier with every step, how even your softest gowns felt too rough on your sensitive skin - and nearly refused you as he had no desire to cause you pain. But the warmth of arousal had already entered his blood, burned beneath his skin, and the shift of your thighs beneath his head indicated that you felt it, too.

Rather than backing away, Aemond moved to sit up and crowded closer to you.

“Gevie,” he whispered, violet eye raking over your face as he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “Issa gevie ābrazyrys.” Aemond pressed his mouth to yours, then, and you swore you felt his lips curve into a soft smile as you leaned into him.

Aemond had softened some, over the course of your marriage. Though he remained himself, steadfast and strong in who he had become, the edges grew a little more polished. His touch was gentler, his words softer, his kiss less rushed, and you appreciated the effort he’d taken as he tipped his head to deepen the kiss. His hand descended, brushed the soft material of your nightgown as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you released a contented sigh.

The large expanse of his hand fell to your ribcage, just beneath the swell of your breast, and though you knew it was coming, you still gasped as his thumb brushed a sensitive nipple.

“I’m alright,” you assured him, the moment he broke the kiss - before he could ask. Your hand lifted to his cheek, thumb brushing his warm skin as you offered him a smile. “Sensitive, is all. The maesters told me it’s normal,” you explained, watching as his gaze fell to your breasts. “They… they also said stimulation may help,” you continued, fingers returning to his hair as his violet eye returned to meet yours.

“Stimulation?”

Aemond knew he hadn’t been subtle in the attention he paid your swelling breasts, in the way his gaze fell to them every time he found you bare between his sheets, but his skin burned with an embarrassed warmth and an overwhelming lust as he realized what you were offering.

“Mm,” you hummed, not bothering to hide your actions as you lifted the skirt of your nightgown higher up your thighs. “I tried, with my fingers, the way they instructed to no avail. Perhaps you have another idea, my love?”

For a brief moment, Aemond felt his head begin to swim. His thoughts muddled, each one making less sense than the last, but they all seemed to lead in the same direction. It was a desire he’d never dared speak aloud, one he barely allowed himself to consider, but the rounder you grew with his seed - the heavier your breasts grew - the harder it became for him to forget.

Most nights, Aemond spent his time wrapped in your embrace. He enjoyed exploring your skin, mapping the soft expanse of your body with his hands and mouth, and had committed it all to memory. His words sometimes failed him, never quite capturing just how much you meant to him - just how deeply he loved you - but his touch never did. With a flick of his tongue or a brush of his fingers, with a snap of his hips or a soft press of his hand, he continued to find new ways to express himself. And when he’d gotten his fill of you, of hearing you cry his name and watching your body writhe with an exquisite pleasure only he could provide, he filled you with his seed before sometimes settling at your breast.

While he once feared you might find the act strange, that it might repulse you, you were eager to take him as he was. Any act that offered him comfort was one you allowed and the few times he curled into you, flushed body pressed to yours and mouth pressed to your breast, he felt nothing but your love.

As he swallowed, hesitant, you offered him a smile. “You will not harm me or the babe, my love,” you assured him, fingers caressing his jaw as they began to drift lower. “If anything, you will be helping me.” When he frowned, uncertain - disbelieving - you hummed. “Feel,” you instructed, reaching to guide the hand on your rib cage to your breast. It was engorged, heavy and warm in his palm, and you sighed as his thumb mindlessly brushed the nipple once more. “When the babe is born, she will have a nursemaid and I will be left with swollen, leaking tits.”

Aemond acted without thought in that moment and allowed himself to take what you offered so freely. His hands lifted to the straps of your thin nightgown and brushed them off your shoulders, giving him an opportunity to free you from the confines of the fabric.

Pregnancy had changed your body, in a way that terrified him at first - something so delicate now rested within you, a life he helped create - but now drove him to the brink of madness.

A searing warmth, all encompassing and hotter than any dragon fire, enveloped him. And a single glance at your face proved that you did, too. You felt the heat of him, the warmth of his palms - of his heavy gaze, his lithe body - and feared you were only moments from begging him to act when he took mercy on you. The gift you offered, the act you so willingly encouraged him to indulge in, was one he would never refuse.

His touch had never been exceedingly gentle, nor was it particularly hesitant. Aemond was a man assured, confident. There were moments he could be tender, even teasing, but none compared to the moment at hand.

The press of his hands to your sides, just beneath your rib cage, was soft. It was a featherlight pressure, one you feared you might not have felt were it not for the overwhelming sensitivity of your skin, and you sighed contentedly as your hand returned to the silver strands of his hair.

Slowly, and with a caution you’d never before seen in your husband, Aemond’s hands lifted.

Aemond was almost tentative, careful, in the way he touched you. His violet eye remained fixed on your face - watching, waiting for any hint of discomfort - and you offered him an encouraging smile as you leaned into his touch. “I am not fragile,” you reminded him, a small grin forming at the words he’d once used to declare his surprise at your steadfastness, your unwavering strength. “I will not break.”

A moment passed, in which you watched your husband gather himself, before his hands lifted to your breasts. He seemed to marvel at the weight of them, the warmth of your skin - usually so cool in the depths of his chambers - and hummed.

As he leaned in, gaze finally dipping to your breasts, you expected him to press his mouth to your skin - bury his face in the crook of your neck, press his lips to your collarbone and work his way down - but you were surprised when he tipped his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. Though he never left you wanting, never left you doubting his desire for you, this kiss stole your breath.

The kiss was unlike any other; fierce, passionate. It fanned the flames of desire already burning within you and turned it into an uncontrollable blaze. As eager as you always felt for his touch, the fierceness of his kiss left desperate tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Calloused hands - toughened by years of swordplay and dragon riding - began to explore in earnest.

Every press of his palm, every swipe of his fingers drew soft noises from your lips, cries that Aemond swallowed eagerly. He relished in them, in the noises only he managed to draw from you, and you felt the evidence of his pleasure press into your thigh.

For a moment, you wondered if he might refuse your offer. However, the thought disappeared with a swipe of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond allowed you to break the kiss, lips parting in a sharp gasp, and wasted little time in pressing his mouth to the curve of your jaw. There seemed to be little hurry in his actions, the way he nipped and kissed the soft skin of your throat, but you could feel the tension in his corded muscles as he crowded into you. He seemed to be nearly vibrating with desire, a tremble that made you lightheaded - an awe that you could produce such a reaction in such a man - and you struggled to catch your breath as he began to descend.

There was a brief worry - a split second thought that never fully formed - that he might avoid your eye in the way he had the very first time, when there was no babe and no real reason to suckle at your breast. However, it was quickly driven away as your husband’s violet eye lifted to meet yours.

Soft kisses were pressed to your skin, across the tops of your breasts and between them - violet eye fluttering as he paused only to marvel at the newfound heat emanating from your skin.

“The maesters told me I would remain warm until the babe is here. They jest it is because I carry the blood of the dragon,” you informed him, hand falling to the back of his head to cradle him close. “I’m not sure I mind. But, tell me, husband; what do you think?”

Though your husband had always been a man of few words, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The words you spoke meant little to him, it seemed, as he found himself capable of only a simple reply. “I shall keep you warm and full,” he promised.

Already, he could see you swollen with his seed - with the blood of the dragon - again and again. He would see you round with his babe as many times as you would allow and you could see the promise in his eye as he glanced up at you. “Perhaps it is good there will be a nursemaid, then,” you hummed, unable to bite back your grin as Aemond’s mouth pressed just beneath your breast. “So you may spend as much time at my breast as you’d like.”

In the moment, the present mattered little. All that had come to pass ceased to exist and all that might come felt good, sweet. In reality, the future seemed bleak, but in the moment, there was a future. And all either of you wanted was to pretend.

Without sparing another moment, Aemond’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple.

The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, was cautious at first - desperate to keep from hurting you, to keep from causing any pain - and you hummed contentedly as his eye fluttered shut. Your fingers carded through his hair, touch as delicate as his own, as your free hand fell to his chest.

Aemond’s heart thrummed beneath your fingertips, the beat of it as erratic as you’d ever felt it, and you felt your own beat in time with his.

No part of you ever imagined you would find yourself here - in bed with your dragon rider, the fierce swordsman and Targaryen prince, suckling at your breast - but there was no dismay in it. The pair of you were two halves of a whole: him, desperate to be wanted, needed, loved; you, desperate to love, to want, to need. There was a balance, an equal give and take, that saw you both offering the other what they desired freely. You understood one another in a way no one ever had and you were grateful for that understanding as Aemond attempted to crowd closer.

“My sweet love,” you whispered, fingers brushing the silver strands from his cheek. “This is what we both needed,” you assured him, voice a quiet lilt in the dim of his chambers. “Feels so much better.”

A pleased hum - proud, soothed by your praise - escaped your husband as his free hand returned to your thigh. His fingers pressed into the plush skin, anchoring himself to you, and you sighed at the touch. His hand was so close to where you wanted him and you asked without sparing it a second thought.

“Aemond,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers clasping around his wrist and dragging it higher. “Touch me, please. Need you.”

Calloused fingers slipped between your thighs, lips curving into a smile at how readily you parted for him. His touch paused only for a moment, as did the gentle pull of his lips at your breast, as he seemed to realize the state you were in.

Slick pooled between your thighs and Aemond readily gave you what you wanted. His fingers swiped through your arousal, gathering your slick, before his thumb found the all-too sensitive bundle of nerves.

The wet slip of his fingers was self-assured, an action he’d taken a thousand times before, and it seemed as if he knew your own body better than you did. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filled your veins and blazed up your spine, as he rolled the numb beneath his thumb for a moment before abandoning it to press his fingers to your slick opening.

“You enjoy this,” he accused, finally allowing his violet eye to open as he released your nipple and urged you to turn so he could reach the other. “As much as I do,” he continued, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I do,” you promised, sigh escaping your lips as you felt his long fingers press into you - curling, parting, manipulating in the way only he knew. “I have never turned you away,” you reminded him, words ending in a breathless moan. “If you are as depraved as you imagine yourself, then consider me your equal.”

Aemond seemed pleased by your assertion, proud to have found a wife who not only indulged him, but understood him. And you were pleased, as he returned his mouth to your aching breast, that he trusted you enough to allow you this glimpse.

The press of his mouth to your breast was growing ever eager, desperate for whatever you could give him - and, as it turned out, was not much yet, though you knew he would patiently await the day it would be more. It was soothing, almost, in a way that eased the ache you’d begun growing weary of, and you parted your lips to thank him for it the moment his thumb pressed to your aching clit.

A keening moan escaped, a noise that might’ve brought an embarrassed heat to your skin in the beginning of your marriage, but such noises were familiar now and your husband reveled in them.

Some small part of you wondered if he meant to have you both finish this way, him with his mouth pressed to your breast and you with his fingers curling into your heat. Only, he gave you little time to wonder as he lifted his head to glance at you fully.

“I know your body aches,” he hummed, press of his fingers slowing - thumb stilling on your clit, earning a displeased whine. “Do you think you can take my cock, my love? I have no desire to cause you discomfort.”

“You will,” you huffed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging - just slightly, “if you do not fuck me.”

Aemond laughed, then, a sound you imagined few others had ever heard, before pulling away from you. You whined at the loss of his touch, the emptiness that filled you and the cool that suddenly chilled you, before your attention was stolen. His lips wrapped around his fingers, capturing the taste of you on his tongue, and you swallowed hard to keep from lunging at him as he settled against the headboard himself.

“Come here,” he beckons, hand already reaching for you hip and hauling you onto his lap. “So fucking perfect.”

Before the babe, before your stomach began to swell, this was a rarity. Aemond preferred you beneath him, pressed into his mattress as he left you seeing stars, but he’d admitted he could see the beauty of the position you now found yourselves in.

As expected, the moment you settled atop him, his gaze returned to your breasts. “One may think you’d never seen tits before,” you teased, not bothering to hide your grin as Aemond rolled his eye. “I jest, my love,” you hummed, reaching out for him - encouraging him to return his mouth to your breast. “It helped,” you assured him. “They no longer ache as they did when I woke. Thank you.”

Aemond lifted a hand to the back of your neck, then, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. The kiss was more familiar, something you’d grown to expect - grown to love - and you felt yourself melting into it as he crowded you closer.

The swell of your belly made it difficult to press your body as close to his as you would’ve liked, as close as he would’ve liked - in the privacy of his chambers, beneath the sheets of his bed, Aemond liked you a close as he could have you - but it was enough. His hands explored your warm skin, slick beneath his fingers and no longer aching in the way you’d complained earlier, and you relaxed into his touch as his hand slipped between your spread thighs once more.

Though you expected his fingers to return to your center, Aemond’s hand fell to his cock. You breathed something akin to a sigh of relief as you felt the tip glide through your slick folds, catching on your aching clit and drawing another keening moan that he eagerly swallowed.

The head of his cock nudged your slick opening, nestled there as you rested on your knees, before he lifted his hand to your hip and pulled you down.

A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth, captured the whole of your attention as you sank down onto Aemond’s cock.

Every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock - every ridge, every vein - was heightened by your sensitivity and your eyes nearly rolled back as you sank onto him fully. He filled you wonderfully, perfectly, and reveled in you saying so. Only, he barely allowed you a moment at all to speak before his mouth returned to your breasts.

Each sensation was overwhelming in its own right, every touch more consuming than the last, but the combination of it all had you seeing stars.

The warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours, the way his muscles clenched as he rocked his hips up to meet yours, the insistent press of his hand - fingers dimpling your skin as he held you tight - was all magnified by the warmth of his lips pressed to your breast. Even as his hips snapped, pressing his cock in deeper, the press of his mouth remained soft.

Aemond was careful to keep from hurting you, despite his desire to devour you - clear in the lust darkening his violet eye - and you lifted a grateful and to his cheek.

“Feels so good,” you breathed, gaze meeting his. “You make me feel so good, my love.”

The praise he craved, the words he desperately needed to hear but would never ask for, earned you a sharp snap of his hips - driving him deeper, pressing you closer - and you gasped as his teeth carefully nipped at your sensitive nipple. He’d already taken what little your body had produced, would need to wait a little longer for more, but that did nothing to stop him from continuing to suckle at the soft skin as his thumb fell to your clit.

As he so often tried, your husband pressed you on to your pleasure first. His fingers, his mouth, his cock; all working together in an eager attempt to earn your blissful cries. That sharp violet eye watched your face, watched your lips part and your lashes flutter, and you could see the pride in his gaze as you began to quiver in his grasp.

When your release washed over you, heavy and so desperately needed, Aemond allowed himself to let go. He chased his own high for a moment, sinking into the pleasure of you - of your slick cunt, of your swollen breasts.

With a muffled noise, Aemond spilled into you - his spend filling you with a warmth you swore you would never tire of. It was accompanied by a soft gasp, a quiet noise that you wouldn’t have heard over your own heartbeat had you not been paying him such close attention, and you reached for his cheek with a soft smile.

Aemond easily lifted his head, his mouth meeting yours, and gave you the kiss you wanted. It was an assurance for you both, a gesture meant to calm - to serve as a reminder that you were bound, one - and ended with his forehead pressed to yours.

“All of this,” you whispered, the pair of you still struggling to catch your breath, “will end and we will carry on. And when our duty is done, we will be free to live our lives as we wish. You did not start this war, but you will finish it.”

“I will,” he promised, violet eye glimmering with an unscheduled tear as his hand fell to your swollen belly.

It was a promise he couldn’t make in good faith, nor one he could reasonably be expected to keep, but it was enough for the moment. The idea that this is what awaited him - this life, you - made him desperate. He wanted nothing more than to carry on, than to spend the rest of his life right here, and he would do anything in his power to make it happen.

And, if he could not spend the rest of his life here, he would perish in the pursuit.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Aemond just. Captivates me. How am I supposed to survive two years without more content?

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond x you #hotd smut #hotd imagine #v's fics

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mountainsandmayhem · 6 months ago

Text

BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks. CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present.

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things.

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple.

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas.

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.”

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things.

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat.

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.”

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!”

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.”

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.”

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean.

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional.

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.”

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.”

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough.

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles.

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.”

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole.

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror.

But not JM.

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility.

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February.

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home.

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’.

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that.

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'.

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome.

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out.

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?”

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head.

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.”

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck?

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed?

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman.

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone.

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her.

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip.

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass.

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft.

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?”

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you.

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him.

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.”

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.”

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning.

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills.

Next Chapter

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themeraldee · 3 months ago

Note

I think a great awkward sex fic could be homelander making love for the first time.

Not losing his virginity, but having sex with someone he loves

anon you're sooooooo smart!!!! I love this idea so much. After being in such a funk this reignited me and I had to write it now!! It took a different turn at the end but I don't dictate what the characters do!! thank you for this idea and please enjoy 🩷

Imperfectly Perfect

[Masterlist] [AO3]

18+ Only | 2.7k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Awkward sex. Realistic sex. Embarrassing sex noises. Feelings of inadequacy. Homelander being a mild drama queen. Cunnilingus. Unprotected sex.

Looking back at it, it was meant to be perfect.

Homelander eagerly ushered you back to his penthouse after an incredible date out. He pulled out all the stops, renting out the top rated, most expensive restaurant just for you. He spent the entire night charming your pants off with his strangely charismatic and at times awkward self.

Buzzing with anticipation he couldn’t wait to show you what else he had in store for you. You’ve changed his perception of everything. Ever since you’ve wormed your way into his heart, he’s locked the way out and threw away the key. You’ve made him feel like nobody else ever has and he thought it high time he repay the favor. That’s why tonight had to be perfect.

He wanted to show you what awaits you in your shared future.

He had some poor Vought employees absolutely drown his penthouse with bouquets of rich red roses, rose petals strewn across most surfaces, candles illuminating every corner, highlighting the glittering gold of the picture frames adorning his walls. Smooth jazz played in the background at a low volume sealing the deal on what ended up feeling like a scene plucked from an elaborate Valentine’s day ad.

“Wow! This is—wow! Homelander, you didn’t have to do all this.” You looked around the space, taking in the change with a shock and awe on your face. This quickly turned into a beautiful bright smile that made Homelander feel like he was on top of the world. He’s obviously doing something right.

“Anything for my girl.” He pulled you in gently, making the dress he’s picked for you twirl prettily. “Come with me,” he pressed a kiss to your soft lips, letting them linger for a little while while he inhaled the scent of your perfume—also his choice—and the roses surrounding you both. At that moment he thought that tonight would be perfect, one for the books.

And now? It didn’t take long for it to already be turning into a disaster.

From his point of view at least.

You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning back on your arms as you watch the show. You asked to watch him take off his suit, promising that you’d give him just as good of a show as he would.

Prior to this he has taken his elaborate suit off thousands of times anytime he’d go to bed. Now he’s struggling as if both of his hands were left-handed and this was his first suit fitting. He’s so tense, his nerves tighter than a bow string making his hands shake while he unclasps the cape, immediately folding it on the rack out of habit before he continues unzipping his suit. His heart is beating like a drum in his ears, he wouldn’t be surprised if even your ordinary ones could pick up on it.

It’s not that he’s never had sex. It’s just that the anticipation of what he’s built up in his head is making him overthink his every move. He needs you to know that he can be like this for you. Because the perfect mainstream image of romance is what every woman dreams of—right?

When the zipper gets stuck and doesn’t let him unzip like normal he panics internally. There were meant to be no hiccups today!

Observant that you are, you stand up as soon as you see him struggle and swear and take the step closer to him. “Let me help you.” You put your hands on his before sliding them up his forearms, then shoulders before going down to rest on his chest.

“How about you let me undress you and then you undress me.” You give him a cheeky smile, trying to break the tension he put himself into. “Does that sound good?” You ask quietly and breathy as you undo the zipper he was struggling with.

He nods curtly, feeling ashamed that he’s admitting to a fault on his part.

But with the continuous dreamy eye-contact you slowly help him out. Undoing clasps, and zippers of his convoluted uniform.

He was less worried about you seeing him naked than he is about the whole performance of it all. He’s let you see him without the suit before. Early into your blooming relationship you’ve stumbled upon him covered in blood. It only made sense to take the shower together as you helped him wash all of it off. But even then, he didn’t want it to go further. He said he had plans and asked you to let him make it perfect.

When he’s finally fully naked he pulls you in for a hot kiss. It’s almost in gratitude at helping him mend the situation and put it back on track. He walks you back to the bed pushing you on it. He’s only about half hard, which is unusual for him as Homelander easily gets a hard-on in a split second anytime you just look at him a certain way. So it’s a surprise that he’s not panting and leaking with the way you look tonight.

Clearly, he’s still stuck in his head.

With each kiss he presses into your skin, tasting the softness of your every spot he gets more and more excited. Slowly melting into you with each little huff you let out as he kisses your body, undressing you in tandem. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He growls into your ear before kissing you flush on the lips. Hot and heavy, he licks into your mouth, moaning at the way you pull at his hair when you rake your fingers through it.

Just as you want to take some control back, treat him the same way he’s treating you, he stops you.

“Nuh, uh. Ladies first. Let me make you feel good.” He rumbles as he pushes your hands off his body. You look pleased at his words, giving him an excited little grin.

And just like that, he’s finally taking control of the situation again. He’s got a script in his head and he needs to follow it to a tee.

Down on his knees, he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. Already spreading your legs open, unabashedly inhaling the scent of you, already aroused and wet for him. He grins like a shark to himself. Without giving you much heads-up or taking it slow he just straight up buries himself in between your legs.

Just the smell of you had his cock finally turning rock hard, now with the taste of you he feels it twitching, drooling precum from the tip.

He’s licking you open, spreading you with his tongue. Like a mad man who doesn’t know where to focus first, with little rhythm he changes between strongly sucking at your clit, pointing his tongue sharply and running circles around your clit right before shoving his tongue into you, tongue-fucking you just like he imagines will leave your mind blown.

Except.

“Little softer, please.” You sound out in between sweet little sighs. You’ve taken to running your nails through his hair, giving his scalp a little massage while he went to town on you.

“M’sorry.” He mumbles into your pussy as he quickly looks up at you. He slows down with his urgency though he’s a little peeved at the way he’s not been able to rock your world yet.

“Don’t be—ah—it’s great. I just like it a little softer.”

It’s great? Great?! It should be mind-blowing, incredible, glorious! Not just great. Immediately his ego takes a hit but he doesn’t outwardly show it. In his mind you should’ve been moaning and shaking for him, coming on his tongue while he got his fill of you.

This doesn’t happen.

And while he’s doing better, making you moan a little louder, forcing small gasps out of you as he softens his tongue flat, gently laving over your clit before sucking on it softly. He’s not making you cum and that’s killing him.

You suddenly sharply tug on his hair and at first he thinks you’re getting close but you pull again and he looks up at you confused.

“Come up here.” You guide him up.

“But you didn’t finish.” He scrunches his eyebrows confused and for a second he looks like an innocent sweet puppy.

“I don’t wanna come yet. I’m actually usually done after one orgasm so I reaaally want to have you inside me for the big finish you know?” You sign that off with a wolfish grin that he immediately eats up as he climbs up to devour you, making you taste yourself on his lips.

With the thoughts of being inside you where it’s all soft and warm and really just made for his cock, he abandons his thoughts of inadequacy.

And as much as you want to participate, Homelander keeps pushing you off, instead focusing on your body and all the places he hasn’t managed to kiss yet.

When he swats your hand away from his cock again you ask. “Why won’t you let me return the favor?”

“Another time.”

“But I wanna blow you! It’s not fair, why can’t I?” You keep pouting and you’re as adorable as you are annoying because as much as he’s sure your mouth will feel amazing he’s even more certain that your pussy will be fucking incredible. And he definitely won’t make it through both.

“Because I’ll bust, alright?” He swats your hands away instead pinning your wrists down onto the plush bedding making you yelp in surprise and arousal. He can sense the way that got you all excited. “Now just let me fuck you… please?” He says before kissing you again.

You automatically spread your legs. He kneels on the bed, sitting on his heels as his eyes immediately lock onto the sight of your pussy, still pretty and wet for him. A sight that makes his heart swell. Part of him was worried you wouldn’t want him with such voracity. He made sure to keep some lube on hand in case you wouldn’t get wet enough for it to be comfortable for you but he was preening that he managed to get you this wet.

Homelander let one of his fingers glide down your slit, gathering the slick before pushing a finger in, immediately groaning at the intense heat of your cunt. He couldn’t wait to get his cock in you.

He gathers more slick that you seem to be making an abundance of but this time he gives his cock a few strokes, giving it a nice, wet coating. “So perfect for me.” He whispers out more to himself than you before he shuffles closer, holding his cock in his hand, rubbing it up and down your slit before eagerly pushing in.

The sheer tight heat of you has him gasping, you’d almost think he was in pain if it wasn’t for the blissed out look on his face.

When he sinks all the way in, he takes in your pretty face, your softly parted lips, gently flushed face and a look in your eyes that he’s sure he’ll never forget. You look at him with such love and adoration it’s impossible for him to stop the, “I love you,” that comes out of him before he kisses you.

“I love you too.” You say with a bright smile when he lets you breathe.

He thinks at this moment, there’s no way this could be anything less than perfect.

Getting lost in the sensation he picks up the pace. He fucks into your faster and harder with each stroke and it’s not bad but it’s too too much from the get go. Homelander doesn’t see this. In his head he wants to make you cum before he himself finishes which with his track record might not be a very long time.

“Hey hey hey, slow down. You don’t need to go all hard and fast so quickly okay?” You say with a breathless little laugh, looking a bit rattled from the way he’s been fucking you into the mattress.

Fuck. He fucked up again. He’s disappointing you. That thought makes his heart hurt and jaw clench. But Homelander doesn’t let it show as he just nods at you, kissing his tension away, trying to get his head back into enjoying himself as much as he should.

But the universe isn’t kind to him and when he eases himself back into you, pressing his body against your sweat-covered one, the glide of skin on skin well… It makes a sound that could only be described as a fart!

You burst into giggles at the comical sound and you seem to think that’s it but Homelander is mortified. His eyes widen and he gasps, pushing himself off your sweat-slick skin. “That wasn’t—I didn’t—”

When he tries to explain that it wasn’t him it just makes you laugh harder.

He doesn’t get it—you’re laughing! It’s so incredibly embarrassing and it’s ruining the vision he had for the night. Tonight was about him finally opening up to you, letting you feel just how strongly he feels about you and it’s been a disaster from the start.

He feels himself softening inside you so he pulls out before you notice and he grumpily pulls away from you, turning to sit at the edge of the bed to sulk.

Your giggles died out as soon as you noticed him pull away. “Baby? Don’t be upset. I’m not laughing at you.” You sit up, reaching over to him, moving closer.

“It’s fucking embarrassing! Tonight was meant to be—well not like this!” He’s upset and he’s trying to take it out on you as if pretending that it’s your fault is gonna soothe his hurt ego.

“It’s okay. It’s normal, it happens. It’s literally just skin on skin. Bodies make funny sounds!” You try to soothe him by rubbing his arms and shoulder, occasionally pressing a kiss to his head or side of his neck.

“You shouldn’t be laughing at it like this whole thing doesn’t matter.” He said with a bite in his tone, almost accusing you of not sharing his feelings.

“I’m laughing because this does matter to me. I’m comfortable around you. You make me feel at ease and let my guard down. I’m laughing precisely because I love you.”

He doesn’t respond and you continue soothing his hurt feelings.

“It’s beautiful, the way you’ve prepared this place. But do you wanna hear a secret?” You move closer to him and turn his head with your finger. “It’d be just as romantic without all of it. Even if the first time we had sex was in a broom closet. Or whatever. The point is—it’s you. That makes it all so special.”

He sighs with palpable relief and he nuzzles his head into the hand you placed on his cheek. He could just about devour you for being so amazing.

“I just wanted it to be perfect for you.” He admits his insecurity, giving you the ammunition to rip his heart in two if you wanted to. He knows you hear the ‘I want to be perfect for you,’ he’s really trying to convey.

“It is perfect. Tonight, the whole thing. Everything that’s happened. It’s been perfect. I’ve been loving every second of it.” You kiss him on the lips and he melts. He turns so he can embrace you with the kiss, feeling the tension finally slip away. With no expectations, he can enjoy you the way he should have from the start.

“Come on, lie down. Stop thinking.” It’s your turn to press him into the mattress as he lies on his back staring up at you with pure adoration.

Just like that, after seeing you on top of him all pretty and loving his cock is back at full hardness. You finally wrap your hand around it, giving it a few strokes before you lower yourself down on him.

“We’re getting to know our bodies. You learn what I like, I learn what you like. None of this thinking of what it should be like. Okay?” He nods at you although he’s very preoccupied with taking in the incredible feeling of you wrapped hotly around him, sending his mind into a frenzy.

You bounce on him, showing him exactly how you like it, what angle and what pace and in the meanwhile you coo sweet, soothing words. Clearly seeing just how much work his hurt ego will need to get back to normal.

And somehow, in the end, it’s so much more perfect than he could ever imagine it to be.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @infinetlyforgotten

#spat this out in like 2hs #this didn't actually turn out the way I originally imagined when I posted about wanting to write awkward sex #but I kinda love the way it turned out!#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #the boys fanfiction #asks!#fic request

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

The Broken Crown (1/2)

- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 200+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

- A/N: Unexpected post. Let's see how it goes.

The wind howls outside your chambers, filling the air with the distant sounds of restless dragons, their cries melding with the deep, rolling growl of the sea beyond Dragonstone. The fire crackles in the hearth, sending flickers of light dancing across the walls. You sit alone, staring at the flickering flames, lost in thought. The glow reflects off the dark red and gold silk of your gown, the rich colors echoing the deep hues of Tesaerix's scales.

It has been weeks since your marriage to Aegon—your brother, your king—and yet your chambers remain cold. You know why he comes to you. You know what he desires. Yet every time, you turn him away, the bitterness of your broken future thick on your tongue.

You were supposed to be wed to Torrhen Stark, the former King in the North. A marriage of fire and ice, binding the Targaryens to the cold and ancient lineage of the Starks. You had imagined a life in the North, the fierce honor of the Starks, the warmth of a hearth shared between husband and wife, and the promise of a family. Torrhen would have been yours and yours alone. His loyalty and affection were clear in every letter, in every word whispered between couriers.

But Aegon... Aegon grew jealous. He called off the betrothal without a word to you, with a simple, royal command. And now, you sit here, a queen in name, yet more of a pawn than ever before.

The door to your chambers opens softly, the sound of boots upon stone barely audible over the crackling of the fire. You do not turn. You know who it is.

"Y/N," Aegon's voice rumbles low, rich with the quiet authority of a conqueror. He does not have to ask permission to enter; this is his castle, and you are his wife.

"You shouldn’t be here," you say quietly, your eyes still on the flames. "Not tonight."

"And yet, here I am." His voice is closer now, and you feel the heat of his presence behind you. "You’ve denied me time and time again."

You stand, your hands tightening into fists at your sides, still refusing to face him. "Because this was not meant to be. You took my future from me, Aegon. Torrhen was—" Your voice cracks, though you try to hold your composure. "I was meant to marry him. I was meant to be his only wife, to have his children. You stole that from me."

Aegon steps around to face you, his violet eyes, so like your own, burning with a mixture of frustration and something deeper. His silver hair, shining in the firelight, falls loosely about his shoulders, making him seem more a dragon than a man.

"You speak of duty as if you do not know it, sister," he says, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Do you truly believe you could have lived in the North? Away from your blood? Away from me?"

His words send a chill through you, a reminder of the bond that ties you both. You were born into the same fire, raised together, shared in the same dreams of conquest. But his love, twisted as it has become, feels like chains wrapping around your heart.

"I would have learned," you whisper, your throat tight. "For Torrhen, I would have made a home there."

"And you would have grown cold," Aegon replies, stepping closer, his hands reaching out to grasp your arms. "The North would have frozen the fire in your blood. You belong with me, Y/N. We were meant to rule together."

You yank your arms away from his grip, taking a step back, your eyes blazing. "No, Aegon. You and Visenya, you and Rhaenys, were meant to rule. I was an afterthought. You married me out of jealousy, not love. You couldn’t bear the thought of me in the arms of another man."

Aegon’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you see the flicker of anger in his eyes. He steps forward again, but you hold your ground.

"You speak as though I do not care for you," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I made a banner in your honor. You fly your own colors, the colors of Tesaerix, because you are more than just my wife. You are my queen, my equal."

"I never asked for that," you snap, your voice rising, the pain and anger finally spilling over. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon. I wanted a life. You took that from me when you sent Torrhen away."

He is silent for a long moment, his eyes searching your face as if looking for some hint of the sister who once stood by his side, unwavering in her support. But that girl is gone now, replaced by a woman hardened by the reality of her fate.

"Perhaps," he says finally, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "But we cannot change the past. You are mine, Y/N. Whether you accept it or not."

You turn your back to him again, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You hear him move toward the door, his boots heavy on the stone floor. For a moment, you think he will leave. But then, his voice breaks the silence once more.

"One day, you will come to understand why I did what I did. And when that day comes, I will be here. Waiting."

The door closes behind him, the sound echoing in the stillness of your chambers. You are left alone once more, the fire burning low, its warmth doing little to chase away the cold that has settled deep in your bones.

You sink to the floor before the hearth, staring into the dying flames, and wonder if there will ever come a day when you can forgive him—if you even want to.

The grand hall of Dragonstone feels heavy with silence as you sit at the long, stone-carved table. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the glory of Old Valyria, the ancestors watching with cold, lifeless eyes. You sit between Rhaenys and Visenya, with Aegon at the head, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. The air is thick with the unspoken weight of your marriage, lingering over the table like a shadow.

The food before you remains untouched. Plates of roasted meats, rich gravies, and spiced wine fill the room with tempting aromas, but you have no appetite. Your mind is elsewhere, churning with thoughts of the future that was stolen from you. Torrhen’s face, sharp and distant like the North itself, lingers in your memory.

Visenya breaks the silence, her voice sharp and direct, as is her way. "Y/N," she says, her violet eyes piercing as they settle on you, "when will you finally do your duty to our brother?"

Her words hang in the air, and you feel the weight of everyone's gaze upon you. Rhaenys shifts beside you, her warm, gentle nature a silent contrast to Visenya's cold command. You take a slow breath, gripping the edge of your goblet, the cool metal pressing into your palm.

"If this is about duty, sister," you reply, your voice calm but edged with steel, "then Aegon should come to you. Isn’t that what you care for most, Visenya? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes narrow, her lips a thin line. "It is our duty to secure the future of our house. You were born for this. You were married for this."

"I was married," you cut in, the words sharper than you intend, "because our brother couldn’t stomach the thought of another man having me." Your gaze flickers to Aegon, who has remained silent, watching the exchange with his usual unreadable expression. "Or is that something none of us are supposed to speak of?"

Rhaenys’ soft, musical voice tries to ease the tension. "We are family, Y/N. Aegon is trying to—"

"To what?" you interrupt, turning your gaze on her. "To make me love him as you do? If our brother seeks love and soft caresses, he should come to you, Rhaenys. You always give him what he desires, don’t you?"

Rhaenys flinches at the harshness of your tone, her eyes lowering to her untouched plate. You almost feel a pang of guilt for your words, but the storm of emotion inside you doesn’t let you stop.

Aegon’s gaze finally lifts from his plate, meeting yours. His violet eyes, usually so hard to read, flicker with something—anger? Hurt? Perhaps both. But he says nothing, allowing the silence to deepen, allowing you to stew in the consequences of your words.

Visenya’s voice cuts through again, colder than before. "You may think you are different from us, Y/N, but you are not. We all carry the same blood. We all have the same purpose. Do not forget that."

You push your chair back abruptly, the scraping of wood against stone breaking the silence. The sound echoes through the hall, reverberating off the high ceilings. You rise, standing tall, your hands clenched at your sides.

"I haven’t forgotten," you say, your voice bitter. "But perhaps I was never meant to be part of this."

Without another word, you turn and leave the table, your untouched meal forgotten behind you. You walk swiftly through the hall, your footsteps muffled by the heavy carpets, and once you pass the threshold, the cold air of Dragonstone greets you like a slap. It chills your skin, but you welcome it. It’s a reminder that despite everything, you are still free to make some choices. Even if only in small rebellions.

As you make your way down the corridor, the sounds of your siblings fade behind you. You are alone once more, with nothing but the distant cries of dragons and the pounding of your heart to accompany you.

The hall feels emptier once you’re gone, the echo of your departing footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the space. For a long moment, no one speaks. The air is filled with your absence, and the untouched food on your plate remains a quiet accusation of all that was left unsaid.

Aegon sits motionless, his hands resting on the table, fingers curled around the goblet he hasn’t touched. His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of something far heavier than a crown pressing down on him. His face, usually impassive and stern, is now unguarded, a mixture of frustration, pain, and an unfamiliar vulnerability etched into his features. The Conqueror, the dragon lord, looks fragile—broken, even.

Rhaenys watches him, her eyes full of concern, though she remains silent for once. Her gentle attempts to soothe the tension earlier had been met with resistance, and now she seems at a loss, her gaze flicking between Aegon and Visenya. Her hands rest lightly on her lap, fingers trembling just slightly as she resists the urge to reach for Aegon.

Visenya, on the other hand, is still as stone. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes remain cold, unreadable. The eldest of you, always the embodiment of purpose, of resolve, watches Aegon closely but makes no move to comfort him. Her hands, wrapped around her knife and fork, remain steady, continuing her meal as though nothing had happened, though she chews slowly, her eyes calculating.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, though it is barely more than a whisper. "She hates me."

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. Aegon’s grip tightens around the goblet, and one can see the whiteness of his knuckles as though the tension might shatter the cup. His head is bowed, and for the first time, he looks… lost.

"She does not hate you," Rhaenys says softly, her voice thick with sympathy. "She’s angry. Hurt. But hate?" She shakes her head, her dark curls catching the firelight. "That is not what this is."

Aegon’s lips twitch, a bitter smile flickering at the corners. "She does not love me, Rhaenys. And she never will."

Visenya’s voice is sharp, cutting through the fragile moment like the edge of a blade. "Love is not why she was wed to you, brother. Love was never the purpose." She sets her knife and fork down deliberately, the clink of metal against the plate unnervingly calm in the face of Aegon’s turmoil. "You knew that."

Aegon’s head lifts, his eyes wet and shining with unspoken emotions. He looks at Visenya, his usually hard gaze pleading now, searching her face for some kind of answer. "But I wanted it," he says, the words rough, torn from somewhere deep inside him. "I wanted her to love me, as she would have loved Stark. Is that so wrong?"

Visenya’s expression doesn’t change. Her voice remains cold, unwavering. "You are her brother, her king. You were never meant to be her lover in the way you want."

Rhaenys, sensing the deepening wound, reaches across the table, her hand hovering just above Aegon’s arm. "She’s young still, Aegon," she says softly, her voice filled with her usual warmth. "She has not yet come to terms with her place. In time, perhaps…"

Aegon pulls away from her touch, his hand falling from the goblet to rest heavily on the table. "No," he mutters, shaking his head. "She will never come to terms with this. She will always look at me as if I am the one who destroyed her life." His voice breaks slightly, and he presses his palms into his eyes, as though trying to hold himself together, to keep the pain from spilling out.

"Then stop chasing her love," Visenya says, her voice devoid of sympathy. "Do your duty. Take her to your bed, sire her children, and end this farce of a romance you have created in your mind."

Aegon’s hands drop from his face, and he looks at her, stunned. "Is that all you see in this? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes meet his, cold and unwavering. "That is all there ever was for us."

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Aegon turns his gaze to the fire, his shoulders sagging even further under the weight of Visenya’s words. The great conqueror, the king who united the Seven Kingdoms, is reduced to this—a man who sought love from someone who could not give it.

Rhaenys, her heart breaking at the sight of her brother in such despair, shifts in her seat, but she knows that no words of hers will soothe him now. Aegon has always carried the burden of their dynasty alone, but tonight, it has grown too heavy, even for him.

"You have us," Rhaenys says quietly, though her voice trembles with emotion. "You will always have us, Aegon."

But Aegon does not respond. His eyes remain fixed on the flames, and for the first time in your life, you see him not as the Conqueror, not as the dragon lord who tamed the world, but as a man—lost and alone in a castle full of people who love him, yet none who can give him what he truly desires.

And so the meal continues in silence, the clatter of cutlery and the crackling fire the only sounds in the hall. The untouched plates before you all bear witness to the shattered remnants of your family’s fragile bonds, while outside, the wind and the sea howl against the ancient walls of Dragonstone.

The sea winds howl outside your chambers, the sound haunting and relentless, like the cry of some distant, wounded beast. You sit by the open window, gazing out into the dark night, the vast ocean stretching far beyond the horizon, endless and full of promise. Your mind wanders to Tesaerix, resting in her lair below. You imagine her golden and cream scales shimmering in the moonlight, the crimson undertones beneath them gleaming like freshly spilled blood. She is your escape, your one chance at freedom.

You toy with the thought, turning it over and over in your mind—leaving this place. Far from Dragonstone, from Westeros, from the suffocating weight of duty and broken promises. Essos calls to you like a whisper on the wind, a distant land where dragons are still revered and feared, where you could carve out a life for yourself far from Aegon’s reach. You could mount Tesaerix tonight, ride her across the Narrow Sea and never look back.

The idea pulls at you, tempting you more with every passing moment. To be free of this cursed marriage, free of the bitter silence and the constant reminders of what you’ve lost. But it’s not just the present that haunts you—it’s the past, the memories of a love that was torn from you before it had the chance to bloom.

Your mind drifts back to Torrhen Stark, the man you were meant to marry. The King in the North, a man of honor and quiet strength, so different from the fire and chaos of your family. You think of the first time you met him, after he had bent the knee to Aegon. He had refused to take you as a war prize, refused to make you his by conquest, despite the whispers of your brothers. He had chosen to see you as something more, as someone worth knowing, worth loving.

You remember the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the way his gruff voice had gentled whenever he spoke your name. It had been a brief time, but intense—your feelings for him had grown quickly, like a wildfire racing through a dry forest. You’d fallen in love with him, hard and fast, and he with you. It was supposed to be an alliance not only of fire and ice, but of hearts.

You can still hear his deep, steady voice, promising you a future in the North. A future where you would be his only wife, where you would bear his children, where you could have the kind of life you dreamed of—one filled with love, respect, and loyalty. It had seemed perfect, a rare gift for someone of your blood, born into a family where duty always outweighed desire.

But then Aegon had taken that from you. He had changed his mind as suddenly as a storm sweeping over the sea, without explanation, without reason. One moment, your future with Torrhen had been certain, and the next, it was gone. Aegon had called off the betrothal, declaring that you were to remain in Dragonstone and marry him instead.

Your world had shattered in that instant. The life you had planned with Torrhen, the love you had begun to build, all of it ripped away before it had the chance to take root. You had cried out, fought against it, pleaded with Aegon to reconsider, but his decision was final. The bond between fire and ice, the life you had dreamed of in the North, vanished like smoke in the wind.

The memory of Torrhen’s face, when you told him of Aegon’s decision, still haunts you. His features had hardened, the quiet grief in his eyes breaking your heart all over again. He had not blamed you; how could he, when you had been as much a victim of your brother’s jealousy as he had? But the pain in his silence had cut deeper than any words could have.

You wonder, sometimes, what might have been. What your life would be like now, had Aegon not interfered. You can imagine yourself standing beside Torrhen in Winterfell’s great hall, the warmth of a fire crackling in the hearth, the cold winds of the North howling outside but unable to touch you. You would have had a home there. A real home, with Torrhen by your side, with the love you had begun to build blossoming into something strong and unbreakable.

But here, in this cold, dark castle, you are alone. You are Aegon’s wife, yes, but in name only. There is no love here, only duty, only the weight of expectations and a future you never wanted.

Your gaze shifts to the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below. The pull to leave is stronger now. You imagine the wind whipping through your hair as Tesaerix soars above the clouds, the world falling away beneath you as you fly far, far from here. Essos, the Free Cities, perhaps even beyond the Shadow Lands. Anywhere that is not here, anywhere that is far from the suffocating grip of your brother and the life he has forced upon you.

You stand, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you move toward the window. Tesaerix waits, her powerful wings and fiery breath ready to carry you to freedom. All it would take is a single command, a whispered word, and you could be gone. You could leave this place behind, leave Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys and the weight of their expectations, and start a new life far from the shadow of the Iron Throne.

But then Torrhen’s face flashes in your mind again, and you falter. The North is lost to you, but would running away truly be any better? Would it bring you the peace you crave, or would it only leave you even more adrift, without even the faint hope of reclaiming what was taken from you?

Your hand rests on the stone window ledge, cold and hard beneath your palm. The choice stands before you, vast and open like the sea. Stay and endure, or fly away and risk everything for the chance at a new beginning.

For now, you remain. The wind howls, but the decision is not yet made.

For two weeks, Aegon comes to your chambers each night, his steps soft but purposeful as he approaches the door. You always hear him before he arrives, the distant echo of boots on stone corridors signaling yet another attempt. Every time, he brings something—a token of affection, as if material offerings could mend the chasm between you.

At first, it is fine silk from distant lands, robes embroidered with dragons and flames, the kind of luxury that would make others swoon. Then, he brings rare books, scrolls of knowledge written in the ancient Valyrian tongue, words meant to remind you of your shared heritage. One night, he brings a necklace of rubies, its deep red glistening like dragonfire in the low light. The next, a golden ring with the Targaryen sigil engraved on it, a symbol of the dynasty you are bound to by blood and duty.

Each gift you receive with a polite, distant nod, setting them aside, your heart unmoved. The weight of his gaze is always upon you, a mixture of hope and frustration lingering in his violet eyes. His words are softer now than they were in the beginning, his anger quelled, replaced by a quiet desperation. He is trying to win you, but the harder he tries, the more distant you feel.

The final gift he brings is a crown—delicate, finely crafted, with jewels of crimson and gold embedded in the pale metal. It is beautiful, a queen's crown, meant to match his. When he places it on your lap, he watches you with an intensity that makes the air thick between you, waiting for something—for approval, for gratitude, for love.

But you only stare at it, unmoving.

"This is yours," he says, his voice almost pleading now. "You are a queen in your own right, Y/N. Not just my sister, but my equal. You deserve this."

Your fingers brush the cold metal of the crown, but it feels like chains, not a symbol of power. You lift your gaze to meet his, your voice steady but firm. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon."

The hurt flickers in his eyes, but you have nothing left to give him. He leaves, the crown sitting abandoned on the edge of your bed, gleaming in the dim light as if mocking you.

One day, his words change.

Aegon enters your chambers, but there is a new tension in the way he moves, a sense of finality in the air. He doesn't bring a gift this time, only the weight of a decision made. You watch him, already knowing something is different.

“We leave for King’s Landing soon," he says, his voice more formal than it has been in weeks. "Aegonfort is ready for us. It will be our new home, where we will build the future of our house."

You feel the words like a cold wind sweeping over you. Aegonfort, the seat of his conquest, the beginning of the new kingdom he is carving out. The idea of leaving Dragonstone—leaving the sea, the cliffs, the only place you’ve ever truly known—sends a chill down your spine. Aegon might see King’s Landing as his victory, but for you, it feels like another cage.

"I don’t want to go," you say, your voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Aegon pauses, as if he didn’t hear you properly, as if he can’t comprehend that you would refuse. “You have to go,” he says slowly, as though speaking to a child. "You are my wife, my queen. You belong at my side."

You rise from where you’ve been sitting, facing him fully, your heart racing with the surge of rebellion that has been growing inside you for weeks. "I belong here," you say, gesturing to the stone walls, to the island that has been your sanctuary, even in the darkest times. "I do not want to go to King’s Landing, to sit in that castle you built, watching you and Visenya and Rhaenys pretend that everything is perfect."

He steps toward you, his face tightening, a flash of anger returning to his features. "You think you can remain here, alone, while the rest of us build our kingdom? This is not a choice, Y/N. You are my wife."

"I never wanted to be," you snap, the words finally breaking free from your lips, bitter and sharp. "You made me your wife, but you never asked me what I wanted. You took me from the future I could have had, from Torrhen—"

"Stark, again? Torrhen is not your future," Aegon interrupts, his voice hardening now. "I am."

"You stole my future, Aegon," you retort, your voice trembling with the weight of your grief. "You took away the one thing I had, and now you expect me to be grateful for this life you’ve forced upon me? You expect me to follow you to your new castle and wear this crown and play the role of your queen?"

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, tense and suffocating. Then, slowly, he steps back, his eyes dark with something you can’t name—anger, yes, but there’s more. Regret? Hurt?

“You will come,” he says finally, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper. “Whether you wish it or not, Y/N. You will come with us.”

You turn away from him, your back to the man who has taken everything from you. You hear him leave the room, his footsteps heavy and final, but the emptiness he leaves behind feels like the deepest cut of all.

You are alone once more, staring out the window at the distant sea. Tesaerix calls to you from the depths of your soul, her distant roars echoing in your mind. The thought of running away comes back to you, stronger now than ever. But for now, you remain, standing at the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

The sun is high in the sky as you and your siblings take flight, the winds rushing past as your dragons soar over the shimmering sea. Below, the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone grow smaller with every wingbeat. Tesaerix flies gracefully beneath you, her golden and cream scales glinting in the sunlight, the deep crimson undertones flickering like blood in the wind. For a moment, you feel weightless—free. The burden of your marriage, of your crown, seems far away in the skies.

Ahead of you, Aegon leads the way on Balerion, the massive black dragon casting a long shadow over the sea. Rhaenys is beside him, her Meraxes keeping pace, and to your left flies Visenya, Vhagar’s powerful wings slicing through the air. The three of them are focused on King's Landing, their eyes set on the growing kingdom they are about to build. But your heart is elsewhere.

You glance down at the sea, endless and blue, stretching toward Essos. The temptation has been gnawing at you for weeks, the thought of breaking away, of flying far from here. Away from Aegon, from the fate that has been thrust upon you. The wind rushes through your hair as you tighten your grip on Tesaerix’s reins, your mind made up.

With a subtle shift in pressure, you command her to turn, pulling away from the formation. Tesaerix tilts her wings, veering off course, away from King’s Landing, away from your brother. Your heart races, a mix of fear and exhilaration filling your veins as you set your sights on the horizon, where the lands of Essos lie in the distance, beyond the reach of Aegon’s grasp.

Behind you, Aegon’s voice rises above the wind, calling your name, desperate and commanding. “Y/N! Turn back!”

But you don’t. You don’t even glance behind you. The sound of his voice fades as you fly farther, the space between you growing wider with every passing second. Tesaerix roars beneath you, as if sensing your resolve, her powerful wings beating faster as she surges toward freedom.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel alive. The weight of duty, of marriage, of everything that has kept you chained to this life begins to slip away, carried off by the wind. The open skies of Essos call to you like a promise, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believe you might make it.

Then you hear the deep, thunderous roar of Vhagar.

Visenya.

You glance over your shoulder, and there she is—Visenya, fierce and relentless, closing the distance between you with terrifying speed. Vhagar, far larger than Tesaerix, cuts through the air with powerful, determined strokes. Visenya’s face is set in cold determination, her eyes locked on you with the same intensity she wears in battle.

“Y/N, stop!” she commands, her voice cold as steel, cutting through the wind like a blade. Vhagar roars again, a sound so deep and menacing it sends a shiver down your spine. But you do not stop. You push Tesaerix harder, willing her to fly faster, to escape the inevitable.

But Visenya is not one to be outrun.

Vhagar catches up, pulling alongside you with terrifying ease, her massive bulk dwarfing Tesaerix. Visenya leans forward in her saddle, her voice filled with authority. “Turn back, Y/N! Now!”

Your jaw clenches, your heart pounding in your chest. You meet her gaze for a moment, the defiance in your eyes clear. But Visenya does not waver. Her eyes are cold, unforgiving, and in that moment, you know she will force you back if she has to. She will not let you leave.

The wind whips around you as you pull Tesaerix to slow her flight, the moment of freedom slipping away from you as Vhagar looms beside you, a reminder of the chains that bind you. Visenya’s gaze does not leave yours, and she waits—waits for you to surrender, to accept the inevitable.

With a heavy heart, you tug on the reins, guiding Tesaerix back toward King’s Landing. The dream of escape fades into the distance as you turn, the pull of duty dragging you back toward the life you never wanted. Visenya does not speak again, but her presence is a silent command that you dare not disobey.

As you fly back toward Aegon and Rhaenys, the open skies of Essos behind you, the taste of freedom lingers on your tongue like ashes.

The moment Tesaerix touches the ground, the reality of your failed escape crashes down upon you like a wave. Her powerful wings fold at her sides, but there is no pride in her stance now—only the stillness of submission, forced upon you both by Visenya and Vhagar’s dominance.

You barely have time to catch your breath when Balerion descends, the great shadow of the Black Dread falling over you. His monstrous bulk blocks Tesaerix’s path back to the skies, his massive wings spread wide like an impenetrable wall. Aegon sits atop him, his expression dark, stormy, and unreadable. Rhaenys and Meraxes circle high above, silent witnesses to your humiliation.

The ground trembles as Balerion lands, his roar a deep, earth-shaking sound that makes the ground beneath your feet vibrate. You can feel Tesaerix shifting beneath you, uneasy but still under your control—for now. But even she can sense the finality of what is about to happen.

Aegon swings down from Balerion’s saddle, his steps heavy as he approaches you. His face, usually so composed, is a mix of anger and something close to disbelief. When he speaks, his voice is low, cold. "You would abandon us. Abandon me."

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat like a hammer against stone. "Aegon, I—"

"You fled from your duty, Y/N," he interrupts, his voice growing harsher. His violet eyes bore into you, as if he’s searching for some understanding of why you would run. "What were you thinking? Were you going to Essos? Were you going to leave us all behind?"

His words cut deep, the sharpness of his accusation stinging more than you expected. But you lift your chin, defiance still burning in your chest. "You took everything from me, Aegon. You took my future, my choice, my life. I wanted to escape—to find something that was mine."

For a moment, his expression softens, as though he might understand. But then, his gaze hardens again. He turns to the soldiers who have gathered nearby, his voice carrying a command that makes your blood run cold. "Chain her dragon."

You feel the words like a physical blow. "No." Your voice is a whisper at first, and then louder, desperation filling it. "No! Aegon, you can’t—please, don’t do this!"

But he does not waver. The soldiers begin to move toward Tesaerix, and she growls low in her throat, sensing the threat. You scramble down from the saddle, running to stand between the men and your dragon, your heart pounding in your chest. "She’s done nothing wrong! You can’t punish her for what I did!"

Aegon’s face is hard, his jaw set. "She’s your dragon, Y/N. You tried to flee on her back. This is to ensure it doesn’t happen again."

"I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you ask, just don’t chain her," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. You look into his eyes, hoping—praying—that somewhere inside him, the brother you once knew still exists. "Please, Aegon. Don’t take her freedom. She’s not like Balerion or Vhagar—she’s mine. Please."

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. His gaze flickers, but his resolve does not falter. "This is for your own good. You will not leave us again."

You watch in horror as the chains are brought forth, heavy iron links meant to bind Tesaerix’s limbs and wings. She lets out a deep, angry roar, thrashing against the soldiers who dare approach her, but they move swiftly, well-practiced in subduing dragons. The weight of the chains soon drags her wings down, grounding her in a way that feels like a betrayal to everything she is—a creature of the skies, bound to the earth like a prisoner.

You fall to your knees, tears streaming down your face as you reach out to touch her, your hand trembling as it presses against her warm scales. "I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I’m so sorry."

Tesaerix rumbles softly, her eyes meeting yours, but there is a sadness in her gaze, a reflection of the helplessness you both feel.

Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable now, but you can see the faint trace of guilt in his eyes. He turns his back to you, as if unable to bear the sight of your anguish.

Visenya remains mounted on Vhagar, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She offers no comfort, no sympathy. This is what must be done in her eyes, a necessary lesson in control. Rhaenys, still observing from above, does not intervene either. Her silence speaks volumes, but her presence feels distant, like she is struggling with the sight of your suffering.

The chains rattle as they secure the last link, the sound like a death knell in the still air. Tesaerix lowers her head, defeated, and your heart shatters along with her spirit.

You rise slowly to your feet, wiping the tears from your face with trembling hands, your eyes hollow as you look at Aegon one last time. "You’ve broken her," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Just as you’ve broken me."

Aegon does not respond. He does not even turn. And in that moment, you know that the brother you once loved, the brother who might have understood your heart, is gone—replaced by the conqueror who cannot allow defiance, not even from his own blood.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #fire and blood #asoiaf #aegon i x you #aegon i x reader #aegon i x y/n #aegon i targaryen #aegon the conqueror #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #balerion #vhagar #meraxes #visenya targaryen #rhaenys targaryen

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marathimajja · 2 years ago

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कांद्या बटाट्याच्या भावात मिळणार सोनं, विश्वास बसत नाहिये, वाचा मग

मित्रानो सोन्याचे भाव दिवसेंदिवस वाढत असून गगनाला भिडले आहेत. आज रोजी सोनं खरेदी कारणे हे सामान्य नोकरदार वर्गाचं काम राहिलेले नाहिये. आज रोजी सोन्याचे भाव 50 हजारहून अधिक आहे. तर मग असे असताना कसे काय बर आम्ही म्हटले की सोनं कंद्या बटाट्याच्या भावात मिळणार आहे? हो तुम्ही वाचलं ते खर आहे इथे कुठलाही ट्विस्ट नाहीये. खरंच कांदे बटाट्याच्या भावात सोनं मिळू शकत. सोन्याचे भाव इतके जास्त असण्याचे…

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#gold rate in future #kgf

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sanguinesky-if · 1 year ago

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Sanguine Sky

DEMO [Public] [Updated 11/05/2024] genres: romance, modern-fantasy, supernatural, mystery, dark-fantasy.

Sanguine Sky is a work-in-progress modern dark-fantasy interactive novel. The story is heavily focused on romance, characters, and relationships.

The story rated 18+, contains mature and distressing content that may be triggering to certain individuals. It is recommend to check the full list of warnings before you proceed to the story. Please exercise caution and take care of yourself.

Word count [Public]: 96k [excl. code] | 116k words [incl. code] Word count [Patreon]: 180k [excl. code] [Updated 09/11/2024]

You are a detective, tasked with investigating mysterious murders that have taken place in your normally quiet and peaceful hometown, Fallenmor.

With two victims confirmed already, the initial one being your former mentor, Detective Bergmann, the situation couldn't seem more dire. Or so you thought until you received the news of another body, a possible third victim, discovered at the police station. In your very own office.

An accident, a mere coincidence, a straightforward warning, a looming threat, or something entirely else… Whatever is happening, you feel it affecting you, awakening something both significantly familiar and distinctly foreign inside of you.

If only you knew that this was just the beginning… Things could have been different.

But back then, in your ignorance, your singular concern lay with a pressing question: if you failed to find the murderer, who would become the next victim?

➤ Play as male, female, non-binary or trans; straight, gay, or bisexual.

➤ Customize your appearance and shape your personality.

➤ Take on the role of a detective, immerse yourself in the work of the police station.

➤ Embrace the mystery of your existence, or reject that inner sight of you.

➤ Seven romance options to choose from. Select their gender, be shy or bold, or focus on your goal without pursuing anyone.

All ROs are player-sexual and gender-selectable [M/F].

Kyle / Keira Moreno

Your colleague, a police inspector, and one of the rudest people you have ever met. Sharp and stern, K is surprisingly perceptive, and they use it to really see you. The good, the bad. Everything. Appearance: icy blue eyes, dark red hair, very pale skin.

Alexis 'Lex / Lexie' Conlan

Your best friend, and also your former partner from times when you were just a patrol officer. With a heart of gold and an approachable attitude, L always chooses you over the others. Appearance: forest green eyes, copper hair, beige freckled skin.

Morgan Schoivell

Your other colleague, a highly-skilled lab technician. M is rather reserved when it comes to emotions, and after almost a year of working together, M is still a walking mystery for you. Appearance: dark brown eyes, ash blonde hair, light skin.

Roderick / Rebecca Reyes

The commanding agent of the Criminal Investigative Division (CID) team sent to catch the killer. Overbearing and ruthless, R has their own way of getting things done. Appearance: gray eyes, blonde hair, pale skin.

Theodore 'Theo' / Theresa 'Tess' Vazquez

Another member of the CID team. With a cocky smile, T is full of flirts and sneering comments, regardless of the occasion. T has no doubts about what they want and isn't afraid to vocalize it. Appearance: dark green eyes, black curly hair, rich brown skin.

Isaac / Iris Brailsford

I looks the most mature and approachable of CID's fellow agents. Looks can be deceiving, though. Working behind the scene and watching from afar, I carries all the scars within. Appearance: hazel eyes, dark brown hair, olive skin.

Sebastian / Selena Goldstein

Someone new and temporary, S has a velvety voice and a perfect smile that doesn't reach their eyes. You're not sure if your paths will cross in the future, but something tells you S can't be trusted. Appearance: black eyes, long black wavy hair, bronze skin.

Other notable characters:

Your twin-sister: Your sweet, kind, caring, and gentle twin sister. She always tries to be there for you, and show how much she appreciates you, no matter what. Chief of Police, Kendrick Nash: Your boss, who is not handling his job so well after the recent death of his husband, Klemens Bergmann. Detective Klemens Bergmann: Police chief's husband, who happened to be a senior detective and your mentor. He was the first victim, murdered under mysterious circumstances.

A full list of warnings is available in the demo before beginning of the story. I recommend to check it before you proceed to reading.

Thank you for your interest ♥

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #choicescript #dashingdon #choice of games #hosted games #sanguine sky #sanguine sky if #if: intro #if: wip #romance #supernatural #dark fantasy #modern fantasy #mystery #cyoa #if intro #if wip #ss about

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balkanradfem · 4 months ago

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So I've found Alyssa Grenfell on youtube. She shares her experience of leaving mormonism, and the inner workings of the religion. I had very little ideas about what mormonism is, only that it's a high-control religion, very difficult to leave, and has people knocking on doors trying to get converts. I've been interested to find out more, and I ended up watching almost all of her content, and some of the information I've got from it opened my eyes on other feminist topics, and I believe is relevant to the current discourse!

So if you, like me, don't know how mormonism works, it started when a guy decided that he too could be a part of the bible; he wrote a bible part two: mormon, and proclaimed himself a prophet. Then he started a religion based on his writings, decided it was more important than the bible itself because he 'translated it from gold tablets god gave him', and started gaining followers by convincing people he's the prophet. Once he had managed to get a following, he soon started to sexually exploit the wives and daughters of these followers, to the point where he had 20-40 wives and had married 14yo children. Families allowed it to happen because he would promise them to be royalty in the afterlife. He eventually got into a lot of trouble for stealing and raping children so he was killed by an angry mob, but the religion continued.

The religion is same as christianity except more rules (no coffee, no alcohol, no smoking), eternal worship of the predator who wrote it, followers are pressured to follow the rules exactly, and, the vital part, the followers have to give 10% of their income to the church. They developed a culture where once every young mormon kid comes of age, they have to go on a 'mission', which means they're removed from their home, and have to spend 2 years (1,5 for women) living in a foreign area, knocking on doors, sharing the gospel, trying to convert people. The conversion rate is extremely low, but at that point kids have invested so much time, effort, energy and passion for the religion, they become devoted to it and start to feel alienated in the world that rejects their religion. And even with the low conversion rate, every new convert means another continuous source of income for the church. So it's very profitable to send out young adults to make these sales. The kids are told that if they don't complete their missions, they will not be able to marry, and marriage is presented as their only life purpose.

So how rich is the church at this point? 230 billion dollars. I've been shocked to hear this because I had no idea. Alyssa explained that the mormon church is as rich as Pepsi, they have more money than Disney and McDonalds. So you might be wondering, like I did, well what are they doing with all that money? I've been left to wonder this for a while, until I watched the video called 'Why are so many influencers mormon?', which explained it. I didn't even realize a lot of influencers were mormon. But, this video showed me something both disturbing, and eye opening.

Before I go into that, I have to point out how patriarchal and misogynistic this religion is. Women are not given any options except marriage, and it's presented as the only righteous way to live. They're groomed for marriage from a very young age, encouraged to start writing letters to their future husbands at the age of 9. They're taught cooking, sewing and childcare, and to coddle any males in the family. It's taken for granted that m*n won't respect women, to the point where male children are allowed to harass grown women and their families will not intervene or consider it a problem. Chastity and purity are promoted to the level where members of the religion are expected to wear special underwear at all times, which hides their entire torso, shoulders, and legs down to their knees, and their clothing is expected to cover this up completely. They're rejected by the religion if they dare to have sex before marriage, or drink alcohol or coffee, or in some cases, tea. The church has a history of allowing and promoting polygamy, in the sense that a male was allowed to have as many wives as he wanted; they've since stopped this, but refused to break up the existing marriages. They're also promoting anti gay and racist propaganda, which Alyssa observed in school where she'd been teaching; a gay kid almost ended his life due to extreme homophobia.

I know all of this is somewhat common in all areas of society, all religions, and all cultures, but in mormonism it seems to be written into the core of it.

So now, why are so many influencers mormon? I didn't even know they were. The influencers themselves are not promoting the fact that they're mormon, nor does it come up in viral discussions. Ballerina farm is mormon. Tradwives are mormon. Whataboutaub, Rachel Parcel, brooklynandbailey, tanner_mann, thebucketlistfamily, Taylor Frankie Paul, Sarah Beeston, Ruby Franke, these are all mormon. Most of the Utah-based influencers are mormon, and there's a bigger amount of successful and popular influencers from Utah, than from LA or NY.

For me it immediately explained why this viral content is like that. Why we're having such influx of highly patriarchal, anti-feminist, very dangerous and sexist content, put in front of the eyes of young women. Why it's being promoted as an ideal way of life. How are these women able to share this life as if they truly believed it was good and ideal. How could they think it's harmless? If they're using the internet to the extent that they're creating content, how would they not be exposed to any feminism at all? And they wouldn't because it's against their religion to engage with content like that, or with people talking about it. Because being raised in a high-control religion, they would truly believe their lives are the ideal. They would be presented with it as their only option, the only way of life possible for a woman.

It's heartbreaking because I can now understand why it was so easy to push Ballerina Farm to give up her entire life ambition to get married and carry children for a male she didn't even want to go out with, the pressure from the religion to do so would be immense, she would have been raised to see this as the only option, everything else in her life would be considered pointless. She wouldn't have an actual choice, she'd be groomed for this from the moment she was born. Mormons don't advertise 'looking for your soulmate', they only instruct women to marry a mormon male who completed his mission and make it work.

So how does the immensely rich mormon church play into this? I couldn't see it until Alyssa explained in a very detailed way how youtube content advertising works. I didn't know about this either, but here's the overview:

How much you get paid on youtube, instagram, tik-tok, or other online content platform, depends on what type of content it is, based on how much advertisers are willing to pay to put adverts on it. For instance, you get paid much more for finance content, because banks will pay premium prices to be advertised in a finance-related video. If you're making content on cooking, you get paid way less, because it's not such a lucrative field. If you're making content on christianity, you get similarly low price as for cooking, christian church is not that rich. But, if you're making content as a mormon, that's showcasing some aspect of a mormon life, even if you don't specifically say you're mormon, the price goes way up, to the point where it's as lucrative as finance. The mormon church is making sure that the mormon influencers are being paid premium prices for their content, because people who get massively interested in the influencers, eventually find out that it's the mormon life being advertised, and some of them consider taking on mormonism. Which gives church more converts, which means the church will earn more money. The content we're watching is one huge advert sponspored by mormon church, and we don't even know it.

Alyssa figured this out because her content falls under the keyword 'mormon', and her comments warned her that the church is advertising on her videos, even when she's making mormon-critical content. She then realized that she too was being paid a premium price for her views, just because they're mormon themed. She went on to discover that even just being an influencer in Utah will fetch a premium price, because most of mormons are based in Utah. For more detailed and comprehensive explanation on this, watch her video!

Advertising is not the only way the mormon church is spending their money, they've also built a shopping mall, and are basically spending their money by investing and gambling and everything any corporation does with their profits. It's making me mad, and also makes the members of the church mad when they discover where 10% of their income goes, because they're told it's being used for charity and community service, and not advertisments and building malls.

For me this solves a mystery of how is it possible, in this day and age to have such influx of tradwives and influencers of 'traditional life', they're being sponsored by an organization making a profit off of it, making sure that anyone making this content is so well paid, they're able to live off of it, and keep creating more of it, and in the process of doing that, groom young women into their lifestyle.

Learning more about religions, specifically high-control religions, makes me realize just how much of it is happening all around us, but invisible, not naming what it is. It's similar to MLM's, the people inside are constantly trying to lure more people in, to make profit for those on the top, while the organization keeps changing names and hides their business structure in order to save their reputation. People can get influenced by it, and sucked in, without even knowing about it. Somehow most MLM's are also in Utah.

Mormon church also asked to no longer be called that, in order to stop being associated with the words like 'cult', which people have identified it as. Now they're working under more secretive names, and hidden business practices, so we wouldn't even know what we're being influenced by, and why is the content in front of us what it is.

#mormonism #religion critical #patriarchal religion #cults #tradwives #feminism #radical feminism #mormon church #insane how i had no idea all this was going on

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 months ago

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You're Safe With Me

Poe Dameron x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 6: Sex Work

Summary: Poe gets captured on a mission and you're the closest to his last location.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

This prompt was super difficult and I have kind of just done something that vaguely relates to it.

Warnings: resistance!reader, bad guy here is VERY gross, imprisonment, slavery, implied future sex slave, kissing, sex pollen, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2131

When you’d been told that Poe had run into trouble during a supply run on Tel’Ra you’d expected jail, the first order, him hiding up somewhere with a blaster wound.

You had not been expecting… this.

You’d been the closest to the planet and had found the traders quickly when you landed. Only to find out that there had been a miscommunication somewhere. They had thought Poe was the payment, not the negotiator.

Fucking hell.

You’d spend the better part of the last thirteen manic hours tracking him down, going from trader to trader until you got here, a meeting with the quadrant Tsar.

He was a large Terlion, powerful in his golden armour. He’d greeted you in his native tongue, and you knew enough about the culture of Tel’Ra to reply in basic. If you even said one word in the Tsar’s language then that was all he would speak, and everything would get very messy.

“This… humanoid,” the Tsar formed the word slowly, “He is yours?”

You nod and he pauses.

“I paid good coin for him.”

“So you admit he’s here?” You keep your tone even and calm.

The Tsar smiles and gestures to one of his guards, speaking in Krazel. You understand enough of the language to understand that they’re bringing Poe here.

Relief floods your veins, that was something at least.

“The traders had no right to sell him to you.” You repeat.

“But a trade was made, wasn’t it? You received goods for him?” The Tsar smiles.

“The trade was for Keseun. Not him.” You swallow, the guards in the room make your skin crawl, there were too many. Even if they had been troopers there was no way you could get out of an altercation alive, besides Terlions were large, physically powerful. One alone could snap you in half with two fingers.

You keep your chin held high, they respected confidence, straightforwardness. They wouldn’t attack unless you made a faux pas.

The resistance needed them to stay outwardly neutral to the rebellion. The planet was no fan of the first order, but would trade with anyone that showed respect.

You couldn’t blow this.

“Keseun.” The Tsar repeats, stroking his chin.

“I would offer you the same, for this inconvenience.”

He nods slightly, thinking when the door opens and Poe is pushed into the room.

You try your very best to hide the shock on your face.

You’d assumed that he had been sold as a labourer, or a servant. Not as… not as a…

Your gaze hinges on his scantily clad form, soft thin fabrics and lace and dripped in gold jewellery.

Your mouth dries as heat runs along your skin. That’s when you notice his expression, the relief plasters all over his face as he sees you.

You shake your head ever so slightly, trying to clear your not so pure thoughts, and chastising yourself.

“This is the humanoid?” The Tsar asks, beckoning with his hand. The guard pushes Poe forward to him.

He stumbles slightly, and you see the gold chains are not just for decoration.

“Yes.” You nod.

Now that he’s closer you can see the thin gold bar across his lips, the chain connecting around the back of his head, keeping his mouth closed.

The Tsar touches Poe’s cheek, grabbing hold of the back of his neck when he struggles and flinches away. He chuckles. “He is a spirited one.” He pulls Poe closer, forcing him into his lap and you stand, anger blazing through your veins.

The guards around you tense, but you keep your hands open and away from your weapons.

The Tsar laughs again, waving his hand and the guards relax.

Poe looks at you imploringly, at first you think he is begging for your help. But then you realise he is pleading for you to leave, for you to not get hurt for the sake of him.

“He has quickly become my favourite.” The Tsar grumbles, holding Poe to him, “I will enjoy taking-”

“He is mine.” You snarl, taking a step forward. Oh, this was risky, far too risky, but you don’t know how else to play this.

The Tsar raises an eyebrow, amused “Yours?”

“Mine.” You swallow, you might as well go the whole distance now. “My mate. Mine.”

Poe gives you a confused look as the Tsar freezes, his fingers digging into Poe’s side. This was a faux in Terlion culture, this had implications for the Tsar.

“Your mate.” He repeats and you nod.

“My mate.”

“You did not say this before, why?” There’s anger in his voice.

“I did not want to cause embarrassment over a mistake, however, you touching him and flaunting,” you shake your head, injecting as much rage into your voice as you can to cover the panic. “I cannot stand for it.”

The Tsar’s grip loosens on Poe, but there is fury burning in his gaze. “Humanoids… lie.”

“I am not lying about this-”

“I have no way of knowing if you are other than your word. Which is worth little.”

You clench your jaw to stop it shaking.

“If he is… yours. Then he would pass the test of Seva. He would resist the touch of anyone but you.”

You swallow. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. You’d heard of Seva, a plant extract that caused extreme arousal that was banned in half of the galaxy and highly regulated in the other. It had been used in the past to prove the loyalty of royalty’s romantic partners. If someone took it and were truly devoted to their spouse then they would only accept the affections of that person while under the influence. But if they weren’t… well, anyone’s touch would do.

You and Poe weren’t together. This was going to end very, very badly.

“I am insulted that-” You try to argue, but the Tsar cuts you off.

“The test will be taken, and if he goes to you then you may take him from here without payment,” he pauses, “as I will deal with the traders myself, however if he doesn’t crave only your touch, I will keep him and wear your skin as a trophy and nail your tongue to the wall as a warning to other humanoid liars.”

Somehow you keep his gaze. “Very well.”

You were going to be sick. There had to be something, some way out of this. You rack your mind, searching for anything, anything.

A servant brings an ornate pot to the Tsar, bowing as they take off the lid and use a golden spoon to measure a serving of the fine seeds.

The Tsar undoes one of the chains at the back of Poe’s head, finally allowing him to open his mouth. He looks at you, about to say your name.

“It’s alright.” Your voice is soft, even. Somehow sure of itself even if nothing else about you is.

He keeps his shining eyes fixed on you as he opens his mouth and swallows the seeds when offered.

The servant steps back, retreating and the Tsar smiles.

“It will only take a few moments, Seva is strong on humanoids.” He muses, “If he is not yours as you say, I will claim him now to relieve him of its effects.”

Poe shivers, blinking hard. Heat starts to run along his skin, first like a gentle breeze, a caress that is not unwanted.

The Tsar strokes his back amused as Poe shakes his head, trying to clear his quickly clouding vision.

The touch is… nice. Soothing almost. Poe leans back into it, sighing. He needed to do something, there was something he was trying to remember… but his thoughts just wouldn’t hold. Would slip out of his grasp the second he tries to focus.

A weight settles in his stomach, his muscles clenching. He wanted…

The Tsar laughs as Poe sighs, pushing back as he runs the tips of his fingers along his skin. Triumph in his eyes. He takes Poe’s chin and turns him towards himself.

Poe goes with the touch, lightheaded and… he freezes, pain spikes into his chest. There’s a pause, a look of horror on his face before he practically throws himself off the Tsar, and scrambles back. He shakes his head rapidly, his eyes wild and glazed.

The Tsar frowned, about to speak.

“Poe!” You rush forward, panic gripping your chest. “Are you a-”

The second he sees you, relief rushes into his mind, presses solidly into his bones. He grabs hold of you, his skin hot and sweaty, “Baby, baby, baby,” he slurs, practically sobbing as you help him to his feet. Which is easier said than done.

He presses his body against you, whining the second there is a fraction of space.

“Poe, it’s okay,” You soothe, trying to keep him upright.

He buries his face into your neck, shivering and breathing hard. “It hurts.” He whimpers and you hold him tighter.

The Tsar drops to his knees, “A great insult has been cast to you by myself.” The guards all fall to their knees as well.

“I-” Your own gasp cuts you off as Poe kisses your neck, lightly sucking on your skin as he grinds his very obvious erection against your leg.

“I will sort this disservice with the traders, please, I offer any future trades to go directly through me and my house to ensure its standards.”

“Thank you,” you manage to get out, as you grip Poe’s wrists to stop him from undressing you then and there. “There is no ill will, please let me leave you with Keseun as a sign of my appreciation.”

The Tsar nods deeply, “I will accept, and will repay you for your generosity in the future.”

Poe wriggles one hand free, pushing his fingers under your shirt.

“I, thank you,” you bow your head, “I need to be getting back to my ship and-”

Poe kisses your cheek, nipping lightly at your jaw as he tries to press his lips to yours.

“Please,” The Tsar gestures to the side, “Let me show you our hospitality, at least while the effects are still strong in your mate.”

You want to refuse, you want to get the hell out of there. But there’s no way you can get Poe to your ship like this.

You nod and are quickly guided to a lavishly decorated room. You barely get the chance to thank the servant before Poe’s tongue is in your mouth.

It’s dizzying, desperate the way he moves against you, how his hands slide and tug at your clothing. He pushes you back, up against the door.

“Poe– Poe,” You manage to pull yourself away, to resist getting caught up in his warmth. You have no idea how this worked out, maybe Poe had gotten himself together for long enough to throw himself away from the Tsar and to you?

“You okay?” You hold his cheeks, stroking his feverish skin.

“Need you,” he moans, his eyes soft and dilated.

“I’m so sorry.” You mutter. God, you had to find something, do something, knock him out for a few hours until his body worked this out of its system.

“Why? Why? You saved me.” He bites his lip, rubbing his hips against yours.

“Hey, hey, let’s see if we can-”

“I love you, you know that?”

You freeze, your mind blanking out for a second.

“Ever since Heiran. Ever since then, I knew it, I love you.”

“Poe, you’re not thinking straight, the, the S-”

“I should have kissed you on Heiran,” he closes his eyes, pressing his face into your hands and sighing. His skin is burning, desperate for the relief of your touch. “I should have kissed you after, I was scared. Scared you’d reject me…” His eyes are shining when they open, “But you can, you can say no. I won’t…”

He lets out the sweetest sob when you lightly kiss him, moaning into your mouth as you wrap your arms around him and pull him close.

“I should have kissed you on Heiran,” you whisper, “I wanted to.”

He groans, rocking lightly against your legs to take the edge off the deep ache in his stomach. “I…” He bites his lip, it hurts. The weight is so much, too much. All consuming now that he knows you want him to.

“Here, it’s okay,” you turn him around so that his back is flush with your chest. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” You kiss his temple, his skin feverish and sweaty as you slide your hand under the fabric around his waist.

He moans, grabbing hold of you desperately as your fingers touch his velvety length.

“It’s okay.” You soothe as you start to stroke him in earnest. “You’re safe with me.”

Thank you for reading!

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merasunaar · 1 year ago

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Golden happiness comes when you know you can buy gold at minimum of 10 rupees - Mera sunaar

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honeyedmiller · 1 year ago

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Birthday Girl | Joel Miller

pairing: fiancé!joel miller x fiancée!f!reader

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

warnings: lots of fluff, sweet fiancé joel, no outbreak, smut (birthday sex heh— f oral receiving, unprotected piv, fingering), joel talks you through it, praise, pet names (baby, darlin’, my love, princess), no use of y/n.

word count: 2.1k

author’s note: so today’s my 25th birthday and this is extremely self-indulgent. i’d love for someone to do this for me on a birthday in the future 🥹 also sorry for any mistakes, it was written rather quickly. this wasn’t revised. hope y’all enjoy <3

synopsis: Joel gives you a sweet surprise on your birthday.

divider by @saradika-graphics 🤍

“Baby. Baby, wake up.” The deep vibrato of Joel’s soft voice woke you, eyebrows pinched together as you slowly blinked open your eyes to wake up.

You mumbled something incoherent and Joel chuckled, knowing you didn’t like to be woken on days you got to sleep in.

“Get up, birthday girl, I have a surprise for you.” Joel kissed your forehead, then your nose, followed by one that lingered on your lips. You smiled against his lips and stretched your arms above your head, stiff joints popping in the process.

“What time is it?”

“It’s nine. I know you like to sleep in a little later, but I have something for you downstairs.”

You blinked your eyes fully awake as they adjusted to the ample rays of sun shining through the curtains in your shared bedroom. Your gaze shifted to Joel and it immediately softened. The man you love more than anything stood before you with a crooked smile on his face and messy bed hair; body adorned with those delicious gray sweats you loved on him so much and a green t-shirt you always thought he looked good in.

Just the sight of him nearly made your mouth water, but you checked yourself to behave as you’d just woken up. He held his hand out for you to take, and your soft digits slotted in his as he helped you up gently from bed. He tugged your hand to follow him downstairs, and you complied easily.

As soon as you got downstairs, you saw rose petals atop the coffee table with two gift bags and a bottle of your favorite wine.

“Joel, baby,” You grin, looking at him. “All for me?”

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. “‘F course, my love. But let’s eat breakfast first.” He pulls you into the kitchen, and a sweet aroma fills your nose. You look down at the island, seeing all of your favorite breakfast foods. Joel even made a plate of chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream on top in the form of a smiley face.

You get teary-eyed at his sweet gesture, not ever getting used to the idea of someone caring so much for you on your special day. To him it could’ve just meant making breakfast and buying a couple of gifts, but to you, it meant the whole world.

“Thank you so much, Joel. This is so thoughtful.” You wrap your arms around his torso, giving him a chaste kiss.

“I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you too handsome.” You grin up at him, enjoying the intimate moment of being wrapped in his embrace. He moves his hands down to your ass and taps it softly, slightly separating his body from yours.

“Let’s eat breakfast.”

After breakfast, Joel insisted that you opened your presents with a promise that you’d be able to drink your wine in the evening with dinner. You tucked your legs under yourself as you leaned back against the couch, Joel handing you the first gift bag. You smile up at him and thank him, opening it carefully.

You removed the black velvet box tucked inside, opening it to reveal a pretty gold watch with an emerald green face that you’d been wanting for awhile. You gasped in awe, admiring the beautiful piece as you rotated it in your hand.

“It’s so beautiful, Joel. Thank you.” You kiss his cheek, carefully placing the watch back into the box. He hands you the next one and plants a heavy, warm hand on your bare thigh, rubbing circles into your soft skin. You open it up to find a gorgeous lavender lingerie set. The soft lace slides over your fingertips as your eyes spark with something darker, full of desire as you look back up at Joel.

“I love it. Thank you, Joel.” You sit up on your knees to face him, taking his face in both hands as you bring him in for a kiss.

He immediately reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your waist as he coaxes you to lay onto the plush carpet beneath you. You untuck your legs and open them for him so he can easily slot his broad body between them. He deepens the kiss as he cradles the back of your head, his other hand moving underneath his oversized t-shirt you were wearing.

“Y’should wear the set on our honeymoon.” He breathes against you, breaking your lips for a few seconds before reattaching his lips to yours. You didn’t have time to respond so you moved your hands up to his thick curls, giving them a small tug.

His calloused hands travel up until they reach the soft, pillowy flesh of your breasts, squeezing generously as he toys with one nipple between his index finger and thumb. You moan into his mouth, bucking your hips up to feel that he’s already rock hard in his gray sweats.

Arousal was already thick in your panties, and you were dying to be touched by Joel.

“Joel, please.” You whimper, needing his fingers, tongue, cock, anything to ease the ache in your core.

“What the birthday princess wants, she gets.” He teases, nipping your collarbone before sliding his hands up your body to remove his shirt from you. He moves one hand down your sternum, skating his fingertips over your skin. Goosebumps rise at his touch, and he looks down at you with a knowing smirk.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, pleading with your eyes as best as you can. Joel’s gaze softens as he moves down to kiss you, moving his lips down your body. He makes sure to stop at each of your breasts, swirling his hot tongue around the pert buds before sucking lightly. You moan louder this time, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

“Fuck, Joel.” You’re breathless and soaking, canting your hips up. Joel finally moves down, nipping as he goes, kissing your tummy a few times before moving down to your clothed core. He groans at the dark wet patch he can see through your panties. He runs his knuckle over the soaked fabric, causing your body to jolt slightly at the contact.

Joel chuckles and moves down to kiss your clothed core, sticking his tongue out to lick the lace material. He was driving you crazy with his teasing, eliciting a whimper from your throat. He taps your hips twice, hinting to lift them up for him. You oblige instantly, and he easily slides the material off of your legs before spreading them again, tossing them over his shoulders.

Your glistening heat was met with his gaze, and he looked up at you. You card your fingers through his hair, stopping at the crown of his head. He smiles at you and wastes no more time, moving to give your exposed heat a kiss. You softly moan at the contact, continuing to run your hands through his soft hair.

He pokes his tongue out to lick your folds slowly, teasingly, lovingly. He was taking his time with you, lapping up your arousal at a languid pace. His tongue prodded into your entrance, fucking you slowly with the muscle. The curve of his nose was rubbing against your already sensitive clit as he did so, causing you to tumble toward your climax much faster than you’d anticipated.

Then again, you’d never met any man who could get you off as fast as Joel can. His skillful tongue knew exactly what it took to make you shake with pleasure, mouth constantly willing to praise your body over and over.

You were looking forward to it for the rest of your life.

You gripped his dark curls to signal you were close, still being shy about talking too much during intimate moments like these with him. Joel always tried to coax you, but he knew you and your body so well by now that he could tell you were on your way to an orgasm before you could even make a gesture.

“That’s it, pretty girl, there you go.” Joel coos, replacing his tongue with his fingers as they prodded your entrance. His fingers curled up to hit that sweet spot that drove you absolutely insane.

“J-Joel, god, fuck—”

“I know baby, I know. Feels good doesn’t it?”

Your brain couldn’t even conjure up a coherent sentence, so all you could do was nod desperately. The white hot coil brewing in your core was about to snap, waiting impatiently to take over your whole body with pleasure.

Joel brought his mouth down to your clit and sucked it a few times, finally sending you over the edge. Your legs shook as your cunt spasmed, head fuzzy with euphoria.

“There you go. That’s a good girl, let it all out. I’ve got ya.” Joel smeared his slick lips against your inner thigh, nipping your skin softly. The drag of his scruff had your skin on fire, sensitive to the touch.

It took you a minute to come down from your high, finally catching your breath as you stared at your fiancé with glossy eyes and a fucked-out gaze.

“Want more, baby? Need my cock too?” Joel smirked, that same smug look seeming to be permanent on his face.

“Please,” You croaked out. “Need it so bad. Need you so bad, baby.”

“Usin’ your manners n’ all. I’m all yours, darlin’.” Joel tossed his t-shirt over his head, stripping himself of his sweatpants and boxers as well. He was painfully hard, pre cum seeping from the weeping head of his cock.

Your gaze shifted back up to his as he hovered above you, a soft look in his eyes that made you fall even more in love with him. He placed one hand by your head to steady his arm as he took his other one to stroke himself before lining up with your slick entrance. His eyes flicked back up to yours, and you gave him the smallest of smiles to let him know it was okay.

He slowly slid into you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, legs mirroring your arms as they wrapped around his torso.

He leaned down to kiss you and you both sighed into each other as he reached the hilt, starting off by slowly rocking his hips. He kept whispering sweet praises in your ear— takin’ me so well, you’re so beautiful, love you so much, can’t wait for you to be my wife.

Your wedding was only a few months away, and the thought of spending forever with your best friend in the whole world meant everything and more to you.

Joel’s head dropped to your shoulder as his pace picked up, breathing ragged as his hips snapped into yours.

“God, you feel so good Joel. No one ever compares to you, my love. Can’t wait to—” You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel your second orgasm slowly start to build. “—Can’t wait to be your wife. Spend the rest of my life with you.” You cry, hands moving to his back as you slide your fingers down to the plush of his ass.

His hips rocked violently into yours at this point, groaning at your words.

“My wife.” He grunts, and the slide of his heavy cock in and out of you at an unforgiving pace had you seeing stars.

“M-husband.” Your words were slurred, absolutely cock drunk on the man pounding into you. That same coil wound up tightly, and Joel could feel you squeezing him. He moved a hand down to your clit, giving you that extra push you needed before you were diving over the edge, orgasm crashing down like waves kissing the shore.

You chanted Joel’s name over and over, clenching around him to bring him to his end. His hips started to stutter, and he leaned down to nip your collarbone with kisses before burying his head in your neck as he reached his high.

His thrusts were sporadic, filling you up with everything he had to offer. He slumped down, cradling your body as if you were a fragile flower in a field of thorns.

Joel always made sure to let you know how much he loved you, even if it wasn’t through words. His actions said more than enough, loving you like you’ve never been loved before.

He kissed the crown of your head as he slipped out of you, catching his breath.

“Happy birthday, my love. I’ll be sure to make this year the most special you’ve had yet.” He squeezed you in his arms as reassurance following his sweet words.

And you, of course, knew that Joel Miller would lay down the whole world at your feet if he could. You had your best friend and lover all in one by your side, and that’s all you could wish for this year, and the many more to come.

tags: @party-hearses ; @ilovepedro ; @bastardmandennis ; @nostalxgic ; @tinygarbage

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