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eraenaa · 6 months ago

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Silent Passions

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader Tag List

Synopsis: You and Aemond had been promised to one another before you were even born. And when the time came for you to meet, all were curious to see what was to come when soon to be spouses only shared one thing in common: your want of silence.

Warnings: Unwanted sexual advances from Daemon Targaryen, ¿Softer Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 8,678 (bear with me pls)

A/N: Based on a request where they wanted "Aemond x Tyrell Reader (which has the personality of Francesca Bridgerton), and when they are about to get married, Daemon tries to seduce her, making Aemond distrust her."

A flower promised to a dragon. Long before you were born, you, a daughter of House Tyrell, had been the intended to be wed to the second son of the King, Prince Aemond Targaryen. Your mother was one of the scarce friends the Queen had made in the court after her estrangement with Princess Rhaenyra. You were born in the walls of the keep, the queen in attendance of your birth, smiling widely as the nurse announced that you were a girl— she was the first person to hold you after your mother and the wet nurse who handed you to her. “Oh, such a beauty she is…” The Queen cooed as she held you in her arms. Your mother smiled through her tiredness at how quickly the queen had taken to you.

“She would make the most wonderful princess,” The queen sighed and returned you to your mother, turning her head towards the door where your promised groom already stood. Prince Aemond waddled to his mother. The boy was only two years old but was already meeting his intended. The queen took her son into her arms, lifting him up to see his future bride, who whined in her mother’s arms. Aemond furrowed his brows, stuck out his tongue, and made a noise of disapproval when he saw the pink-faced babe. “That’s not quite nice… show respect for your future wife,” The queen smiled and brushed the silvery locks of her son.

That was the first and last time you and the prince met. Your mother and father returned to Highgarden as their stay in court was cut short with your father needing to return to his seat. For the first six and ten years of your life, you were promised to a man you have never met. Bearing the plight of women before you, promised to a man, not because of your will or your love for him but merely for status and to appease those who stood on high stature. You were defenseless as they paved your life before you, forcing you down a road that was often traveled by but many did not wish to cross.

“We are to return to Kingslanding.” Your father suddenly announced. The dinner table went silent. The boisterous laughs and jests of your three older brothers and the babbles of your younger twin brother and sister growing hushed. “Why?” You asked quietly, breaking the silence. You pet the fur of your beloved feline, trying to calm your nerves as your mind brought forth a reason. “The queen requested our presence, dearest… it is time to meet your betrothed.” Your mother smiled and took hold of your hand, lightly squeezing it in comfort, thought you felt none. You lowered your gaze and tried to shut out the return of loud voices around the table.

It was not that it was unexpected… it was just… wholly overwhelming. You took a few moments and a few more bites of your supper before excusing yourself from the loud table, needing peace and quiet. “Are you well, sister?” Your oldest brother, Edward, asked in concern, pausing his conversation with your other brothers, Edgar and Edmund. “Yes, I’m just tired.” You said with a small smile and left the dinner table with your pet.

The matter of your betrothal with the prince was not at all an old matter. Ever since you were a child, they have instilled in your mind that you were Prince Aemond’s intended. That one day, you will be his bride. It was a subject you found troubling— for how can one live at ease, being promised to a man they had never met before? How could one truly live their life if their purpose is only to be married off— treated practically as a broodmare.

You were alone with your thoughts until you heard the faint knock on your door and your brother, Edmund, slowly opening it and peeking his head inside your chambers. “Yes?” You asked and sat straighter, removing your eyes from the fire you stared upon.

“I am just making certain that you’re well.” He said softly and fully opened your chamber door, stepping in and bringing you a piece of cake for you had missed the dessert portion of your dinner. “Thank you,” You say gratefully, but simply place the piece of your favorite dessert on the table beside you, making your brother quickly grow suspicious. “What’s wrong?” Edmund asked in concern, taking his seat beside you.

You gave him a forced smile and shook your head. “Nothing, I told you, I’m just tired.” You say softly, but your brother’s frown severed. “You’re clearly lying— no matter how tired you are, you always have energy for cake.” Your brother sighed, making you sigh as well. “I’m… I’m scared,” You admitted. Your brother nodded in understanding, “I would be surprised if you weren’t,”

You twiddled with the ends of your hair as you and your brother were enveloped in a heavy, suffocating silence. “It’s just— I have been prepared for this since I was a babe… It’s all I know, but at the same time, I know nothing. I have no idea about him. What my life would be like after our marriage.” You say, your voice trembling with fear. “And I have been hearing rumors…” you say cautiously, your eyes upon your pet, who slept soundly on your lap. “Rumors? You are never one to listen to rumors, "Your brother said in surprise; his sister was always indifferent to whispers and gossip.

“Last summer, our cousin Eliza had gone to court… and there she observed Prince Aemond for me. To report to me what he was like because I had no idea of my future husband,” You began to recount the favor your cousin had done for you to ease your nerves about the marriage. “And?” Your brother leaned closer in curiosity. “She said he was… cold, aloof. Standoffish— ruthless when training with his sword. Indifferent, bordering into insulting to all members of the court.” You say quietly, uttering the harbored fear of your betrothed for almost a year now. Edmund licked his lips; your cousin Eliza was never one to exaggerate.

“P—Perhaps it was just that summer… mayhap he has changed with the season,” Your brother tried to give a comforting smile, but it turned wary, neither of you believing his comforting but empty words. “I’m sorry, sister,” Your brother said quietly after a moment, looking at you with empathy. He also wondered how you would fare when married to a dragon prince and being a member of the den of vipers that was the court.

You had always been timid, quiet, demure. He had always been skeptical of this betrothal set between you and the prince. He recalled how your father wanted to contest it, to break off the betrothal in your adolescence, seeing that his daughter was too soft for the harshness of royalty, but your mother did not wish for it, scared that it would offend her friend, the queen.

“I don’t expect much from the marriage,” You spoke, “I… I only wish for him to be kind and perhaps grant me my solitude from time to time,” You added, and your brother nodded, “We shall see to it that you have it, sister. If we are to prove that the prince is ungallant or disagreeable, we shall convince Mother and Father to free you from him,” Your brother swore, and you gave him a sad smile, unconvinced by his promise but touched by the gesture of it.

Edmund left his sister to the quiet she reveled and needed; Edmund marched in search of his other brothers. “She’s scared,” He announced as he found them in the drawing room; Edward, the eldest of them, lifted his gaze, “Who wouldn’t be?” He asked rhetorically as he sipped on his wine. “Are we truly that indebted to the crown? That we must oblige them with our dear sister?” Edgar questioned, “We are not indebted; our mother is,” Edgar replied. Your mother is forever grateful for her friend, the queen, who had shown her kindness during her time in court as a girl. She was greatly looked down upon, her father’s house inconsequential to the realm and often seen as a burden— through her friendship with Queen Alicent, she had risen through the ranks and had even secured a match with the heir of Highgarden.

“Well, surely our sister is too great a price for this… emotional debt, especially when you consider the others who had wished to be her suitor, princes from Dorne and Essos who had sung her praises and showered her gifts for years. Yet they will force her to settle for a second son. She has not even met him! Not a letter or a token to show goodwill to his betrothed,” Edward sighed at his brother’s query. “What would you have us do?” Edgar asked, “I do not know… but if Prince Aemond is truly as harsh and tempestuous as Eliza and the realm says, we must convince them to break the betrothal.” Edmund was contented as his brothers agreed, all concerned for your marriage with a prince you had not even met yet.

“Is all these frills truly necessary?” Aemond grumbled as he was being fitted for new garments, suffering through the needed preparations to meet his betrothed. “Yes. We cannot have you wear faded attire that reeks of dragon when you meet your betrothed. And I implore you to be kind and good-humored, Aemond. You must not scare off your wife,” Alicent sighed and nodded as the tailor bowed and finished taking the prince’s measurements. “She is not my wife,” Aemond gritted, “She is not your wife yet,” Alicent corrected, and Aemond shook his head. The dread in him was multiplying by the day. He was fortunate enough that his mother had not forced him to meet his betrothed years before, convincing himself that perhaps she had changed her mind and the betrothal could be broken, but alas, the fateful day to meet you has arrived.

Aemond had not met you nor heard anything from you. He would think it common courtesy for you to send him at least a letter, to know him before this doomed marriage, but you had sent none— no introduction or anything. He did, however, hear talk about you, the bloomed beauty of the reach. A lady who was already betrothed the moment she was born but was still lined up by men who hoped to be her suitor. Aemond scoffed at the thought, perceiving you as promiscuous and maybe even defiled. Aemond met your cousin last summer, the lady Eliza, loud and not at all chaste. A shameless flirt who went around the castle and made a spectacle of herself, she was not you, but Aemond liked to believe that that is how you acted as well.

Aemond tried to calm himself, to take his thoughts away from your arrival, but it would seem the castle was a growing reminder of you. He walked passed the great hall that was being dressed up for your family’s arrival. He passed the gardens where gardeners had been tending to flowers that were neglected, fretting that your family would take the wilted flowers as an offense. Aemond shook his head and walked through the guest wing, and saw how your chambers were being prepared. Aemond gritted his jaw and decided to retire early that day, but it would seem even the royal wing of the castle was being dressed up for your arrival. He frowned as he passed a once-boarded-up room being cleaned, “Who is to stay here?” Aemond asked a maid, believing his mother would place you in a chamber that was only a few steps from his own, a rather scandalous decision.

“The prince Daemon, my prince, the hand says he is to stay for the moon,” A maid bowed, and Aemond furrowed his brow before giving a nod to dismiss the maid, and he walked off to his chambers; it would seem that it was not only your arrival he must worry about, he must worry about the arrival of his uncle as well.

After five days of travel, you and the whole of your family arrived in Kingslanding. You took deep breaths before exiting the carriage, your kin being welcomed by a row of knights along with the Queen and her children. You could not even bear to look at anyone but the queen, scared to let your gaze travel to your betrothed. Your brothers stood by your side, offering support as all three pairs of their eyes assessed the prince, who had a look of disinterest. Edmund turned to his brothers, trying to see if they as well felt the animosity from the one-eyed prince that was easily felt. Through their eyes, they communicated silently and agreed.

You straightened your back as you felt the Queen’s gaze upon you; only then did you raise your raise your gaze fully and presented her with a pretend smile. “My queen,” You curtsied lowly in respect; Queen Alicent smiled fondly and offered her compliments. The queen bemused for her son to have such a comely wife. She turned to her side as she felt Aemond had still not stepped forward or had taken the initiative to introduce himself.

Aemond sighed as he stepped forward and stiffly, almost reluctantly, bowed before you. He was staring at the skirts of your dress, refusing to look upon your face. He watched as the fabric moved as you curtsied before him. When you straightened your stance, you stared at the floor, still not catching a glimpse of your betrothed.

You feel your brother Edgar’s arm link with yours as your family is escorted inside the walls of the Red Keep. The royal family walked in front of yours, and only then did you dare to look upon your betrothed. Recalling how your cousin had told you that prince Aemond was the taller of the two princes and had a curtain of straight, silver locks.

Aemond felt your stare, and it took great restraint upon himself not to turn and gaze upon you to see the actuality of his intended. To deduce if the talk of your beauty was true or just another hoax.

Aemond felt his mother step closer to him, “Invite your betrothed to the gardens— begin to acquaint yourselves with one another.” The queen whispered, and Aemond rolled his eye. “They have been traveling for five days; let them rest first before you force us to these rituals.” Aemond quietly spoke. His words were easily covered by the chatter of your brothers and two younger siblings, but he still had to hear a word to be uttered from your lips. “Very well then, but I expect you to sit and get to know her later during supper,” Alicent warned, and Aemond resisted verbalizing his disapproval, simply nodding along and going about his mother’s orders just as the dutiful son that he was.

You and Aemond sat quietly in your seats as the table was filled with chatter. Aemond was not accustomed to it; their usual supper was suffocatingly silent; the only thing to be heard was the clatter of silverware upon porcelain and the breathing of his kin. Now, it was filled with varying conversations from your brothers and his, along with the chatter of the queen and her friend. Aemond had still not looked upon your face and nor you him. He stared upon your hand that was gripping your chalice; just from the looks of it, he could attest that it had never known a day’s work. The look of your flesh was soft, supple, unsullied—a stark difference from his own.

“Do you think they will go on well?” The queen whispered to her friend; your mother eyed you, who sat in her seat, your gaze upon your plate. Her eyes then turned to your future husband, who gazed at the flickering amber light of a candle in between you. “I do not know… my daughter relishes in silence,” Your mother admitted, and the queen hummed. “So does my son,”

You chewed on your lip as you noticed everyone at the table was chatting with one another, making small talk, except for you and your intended. You sat by his right, and you could make out the outline of him through the side of your eye; your view of him was a bit obstructed, but you could make out the contour of his nose. You battled with yourself if you should speak with him and, if you did, what topic would you bring up to converse with?

Aemond licked his lips as he caught the eyes of his mother, imploring him to speak with you. He clenched his jaw and took a few calming breaths before parting his lips to speak. “H… How were your travels, my lady?” Aemond asked through gritted teeth, his head slightly turned in your direction. You blinked, trying to deduce if you had actually heard him speak. You turned to face the prince, finally seeing your betrothed eye to eye. “It was fine, my prince,” You answered quietly with a small smile before you and Aemond were enveloped in silence once more.

Aemond did not know what overcame him when you spoke, and your eyes met his. He was expecting your voice to be shrill and loud— grating, even. He did not expect to hear such a soft, almost melodious tone when you spoke— a deep contrast from the voices of your kin.

You bit your lip as you saw your mother from across the table imploring you to keep up with your conversation with the prince. “I— I heard you are quite fond of the histories, your highness,” You inquired quietly, holding your breath as your eyes locked with the unique gaze of old Valyria once more. “I am,” he replied curtly, and you nodded, uncertain if you should speak further or let his answer be, sensing he did not wish for small talk, a sentiment you, too, shared.

You went quiet once more, and in other circumstances, Aemond would find relief in that, letting himself ease into the quiet, but there was an odd sensation in him that was pushing him to continue the unconventional conversation you two shared. Aemond, however, bit his tongue and let you two be enveloped in silence as you waited for supper to end.

Aemond returned to his chambers, mind plagued by how to perceive his first encounters with you. He had prepared himself for the possibility of him growing annoyed and aggravated by your presence, but he was surprised in himself as he felt no such emotions rising within him. In truth, he felt somewhat serene that night, a feeling he had not felt in a long time. However, instead of enjoying the calm in his raging being, he ignored it, untrusting of it. Convincing himself that that night was luring him into a trap, one you had devised, acting ever so demure and coy, not presenting your true nature and only deceiving the prince. He will not fall for it. He fortified himself to not lay prey to this calming allure you offered.

When the next morning came, Aemond was implored with the rest of his siblings to break their fast with yours. Your mothers forcing a bond between their children. Aemond expected his brother Aegon to complain and not abide by their mother’s wishes which is why he was caught off guard as his brother agreed, him being the first one to go to the gardens. “Your Highnesses,” Aemond heard your brothers greet in unison as you four stood and curtsied and bowed before the three of them.

Aemond first assisted his sister to a chair before finding one for himself, and by fate, the only seat left was the one next to yours. Aemond sat quietly and tried to finish his meal as fast as he could without appearing crude. He listened in to the chatter across the table, surprised that you and his sister struck up a conversation as well. Aemond listened intently to your voice, trying to see if the volume of your speech was forced to lower or if that was just actually the way you spoke, soft— calming.

He did not pay mind to the subject you and his sister discussed, but he supposed he should have as he suddenly heard quiet laughs emitting from the both of you. Aemond felt an odd warming in his chest as he heard you laugh; it was almost… surreal to hear it. Your laugh was what he imagined nymphs’ laughs would sound like as he read about them in his books. He was in a trance; it was… out worldly that even he, the well-spoken and silver-tongued prince of the realm, was speechless on how to describe it.

He was proven wholly wrong as he based your manners to be alike your cousin. You were a stark difference from the lady Eliza, and a part of Aemond had hoped you were like her because then, he could justify the prejudice against you that settled and bloomed in his heart. Now, he must come to terms with shedding his cruel perception of you and might actually make an effort to know his betrothed better. Aemond stayed in the gardens that morning a while longer than he had anticipated, trying to deduce your character as you spoke with his sister and interacted with your brothers. A part of him still believes that what you presented was an act, that you were not as demure and chaste as you lead them to believe. But as he saw your small smiles, timid eyes, and flushed cheeks when Aegon would speak of such inappropriate topics, he started to feel as if you were being genuine.

As the sun began to descend higher into the skies, the children of the queen and her friend decided to depart from the gardens, the heat proving to be too great for comfort. “My lady, would you perhaps like a tour of the keep?” Aemond boldly but quietly asked, he felt the eyes of your brothers turn to him, but he was trying to capture your gaze. A gaze that he had trouble locking upon his, your eyes always darting around the room, difficulty in holding prolonged eye contact. “I would very much like that, my prince,” You smiled, and Aemond stood straighter, feeling his knees give out under him just because of your smile.

Your brother’s eyes followed you as you and the prince detached yourselves from the group. “Should we not follow them?” Edmund questioned, “Are they allowed to go about without an escort?” Edgar then asked, their queries pointed towards their eldest brother. “I— I do not know… perhaps we should just let them get to know each other, and if sister has any concerns, that is when we shall intervene.” Edward decided, his eyes following your departing figure that was next to a silver prince.

Aemond was not entirely certain as to how he would go about touring you along the Red Keep; the castle was dreary and had nothing of note to look upon, so he took you to the gallery. It was a less frequented room in the castle filled with portraits of his family’s history as well as some of Westeros. You and Aemond stood before a portrait of the conqueror and his wives, him retelling the histories that you already knew of, but you still listened intently because there was just something in his voice that entranced you. It was deep, velvety, and quiet— holding a sense of calm that enveloped you with every word he uttered.

Aemond guided you towards another portrait, but he noticed your gaze had shifted to the side of the room, your gentle gaze upon a harp. “Do you play, my prince?” You questioned, unable to resist the instrument that sat lonesome to the side, dusted and neglected. Aemond followed you, “No, I do not,” he answered, his eye going to your fingers, which seemed to itch to touch the strings of the unused harp. “Do you?” He asked, already guessing the answer. Aemond held his breath as your eyes finally locked with his, “I do,” you said, voice holding a pitch of excitement about the subject. There was a beat of silence, neither of you knowing what to do or say.

“Would you like to play it?” Aemond questioned and he felt his stomach grow warm as a smile appeared on your lips when you nodded. You ventured closer to the dusted seat, but Aemond was quicker to reach it and wipe away the remnants of lapsed time. “Thank you,” You say quietly as the prince stands by your side and observes you play.

Aemond was never one to enjoy music or songs, but he must admit, there was something captivating about how you played the harp. The tune you played was one he had not heard before, something bright and lively yet still soothing. Aemond stood in quiet awe, watching as your fingers danced along the strings and how your eyes closed, and there was a tranquil smile on your lips as you played the tune. Aemond tried to resist it, but he could not help but help himself as a smile twitched on his lips as he listened to your melody, which, unfortunately, quickly came to a halt.

“It’s not finished yet,” You say in slight embarrassment, daring to turn to the prince, who you were surprised to see have a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You wrote that?” He questioned, and you nodded, “Well, I try. I don’t think I'm quite good at it, if I am being honest— but my father did say that this piece holds the most promise.” You say sheepishly. “I quite enjoyed it,” Aemond admitted, and that compliment made your heart grow warm. “I’m glad,” You smiled, and another silence took the room, the silence you and he found comfort in.

With each day spent trying to acquaint with one another, you would like to beleive you and Aemond had reached a deeper understanding. Each of your perceptions made of each other before your meeting shed as you and him began to know each other’s actuality.

There was a secret language between you, a silent one, at that. An agreement that neither of you had to fill up the gaps and lags in your conversations, simply enjoying the quiet, not forcing another topic as a filler. Others around you found it odd that you and your betrothed just walked and sat in silence, occasionally speaking of something that only you and he were privy to, but you and Aemond quite liked your arrangements.

“They just sit there in silence,” The queen fretted to her friends, finding the design of your accord quite odd. Fretting that the silence was brought by indifference rather than just a mutual and deeper understanding, because how could one get to know the other in silence? “Aye, they do, but they don’t seem… bothered or disinterested by it— I dare say they are fond of it,” Your mother said as the two observed you and Aemond, who walked along the gardens in silence, relishing in the sounds of nature.

“My uncle shall arrive today,” Aemond broke the silence, assisting you to a seat for the two of you to have refreshments, “Oh, Prince Daemon?” You asked, wanting to make certain of who he spoke of. Aemond gave a nod and watched as your delicate fingers poured him a cup of tea. “Are you close with him, my prince?” You wondered. “No, not at all. I’ve only met him once,” He answered as he placed two cubes of sugar upon your cup, noting that is how you took your tea.

“However, I must admit that I am intrigued by him.” You nodded, “I always hear talk in this court as to how the lords and ladies compared me to him in his youth,” Aemond confessed, “And does that please you?” Aemond thought about your question for a moment, staring into your gaze that has grown accustomed to looking upon his. “No,” he answered, watching as you nodded. “I would understand; it wouldn’t fare well if we are always compared to another’s likeness,” You mused before you and the prince were enveloped in the inevitable silence once more.

When supper was nearing, Aemond felt excitement in seeing you once more. He had come far from the prince who dreaded your company; now, he sought it—altering his usual routine in order to spend more time with you.

Aemond was the last one to enter the dining hall, his eye searching your frame, feeling a smirk twitch on his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he realized his uncle had taken his place. “Prince Daemon, we have saved you a seat next to the king,” Alicent spoke as she noticed Aemond’s arrival, noting how Prince Daemon was quick to spot you when he entered the hall and made a beeline towards you— chatting with you who had no interest in small talk but still participated out of respect.

“I am quite comfortable here, next to Lady Tyrell,” Daemon refused the seat, only settling further into his chair as he turned to the girl next to him, but her gaze was turned to one of his nephews, the one who had a resemblance of him in his youth. You hear the quiet yet disapproving hum of your betrothed as he orders a squire to place a chair by your right, just enough space for him to sit next to you. The new place on your right offered closer proximity between you and Aemond as you had scooted away from his uncle, but he did not like that you were on the side of a damaged eye, unable to see your outline.

Supper was tenser than the ones shared before; the chatter had died, and the table was enveloped in silence, but not the kind you and Aemond found comfort in. It was the silence that everyone feared and tried earnestly to alter, but no matter the attempts, it seemed futile.

Aemond clenched his fists around his utensils, hearing as his uncle tried to chat you up and you entertaining his queries. “So, what brings you and your family here, Lady Tyrell? Highgarden is quite a journey.” Daemon questioned. “They came for my betrothed and I to be acquainted,” Aemond suddenly interjected, turning his body to face you and his uncle, who he had noticed threaded closer to your side. Daemon hummed, quick to sense jealousy from his nephew. He knew he should be somewhat mature, but his mind could not help but conjure up possibilities to torment his brother’s second son. “Hm, you are quite fortunate to have such a lovely betrothed; it would seem the crown has favored you… I remember my first wife, Lady Royce, the bronze bitch whose sheep seemed to prove more comely than her,”

Your eyes widened at the elder prince’s words, disparaging his first wife so openly and offensively. “If my brother had provided me with a bride whose beauty was comparable to Lady Tyrell’s, perhaps there would be no need for me to leave my first wife… you are lucky, nephew,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he noticed Daemon’s eyes trail downward to your bosom that heaved ever so lightly as you were rendered uncomfortable by their topic.

You turned to your brothers, a plea in your eyes to save you from the princes you sat in between. Edward was quick to stand, “Come, sister, I shall escort you to your chambers,” He announced, and you let out a breath, Aemond standing as well to make way for you to exit, “Good night, my lady,” He bowed and boldly took your hand placed a kiss on your knuckles. A blush over, taking your cheeks as you curtsied before him, your mothers thrilled as they saw affection blooming between the two of you.

“You looked quite uncomfortable,” Your eldest brother noted. “Is your betrothed proving to be ungallant? Must we intervene now and convince mo—“ You quickly shook our head, “No! Prince Aemond has been quite… lovely; cousin Eliza was somewhat wrong in her judgment,” You say quickly in defense of Aemond, who you had grown to deeply like the past few days. “I was just not prepared to meet a character such as the Prince Daemon,” You added, and your brother nodded in understanding; he, too, was scandalized as he heard the words uttered by the elderly prince.

“So, you have grown to be quite… fond of your betrothed,” You bit your lip as you hear a teasing tone in his voice. You sighed and felt a smile coming to your lips. Whatever fear you had for the marriage subsided with every silent and serene moment with Aemond. “I have.” You confirmed, and your brother nodded. Placing a kiss on your temple before you enter your chambers and get ready for the night.

It has been three days since Prince Daemon’s arrival, and Aemond has been growing peeved at how his uncle would always trail you. Aemond’s new routine of spending the quiet hours of his days with you that was quick to feel like second nature, abrupted by the arrival of his uncle. There were now only scarce moments where you and Aemond were left in each other’s company and quiet, his uncle always trying to speak with you, and you could not deny him conversation, for it would be impertinent.

It was past high noon when Aemond concluded his training with Ser Criston, his feet hastily carrying him away from the tiltyard to find you, who had frequented the gallery to play the old harp that found new life from your touch. He stood by the threshold and was quick to grow annoyed as he noticed his uncle was in your presence once more.

“You do not speak much, do you?” He heard Daemon question, your fingers ceasing to play the instrument. “I take it upon myself to not speak unless spoken to, my prince. I do not wish to bother anyone. I know how… annoying it can be when one just simply wishes for peace and quiet, but there is an insistent noise you must attend to.” You say, and Aemond was quite surprised as he heard a slight in your comment, but his uncle did not seem to catch it.

Aemond observed as you returned to play the harp, the melody easing whatever tension he harbored, but it was quick to return as his uncle wandered closer to you. Aemond stood rigid by the door; your back was face to him and he saw his uncle turn his head towards the door, a smirk on his lips as he stepped further into your space. Daring to take a lock of your hair in his fingers, twirling the lock.

You tensed in your seat as you felt Prince Daemon’s finger twirl your hair. You looked at the strings of the harp wide-eyed, uncertain of what to do.

When Aemond noticed your unmoving frame that did nothing to hinder his uncle’s actions, he removed himself from the door frame and marched back to his chambers. Whatever understanding made between the two of the past days was quickly forgotten as his cruel perceptions of your nature, he mustered before meeting you returned.

You sat tensely at dinner that night once more, waiting for the presence of your betrothed to somewhat comfort as his uncle sat next to you again. When Aemond entered the hall, you placed your hopeful gaze upon him, but he did not turn to you, ignoring the empty seat next to you and instead to a seat in what was supposed to be the place of his uncle.

Throughout dinner, you would peek a look at Aemond, who refused to meet your gaze. There was a prominent scowl on his face, and his demeanor held an air of indifference that strayed dangerously close to animosity. You started to wonder if the Aemond you stared upon right now was the Prince your cousin had warned you about. And perhaps the past few days spent with him was an act, a fictitiousness in him to appease his mother so the marriage would proceed. You were disheartened by the thought.

When the following morning came, Aemond’s eye followed as you roamed the halls alone, following behind you but not close enough for you to notice your presence. You led him back to the gallery, where both of you were caught in surprise when his uncle stood in the room, waiting for you. Aemond clenched his fists, believing he was a witness in your clandestine meetings. The scandal of it! Here you are, an engaged woman meeting with a man who was old enough to be your father and was married to the King’s chosen heir!

“My prince,” you curtsied as you spotted him near the harp, having the urge to turn back around and exit the room. Uncomfortable to be alone in the Rogue Prince’s presence. “All alone? Where is your betrothed?” Daemon mused, stepping closer to you. “I— I do not know,” You said and backed away from the prince who was threading closer to your space once more. “Hm, it’s quite foolish of him to leave his lovely bride to be all alone… especially in this keep where danger always lurks,” Your lips parted at his words. Was that a threat? You thought.

You swallowed thickly and turned to the door, wanting to make an escape but not one so obvious that it would make suspicion rise. Daemon smirked as he saw fear in your eyes; it was so easy. You were such an innocent and sheltered thing. He could smell you from leagues away, a lovely and tempting prey that a dragon could never resist. It was a shame that you were betrothed to his nephew, but perhaps that could still change.

You gasped as you felt Prince Daemon flush your bodies; you stared at him wide-eyed as he took hold of your cheek.

Aemond watched the scene; rage within burned bright and carelessly. He wanted to put a stop to whatever he witnessed, but he stood in wait, wanting to find evidence if this was truly how you were— promiscuous and would settle to be a whore of his uncle.

“My prince, wh—“ You panicked, trying to back away, but he held you still. “Such a pretty young thing you are… a shame that you’ll be wasted on my disfigured nephew,” You drew out all of your might and pushed away Prince Daemon, him stumbling only a few paces. You see a sinister smirk rise to his lips as he tries to close the gap between you once more, but you are quick to strike his cheek, rendering him in shock, and you take that opportunity to run out of the room and into safety.

Aemond was hidden behind a pillar, and as you passed, he saw clearly the distress on your face and how you were on the verge of tears, rendering him guilty for not coming to your aid as he had thought you were in want of his uncle.

Aemond saw as Daemon furiously marched out of the gallery in pursuit of you, but he was quick to step away from his hiding and face his uncle. “You dare try to sully her? Was my half-sister and your whores not enough? Must, in your old age, still prey on young innocent girls?” Aemond spat, ready to challenge his uncle in your honor. Daemon chuckled as the young prince stared at him wide-eyed. “You get ahead of yourself— they might compare you to me in my youth, but you are completely lacking of what it means to be a true Targaryen prince… you’d have to thank your cunt of a mother for that.” Daemon chuckled, and Aemond no longer hesitated to draw out his sword.

A battle between nephew and uncle commenced in the halls; both men wielded their weapons with such authority that neither one could draw blood. Daemon was somewhat impressed by his nephew. He thought the talk he heard of Aemond was just propaganda spread by his grandsire, but it would seem that his nephew knew his way with the steel. That, however, did not deter the prince, for Aemond was still completely inexperienced when compared to him.

One of the princes was near drawing blood when a band of Kingsguards appeared in the halls and were quick to separate the dueling princes. Daemon laughed as he was held back by the knights, his nephew still seething across from him, still ready to attack. The elderly prince brushed off the hold on his arms and laughed once more before walking away from his nephew, leaving their state as it was.

Aemond brushed off the guards and hastily marched in search of you, wanting to make certain you were well— wanting to offer his apologies for his judgments and lack of protection over you.

He knocked on your door, waiting on bated breath as he heard you shuffling inside. When you slowly revealed yourself, Aemond felt his stomach pit at the sight of your teary eyes that you tried to hide. “I’m sorry,” He was quick to breathe out, unable to stomach you in such a state of distress. Your brows knit together at his words, “What? My pri—“ Aemond shook his head and forced himself into your chambers.

“I’m so sorry, my lady… I—“ Aemond repeated but you still had no clue as to what he refers to. “My uncle, he is a depraved man; I should have protected you from him.” He explained as he saw confusion in your face. Your eyes widened at his statement, “You saw us?” You asked in fear that he would think you were tarnished. “I have, and I… I should have come to your aid, but instead, my mind cruelly thought you were in want of him; I apologize, my lady.” It felt foreign for Aemond to apologize, but it seemed to roll off his tongue effortlessly for you. He would never have fathom to encounter someone or the day that he would apologize earnestly, ready to beg for forgiveness.

“No… my prince, you need not apologize; it was not your doing,” you said, but Prince Aemond stubbornly shook his head. “It is my duty to protect you— to defend my lady wife.” You bit your tongue as he referred to you with such a title. It felt surreal… and you must admit it brought a stir in you that you quite liked.

You and Aemond were in silence once more, the silence both of you had gotten used to, the silence within each other that you both craved. The serene silence that could only be provided by each other. “Will you still… still have me? Even after my transgression?” Aemond dared ask, not wanting to live in the hope that there would still be a way that you would be his. Surely, you would be deterred to take him as your husband, for he could not even defend you with such a threat. Aemond studied your face, his knees growing weak as a smile spread across your lips. “I still want you, my prince,” You admitted, heat blooming in your cheeks as you said the words. Aemond could not help but cup your cheek, wanting to feel the warmth of them as they flushed with color before him.

“I must admit… I was dreading to meet you,” He said quietly, and he felt you nod. “I, as well… I was greatly warned that we might not see eye to eye.” You admitted. Aemond hummed and brushed his thumb across your soft skin, your bodies threading closer and closer. “I do not believe I would ever want someone as much as I want you,” Aemond confessed, his voice so low that if you had not felt his breath fanning your skin, you would think you had imagined his words. “I never thought anyone would understand me in the way that you do, my prince,” You breathed out as his face threaded closer to yours, his eye on your lips as you spoke.

“You’re mine… say it, my darling.” Your eyes fluttered closed at his words. “I’m all yours,” Quickly after you uttered the words, you feel his lips upon yours. A kiss filled with longing— impatience. A kiss that was long overdue, for how could either of you live for years without knowing each other? How could Aemond try to ignore your existence, and how could you try to deny this marriage? It was set the day you were born. You two were simply destined for one another.

As your lips parted, you smiled before your soon-to-be-husband. Aemond hummed in contentment and tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, inhaling your intoxicating scent deeply. “Shall we tell our mothers that they shall prepare for our wedding, then?” Aemond smiled, and you let out a quiet laugh as you nodded, letting him hold you. “And urge them to make haste,” Aemond’s eye twinkled with amusement as he dipped down to capture your lips once more.

A fortnight had barely passed before you and Aemond uttered your vows before the gods—an intimate wedding commenced, as you both requested. And it was followed by a family dinner after. Aemond was impatient, as were you, but you and he waited for the meal to end; for the past days, there was a need greatly bubbling inside him, having trouble finding restrtaint and contentment with just stolen kisses and touches.

When it was finally night, Aemond led you to his chambers, you already flushing in anticipation of what was to come. When he led you to your shared chambers, you were met by something covered in a white cloth. You frowned and turned to your husband, who simply smiled and closed the door behind you. “It’s a gift for you.” He said and stood before it. You stepped closer as he urged you to uncover what he had given, though you already had a sneaking feeling as to what it was.

Aemond watched with his heart in his eye as you beamed before him as you uncovered what he had given— a harp. Newer and grander than the one in the gallery, the body was plated with gold, and delicate carvings of flowers scattered its body. You bit your lip and step towards your husband, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips agaisnt his. “Thank you… I love it,” you said gratefully as your lips parted. Aemond simply hummed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were to exchange gifts… I could’ve gotten something,” You then say, fretting he would take offense.

Aemond shook his head. “You already have given me your hand; you are my wife. What more could I want?” Those words uttered, and the certainty in Aemond only made you melt further. He intertwined your lips once more, but the kiss shared held something wholly different from the ones shared before; it was urgent, filled with longing and desires that were greatly suppressed.

You feel breathless, but at the same time, you make no move to part your lips. You feel him lead you to the feathered bed, his hands on your waist as he sits you gently upon the cushion. You blushed as you felt his fingers hover at the bodice of your dress, itching to undo the laces, but there was trepidation in him. You bit the insides of your cheeks and took the initiative to do it yourself. Aemond sucked in a deep breath as your dress fell before him, revealing yourself only dressed in your shift.

Aemond fell on his knees before you, moving his hand to cup your cheek and the other to undress you further. He heard a moan escape your lips as he nipped your bottom lip. His cold hand cupped your breast that pebbled before his touch. You mewled his name as he parted your lips, your hands finding the buttons of his leather tunic.

You ran your hands through his smooth, chiseled chest and Aemond felt chills running down his spine at the feel of your hands on his skin. You let out a breath as you feel your husband lay you down, his weight atop you, his weeping length aligned with your glistening entrance. You sighed as you felt his finger tease your folds, Aemond resting his forehead up your shoulder as he felt your arousal. “You’re all mine, my darling,” Aemond breathed out against your lips and swallowed your whines as his length penetrated you.

Aemond groaned at the sheer feel of you clenching around him. Pleasure and guilt swirled within him as he saw your face contorted in pain, kissing away your tears as you acclimatized yourself with his length. He truly thought himself indifferent in the ways of pleasure, only succumbing to it occasionally when even he could not suffice his lust— but now, he was certain he knew what the fuss was all about when it came to fucking. He had only a taste of you, but he was certain he was addicted. It took a moment before your whines of pain turned into whimpers of pleasure, your husband breathing heavily as you urged him to speed up his pace, but Aemond was conscious not to break and hurt you further.

“Aemond, please… I wa— need more,” You breathed as Aemond’s thrusts were cautious. He bit his lip and sped up his pace ever so lightly, but that was not enough for you. With your legs circling his waist, you shifted your weight and placed yourself atop your husband. Aemond was rendered stunned by your actions, only watching in awe as you bounced upon his cock whilst you straddled his waist. He never thought you’d have it in you, but he supposed it was always the quiet ones who would be capable of the unexpected.

“You were so quiet the days before, little wife… but look at you now— your moans could be heard throughout the castle.” Aemond hummed, and his hands found home on your waist, assisting you as you writhed against his length. Your hands were planted on his chest as your hips worked against his in search of friction. “Husband, please,” you pleaded, knowing you would not come to what you searched for without his assistance. Aemond smirked and moved his hands to cup your behind and lifted his hips to thrust deeper and harsher into you.

“Yes… yes, gods, Aemond!” You cried as you heard him groan at how you scratched his chest, leaving imprints of your hands upon his skin. “Are you to come, my darling? Is my little wife to come at my cock?” He hissed as he felt his own release coming. His hands traveled your frame, cupping your tits and moving his head to take one into the cavern of his mouth. You nodded, your head that was tilted to the heavens, your back arched, and your husband’s name slipping your lips as you came undone. You hear him call out your name as he spills his seed deep in your cunt, your heavy breathings mixed as you collapse atop him, his lips finding yours once more.

“You truly are made for me,” he whispered against your lips. Feeling a surge of new and overwhelming emotions that you could not yet utter, all you could do was kiss his lips once more and bask in the presence of the man who had been bound to you the moment you were born.

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slaytheusurper · 2 months ago

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⭑ Better when you're here ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Sad!king!aegon x sister!reader

A/N: #needthat

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, pure filth, aegon whines so much I lost count, heavy mommy kink, sub aegon, fingering, piv sex, slight handjob, titty sucking (yes again), sad aegon.

Summary: Sad and needy Aegon just needs mummy to make him feel better :((((

Word count: 2.2k (pretty short blurb)

The gardens were your favourite place in the Red Keep, it was often quiet. And not to mention the beautiful view of the sea. You sat at one of the table’s in an alcove, it was nice and tucked away, giving you your own private space.

You read some book for a while and enjoyed your wine and lemoncakes. Because you never knew when it would be the last time you could sit here. You had been of age for two years now, and even though you have avoided marriage for quite a while, you never knew what your grandsire Otto Hightower had in mind.

Now you had at least some security since your eldest brother Aegon was now king and everyone was distracted by the war that loomed over Westeros like a black cloud. Only a few more drops of rain to form before the whole thing came crashing down.

Frustration and anxiety filled everyone's hearts and it was hard to pretend nothing was wrong. But the person you feared most right now was Aemond, he seemed to lose control everyday and he shocked the realm when he killed his own fourteen year old nephew at Storm’s End. However he was now to marry too, to some Baratheon girl and you knew that soon they would use you too, to make alliances with houses. Binded by a meaningless marriage.

You felt like it was all you were good for, and you saw how it affected Helaena and Aegon. Your heart broke for her, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone and live in peace, yet she must be queen. Aegon was of course also affected by this, ever since he became king he drank more than ever before and had even grown a bit of a belly. Still he remained of a nice physique.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you rode your dragons with him. He didn’t have much of a relationship with Helaena, seeing her more as his quiet sister than his wife and queen and for some reason it seemed better that way. She would be left alone more.

But you and Aegon were a different story, you liked to sneak around and have fun with him. He might not be a great king or a good man but he was a good brother to you. And you saw things in him that no one else seemed to. The crown seemed to only stress him out and you knew that he just wanted to live out his days drinking wine and relaxing but your mother and grandsire had other plans.

As of late you couldn’t see him much, council meetings took a great part of the day and he would always hide in his chambers afterwards. Your mother seemed to keep you away from him, for what reason you didn’t know. Your days went from watching Aemond train, flying around KIng’s Landing with Aegon and running around the Red Keep with friends to praying at the Sept, locked inside your chamber or helping Helaena with embroidery. That is why the gardens offered a nice escape.

Soon you would pay a visit to your elder sister and her twins. After a morning at the sept with your mother and sister you needed some alone time. But Helaena was always a calming and nice presence and it was good to keep her company.

After reading the last sentence of a chapter you closed the book, and decided it would be nice to sow with Helaena. As you walked through the halls of the red keep numerous ‘your grace’ and ‘princes’ surrounded you, staff getting out of your way. You ascended the stairs in the throne room, it was empty. Soon it would be supper time but there was enough time.

When you reached Helaena’s door you could already hear your niece and nephew playing, which put a smile on your face. You knocked twice and a handmaiden opened, letting you inside. Helaena was sitting on some blankets and pillows, already embroidering what looked like a blanket. She looked up and slightly smiled when you joined her side, children playing on their own blanket.

Getting handed some thread, a needle and a new fabric, as was the routine, you began to work on something for Aegon and if you worked hard enough you could bring it to him tonight. When you were about finished, a servant came in to fetch you and Helaena for supper with the family.

But when you arrived only Aemond, Alicent and Otto were there, Aegon’s seat was empty. Silently you both joined them and began eating without him. Supper was tense and silent as it had been for about a month now. When you had finished, you excused yourself and fetched the doublet you had finished before supper, wanting to bring a gift to your brother.

When you had fetched it you hurriedly made your way up to the king's bedchambers, you knew something was wrong with Aegon, all the stress had probably gotten to him. When you had almost reached the door Ser Criston Cole stood guard there. He bowed his head before he spoke; “Princess, the king does not wish to be disturbed right now.” He said politely.

“I understand, but I have something to cheer him up, so please, let me enter.” Ser Criston seemed to think about it, before releasing a sigh and opening the door for you, very softly as to not disturb his grace. You stepped inside and Cole just as softly as he opened the door, closed it again. It was now dark and Aegon’s fire was lit as he sat in a chair in front of it, you could hear the sobs coming from him. It broke your heart.

You quietly made your way towards him. “Aegon?” You called out. He didn’t lift his head. You walked around him so you were standing in front of him, he looked up with red stained cheeks, and red, tear filled eyes. “Oh Aeg- what happened?” You asked him, instead of answering he buried his head into your stomach, his hand gripping your dress as he sobbed into it. The doublet falling on the ground.

You caressed his messy short silver locks and he continued to sob for a while, in your embrace. Then he seemed to speak up; “They- don’t care about- me-” He choked against you in between sobs. “Who doesn’t care about you?” You were confused but he lifted his head from your now tear stained dress. “The- the- council- mother- my own hand- they don’t- care-!” He sobbed as he looked at you desperately.

But to your surprise he pulled you in his lap as his hands were still clinging to your dress. You gasped as you landed on his thighs, he buried his face in your chest instead and continued to cry, the doublet on the ground, forgotten. “Aegon they do care, especially mother, they just want the best for you. To help guide you since they have knowledge of war-” “No! They all hate me- everyone of them!” His breath on your skin gave you goosebumps. His hand now rested on your hip, keeping you in place.

“You’re the only one who loves me- I see that now- my beautiful smart sister.” He seemed to have exhausted his tears as they now stopped, he breathed heavily against your chest, nuzzling his face against your breasts. He must have had wine. “You love me? Right sister?” He mumbled against your breasts. “Of course I do, so incredibly much. I would do anything for you.” You soothed him, hand still grazing through his silver locks. His purple eyes stared up at you and he smiled slightly.

“Anything?” He asked softly. “Of course, you are not only my brother but my king.” You smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead. This stirred something in him and he breathed heavier again. His face and especially his nose grazed your neck and jaw, lips ghosting over the warm skin. Your own breath hitched in your throat at the feeling. “Aeg-” He ignored you and started to kiss and nip at the soft skin. You lightly gasped at the feeling, and then you felt something hard against your thigh.

“Brother I don’t think we should-” He stopped and looked at you with teary eyes. “I need this- I need you. Please- just- just let me make you feel good. To thank you. Please mummy.” That last part was whined against your chest where he let his hand graze the low neckline of your dress. Since it was warm earlier, it was quite thin and loose. Your body felt hot at his words, your lower stomach filled with an ache you didn’t understand.

His hand started then at the bottom of your leg, underneath your dress, as he caressed your leg moving up and up where you didn’t know you needed him. “I’m so hard for you mummy. All because of you.” He whined. His hand had finally reached your core, two of his fingers rubbing over your smallclothes, which were already wet with your slick. “Aegon-” You moaned, sparks went off in your body at his touch, you had no idea what he was doing to you but seven hells did it feel good. You hoped he would never stop, but still it felt wrong and guilt consumed you. Yet you didn’t stop him.

His other hand that didn’t tease your clothed clit was still busy with your neckline. The dress was loose enough for him to pull it down so your tits would fall out. He wasted no time in sucking on them. The feeling of his warm wet tongue sucking on your nipple made you release a moan. It felt way too good, it had to be a sin. Aegon himself moaned around your breast, bucking his hips up in need for friction. All your will to stop him had left you. Desire clouding your mind. You moved so that both of your legs were now on either side of his lap, the chair was big and comfortable enough to allow this.

Aegon released your nipple but never moved his hand from teasing you. But when you sat down, his hand trapped, he removed it and pulled at your dress, eager to remove it. You didn’t know why you did it, but you needed him. You helped him remove your dress and shimmied out of your small clothes as well. “Need to be inside you mummy.” You gasped at his fingers sliding through your now bare slit. His fingers then stimulating your clit. Your breath hitched when he put a finger inside you, going deeper until he found that spot that would make you see stars. He stretched you out a bit for a while until he got too impatient and grabbed your hand to place between you, over his bulge.

You instinctively squeezed it making him gasp. He moved your hand and quickly undid his breeches himself. He then reached for your hand again and helped you stroke his thick veiny cock. Pre cum started to dribble out over both your hands. And Aegon groaned at the sight. When he was almost about to cum for your hand alone, he removed it, as he did, he removed his fingers inside your cunt as well. Grabbing your hips instead, his cock was so hard it hurt and the feeling of his tip hitting your warm slick entrance almost made him cry out. He used one hand to guide his cock better inside you and you winced in pain. “It’ll be better soon, I promise.” He said softly.

You whispered okay and he buried himself deeper inside until he was fully sheathed inside you. Your clit hit his pelvic bone and a bolt of pleasure shot through you. You felt so sensitive and weak. When you felt like the pain went away you slowly started to grind and bounce on his cock, testing the waters. He whimpered in response, it just felt so good for him. He held on to your hips so you could start a steady rhythm and he knew he wouldn't last long. “So tight mummy- feels so good.” He sobbed. Squelching and slapping noises filled the room and you both forgot all about a certain guard outside.

Both of your moans filled each other's mouths as you held on tight to each other. Lost in pleasure you chase your release and started riding him faster, Aegon started to fuck up into you in response chasing his own high. “Mummy- I-I’m close- please- gonna fill you so good.” Aegon whined. This only spurred you on and soon you clenched down on his cock, fire striking through you, you had never felt such insane pleasure in your life. Aegon did not stop fucking into you though and only moments later he cried out as his warm seed filled you. He squeezed you against him tightly to hold you in place.

He came so much it started to drip out along his shaft, onto his balls and some drops even landed on the floor. You both caught your breath and Aegon didn’t let go of you. But after a few moments his grip loosened and you winced when his softening cock left you. He whined at your warm body getting up but you soothed him, just getting the rest of his clothes off and helping him to the bed. You laid down as well and he immediately crawled up against your chest. “Thank you mummy.”

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd smut #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #someone stop me from writing for these silver haired men #aegon targaryen x reader smut #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #king aegon #sub aegon #aegon targaryen x fem reader smut #aegon targaryen x fem reader

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javierpena-inatacvest · 4 months ago

Text

Dirty Laundry

Summary: Life with two toddlers has taken a toll on your sex life for the past few weeks, but after a surprisingly calm morning, you and Javi find a creative solution to solve your problem.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) vaginal fingering, paise kink, a breeding kink so dangerous that you may get pregnant just from reading, creampie, cum play, a loud washer and dryer, no actual laundry accomplished, domestic girl dad Javi, you'll always be famous

A/N: idk who unlocked my cell while I was ovulating, but once again I have escaped, and once again, we're makin' babies. I think I've convinced myself I don't know how to write anything else, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If wanting to give Javier Peña a football team worth of kids is a crime, then lock me up and throw away the goddamn key 🤠

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

For as much as you loved your daughters, it was safe to say that for the past two weeks, your pair of rambunctious toddlers had been doing very little for your sex life.

Your 4 year old Lucy had been going through a phase of having nightmares every night, and somehow ending up in you and Javi’s bed no matter what you tried. That, combined with trying to potty train your 2 year old, Elliot, (who was nowhere close to being the breeze her older sister it was when it came to the matter), on top of preschool, work, and life in general, you and Javi had barely gotten so much as a kiss in, let alone some quality time together.

It had been your hope to start trying for baby number three, but after 2 months of negative pregnancy tests and another month of complete chaos, despite your best intentions, “trying” had very much taken a backseat in your mental to-do list.

But this morning when you woke up, it was almost as if a wave of calm had washed over your house to reset the state of disarray you had been in the past few weeks- Both girls had slept through the night in their own beds, had woken up in good spirits, Elliot asked to use the bathroom multiple times, and both had been happy to play in the living room together quietly as you worked on catching up on some much needed laundry.

So calm, in fact, that Javi was almost worried when he came downstairs for work to hear near silence, apart from the occasional giggles from the girls as they arranged their Fisher Price Little People in their Play Barn and the washer running in the background.

“Hi Daddy!” Lucy cooed, toddling over to her dad, wrapping her arms around his waist as Elliot quickly followed behind, perching on his leg like a koala.

“Buenos días, niñas. (Good morning, girls).” Javi grinned, squatting down to kiss the wild, sleepy curls of his daughters’ heads, still slightly confused by the tranquil state of the house. “Where’s Momma?”

“Washing stinky socks.” Lucy giggled, pinching her nose and scrunching her face, pretending to have smelled something bad.

“Yeah, stinky socks.” Elliot echoed, sticking out her tongue.

“Oh yeah? Is it because my pollitas (little chickens) have stinky, smelly feet?” Javi teased, wrapping his arms around the girls, pulling them close to his chest as he tickled their sides, the three erupting in laughter and giggles.

“What’s goin’ on out here, huh?” You grinned, stepping out of the laundry room with your arms playfully crossed against your chest to see your husband and daughters in a tickle tackle pile on the living room floor.

“Daddy said we have stinky feet! Daddy’s got stinky feet, not me and Elliot.” Lucy protested.

“I think you and Daddy both have stinky feet, Lucy Lu, and your dirty laundry proves it.” You smiled, watching Javi give one last big kiss to each of the girls before pushing up off the floor with a grunt, making his way over to you. “Good morning, Mr. Stinky Feet.”

“Hey, c’mon now. I can’t have you all gangin’ up on me.” Javi pouted through his smirk, wrapping his arm around your waist as his lips softly met yours, his words sweet and low as they danced against your skin. “Good morning, Hermosa.”

His kiss lingered just long enough to send butterflies swirling through your stomach, biting down on your lip to try and keep your heart beating any faster than it already was. You stood there for another moment, eyes locking with his as the grip around your waist tightened just subtly enough to hint his mind was in the same place as yours.

You were finding a way to finally have sex this morning.

You could feel the arousal already beginning to pool in your core, swallowing hard as Javi tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at you while his hand slid further down your waist towards your ass, trying to devise a plan for the two of you to be alone long enough to do what you had both been so desperately craving these past few weeks.

As you turned your head back over your shoulder in search of ideas, a devilish grin spread across your face, looking back to Javi to gently tug on the maroon tie dangling from his neck, twisting the end through your fingers.

“I think I really need help with the laundry before you leave for work.” You mewled, leaning in to press another kiss to his plush lips, followed by another on his cheek and neck, Javi letting a soft groan rumble in his chest.

“Oh Fuck, baby. What do we do about the girls?” He asked quietly, trying his best to keep his composure as the dark brown of his eyes grew hungrier with want.

“Snack and a movie? There’s already a baby monitor out in the living room, and if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, it should buy us enough time.” You nodded in reassurance of your own idea, already growing antsy with anticipation.

“God, I love you.” Javi smirked, giving you one more kiss and a firm squeeze of your ass before breaking away towards the kitchen so you could execute your plan.

“Hey girls?” you called, making your way towards the living room where they were back to playing, “Daddy needs to help Mommy with some, um- laundry. So if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, can you show us what big girls you are and let you watch the movie all by yourselves?” You asked, doing your best to play up your request.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elliot squealed, clapping and stomping her feet. “Wittle Mermaid!”

“Okay, go get your blankets and sit on the couch and Daddy’s gonna bring you a snack to watch the movie with.”

“Yay! Movie time, movie time!” Lucy shrieked as the girls ran to go grab their things, plopping themselves on to the respective corners of the couch. While you searched for the VHS in the entertainment center, Javi returned from the kitchen with two much bigger than needed bowls of Teddy Grahams, turning on the TV as you pushed the tape into the receiver and pressed play.

With the bright blue Disney logo appearing across the screen and your daughters both happily snuggled with their snacks on the sofa, you and Javi gave each other the silent nod of approval, slowly backing away towards the laundry room while the girls sat in content and entranced silence.

After one last peek, you carefully closed and locked the laundry room door behind you, quickly followed by turning on both the washing machine and the dryer, trying to do yourself any favors you could by drowning out any suspicious sounds.

“Good?” Javi asked once more for reassurance, feeling his slacks get tighter and tighter around his crotch by the second as he waited for your response.

Without a single word, your lips were crashing into his, a messy dance of tongues and teeth ensuing between you as your bodies bumped against the laundry room counter, limbs tangled together in a frantic race to remove clothes.

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed this.” Javi groaned, helping you slide your top over your head and unclip your bra as he nipped at your neck, pushing your back against the dryer and caging your body under him.

“I know, baby, me t-too.” You whimpered, reaching out to undo Javi’s belt buckle, shoving his pants down to his thighs, followed by his boxers, freeing his cock as it slapped against the dark hairs on the happy trail of his stomach. “Missed having your big dick inside me.”

“Fuck.” Javi swore under his breath as you reached out to stroke him, swiping your thumb over his weeping tip to rub the precum up and down his shaft as he shoved your the waistband of your pants and underwear down your hips just far enough to let them fall to the floor around your ankles.

As much as you both desperately wanted to take your time, worshiping every inch of each other’s bodies until you had nothing left to give, you knew time was not on your side. After a few more strokes, you pulled back, letting Javi snake his hand against your body to slide between your legs, the slightest graze of his fingertips already making you shutter with need.

At this point, even after the few weeks it had been without Javi inside you, you were wet enough that you could have taken him without any warm up, your core dripping with your arousal to the point it was smearing the inside of your thighs with its shiny coating. But even with your cunt soaking wet and time working against you, Javi couldn’t help but drag his fingers through your folds, curling to push up into your tight hole and prod against your g-spot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet. This all for me, Momma? Missed me fillin’ you up with my cock? Missed me fucking you full of my cum, huh baby?” Javi growled, his words shooting straight to your cunt, making you clamp down tighter around his fingers and your clit throb with intensity.

It had been a minute since baby making had been at the forefront of your mind, but his question set off something animalistic in the both of you, knowing that right now could give you a chance at baby number three that you had been wishing for.

“Y-yes, Javi, fuck- want you to fill me up, baby. Want you to fill me up until you fuck a baby into me.”

It was then that Javi couldn’t have been more thankful that you had turned on the washer and dryer to try and drown out your noise, because the groan he let escape from his parted lips was much louder than he intended.

But then again, there were few things in this world that turned him on more than you begging him to knock you up, so what did he expect?

Scooping his arms under your thighs, Javi hoisted you on top of the dryer, your ass hitting the cold, vibrating metal with a thud as your lips collided again with desperate ferocity, muffled moans escaping from your mouths.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl. Want me to knock you up again, Momma? Give you another baby?” Javi smirked, reaching to line his cock up with your entrance, swiping his tip through your folds to collect your slick and coat it along his length before he pushed inside you, sinking deeper and deeper until he bottomed out, hips flush with yours.

Words couldn’t describe how much you had missed the sweet stretch and sting of Javi’s fullness, each inch of him feeling better than the last, sobbing out as his tip kissed your cervix, all inhibitions of self-composure completely tossed out the window. Still sunk deep in your cunt, Javi’s hand shot over your mouth, stifling your cries in his palm.

“Shhhhhh, I know, Osita. You gotta keep quiet though, baby.”

You nodded frantically in compliance, Javi’s hand dropping to grip around your waist as you tried to catch your breath. “M-move, Javi, please.” Your whimpering request borderlining pathetic with how badly you needed him.

“You promise you’re gonna be a good girl and keep quiet?”

“Mhmmmm. I promise, baby, please.”

With that, Javi’s hips began to snap, dragging his cock in and out of you at a dangerous pace, coating the walls with the sounds of the wet sounds of your cunt and slapping skin, muffled by the washer and dryer.

“Oh my God, Javi. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, locking your legs behind the small of Javi’s back, keeping him as close to you as possible as he fucked in and out of you. You draped your arms around his shoulders, fingers burying themselves in the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

The closeness had the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, adding to the tension beginning to build at the base of your spine, both of you knowing it wouldn’t take long to get where you needed to go after weeks without being able to have each other like this.

Javi could feel it too, his balls beginning to tense with each pump, using every ounce of self control to keep from preemptively spilling into you, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, holding on to you like his life depended on it.

“Jesus, Fuck- Fuck, I missed this tight little pussy so much. Gonna cum so deep inside you. So deep it’s gotta fucking take. God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant. I swear I’ll give you as many babies as you want, Hermosa.” Javi babbled, biting down on his lip as he pounded into you, reaching one of his hands down to circle at your wet, puffy clit, aching to be relieved from all the built up tension.

At this point, you were so drunk on pleasure that you could barely remember your own name, feeling your orgasm begin to build through every inch of your body in a way that had you seeing stars, digging your fingernails into Javi’s shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out his name, forcing yourself to whisper incoherent sweet nothings against his skin.

“P-please, Javi. F-fill me up. Oh shit- Fuck, baby, I’m so close.”

Javi’s thrusts became sloppier and more erratic, fingers rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to coax your orgasm out of you before he followed suit, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow in intense concentration.

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over me. Soak my fucking cock before I fuck you full of me and knock you up. C’mon, Momma.”

Suddenly, your orgasm crashed through you, lighting your body up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every inch of your body radiating with bliss as you clamped down around Javi’s cock, biting down on his shoulder as you came to try and stifle your cries.

Javi was only moments behind you, letting out a low grunt with the final sutter of his hips as he came, coating your walls with his warm spend, fucking it into with every ounce he had left until he had milked himself dry.

Your bodies collapsed into each other, rising and falling in sync with heavy breaths like you had just finished the last mile of a marathon and collapsed at the finish line, damp and sticky with your sweat.

As much as Javi didn’t want to pull out, he could feel his cock beginning to soften and the mixture of your spend leaking from your hole. Refusing to let a drop go to waste, he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling low in his chest as he wrapped his hand around his length, dragging his tip up through your folds and collecting the cum that had been dripping out. Taking the wet mess he had gathered with his cock, he pushed himself back into you, slowly thrusting in and out of you, a devilish smirk spreading across his face at the absolutely obscene sound coming from between your legs.

“Promise me,” Javi gulped between pants, finally pulling out of you again, “Promise we never go this long without having sex again. Holy Fuck.”

“Promise.” You couldn’t help but giggle in agreement, coming down from your blissed out high. “God, that was the longest two weeks ever. Don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner.”

“Because we’ve been sleep deprived and exhausted, and our little monstros (monsters) have been giving us a run for our money.” Javi chuckled, reaching behind you to grab a towel from the cabinet above the dryer, quickly rinsing it in the sink before wiping you up and helping you find all of your clothes.

“Are we crazy for wanting another one?” You asked, looking down at your stomach, thinking about the ramifications of what you had just done.

“Maybe. But you drive me so fucking crazy, we may end up with 10 before you know it.”

“Javi! Dear lord, we are not having 10 kids, you psycho.” You laughed, playfully slapping your husband on the shoulder.

“Stop being so hot and I’ll stop knockin’ you up.” Javi smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as you rolled your eyes at him knowing damn well you’d have a whole army of his kids if he really wanted.

“You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. Alright, you need to get your ass to work and I need to feed the gremlins before I drop Lucy off at preschool. Let’s go, cowboy.” You grinned, playfully smacking Javi on the ass, giving him a quick kiss as you made your way towards the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Osita. I gotta remember to call my dad on the way into work.”

“Call your dad? Why?”

“To see if Abuelo can take the girls this weekend so you and I can catch up on a lot of laundry.”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

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mickyschumacher · 1 year ago

Text

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after seeing you with play with some young fans you and charles meet on the streets of monaco, charles can't get his mind off having his own. or in which, charles has got a case of the baby fever. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: established relationship, fluff, 18+ (minors DNI), unprotected sex (wrap it if u don't want babies), breeding kink (obvi), charles meeting the bare minimum requirement to be a good human (lmao), slight lactation kink, mutual orgasms, handjob, pussy rubbing(?), reader is sensitive as shit, google translated french (my bad to the french speakers), a questionable perversion of having children that always comes with this context, also questionable whether this qualifies as baby fever but yeh

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: wrote this one when i first started if you can't tell by the mention of pedro and tlou! my absence explained in another post! ♡︎

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

Charles loved his fans, especially Tifosi. After you, his family and friends, they were the most important people in his lives and constantly motivated him. Most of them were kind and sweet to him and loved and cherished you more than they loved him.

That's why whenever fans asked for photos with you, the both of you or autographs, Charles always accepted. He rarely refused them unless the fans gave off a certain vibe that rubbed him the wrong way; crazed fans or fans who liked you a little bit too much for his liking.

His favourite fans normally, however, were children. It was definitely pressurising to have that many children look up to him but Charles found it rewarding. They were so young and full of dreams that he could help fulfil. They always looked at him wide-eyed with their jaws open as if they had just seen an angel walk by, similarly to how Charles reacted when he had first seen you in the streets of Monaco.

Today was no exception. It was currently the mid-season break and you two were roaming the partially empty streets after having breakfast out, relishing in the privacy of Monaco. Halfway through your walk, you and Charles had bumped into some small fans, literally.

A set of 3-year old twin sisters and a boy who only seemed a year or two older had run to Charles and you yelling 'Charles!' and 'It's Ferrari!'.

Charles instantly was smiling at them, crouching down to talk to them and entertain all their bombarding questions that flew one after the other.

"Is the car really that fast?"

"Can I go in the car?!"

"I hope you win!"

You chuckled softly as Charles answered them with ease. You looked at the parents who also seemed to be equally as excited as their children. "Do you want me to take a photo for you guys?" You inquired softly.

The parents looked at you with wide eyes. "Can you? If it's no bother!" The father fretted, sharing a slightly alarmed expression with his wife.

You shook your head and smiled. "It's not a problem." They held out their phone and you took it into your hands, opening the camera. You hummed as you looked at the group. "Let's do three photos. One with the three angels, one with the parents and one family one?" You asked.

The parents were about to nod when the kids suddenly refused. "Four! We want one with a pretty girl!" One of the sisters yelled out, pointing at you.

Your mouth fell open while your body flushed with slight embarrassment. Charles grinned at you, agreeing with the children profusely. You gave a playful sigh and nodded. The children and parents began to poise for the camera several times and left the last one for you to take a selfie with them.

The parents turned to Charles, inviting him into a conversation as they apologised for the kids running to him all of a sudden.

You could hear Charles say it was fine when you felt a tug at the bottom your dress. You crouched down to the children who now crowded you.

The boy looked at you wide-eyed while the two girls poked your arm and asked "Are you a princess?"

You smiled softly. "I am!" You implored, "How did you know?" You asked in a hushed tone.

The children giggled. "Princesses are always pretty, that's why!" The boy said with red cheeks.

You hummed, pondering over the statement. You brought your hand out to pat the girls' heads and pinch the little boy's chubby cheeks. "That must mean all of you are also princesses and princes, hmm?"

The children cheered in agreement, giggling to themselves before discussing who was the best prince or princesses out of them all.

"I'm the best prince!" One sister said, putting her hands on her hips in determination. Her older brother looked at her almost offended. "How can that be? I'm the best. I'm older."

The other sister looked at her siblings dumbfounded. "Why can't we all be the best?" She sighed.

You grinned at her answer. "You're right! You are all the best. Equally. You know why?" You asked.

Three pair of big eyes looked at you with curiosity swirling within them as they shook their small heads 'no'.

You brought their hands together and held them in your palm. "Because you're siblings. You're family. That's the best."

The kids stared at you blankly, probably trying digest your words as much as they could at that age. The previous sister smiled widely, letting out a deafening yell, running to her mother. "Did you hear that, maman? We're all the best!" She screamed with joy.

You stood from the ground slowly, grinning at all the kids. "I did. We all heard that, ma cherié. It's true!" The mother chorused, giving you a thankful smile.

You smiled in response, shaking your head as if it was nothing. The parents and kids began to say goodbye to you and Charles, although the latter did so rather reluctantly as you walked over to your boyfriend.

You raised a brow at the dazed expression on Charles' face. "Cha? Mon amour, what's going on in that head of yours?" You hooked your arm with his, resting your head on his shoulder.

Charles blinked. "Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about those kids. Cute, right?" He breathed out, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You smiled. "Very," You agreed as the two of you began to walk to Charles' car.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Arriving home, the two of you decided to lounge in your living room, not bothered to do anything else for the day. You had managed to put on the newest episode of 'The Last of Us', eager to find out what was happening next.

You and Charles laid on the couch; your head resting on his chest while he cuddled you from behind. You were intently watching Pedro Pascal after being besieged with edit after edit of him on TikTok. Charles on the other hand wasn't focusing at all.

All he could think about what those kids you and him had met earlier that morning. Specifically, you conversing with them. You hadn't realised since you were so caught up with them, but at one point him and the parents had stopped talking and tuned into your conversation with the kids.

Charles had talked to you about kids before. You both wanted them and although Charles always talked about having three kids specifically, just like him and his brothers, he would leave it up to whatever you wanted because at the end of the day, it was you giving birth, not him. He would prefer to have children when he was slightly a bit more older, you both had more control over his life, and obviously with at least one championship under his belt.

But after today, Charles was prepared to throw that plan away. As lewd as it was, the idea of you getting you pregnant and having a family not only touched his heart, but immorally touched his cock.

Knowing that he would have to ensure that his cum was entirely within you, stuffed into your cervix, and not letting a single drop come out made him feel feral. To make matters worse, you would look like a goddess when pregnant because hell, you were so beautiful now. Round and full with his child because he made sure to fuck you till you were overflowing with his cum. Or when your breasts became heavy and sensitive to his touch, leaking sporadically, giving him the opportunity to clean you up with his mouth.

God, he was an animal. The worst.

"Charles, what are you doing?" Your voice erupted into the air, breaking him out of his deep train of thought.

Charles blinked at your question in confusion before he looked down, seeing his hand traversing under your dress and up your inner thigh. He looked over to your amused eyes peering at him.

"Sorry," He let out with a sigh, rubbing the warm flesh of your thigh softly. "I just... I can't stop thinking about children."

You raised a brow, not seeing the correlation to Charles' wondering hand. "Children?" You iterated, running a hand through his hair.

Charles shut his eyes at your actions, feeling at ease. "Those kids today... make me want our own children. Now. I want to have children now."

Charles peeked his eyes open, looking at your astounded expression with a bit of fear. "What about our plans? What was it? Thirty-three, a championship, lives under control, and then children?" You queried. "I-I'm not mad or anything, Cha. Just curious. Why the change of heart all of sudden?

You had now turned to face Charles, knees on either side of him, straddling his lap as you became fully attentive to him.

Charles played with the tresses of your hair that had fallen past your face before tucking them gently behind your ear. "You would just make such a good mother, mon ange. You're so sweet and kind. You now how to talk to them. God, pregnancy would look so good on you. I can't stop thinking about you pregnant," Charles let out a small moan a thought. "You all round with our child, hormonal, sensitive at my touch."

Charles' fingers brushed over your neck, making you shudder involuntarily. You melted at his words. Charles thought a great deal of you. You weren't opposed to the idea either, in fact all of his words were making you hornier by the minute.

"You know what?" You queried, "I also want to have children. You would make an amazing father, Cha. I know you would," You softly said, pressing a brief kiss to his lips.

Charles pulled away, boring his gaze into you. "Yeah?" He whispered, eyes soft and full of lust and love.

"Yeah," You repeated. "A father of all three," You teased, giving him a small knowing smile.

Charles' eyes darkened slightly at your words. His hands rested on your hips, his half-hard on in his pants turned harder, pressing into your clothed pussy. "Mon amour," He whispered into your ear, making the hairs on your body stand straight. "Should I fuck a baby into you?" He pulled his face back, waiting for your answer.

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, relishing in his words. "If you're going to fuck a baby in me, Charles, you better do it right the first time."

Charles groaned, grinning at your words. Staring at you with a fiery gaze, he quickly brought you down into a hungry kiss. His grip on your hips tightened while your hands became entangled in his hair. Another groan fell against your lips when you tugged at his locks.

Your heart slammed against your chest, beating loudly in your ears. Your skin was heated with Charles' touch ravaging all over you; grazing your arms, squeezing your ass only for you to press further into him. Your stomach surged with desire, feeling his clothed cock grind into you. "Fuck," Your swollen lips uttered out, high with an intoxicating buzz circulating your veins.

"Charles, I need–" You began only to be cut off by your own whimper as Charles bucked his hips up into you, setting a pace of stimulation with the tent of his pants and the gritty material of his shorts.

Charles smiled at the sight of your head thrown back and your back arching. "What do you need, ma cherié? Hmm? Tell me and I'll give it to you, my love," He sighed out, feeling his cock ache in its restraints.

"Fuck, j'ai besoin de ta bite, Charles," You murmured, feeling the temperature of your body rise with every passing second. Fuck, I need your cock, Charles.

Charles grinned at your use of French so early on. Normally when you were nearing your climax, you would lose yourself to all the French you knew. "As you wish, princesse," He stated. "Let's get this off, hmm?" He began to slid down the straps of your dress, pressing warm kisses on your shoulder. The sight of your bare breasts made him sigh in content, licking a strip from the base of your neck and down the valley of your breasts.

You felt a shiver crawl up your spine, feeling Charles' hands wander down your back while he pushed the fabric past your ass, hooking his fingers under your the waistband of your panties. You lifted your body up, aiding him in getting rid of your dress and underwear.

You settled back down on Charles' lap, pushing your wet core against his clothed cock. Charles nipped at your neck, dazed at the feeling of your pussy on him. Your hands reached out, rushing to get those shorts and shirt off of him. Pulling his shirt of him, you placed a trail of kisses down his chest. You could feel his lower stomach tense as you neared his waistband. With a grin, impatiently, you took off his shorts and the boxers underneath.

Your stomach churned and pussy throbbed at Charles' red, aching cock springing up, begging to be touched. You flickered your sultry gaze to your boyfriend, reaching over to put your fingers in his mouth.

Charles maintained eye-contact, lubing your fingers generously with his spit before he felt a shudder rip through him when you teasingly pushed your pussy to graze the angry tip of his cock.

"Vous taquinez," Charles uttered out almost with a whine after you removed your fingers. You tease.

"Don't be too sad, mon amour," You breathed out, trailing your wet fingers over his v-line before wrapping them around his cock. Charles sucked in a sharp breath as your hand began move up and down his shaft, mixing his spit and his pre-cum together, giving him a new, unique shine of his own.

"You wanted to see me pregnant, right? Full of your cum. So pregnant that everyone will know in a few months that you fucked me that good," You started, eyes trained on him while you pumped his cock with a tantalising grip. "We need a lot of your cum today. I'm just getting you prepared," You purred.

Charles let out a series of high moans, letting your words wash all over him and mix with his euphoria. His fingers reached out to your wet folds, stroking your heated slip with need. You trembled at his touch, bucking your hip against his fingers, increasing the pace of your hand on his cock.

Both of you moaned loudly while you jerked each other off, breathy sounds bouncing off the walls of your apartment. "Merde," Charles swore, pressing his head further into the couch, hips sensitively bucking into your hand as you brushed the slit of his cock.

He pushed himself, refusing to slack at your pleasure. He rubbed your pussy, groaning at the wet, glistening folds that were coating his fingers. You moaned, feeling a familiar buzzing pool in your stomach. "I need to," Charles panted out, covering your hand with his to stop you, "I need to..." He trailed off once again, pulling you closer to him.

Charles could barely think straight. He didn't know what he was saying or what he was doing. All he knew was that he needed to feel your pussy against his cock.

A guttural whimper escaped your mouth when Charles rubbed his cock against your folds. God, the both of you could get off just like this. He sighed out, eyes clouded with pleasure while he bathed in the warmth of your pussy. He could feel you jerk time to time against him, sensitive from nearing your climax.

You were was a sight to behold. You couldn't control your hips or yourself. You were just so receptive, automatically rubbing your pussy and clit up and down the head of cock. Your head falling back, supported by air while your back arched with lust. Sweat clung to your warmed body and your dry hair was now coated in a light sheen of grease. Face contorted with pleasure and flushed with heat.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck," Charles hissed out, partially angry that he already was about to climax but how could he not at such a view and feeling?

You blinked through your pleasure, remembering how you had gotten into this situation in the first place. You pushed your hips to him, hovering over his cock and sliding down onto him. You whimpered, feeling full with his throbbing cock in you.

Charles groaned, feeling your warm walls clench around him as you began to move your hips up and down. He watched your breasts bounce, making him flicker to that thought of them being full with milk once he got you pregnant. He would be selfish and have a taste of them himself.

Your pussy was a siphon, drawing and pulling his cock even further into you. Charles placed his hands on your hips, pushing you down on his cock to ensure he was balls-deep within you, fully sheathed. The breathy air was now replaced with both of your lewd moans and the sound of your skin slapping and sticking against one another.

"Merde, merde," Charles began to chant, increasing the pace of his hips snapping and rutting into your folds. Your hands fell to his own hands, tightening around them as pleasure bubbled at the pits of your stomach.

"Fuck, Charles. Cum in me, mon amour. Fais de moi une mère. Hmm? Imagine it. I'll be even more sensitive, my tits will be heavy and sore with milk and I'll ask you to massage them... everyone will know what we did," You moaned loudly. Make me a mother.

Charles's hips came to a halt, shaking with pleasure while he poured ropes and ropes of his hot cum deep into your walls. He let out staggered moans, feeling you clench around him and take even more of his load. Charles pressed his swollen lips onto your, kissing you dizzy while he thrusted out his high, ensuring his cum was staying within you.

Charles sighed out, pressing his forehead against yours. Realising you were once again on the brink of cumming, with his cock still in you, he brought his fingers to your engorged clit, rubbing the sensitive nub gently yet harshly.

He felt your walls grip him even tighter if possible as you began to convulse in his arms. "Jesus fucking Christ," You sobbed out, waves of your euphoric climax hitting you.

Christ, you were so sensitive, hips jerking up against his fingers, grinding to maximise your stimulation. He couldn't even stop you if he wanted to.

"Merde, ma cherié, cum for me. Yes, just like that," Charles coaxed, groaning as you somehow managed to get more cum out of him.

You let out a final whimper before collapsing onto him, feeling Charles' softening cock drive and push the cum deeper into you. You let out a low moan against his chest.

Charles pushed your chin up with his finger, looking into your eyes. He smiled, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your lips. "You did so well, mon amour," He praised, running a hand through your sweaty hair, getting a better glance of your face.

You gave him a weak smile, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "You think we did a good job?" You queried, voice quiet and tired. "You think we'll have a child soon?"

Charles grinned at you, planting another kiss on the side of your head. "If I didn't, I'll fuck you again and make sure that test has two lines."

𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #mickyschumacher

5K notes · View notes

ybklix · 6 months ago

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you can be the boss

★ pairing: softdom!chrisbang x virginfem!reader

☆summary: A rich hot older man, a slightly horny young woman, together in a hot summer in his house near the coastal zone. When you meet Chris, your step-aunt's new boyfriend, your world changes completely, and after a night of liquor and cigarettes, there's no going back to satisfy all your fantasies, you don't even care you're inexperienced.

✧ genre - warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, cheating, implied legal age gap, daddy kink, use of petnames, masturbation, corruption kink, fingering, clit play, oral sex, deepthroat, faceriding, cunnilingus, cumplay, chocking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampies, mention of chris as a smoker.

word count: 9.5k

masterlist - taglist ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

a/n: lana del rey literally invented the 4th of july, she’s so iconic, so proud of my CUNTry led by my president miss grant🫡❤️

divider by chachachannah

The bright sunshine, the light sweat pouring from your forehead despite being inside your father's cool car made you feel young again, something in the air was so innocent and sweet that bright summer. Especially when he insisted you spend the summer with his wife's family, as if you were a little girl, you agreed, you had a very tedious and frustrating semester in college that you needed a distraction, plus a huge house with a yard, pool and near the beach didn't sound bad at all. You'd be doing nothing but sunbathing in your bathing suit, relaxing.

You walked onto the grounds of the house, it really was a mansion, the architecture was modern but there were some classic touches that for some reason got you. You were surprised, thinking that your 'aunt' really did get a rich man this time. Your father remarried when you were 17, to a woman 7 years younger than him who couldn't have children, so she always opened you up to her family, treating you sweetly, going to your high school graduation, and supporting you in your college career, so you met your stepmother's family, who had two sisters —she was the middle one— the oldest, Lilian, who had a daughter your age and you became close, however, you lived apart from each other; your stepmother Dahlia, and the youngest, Ruby, who was the prettiest of the three, was young, glamorous and kind; you weren't sure, but you thought she was at least twenty-nine or thirty and, that she got herself a rich boyfriend who kindly offered his summer home to her whole family.

Liv, Lilian's daughter greeted you as soon as you got out of the car, you felt small, like a young girl still close to your parents when you spent more time at college than with them for years. Liv hugged you briefly, making your sunglasses slip off and fall into your eyes, you both moved where the sun didn't hit you directly and greeted each other shyly.

“No shit, I have no idea where Aunt Ruby got her boyfriend from, but a house with a pool in this weather, is a house with a pool, I don't care” Liv spoke.

You let out a chuckle, you watched as Ruby came out of the doorway, and you walked over to greet her, after all somehow Dahlia always went out of her way to make you consider her as family, and she received your brief hug.

“Oh wow, you grew up a lot along with Liv, I haven't seen you since Christmas” she commented to which you smiled.

After that Ruby went over to her sister, you helped by carrying your luggage and walked into the house, it seemed unreal that you were going to be under someone stranger's roof, but at least you wouldn't be alone, Liv could distract you a bit.

“Girl, wait till you meet Ruby's boyfriend, he's kinda hot, not gonna lie” Liv whispered in your ear, helping you with your stuff and guiding you to the room you both would share.

Once inside the room you jokingly said to her, “So it's not about an old sugar daddy she found around?”

Liv pursed her lips and softly denied, “He's handsome, young, rich and has an accent. I think this summer will be fun… want to meet him?”

You nodded amused, curiosity consumed you; you and Liv spent hours talking behind Ruby's back about the strange and extravagant kind of life she led, it was a fun topic of conversation for you, you analyzed every partner she had, since she didn't know how to be alone, and just had girl talk, secreting and gossiping a little.

“Oh, honey, the cherry pie” your father reminded you once he saw you coming down the stairs.

You sighed, remembering that you had baked Ruby your cherry pie which she loved so much, just because, out of a mere act of kindness, and because your dad reminded you how much she was a fan of that dessert of yours and that you should at least give it to her as a thank you for spending the summer at her house, or her boyfriend's, rather.

You took the tart out of the car, Liv waited for you at the entrance of the house and then led you to the kitchen, where a very smiling and happy Ruby received your gift, thanking you and reminding you how delicious it should be. Liv was about to ask about Chris, Ruby's boyfriend and owner of the place, just so you could meet him and analyze him with your own eyes, but Ruby herself stepped forward saying:

“Oh, you haven't met Chris, have you? I think he's outside getting the pool ready better for you girls to swim in. I'll go get him.”

Liv raised her eyebrows and looked at you a little amused, again you felt small, giving funny looks to your cousin-friend; you had been so consumed by college that you had forgotten the simplicity of the little things. Ruby didn't take long, your father and stepmother already met Chris, as apparently he had been dating Ruby for a while and was quite serious, and once again, you lived in your college dorm and institution almost.

And the man appeared, you really didn't expect to see a man like him, with a downwards smile, a bit shy, but his presence was quite strong in the room; he was wearing a white t-shirt loose to his muscular body with the name and logo of a luxury brand, denim jeans up to his knees and sneakers. He looked young, and he was cute, and so attractive to your taste, but you wanted to instantly brush the thoughts away.

“Chris Bang, nice to meet you” he greeted, in a thick voice and a soft accent, just as your cousin had mentioned.

You returned his greeting, introducing yourself, Chris also didn't expect to meet two young and beautiful girls like Ruby's nieces, but you, there was something that caught his attention in you, it was rare, but you radiated innocence plus however your strong and piercing gaze contrasted with the rest of your tender appearance. You couldn't help but darken your gaze, you liked what you saw, he was attractive, he had a unique and clean face that you could watch for hours, the harmony of his face with his sharp, dark, small eyes, combining perfectly with his distinct nose and rosy lips, his slightly pale skin detonating small pink and tan undertones, you realized that never in your little more than twenty years of life had you ever paid so much attention to a man. You didn't understand what it was about him, besides being incredibly attractive, but something drew you to him.

“Thank you for letting us stay at your place…” you said, almost lost in him, you didn't know why you said it, maybe you just wanted to talk to him more.

“Oh, it's nothing, really.”

Chris licked his lips, staring at you, going over in his mind that if it was you the girl who wasn't directly blood related to Ruby.

“Oh, babe, Y/N brought us her cherry pie” Ruby spoke, clinging to her boyfriend's arm.

Liv held back her laughter at her aunt's immature attitude. Chris looked over to the counter.

“Did you bake it?” he asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, Ruby… Ruby really likes it.”

Chris leaned into the counter, leaning on his elbows and with his long fingers lightly played with the edge of the pie plate, you focused on his hands, so manly, big, slender and with visible veins running up his arms; then you returned your gaze to him who said, in a different tone, slower and looking deeply and directly into your eyes,

“I bet it tastes delicious.”

A shiver went down your spine, oh, you were liking it too much. Your cousin raised her eyebrows at his sudden action, instantly recognizing his gentle flirtation.

“Anyway, pool's ready” Chris added, standing up straight.

“Thanks, Chris, we'll go swimming now” Liv mentioned, trying to break the incredible tension or magnetism she suddenly felt between you and her aunt's boyfriend.

Liv grabbed your arm and almost dragged you into your room, pulling you out of your trance, you could only think about who he was and…. how was it that Ruby got him, even though you knew perfectly well that she was beautiful and had a bubbly personality; you thought about his hands, and his subtle comment that made your hair stand on end.

“C'mon babe, let's go swimming,” Liv told you, teasing her aunt for calling Chris 'babe.'

You blinked suddenly…. trying to get it out of your head and reacted, quickly grabbing your suitcase and pulling out your clothes almost in desperation, finding the most revealing swimsuit you packed, a red two-piece bikini; the rest of your swimsuits weren't cute, you were so indisposed with the idea of wearing something hot, since you thought it would just be you and Liv in the pool, so you packed shorts and old t-shirts to get wet and, clearly you were also expecting a middle-aged man not at all attractive to your taste, not a damn man like Chris.

You sighed, thinking you had to go into town to buy better swimsuits. And after you put on your bikini, you perused your makeup, you perfected it more, using your best waterproof mascara, blush, pink gloss, you didn't know what you were doing but you wanted to look good. You almost forgot Liv was there, you didn't give a shit how obvious you acted, primping with effort. Chris had awakened something in you that you hadn't sensed before, it was as if he suddenly gave meaning and fun to your monotonous college life, you suddenly felt like a complete attention whore, wanting his eyes on you all the time.

Your cousin also wore a cute blue plaid print bikini, had two braids done and grabbed her sunglasses, reminding you to take yours, replacing the ones you had when you arrived, with red heart-shaped sunglasses. You sighed as you looked at Liv, she had very nice round breasts, and you thought, how funny and in a way, dirty, the way you two would walk around, being walking temptations to an unknown man.

“Would it be too much to ask Chris to put sunscreen on our backs?” she commented jokingly with a pout and with the bottle of sunscreen in her hand, to which you laughed.

And you both left, grabbing towels, your cell phones, heading towards the backyard at the pool. You took the time to admire the scenery and noticed that a few miles from the large pool was a small pool house. Once again, unable to believe you were in the home of a millionaire and unknown man, about to swim in his pool, it was so unreal, like something that only happened in the movies.

Chris bit his lip as he watched them both, replaying in his mind fuck, over and over again, it was the perfect fantasy, two pretty young twenty-something girls in bikinis at his house, about to enter the pool, getting their young bodies wet. He wasn't being the strongest soldier, and an immensity of dirty thoughts filled him completely. He took one more puff on his cigarette, this time deeper and more intense, trying to keep himself occupied and de-stressed by the incredible desire he had to fuck them both; thinking that it would be a very long and frustrating summer, and that he would end up finishing a pack in minutes if he decided to use nicotine as an escape from his dirty thoughts.

Did he love Ruby? Of course, more than anything in the world, but he was also a man with such an active libido, incredible imagination and great sexual energy. You both noticed him, on the other side of the pool, a little far away, and for some reason you found him more attractive when you saw him smoking. Chris' intention wasn't to see you, he swore, he was just hiding from his girlfriend because she hates his smoking habit. And after meeting you, damn, he really needed a cigarette.

“Hey Chris” Liv greeted him cheerfully waving her hand, to which he responded with a soft smile, raising his eyebrows and his right hand with which he held the cigarette.

She turned to you, “I hate him so much, if he marries Ruby he'll really be my uncle and it'll be gross.”

You smiled apologetically at her sudden comments, but suddenly your mind short circuited, “Marry?”

Liv sat down in one of the chairs, leaning back and relaxing her body, picking up her book ready to rest and read.

“Mmm, honestly I give them two months tops” she added disinterested, “I haven't been aware since I also live in college, but apparently they've been dating since January, I also got a big surprise today when I met him.”

January, you thought, that made them in a six month relationship, pretty long for Ruby. You questioned whether it was really a serious relationship. You pouted and sat on the chair next to her, and convinced yourself that if nothing happened, which was most ideal and the most likely option —plus you were still a virgin— you could at least think about him and have your little summer crush to keep your mind busy.

“Aren't you going to get in the pool?” you asked.

“Mmm yeah, sure, but I want to get some sun.”

You let out an incredulous airy chuckle as Liv was in the shade, not getting any direct sun. And you were about to stand up and swim, but you noticed the sudden and noticeable presence of Chris near you, this time his intentions were clear and not at all innocent, he just wanted to see your semi naked bodies more closely and in detail. He stood in the middle of the two chairs, with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, you watched him, gently lowering your heart shaped sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and raising your eyes.

“Enjoying your summer girls?” he said to which you and Liv nodded a little confused by his sudden closeness, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Liv smiled playfully, closing her book completely, “Of course not” she replied.

But Chris was only looking at you, and you felt it, you had achieved your goal, he couldn't take his eyes off you, off your body in that red bikini and your glossy, full lips. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer from you, which his gaze suddenly made you nervous.

“Sure, join us” was all you could say with your heart pounding.

“I'll be right back” he replied, walking away from you and into his house.

You and Liv looked at each other complicitly, almost feeling like you were about to do something wrong but it felt so right. You didn't understand how you went from somewhat flirtatious and confused, to feeling nervous around him.

“Oh, he's such a fucking whore” Liv added.

She didn't take Chris and Ruby's relationship very seriously, truly. But you were beginning to question so many things, but you couldn't help but want him so badly, you've never been so curious about a man, you wanted him, you needed him.

Minutes later, he appeared, wearing black sport shorts a little loose on his thighs, but tight enough for his member to be suggestively visible and noticeable, again, that was not Chris's intention, he couldn't help but have a nice penis, and that you two had to witness that. In a way you were thankful that you were wearing dark sunglasses and could blatantly see his silhouette, his strong arms and worked chest area over his tight white sleeveless shirt.

You were already in the pool, so Chris joined you, putting on a black cap before getting in and gradually getting in, wetting his body little by little.

“Agh, the water is nice” he added, getting his body completely wet, his marked abs and pecs showing through the thin fabric of the shirt.

Your heart raced again, you couldn't believe Ruby had him every day while you and Liv only had hair loss from the stress of your college. You and Liv stood transfixed watching him, as if it was such an entertaining spectacle. And when he approached, you both snapped out of your trance and pretended to look away, which Chris noticed and smirked, yes he knew he was all handsome and hot, but he was curious to know if you two also considered yourselves that way to such a degree that you dared to flirt with him.

And you began to play mindlessly, ball games, Liv getting on a float, swimming, all with Chris's nerve to watch your wet young bodies, watching the sun beat down on your skins; then you wanted to mimic Liv, getting on a float but found it difficult to get on somehow, to which Chris quickly took advantage, once again leaving Liv surprised.

“Let me help you” he whispered to you, holding your exposed waist to carry you up and onto the float.

Your breathing and heart stopped for a moment, his big hands on your waist felt so good, you couldn't believe he dared to touch you, you didn't want to make it a big deal, you wanted to believe he just did it out of kindness but you were screaming with excitement internally.

A little awkwardly, giving him the view of your ass and thighs, you were able to climb on, shyly whispering thank you. Chris swallowed nervously, your semi-naked skin made him feel good and your ankle accidentally brushed against his member as he lifted you up. He needed another cigarette to forget about you for a few moments, or he definitely had to try you. It wasn't news that, he before Ruby, was quite the gentleman who loved to enjoy the pleasures of sex with different women.

“And don't you have a farm sort of place to spend the winter when it snows?” suddenly blurted out Liv.

“Do you want to spend the winter with me too? Do you like me that much?” he joked.

“Sure, you're the best, Uncle Chris” your cousin replied again in amusement.

He grimaced in disgust, he loved it when girls called him daddy in bed, or just as a form of endearment, when he rarely messed with women relatively much younger to him, but uncle, coming from another young woman who he considered highly attractive, didn't like the idea.

“Uh no, just Chris, please,” and then he turned to you, “And you, you're not directly related to Ruby, are you?”

“She's family, but not by blood” replied Liv innocently, but Chris was a little annoyed, as he wanted to hear you talk , so he still didn't take his expectant gaze off you.

“My father married Ruby's sister” you replied, almost just to humor him and get him to take off that expression of waiting to hear you speak because it was making you nervous.

“I know” he whispered.

And before long you knew a little more about him, that he is an architect with his own company, his parents are two of the top lawyers, that he knows three languages and has a passion for technology like computers or things like that and, the question that gnawed at them both and Liv asked, how did he meet Ruby, as he seemed quite busy and an extremely wealthy and decent man, but just at the mention of her, she appeared. She had taken a nap and suddenly wondered where her boyfriend was, to which her surprise, he was friendly talking to her two young nieces inside the pool, while they were wearing a bikini, she couldn't help but feel a little jealous, but decided to put it aside, and wanted to be a cool aunt:

“Let's give the girls some drinks, they're old enough.”

Chris thought how old enough, looking appreciatively at your body on the float, wearing your red bikini and your heart-shaped glasses of the same color. How old enough were you, that you could handle being with him? He wanted to know more about you and questioned himself why he had never met you before, although his answer was obvious to him, usually Chris didn't look for young and college girls, it was very strange the occasion when he decided to sleep with them and spoil them —as it is one of his techniques— he still considered them so young and naive, even a little bit kooky and spoiled… but you, he bit his lip again, thinking that he could very well be your daddy, and that he would love to spoil you and spank your young ass. He loved being dominant but it was very strange the situation where his mind formulated these ideas of wanting to take care of a naive woman and give her everything, being slightly careful, and you had exactly aroused those thoughts in him.

Ruby also got into the pool, showing off her impressive figure, leaving Chris a little shocked, but he couldn't stop thinking about you. You looked away, unwilling to see them together.

[…]

For the rest of the evening you caught up on Liv's life, as she recounted her sexual encounters, her love life status, her college environment until it was time for dinner.

You couldn't help but think that it didn't matter if you flirted, if anything happened, you wouldn't know what to do and probably wouldn't satisfy him, you were inexperienced and a virgin, which you never made a big deal about it, but for some reason you thought about so many sexual things lately since he awakened your desire.

Dinner was normal and a little strange, eating all together, your last family dinner was maybe on your birthday. And Chris realized that your father and he were the only men, so he thought at one point to invite one of his closest friends, plus he needed him, the tension between you and Chris was growing, or at least his desire for you.

The next morning you went downstairs for breakfast, not even hungry, but you just wanted to see Chris, but he wasn't there since he was supposedly still working and you didn't see him until the afternoon. You took the opportunity to update your swimsuits and take a walk to the beach with Liv. Chris was also confused not to find you at his house, until he saw you arrive with shopping bags.

That evening he convinced his close friend Minho to stay with him too for the summer as Chris had to confess to him the reason and Minho saw with his own eyes and understood why.

Once again you wanted Chris' attention and you had no choice but to go out dressed up all the time, feeling cute, since you kind of sucked at flirting. And you got the pleasant surprise of finding another handsome man next to him.

Chris introduced Minho to you and Liv, and your mind flew with the crazy idea of a man for each other, that maybe so at least Liv would stop thinking about Chris a little bit, because honestly you wanted him for yourself only, when he was already taken, and wasn't yours in the first place. But you weren't the only one with that crazy thought, Liv was so happy that Chris got her own handsome older man to have fun with in the summer.

Minho was also so handsome, he had a muscular body too but his features were softer to Chris'. He also looked intimidating.

The next day was odder, Liv and Minho disappeared, leaving you in disbelief with the ease of things that circumstances work, when both are single, or at least you wanted to believe that Minho was single, or honestly you could care less, at least Liv didn't know his life that much, let alone if he was in a relationship with someone so the guilt didn't exist in her body; but in yours it did, Chris was Ruby's and you couldn't even hate her, your stepmother's whole family was so sweet to you, Dahlia thought you were a real daughter to her because she could never conceive and was afraid to adopt.

You were bored without Liv, you sent her messages but she didn't answer, she must be having a great day in Minho's arms, but lucky her, you thought between sighs; so bored you started to explore the house a bit until you reached a long hallway, at the end of it you saw that there was a family photograph which caught your attention, there were not so many memories of family photos of Chris so it caught your attention and you approached it, next to it there was a large room, which had the door open and you stopped in your tracks when you realized that it was Chris' office, and that he was sitting behind his desk, who quickly heard your footsteps and turned to see you.

You didn't know what to do and smiled nervously at him and he amusedly thought that all ways always led you to him. Chris quickly stood up from his chair, put his pencil aside as he was working on a project and walked dangerously close to you.

“You were looking for me?”

His flirtatious tone and the way he gently raised his eyebrow gave you chills again.

You denied, but you didn't want to get away from him.

“But I found you” you replied.

He invited you in with his gaze, closing the door once you entered, you looked around the place and Chris looked boldly at you. Your young, bare legs with your tiny skirt and your slightly carefree look as you were comfortable in his home.

Chris without thinking, went to his desk and out of habit took a cigarette, he couldn't help it, he was a recurrent smoker, not an addict, but he liked to smoke one or two cigarettes a day, or two cigarettes one day and then quit for several days without a problem, but just now he couldn't think about anything but enjoying your company, your presence and aroma combined with a little of his nicotine.

You thought that even though he smoked and you didn't like the smell, on him, he looked good and you liked him, you liked him so much that you forgot your little inconveniences and thought he didn't smell of cigarettes, he had a strong scent of a manly perfume that you found highly pleasing.

Chris put his cig between his lips and you saw him take another one, thinking he was going to offer you one but you noticed he took a pen and with his big hands, which drove you crazy and you had recurring thoughts of his fingers in your mouth, you saw he wrote a series of numbers on the cigarette; he took a lighter and lit his cigarette quickly, taking his first puff, sucking air between his teeth and then holding the cigarette delicately between his two fingers, then passing you the cigarette with the written numbers and saying to you:

“Do you want it?”

You took it, only to see the numbers on what you quickly noticed was a phone number and before he took the lighter once more you said, “I don't smoke.”

“Well, that's my phone number, since apparently it looks a little bad for us to be together and we need to be more discreet.”

Your mind stopped processing what he said, he inhaled again from the cigarette, exhaling all the smoke, losing it in the bright sunlight coming through the windows, he looked so fucking hot your legs were almost starting to shake, he walked over to you and put his free hand on your waist.

“Let's have fun this summer, I know you want me and I can't get you out of my fucking head” he spoke and you felt it unreal, for a moment you stopped thinking about everyone, it was just Chris and you, fuck the rest, “Relax a little with me, I don't bite unless you ask me to” he whispered, leaning into your ear, noticing your tense body.

He pulled away, stubbing out his cigarette in his ashtray and sitting back in his chair.

“Come here” he ordered patting his thigh.

He was wearing a white button up shirt and black formal cloth pants, you were so wet at his appearance, you were wet knowing he was older than you and dressed elegantly, you were wet at the way he asked you to sit on his lap.

Chris couldn't take it anymore, from the first night he met you, after seeing you so provocative in your bikini, he masturbated thinking about you, pulling and stroking his cock hard, filling his mind with scenarios where you were all needy, wet, making a mess and begging for him, until he cummed. He couldn't even fuck his girlfriend, his cock only reacted to you apparently. He needed you, all day he thought about how his friend did get to fuck the other girl with no problem while he was stuck there, but not anymore as you happily sat on his lap, feeling so happy, feeling the friction of fabric of his pants on your thighs as you moved to get comfortable, causing him tenderness at your reaction.

“Mmm, I guess you want it too by obey me, don't you babygirl?” he murmured, caressing your thighs and making you shiver.

Your mind spun like crazy, wanting what what, you didn't know but yes, you needed him like you had never needed anyone, your mind was lost in his closeness and that it's finally happening. You really tried to be strong too, but you lost it. He was caressing you, bringing his hands up tentatively so high almost in your intimate zone.

“Yes…” you answered in a whisper.

“Then just kiss me, babygirl, I'm dying to taste your lips since the first moment I saw you.”

You turned your face and met the closeness of his, without thinking too much, you joined your lips with his, feeling his slight cigarette taste together with a soft and fresh sensation, your hand shyly rested from his shoulder, your inside was burning, you felt as if fireworks were detaching inside you. At first it was sweet and gentle, but then he changed his pace to something slower but desperate and lustful, opening your mouth and feeling his expert tongue caress your cavity, leaving you breathless but addicted to the feel of each other.

Chris found his way to your pussy, opening your legs slightly and without wasting time, he pushed the fabric of your panties aside, playing with your clit, making you gasp and take a moment away from his lips. You were now focused on his fingertips caressing you.

Chris licked his lips, leering at you and admiring the slight trembling of your body from pleasure. By this point, he too was already so hard with an erection protruding from his pants.

“You're so wet and needy, let me take care of you” he moaned.

You were almost about to cum with his caresses on your clit, his movements on it, his light pinching and pressure towards it, turning you on so much, but his fingers went down your wet folds, in search of your entrance and, you realized what he would do, it still surprised and hurt a little to feel two of his fingers inside you. You moaned louder at the sensation of his digits sliding into your virgin hole, as did Chris who let out a groan, unable to believe you were so tight, even being in that position, sitting on his lap, there was no reason for your insides to squeeze his fingers so tight, he had never felt a pussy like that before, like yours, he love every second of it, he was obsessed.

“Fuck” blubbered Chris, “You like that, don't you, little doll?”

You whimpered high pitched in response, his fingers began to penetrate you and his thumb went back to caressing your clit and labia, making you feel like you had never felt before. You were so hot, you wanted to strip off all your clothes and feel something bigger fill your pussy, you were a mess, moaning and shivering at his hand on your cunt.

“Tell daddy how much you like it, babygirl, call me daddy when I'm touching so good your pussy” he gasped.

“Yes, daddy I love it, please don't stop” you whimpered in a squeak, feeling your orgasm so close as your heart pounded intensely.

Your first orgasm caused by a man. Daddy, daddy, daddy, you thought it fit him so well, he was older than you, and you could tell he liked to be in control. He could command you whatever he wanted, he could be in charge, your panties got wetter as you fantasized about how dominant he was. He was so hard, analyzing every part of you and enjoying your body fading for him.

You were about to cum, your pussy moistening Chris's fingers more and more, your thighs quivering and the feeling of clenching in your stomach, you were so close… but the sound of heels down the hall and door handle turning startled you too much, Chris removed his fingers from you abruptly, hurting you a little but you stood up instantly, adjusting your skirt and resting your hands on his desk, turning your back to the door. Chris picked up a book that was on his desk, opened it and held it with his hand whose fingers were touching you earlier, over his cock, at an angle where you couldn't see his erection and the small wet spot you left on his pants.

“Hey” you heard and turned your body, hiding the cigarette and found Ruby all smiles but then grimaced, “Fuck, Chris, did you smoke here? Anyways, Liv and Minho arrived with the shoppings, should I start the… grill?”

You and Chris simultaneously looked at each other, looking scared and guilty.

“No, it's okay baby, I'll go downstairs in a minute.”

“Oh, you found each other, didn't you” Ruby added, leaving you confused, “Y/n it's a little artist too, she draws and paints well” she confirmed, referencing that Chris was doing a sketch.

He didn't know that and wanted to know more about you. But fate was not in your favor this time.

“Are you okay, honey, you're sweating and look a little red?” said Ruby worriedly.

You were so wet and hot, your fluids bothered you, but you had to pretend to be okay, so much so that you went outside pretending nothing was wrong, watching the stupid grill burn, almost as much as your insides, you kept fantasizing if Ruby hadn't interrupted you what would have happened, maybe you would have tasted and had another piece of meat in your mouth before the one Minho was cooking.

You watched him, who stood next to Minho, looking manly grilling the meat. Chris had changed his clothes, now wearing jeans and a black sleeveless shirt. You felt a little jealous that you didn't even want to ask Liv if anything happened with Minho, you wanted your own moment with Chris no matter what. Chris noticed your look and in a whisper said to his friend:

“I kissed her and touched her.”

“Woah, good for you dude, what did I tell you about college girls? They are all trouble makers but they know how to take care of you very well” Minho encouraged him smilingly, giving him a friendly pat.

“But we were interrupted and now I feel guilty, I don't think I should have done it…”

You took your phone and amidst impatience, texted him, just telling him Hey and watched as he immediately pulled his phone out of his pocket, seeing the message but ignored it.

“My sexual fantasy is a threesome with Minho and Chris, imagine their two cocks pleasuring you. I'm kinda horny right now” Liv spoke as if nothing, seeing herself on her cell phone camera, snapping you out of your trance.

So were you. In fact she was talking but you weren't paying attention, you weren't that greedy, Chris's cock was really enough for you.

[…]

It was late at night, everyone was sleeping, but you noticed the pool house light on through the window, you didn't know what it was about, but you were thankful that you were a little lazy to remove your makeup and quietly put your clothes back on, taking off your pajamas, with the slightest hope that, maybe it was Chris being alone, or in the worst case, him with his girlfriend.

You texted him but he didn't respond and you were impatient so you carefully went downstairs quietly and managed to get outside, walking up to the property and slowly entered the house, which was literally another house, just a little smaller. And you found Chris with his back turned sitting in the chairs leaning against the kitchen counter.

He turned to see who it was and smiled broadly at the sight of you. You also noticed that he was drinking and smoking, or at least you saw a couple of cigarettes in the ashtray and apparently he was alone. You approached him, so excited with adrenaline at its peak to see that he could be all by himself. He smiled at you, so wide that he narrowed his eyes, he wasn't expecting you but he was just thinking about you, he couldn't sleep, you drove him crazy, when he saw you, it seemed almost like a dream since he was starting to get a little drunk.

You sat down on the chair next to him and noticed his almost empty glass of hard liquor.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered to him.

“I'm just… drinking a little” he replied, his tone of voice low and almost slurring his words.

“By yourself?”

“Minho just left, wanna join me?”

You shook your head softly, you really didn't want to drink, you wanted to kiss him passionately, and more so knowing you were alone. But Chris went there because he couldn't sleep and he kept thinking about it in that he felt a little guilty but at the same time he wanted to do so many things to you, you looked innocent, you were young and his deepest desire was to corrupt you so badly.

You decided to get bold and just blurted out:

“Why don't we continue what we were doing… I didn't get to cum.”

Chris let out a chuckle in disbelief at your comment and analyzed you, from your face with your makeup intact, to your thighs uncovered by your skirt with very easy access to him.

“Who would have thought, you look so innocent… but you are quite the dirty little whore. You want me to make you cum, huh?”

His comment made your skin bristle and gave you shivers, both for your body, and for your pussy, causing it to twinge with arousal in your sensitive core. Everything about him turned you on so much.

“Yes…”

“And what will you do for me?” he asked so quickly as soon as you answered, looking at you defiantly.

You stood there thinking for a few seconds, "You want… me to make you cum too?" you spoke uncertainly.

“I wanna see it” he challenged you, “I like you a lot” he confessed, getting carried away with the moment and the alcohol doing its thing.

You smiled, stood up from the chair and moved closer to him, Chris turned his body and let position yours between his legs, you wrapped your arms around his neck, he grabbed your waist and you, close to his lips, reciprocated his confession.

“I like you a lot too, Chris.”

He smiled, coming back to all his senses, leaving the effect of the alcohol aside, so awake and ready for you, he raised his eyebrows, wanting to correct you, lowering his hands to your ass, you understood immediately.

“I like you, daddy” you repeated.

“That's my good girl.”

You felt your body burn on fire, that had sounded so good to you, more so coming from his voice and him. You moved in with a smile to kiss him, savoring the taste of the liquor on his full lips, spending long minutes of him running down your body and both of you completely lost in each other's lips, feeling his tongue and nose collide on your face, kissing was such an intimate act, something you loved to do with Chris, whose erection in his pants grew sky high, his throbbing cock ready to be used.

Chris couldn't take it anymore, he wanted your pretty mouth around his cock, he wanted to fuck your throat until he made you cry. As he pulled away he admired your heaving breathing and swollen lips, he thought this was just the beginning of more to come.

“Fuck” he whispered with a little pain from his erection stuck in his jeans.

You watched him, for a few seconds somewhat transfixed and realized he was just as turned on as you were, you stared at the bulge in his pants, not wanting to wait any longer to get his cock out at once, but he went ahead to say.

“C'mon babygirl, feel how hard daddy is for you, and make me feel good, be a good girl.”

You got so excited, as if you had won a prize and lowered your arms off his shoulders so you could feel his hard member between the also tough denim of his jeans. You bit your lip and unbuttoned his pants. Chris gasped, breathing raggedly knowing you were about to attend to his cock. You finally released it, wanting to experience everything with it and getting the big surprise of how nice and big it looked, just as veiny as his arms. You took it, completely forgetting that you were a poor college virgin girl and, that he would most likely end up fucking you and you couldn't agree more, you could remember that your virginity was taken by a man who knows what he's doing, millionaire, incredibly handsome with a colossal cock to die for.

You stroked his glans with your thumb and spread his precum over his length, it was your first time feeling a penis in your hand, for the moment, at least Chris's, it felt so good, its texture was smooth but his muscle was so tight and rigid. Chris for his part, gasped enjoying the feel of your hands on his cock and watched you look so impressed, almost as if you were studying every part of his anatomy, making you look a little more innocent but daring.

You acted with common sense, and began to slide your hands up and down his member, stroking his length from top to bottom, making him feel great. Chris bit his lip and inhaled air between his teeth, so excited he could cum right then and there. He didn't know exactly how to ask you, but he really wanted your mouth on his cock.

“Babygirl, use your mouth please, please” Chris babbled, caressing your face, admiring it before it was ruined by his cock in your mouth and the constant motion.

Your pussy throbbed harder at the thought of sucking him off and you dropped to your knees, unconsciously sighing nervously, making Chris feel the warm air of your sigh, now giving him shivers of pure arousal.

You looked into his eyes before bringing his cock closer to your mouth, to which he looked at you approvingly, subtly shaking his head encouraging you to do so.

You stuck out your tongue and licked his entire length, losing more and more strength, you were so aroused, trembling and twitching with your hot body, until he said,

“Open your mouth wide, baby doll.”

He helped you a little, guiding his cock into your mouth, finally slowly pushing it in, doing your best to make him enjoy it, which you felt a knot in your stomach of nervousness and excitement as Chris moaned loudly, letting you know you were getting off to a good start. He fisted your hair, completely ready to be satisfied.

You sucked his cock, sucking your cheeks and giving your best effort to get as much of his length as you could deep inside your cavity. Chris moaned again incredibly enjoying the also tightness of your mouth and softness of the inside of your cheeks. He watched you the whole time, your lips wrapped around his cock, the tender expression of concentration and struggle on your face, he could cum just from the image of you taking his length.

You started to move, his whole member didn't fit in your cavity, but you did your best, your eyes were starting to bother you a little, you were starting to form little tears, your nose got slick and your jaw hurt a little, but it was worth it, it was so worth it, Chris's moans were so hot to you that you never wanted to stop. You began to move your mouth, taking as much as you could, making Chris lose his sanity little by little, he helped you, pulling on your hair gently and pushing your head to move up and down exquisitely. Your movements were imperfect but from your little details Chris became more aroused and fantasized about your innocence again.

Your saliva combined with his precum began to slip from your lips and you took a breath, pulling his cock out of your mouth, Chris took advantage and quickly stood up from his chair, you looked with confusion at his action and he lifted your chin with his fingers, making you stare into his eyes.

“You're doing great, good girl, but let daddy fuck your throat, are you okay with that?”

Your eyes sparkled brighter despite the little tears you shed, you were scared but nodded so excited. “Yes, daddy” you said.

Chris took his cock almost by its base and opened his mouth slightly indicating you to do the same, causing you tenderness, and you did, his cock and your mouth meeting again, inserting it little by little, until you felt his skin tickle your uvula, your body shuddered, you closed your eyes tightly, he was huge, but you tried to hold back with all your might your gag reflex, Chris shifted his hips and finally you felt his cock sliding down your throat, taking him pure to heaven, you thought of everything, of Chris swimming next to you, of you sitting on his lap, trying to forget the slight discomfort and tingling that his penis was causing in your throat. Chris gasped loudly, and began to move gently, ramming into you, completely filled with sexual pleasure at the feel of his cock inside another strategic spot of yours.

You looked up at him, your watery eyes begging for mercy, your body was weak and your stomach sensitive; you cried harder, drooling non-stop, dripping his testicles and even the floor; unable to breathe or speak, just his balls rubbing against your face, his pubic area bumping against your nose and his cock stretching your throat, with his glans rubbing against your esophagus. You were doing so well, for your first time, and Chris was so happy to remind you of it, moaning senselessly completely lost amidst the pleasure, babbling swear words and whimpering, “You feel so good, babygirl, I'm gonna cum in your throat sweetie.”

But you felt so good, in desperation and helpless, with nothing to do but obey him and make him feel good, your pussy throbbed harder and harder, with the same intensity of an orgasm but you weren't sure if you were about to cum.

You felt Chris's body tremble, a loud gasp escaped his lips and you felt the shot of his hot cum inside your pharynx, he was having a wonderful orgasm like he had never had before, even making him shudder and lose his sanity and consciousness; Chris gently tugged at your hair, gently pulling his cock out of you so as not to hurt you, while he kept collapsing in his orgasm, cumming still on your tongue inside your mouth, spilling a few drops around your mouth.

“Good girl, swallow everything, there you go, good princess” he spoke softly caressing your face, watching you swallow hard and with heavy breathing “C'mon up here. Look at you, your face is a mess, my pretty baby. So fucked up for daddy's cock.”

He smirked at the sight of your face stained red, your cheeks shiny from your tears and your lips dirty and swollen from him.

You stood up and Chris wiped your chin stained in his cum with his thumb and then slipped it into your mouth, which you sucked it hard.

“Let's go to the room” he spoke excitedly, arranging his cock in his underwear and pants to take you by your wrist and lead you to the room.

You were surprised that it could practically be a small apartment with all the amenities with no problem and once you entered his room, he kissed you wildly again, tasting his own cum, feeling the wetness of your lips, and began to undress you, yanking off your skirt, parting from you to remove your top and bra and leaving the best part of taking off your panties at the end.

Chris bit his lip as he slid your panties off, bending down and placing soft kisses on your lower belly all the way down to your mons pubis.

“Fuck, you're beautiful, babydoll.”

He kissed your skin, to then put his warm tongue in and sticking his lips tightly to finally suck, leaving a mark on you and making you gasp softly, he looked up, searching your gaze, leering at you playfully, he couldn't believe he finally had you all to himself. Chris stood back up and quickly began to undress as well, leaving you dumbfounded at how incredibly attractive he looked as he lifted his strong arms to remove his shirt, unbuttoning his pants and nimbly removing his them along his underwear, as you finally stood naked in front of each other, with his prominent and slightly intimidating cock exposed, it dawned on you that, it was tonight the night you would lose your virginity.

He leaned close to your ear, whispering hotly, “I want your pretty pussy in my face, sit on daddy's face princess, please.”

You shivered and watched as Chris lay back on the bed, you quickly followed him, biting your lip unsure how you would do it, but completely sure what it was all about. You climbed onto the bed and positioned your pussy in his mouth, embarrassed to let yourself fall into it, but you did, giving a little jump of shock as you felt his tongue on your vulva, Chris took hold of your thighs, to lift you up and guide your pussy to his liking and disposal. You felt his fleshy lips kiss the full length of your folds and his big nose squeezing your vulva hard each time he gently shifted positions in your pussy, making the sensation a hundred times better. Chris licked and sucked intensely and thoroughly on your clit, making your thighs quiver in desperation and pleasure, you were so close but for some reason the sensation of your near orgasm was dragging on longer and longer, building up in intensity; Chris slid his tongue, licking your labia and reaching your entrance, sucking making a soft, sonorous slurping sound of your soaking wet pussy. You were on cloud nine, completely out of thoughts, your vision blurred and enjoying your first oral sex, with an older man who was an expert at every single thing he did, you couldn't have asked for anything better.

Chris lifted you up a little and said:

“Ride me, babygirl, fuck my tongue, move over, fuck.”

Then inserted his tongue inside you, making you gasp loudly, even his tongue was reaching a sweet spot in you that made you lose your mind again. You began to move, back and forth, enjoying the sensation of him; you threw your head back with your eyes rolling, Chris caressed your breasts with one hand, pinching your nipples, then bringing that hand quickly to his cock, as it was twitching, and ached a little, Chris stroked his cock and cum intensely in his abs. Sliding scattered drops down his length. Boy had he loved eating you and the delicious taste of your young fluids.

Finally, you came to your orgasm too, so intensely that you felt sorry for yourself at the thought that maybe you had made a mess on Chris. But he was so happy, tasting every drop of you. Awkwardly, you went down on top of him, and dropped your exhausted body on the bed, with the slightest idea that maybe it still left him wanting to fuck you… still you reminded him:

“That was great, daddy, th-thank you.”

Your chest heaved up and down, your world was a blur, the sensations were so new and good to you that your delicate body was exhausted.

“Oh, my pretty baby,” Chris said tenderly.

He sat up, wiping his mouth and chin, parting your legs and positioning his face dangerously in front of your pussy. A mischievous grin formed on his face.

“I'm gonna fuck your pretty pussy, baby, daddy's not done with you yet.”

Chris went back to stroking your clit with his fingertips, getting you wet in seconds. He watched you, panting and a mess for quite a while but Chris wouldn't stop until he felt your guts. An electric shiver ran down your spine, Chris stopped stroking your clit, spit on your vulva, positioned himself and took his erection, rubbing and stroking in your folds his hard length in your puffy, well lubricated pussy, making you more needy until at last, you felt his tip slide into your orifice, stretching every muscle at your entrance, gradually filling your insides, causing Chris to whimper halfheartedly at the sensation of your core deliciously smothering his cock. You gasped in pain and pleasure until you felt his glans tingle deep inside you in your cervix, Chris finally popped your cherry that night. You were a woman now, at least in a context of traditional and conservative phrases, wishing you were his woman every day.

You were a little sore, but so excited, you still asked him, “Da-dddy, can you move slow, please?”

He smiled tenderly at you, “Whatever my babydoll asks.”

His cock was buried in your core and Chris began to gently ram your pussy, kissing you slowly on the lips and moving his caresses down to your neck, it felt so good and when you finally felt you had gotten used to and adjusted to his size, you shyly asked him:

“F-faster daddy, please” you stammered.

Chris smiled sideways and started ramming you deeper and faster, sliding carelessly into your walls, making you gasp in pain but it felt so good, his cock filling every inch of you, you couldn't help but feel haunted by the sensation. Your thighs squeezed his body and your body began to move uncontrollably, your breasts jiggled roughly at each thrust and your insides burned with desire and for his big new visitor. His body collided with yours non-stop, you were breathless, aching and about to cum intensely.

Chris was babbling and moaning things you couldn't understand, he was so close to cumming in you, completely fixated on your insides squeezing his cock. You arched your back, contracting your body, ready to release in your second orgasm.

“Cum for me, fuck, cum on daddy's cock. You like that huh? You like to be fucked hard?”

“Fuuuck, daddy yesss” you squealed, cumming and wetting his cock.

You fell down in surrender, Chris rammed you a couple of times, deeper to climax in you, with the sensation of his cum shot hitting your cervix. Chris pulled out of you, admiring the dirty artistry of your little hole quivering and spurting his bright white cum. Getting him hard in seconds again. Satisfying him so much by leaving you so weak.

“And I'm not done yet, princess.”

You blinked suddenly and Chris grabbed your arm, making you turn around, he opened your folds, exposing your newly destroyed hole, still wet in each other's cum and, he pushed his cock back into you, making you whimper, you were barely recovering when you felt the firmness of his huge cock again in your walls, this time he went in fast, his whole cock, ramming into your pussy, hitting your ass because you didn't even have time to settle, you were lying down, face down, panting and somehow, extremely aroused again.

Chris pounded you hard again, so brutal and primal releasing every frustration of his in your weak body, ramming you hard, making your ass vibrate every time his pelvis and balls collapsed into you. He moved in on you, his arm headlocking you, tightening his grip harder and harder, cutting off your breath slowly without stopping thrusting hard into you.

“You like that, don't you sweet baby? Fuck! You feel so good.”

You couldn't even answer him, besides the fact that he was slowly suffocating you, you couldn't think clearly, you only heard his gasps, yours and the sound of your bodies colliding at such a frantic act. You were so close, just as he was, your breathing was completely cut off, you heard his panting close to your ear, this time you trembled more intensely, and your vision blurred more, begging for air, but in desperation, you cum intensely, almost making yourself cry. Chris softened his grip, letting you catch your breath and cum in you again, spurting out quickly and ejaculating a few loads in your ass.

You couldn't take it anymore. You even forgot your name. You could only remember Chris, who pushed your hair aside and kissed your back.

“That was amazing, beautiful. We're going to have a really fun summer.”

He couldn't help but think of all the ways he wanted to fuck you, treating you like a doll, showering you with pampering afterwards, but damn it, he had to break up with his girlfriend.

You were trying to come back to your senses, but you were so tired and could only think that, somehow, you loved him, and didn't know exactly why.

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

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89

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tomahachi12 · 2 months ago

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Meet the Doormans!

see I'm working on AU stuff lol

still no name for it though, but I'll figure that out eventually

Info about them down belooooow

Cyn "Cynthia" Swapped with - Uzi Age - 18 She was 6 years old when her mom died and the trauma from the event caused her to shut down and stop talking. She learned sign language from Noah so she could communicate. For anyone else that doesn't understand her, she'll either use text on her visor or a projected text box. She doesn't interact with anyone and prefers to keep to herself, the only one she really opens up to is her brother. He's the only one who can call her by her actual name, she'll ignore everyone else. Inherited her solver from her mom, which activated after her mom's passing. She's scared of Khan.

Noah Swapped with - No one! Rewritten for story Age 25 7 years older than Cyn. He was 13 when his mom died. No one knows why he's so tall. He took care of Cyn after their mother died. He learned sign language and taught it to Cyn. He's a member of the Worker Defense Force. Loves doing anything! boi stop hiding your pain and get help He wants his dad's approval, not only for himself, but for his sister as well. Does not have the Solver at least not yet

Khan Swapped with - No one! Rewritten for story. Leader of the Worker Defense Force and Outpost 3. Very stoic and closed off, especially after Alice died. After his wife died, he completely threw himself into his work, neglecting nearly everything else (including his kids ): ) Because of Cyn's strong resemblance to Alice, he can't bear to even look at her. He killed his wife.

Alice Swapped with - Nori Huge fukin nerd. Western movies were her favorite. Her pet-name for Khan was "Sheriff" She loved to play "dress up" especially with her kids. She was still part of the Solver Experiments, but did not cause the implosion, that was still Nori's doing. She had pretty bad Solver Moment when it took her over and she slaughtered an entire apartment block. She couldn't stop herself and begged Khan to kill her. She was 33 when she died.

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f1girliefics · 7 months ago

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High School Sweethearts

Logan Sergeant x Reader

Summary: You and Logan got married at a young age, surprising the other drivers when they realised that Logan was a married man.

A/N: This piece was inspired by another piece, unfortunately, I forgot to save the work, but if someone can put it into the comments, I will tag the original writer.

Rumours were spreading all across the grid.

During practice for the Miami Grand Prix.

The pretty little doll around Logan Sergeant was the newest sensation.

No one had seen her before.

And everyone wondered who she could be.

The first person to ask the question was Lando. Because, who else would?

"Mate, we saw you with her yesterday, who is she?"

"Who?"

"The girl from yesterday, man." interrupted Charles as everyone stared and Logan.

"Y/N?"

"Ooooh, so that's her name, and who is she?" asked Lando as once again, silence fell between the men.

"You don't know who she is?" Logan asked, looking around as everyone shook their heads, no.

Logan laughed then smirked.

"I will let you all guess." he said with an amused look on his face.

"Your sister?" asked Oscar but Logan shook his head, no.

"Cousin?" tried Carlos. Nope.

"Girlfriend?" asked Lando.

"No." said Logan with a wide smile.

"Come on, Mate!" said Max with a frustrated tone. "We want to know who she is. Just tell us."

There was a knock on the door and you opened the door.

"Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?" you smiled at everyone as they all stared at you.

"No, Darling. Let me introduce you. Y/N, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Y/N, My Wife." you waved at everyone as they all looked at you, stunned.

---

It surprised you how no one knew who you were.

But everyone was so nice and cheerful.

You managed to speak to many of them and they wanted to know more about you.

The most asked question of course, is why were you married at such a young age?

"We got married at 18 years old. We went to High School together and went to prom together. And we love each other."

"It must be an American thing," said Lando as you laughed at his comment. "But congrats to you two." he continued and you both thanked him and everyone else before leaving the meeting room.

"I'm a little hungry." you said and both you and Logan agreed to go out and eat something.

Yes, you got married at a young age, and yes, you still loved each other. Yes, it was possible.

You two were the proof.

#Logan Sergeant x Reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #Logan Sergeant #Logan Sergeant imagine #Logan Sergeant imagines #Logan Sergeant x you #Logan Sergeant x fem reader #Logan Sergeant x wife reader #williams f1 #williams racing

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maybeiwasjustjade · 6 months ago

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Genuinely, perhaps 99% of me, believes that the only reason Condal and Hess made HOTD Aegon a r*pist/have adult Aegon’s introduction the aftermath of the SA of a maid, was because they knew that if Aegon was just a drunk and a cheat—like almost all Westerosi men—he would be too tragic of a character not to root for, and they really couldn’t have that. No, Aegon has to be the monster to Rhaenyra’s saint, because if you took away the act that made him monstrous, he’s so easy to root for, and the TB/TG divide would be significantly larger.

Cheating and visiting brothels are quite common in Westeros, with the vast majority of male characters doing one or the other or both. Drinking is even more so. Aegon would still be palatable with either or both traits because it doesn’t make him worse than Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra had three bastards with Harwin because Laenor’s gay, so it makes her affair understandable and valid. Aegon was forced to marry his own sister as a young teen, and clearly despises the whole targ-incest tradition. Why is it a crime that he doesn’t find his little sister sexually or romantically attractive???

Aegon’s basically a Greek tragedy made flesh. The eldest son conceived to be a long-awaited heir, yet simultaneously cheated out of a birthright. Born wanted yet unwanted, the heir who is not an heir. Meant to be loved, yet raised without it, with a mother’s disdain and fear as his only companion. His father stopped wanting him sometime after his second birthday (probably around the time Jacaerys was born), and his mother never wanted him anyway. His mere existence is a threat to a crown he never wanted, yet nobody cared when they placed it on his head. He wants love but no one loves him, and contrary to popular belief, that lack of love didn’t just stem from adulthood. He was a little boy once too, who very much didn’t deserve that level of apathy.

Married to his sister despite his clear disdain for his family’s incestuous tradition. Forced to father children on her at the grand old age of sixteen (and she fourteen). The only thing he ever really loved was his dragon, and the children he had. And even those he loses to tragedy, and someone else’s doing.

It’s not at all a surprise that Aegon’s defining trait is his love for Sunfyre. A ridiculously strong bond, born from years of having only each other. Moreover, a dragon is the symbol of power, which Aegon has little of. He can’t protect himself from his own family’s abuse or machinations, and unless he claims the crown everyone he loves will die. Dragons also represent freedom, and the ability to just fly away. And if there’s one thing Aegon wants more than anything in the world, it’s to run away from his family and the accursed throne.

In that, he’s not so different than a young Rhaenyra (pre-personality change anyway). Young Rhaenyra hated having to conform to societal standards. Hated having no choice but to marry, and to whom. She too wanted to fly away to freedom. There’s too many parallels between the two, even down to their ages pre-timeskip. Rhaenyra was about 18, and Aegon now is only 20. Yet Rhaenyra at 16’s only problem was whether her infant brother would replace her as heir, while Aegon’s was being forced to play house with his sister and newborn twins.

Perhaps misogyny and society would always be Rhaenyra’s greatest opponent, and the same Aegon’s ally when it comes to their claims, but it was not the only issue. Precedent declared that Aegon would be heir ahead of her, yet it was Rhaenyra’s position and honor that Viserys defied law for, even when she committed high treason against the crown thrice. She got everything; Aegon had nothing. He’s the underdog of the story, not her. So had they not made him an on screen r*pist (unlike Daemon who was off-screen one and merely an on-screen pedo and wife-killer), it would’ve been very hard for the writers to push their “Rhaenyra good, TG bad” narrative. Those two would’ve had too many parallels and foils for it to work, and they really couldn’t have that, could they.

No, Aegon has to be the villain; Rhaenyra has to be the hero. It’s a black and white war, good vs evil. That’s the story HOTD is trying to sell, and not at all the complex tragedy of a family tearing itself and its dynasty into pieces over greed and idiocy.

#aegon ii targaryen #anti hotd #team green #Rhaenyra critical #though not really #merely pointing out similarities that her fans won’t like #anti rhaenyra stans #anti tb stans #because i can #anti team black #because some of them found this and no i don’t care for discourse atm #dont like dont interact

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pedrospatch · 1 year ago

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fall into temptation | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56, i know, i know but this is self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel (if you squint). reader has two sisters, the only physical description for them is their hair, which they can also braid as well as their style of clothing.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before.

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a good, kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from where he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in flaked gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates or sweet cherub angels playing harps.

Joseph? Was that it?

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name.

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and the truth of the matter was that he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole fucking community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around this place with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face.

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted. He wasn’t here to make friends.

In fact, the closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either. That’s a little too generous. Friend? No, more like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he was in need of a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of those reasons were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could he possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve gotta be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark, chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in neat halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and worn, leather oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them.

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the last one. His breath audibly hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your mid twenties, if that.

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened.

All three of you were beautiful beyond words—why the fuck did it have to be you who held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah.

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Didn’t know polygamy was a thing around here.”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing.

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He’s the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters? He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man. They hardly looked anything like him.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the community. “So he ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort and with hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him.

“Hope for what, Maria? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? That the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless fuckin’ book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches the primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching them numbers and basic literacy. Shows them how to start counting, reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol.

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so blatantly that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her lips from Joel’s view and whispered something to you over her shoulder.

Shit.

He’d been caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late.

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head.

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man standing there with a gun slung over his shoulder.

Unsure of what else to do, Joel simply offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse.

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious little daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “S’gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got no fuckin’ business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a whole lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel, that one. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her all too much, y’know? She tries to be the chaperone—it don’t always work out that way, though. Her halo ain’t exactly perfect either.”

“What ‘bout the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster. “Where does she fall on the scale between angel and devil?”

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass. Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor of a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. She’s just ‘bout the sweetest fuckin’ thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s real good. Too good. Wouldn’t surprise me if the lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?”

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a generous swig.

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure and so innocent—untouched by anyone else—caused something to stir deep in his lower belly.

“She’s the old man’s pride and joy,” Tommy continued, breaking into his train of thought. “Kind. Polite. Behaves. Doesn’t get herself into any kinda trouble—I mean look at her, she can’t even choke down a glass of whiskey. She’s just too good of a girl.”

Joel proceeded cautiously with his next question. “Any of them taken?”

Surprised, Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”

“No, I ain’t interested,” he interjected, rolling his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer. “They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice man and all, but when it comes to his daughters, he’s real strict. Not that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can fuckin’ believe that.”

Amused, Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Wasted. Oldest one ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary, either.”

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

“Nope. Ain’t nobody gonna snitch on grown women in their thirties.” Noticing the amused expression on Joel’s face, he adds, “By the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? S’best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if the wild one makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna turn her down. S’not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think ‘bout it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “Relax. Was just a joke.”

“Right. M’sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh and waved a dismissive hand. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, s’not like I’ve gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door.

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head in understanding. You stood up and said something else to her, then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving. Alone.

In the middle of the fucking night? While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself.

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly in his hand as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like teenagers rather than grown men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before clumsily stumbling to his feet.

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he realized what was happening.

Kent was going after you.

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following suit.

Joel stepped out of the bar and into the night, the chilly evening air nipping at his face. He took a look around.

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent.

That couldn’t fucking be good.

“Where the fuck did you two go,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled in between the bar and the commune’s mess hall. You’re pinned underneath Kent with your skirt bunched up around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed its way up your bare thigh.

“Aw, c’mon now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a fucking virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She’s got no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me, y’know.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of his lungs.

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught in Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation. “I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his chattering teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two.

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist.

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’,” he prompted. “You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear.

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard.

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face.

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”

Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley.

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more.

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you.

You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet.

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it.

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest.

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you.

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face.

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.

“That really ain’t necessary.”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours.

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards.

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.”

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you.

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?”

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.”

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin.

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side.

“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted.

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship.

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring.

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls.

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk.

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered.

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar.

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else.

Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it.

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world.

A fucking slab of carved wood.

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder.

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt.

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers.

“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church.

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger.

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly.

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words.

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him.

He was right, after all.

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”

“What is it?”

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”

You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.”

It had been a statement, not a question.

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone.

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse.

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“S’right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee.

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest. “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables?

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone.

Want, sure.

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther.

But Joel didn’t just want you.

He fucking needed you.

And he didn’t know why.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain.

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?”

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you.

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek.

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body.

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.”

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours.

You heard him chuckle softly.

“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle.

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss.

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

And what about you?

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it.

None.

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench.

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss.

Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you?

He couldn’t. Simple as that.

“You sure ‘bout this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself?

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further.

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance.

You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat.

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt.

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline.

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise.

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you.”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt.

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else.

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t.

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud.

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around, sweet girl.”

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle.

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest.

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t.

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson.

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God.

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?”

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?

He almost laughed at your expression.

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller self insert #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #fic: fall into temptation

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misguidedasgardian · 1 month ago

Text

GLADIATORS

CREGAN I.

MASTERLIST

Summary: You see your father’s latest acquisition in a closer way, a wild man from the North who had become one of his gladiators.

Pairing: Slave!Gladiator!Cregan x Domina!Reader

Warnings: Ancient Rome AU, Cursing, slavery (and everything that comes with it, technically rape, forced labour, punishments), blood, guts, gladiator battles, lude language, nudity, sex and everything related is no biggie here, we’re a ‘sex positive’ Republic, mentions of sex, same sex couples, orgies, and more.

MINORS DNI + 18

Wordcount: 6,7 k

Notes: This reader is young perhaps… like 18? 20? but so is Cregan!

“Dad, he is old!”, you whined. You heard your older brother snicker by your side, as their silly wives snickered like the silly girls they were. You sighed as you popped a grape into your mouth followed closely by a piece of cheese and bread and a sip of wine.

“He’s got money… and he is in the senate!”, he said then, signaling one of the slaves to start lighting up the oil lamps along the Triclinium, the night had fallen over King’s Landing and it was getting dark.

“I bet you could find someone who’s in the senate who’s got a wife he is willing to divorce, and he won’t die of old age before the wedding”, mocked your eldest brother, but soon got quiet as your father looked at him with severity

“Nobody should divorce their wives on my account”, you said, the notion made your stomach turn. Even though divorce was a common thing, if a man desired another, or another union would ensure more privileges, or if his woman was unfaithful or not able to give in heirs to the family, they could divorce. A woman could divorce her husband too if she had her own reasons.

You knew the dowry of your middle brother’s bride was quickly being spent on the training of the gladiators in the Ludus underneath the house, so he needed to come into some money quickly, even though he would have to pay for your dowry.

One of the greatest events of the year was coming quickly, and his Gladiators needed to be in top shape.

“Tomorrow I want you all there, at the games of Senator Tywin”

“Have we’ve been invited to the pulvinus father?”, asked your eldest brother

“Close enough, right by it”, he said, he seemed pleased, but you had learned to read him better, there was something lurking in his eyes that betrayed a darker desire… for more power perhaps.

“I've heard that Larys Strong and therefore Alys Rivers got an invitation this year to the pulvinus, and her gladiators in the primus at sundown”, whispered Martyn

You had two oldest brothers, Alton and Martyn.

“That Ludus stands as such because of that whore Alys Rivers”, mumbled your father

“A woman Lanista?”, you asked, “how could that be?”

“She is not, but she whispers in her half-brother's ear while he aspires to be in higher positions”, explains your father. “While his brother, first born son and heir goes around playing gladiator”

“He is a slave?”, you asked

“He volunteer himself into that life”, murmured Alton, “you had seen him fight sister, Harwin”

“Oh wow!”, you said, not really knowing what to say, but rather, sipping your wine, you did remember seeing the biggest person you had seen upon the arenas of King’s Landing’s Coliseum.

“Anyways, Alys stands as such because she was advised many years by Daemon himself the demon of the arenas”, mumbled Martyn

“Yes, fine Daemon/Demon”, your father would repeatedly, while on his cups, tell the tale of his biggest regret, and that was not purchasing a young Daemon while he was still in training, he grew to be the greatest gladiator at the arena, so much so he won his own freedom at the games of the Vulcanalia some years ago. Daemon, as many other gladiators, came from the shadowlands of Essos, as he sported beautiful white/silver hair and violet eyes.

You would never say this outloud, but the gladiator battles were never a thing of your interest, not really. You did not liked the bloodshed, the gutting, you had no taste for violence, and yet, there was something to admire as you saw those men fighting

They looked like they were carved from the finest artist, they stood like they were gods above the sands. They stood as fierce representations of the god of war himself.

“Well, her reign of depravity will not last long, I heard the Northman shows great promise”, mumbled Martyn’s wife Adella

“What about the Northman?”, Martyn asked then, you raised your head in question. Oh the Northman.

The man had your father in a lockdown, taking most of his time, money and patience. He was ‘caught wild’ in one of the last incursions of the armies of the emperor to the wild tribes of the North, hence his nickname. Purchased by your father at the slave market, and trained for the last months. With the purchase, your father was hoping to impress Tywin Lannister himself, a senator and a very wealthy man, it did not work, so far, as the man planned to visit your father’s villa upon invitation to see the Northman’s training and hopeful subjugation. So far, no luck.

He was caught fighting, he wasn’t a stranger to it, but there was a long way from being a soldier to being a gladiator. From being… whatever he was up there, to obey command from a man that subdued you into slavery.

But again, your father’s temper has closely returned to normal, so, you could only assume the training was becoming fruitful, even so slowly.

“He will never be tamed”, he said curtly, “but… if we keep managing him properly, we can turn that hate of his into the arena, he shows great promise”

“Forgive me father”, you said, raising from your place in the triclinium, “I take my leave to bed”, you said with a soft smile, nodding at everyone present

“Good, I won’t have you all tired tomorrow”, he said approvingly, and you nodded, thinking for which old bat he would have you presentable tomorrow.

He was determined to get you wed before the autumn plantings at the end of the year, and he didn’t seem to care to whom as long as it brought privileges upon his house.

It was hot, so hot, you could barely stand, you were eternally grateful to your personal slave, Anya, who stood by your side, fanning you with a soft paper fan. She leaned into you as you allowed her, to also enjoy the soft waves.

Although, they brought some stench from all the people around you.

King’s Landing, although the capital of the great republic, stood famous for its stench, having grown rapidly and unprepared for it.

The sun cooking the viewers of the spectacle didn’t help either.

The people cheered, bringing a new wave of hodor that made you dizzy and poor Anya almost faint

“Did you see that?”, asked your elder brother to the youngest, as two gladiators fought to the death, one cutting the other’s arm. HIs screams could be heard all the way up where you stood, near the pulvinus.

You rather stare into the sun, which you did. Soon, after midday, it was going to hide behind the wooden beams supporting the canvas on top of the Arena, there you truly were going to enjoy it. being able to relish in the shadow.

“Tywin demanded only the best this city has to offer present themselves in his games”, the comment alone made you turned your gaze upon the Arena, as people cheered again, some even pushed you in their ecstasy, to see the gladiator in shining white armor decapitate the one missing his arm

“And Cole does it again”, said Martyn. The one who had an armor so polished it was blinding was known as Cole, he stood from the Rhoynar in the south, from Dorne itself, plucked from the desert to fight in another kind of arena.

“See her gloat”, demanded Alton, you all looked towards the Lanista herself, Alys Rivers in the pulvinus, with a smug look upon her face, she of course was the one holding the wip that trained the man in the arena.

She was of extraordinary beauty, long lustrous black hair, long to her hips, wearing a deep green stola, beautifully decorated atop a black tunic, you wondered how she did not bake wearing such dark colors.

She was stuck to the side of her rumored half-brother, he was a.. interesting man, thin and a bit twisted, unruly hair but fine clothing adorned his weak frame.

“People of King’s Landing…!”, presented Otto HIghtower from the pulvinus, a small but central box, where the most prominent people attending the games would sit at. He was a Senator, friend to Tywin Lannister and apparently presenter to today’s games. Maybe he was the patron of the entire occasion, your father had been paid by a HIghtower man.

But this… was far from over.

It was odd to see such a gladiator so early in the day, the sundown was reserved for the very best part of the games, the primus, between the two best and more known gladiators.

You found yourself thinking about like four names at the time.

Harwin, Cole, Aemond, and… the Northman.

Although Harwin was disapparating from latest presentations… he still held name, but he had lost his prowess as the last time he found himself in the Arena he asked for mercy as he found himself losing, he raised his hand in the air with both index and middle finger pointing to the skies begging for mercy, and it was granted.

Against Cole himself. He got terribly injured almost a year ago, thereafter only presenting himself in fights long before midday sun.

Yes, everything you knew about gladiators and fights was learnt unwillingly.

But the primus did not belong to your father, so the Northman was fighting early, thankfully. You might have a chance to survive this heat, by retiring back to your father’s villa early.

Although, these occasions were like the market for older unmarried men. And your father would have you giving everything to sell…

“... I give to you, from one of the greatest Ludus of the Republic, a man, from the wild tribes North of the neck…”, your father smiled proudly as the name of the family was spoken loudly for everyone to hear. “trained to wet the sands with the blood of his enemies… I give you… CREGAN!”, people booed at his entrance, as the wild tribes of the North had been villainized by the Republic, as relentless, violent and above all, uncultured and barbaric, but you had learned to read between the lines, they were described as such because they refused to bend the knee.

The gates of the Arena opened on the west side, revealing the men ready for battle. He stood tall and broad despite his young age, his dark brown hair tied back, although hidden by a thick helmet in the shape of a wolf’s head.

He wore nothing protecting his torso, yet a thick metal belt putting together the lower part of a tunic. He wore forearm and shin protectors, and thick leather sandals

He had a huge sword in hand, and a shield on his other.

The sight alone took your breath away.

You had seen him only practicing, briefly, as your father did not approve of you gazing from your balcony down to the men. As they would, “get distracted”, and you didn't enjoy their eyes filled with lust either. So you refrained from doing so, but…

The mere glimpses you had gotten of the men were nothing when putting in comparison to the men upon the sand today.

In all glory, in strength, as a gladiator was the mightiest representation of a man, or that is what your father always said.

This was a rare sighting though, as he had barely been making a name for himself, this time might be the first he presents himself alone. Your father was right, taiming him was proving to be incredibly difficult, but nobody could deny that even if he presented himself a gladiator today under your father’s ludus, he was still as unruly as the first time you laid eyes upon him, as the first time you gaze down upon him, entering through the gates, kicking and screaming, hair longer than you had seen in a men, even longer than he had now.

He fought your father’s guards and even the ones who he would call his brothers this present day.

Tywin himself called for the start of the fight, his opponent was someone of the Ludus of Larys himself, one with lesser note, his name left your ears as soon as you heard it.

But you couldn't care less, as when he started to move upon the sands, the rest of the world could crumble around you and it would not matter in the slightest.

“He stands superior in all aspects”, mumbled one of your brothers and you couldn't tell which as you were so hypnotized.

Cregan attacked first, and that was very frowned upon in the Lanistas, as the first to strike tended to have disadvantage, his opponent met him half way and the clash of gladious responded all over the coliseum.

There were some gladiators that favored other weapons, like the spear and short shield, or the Retiarius, that were gladiators trained with a net and a trident, in a fisherman fashion.

It sounded laughable in paper, but they were quite impressive in the arena, not this time though, both gladiators stood with a gladious, meaning a sword, and a long squared concave shield.

The fight wasn’t lengthy, the superiority of the Northman was clear since the very first movement.

Although it wasn’t less breathtaking, as each of their movements, attacks, the way they moved, and deflected, its like they were dancing, dancing in a mortal rhythm

The crowd cheered for them, and even though they were not on the Northman’s side, suddenly, they shifted as it became clear that he was the better fighter.

Although you did not enjoy the games, there was this moment, this exact moment in which you felt like your heart was in your throat and you could tear your eyes apart from the fight. The moment where you really cared about who won, about who survived. The Northman, even thought it was the

But it was brief, first Cregan drew blood on the arm of his opponent, and then, after a quick movement, the man was dead, dropped in a growing pool of blood on the floor.

The magic was gone, and the crowd erupted in cheers, applauding, screaming his name, although there were those disappointed because of the outcome.

“He will be the champion of our house!”, said Alton, “mark my words!”, he said, as your two brothers hugged each other in happiness. you turned to Anya, who had a soft smile on her face, but kept fanning the both of you

The rest of the fights happened quickly after that, the sun hiding behind the podium of the magistrates and people of importance in the city, which gave you relief as the day turned quickly, the sun moved above the sky until it hid behind the outer walls of the coliseum.

The last fight ended quickly as well, Aemond killing his opponent in an impressive showing of strength and blood.

Your father was called upon another man near the pulvinus, as you tried to stand your ground as people around you were quickly to leave the arena, but you managed to stand your ground, as your siblings found friends of their own to talk to.

Your father came back to you, rubbing his hands amongst each other with a pleased look on his face

“I must attend a meeting in the magistrate’s house”, he said happily, “He spotted me in the crowd and invited me”, you smiled at him

“I’m pleased, father”, you said with a soft smile

“See yourself to the villa, with our guards and slaves, don’t wait up”, he commanded the lot of you.

“We have been invited to the Lannisters”, mumbled Martyn, your father’s eyes again shone with interest. So he nodded towards your brother.

“I trust you’ll be well taken care of”, he said then, turning to you, he then signaled to one of his most trusted guards and even to the Doctore himself, the trainer of the gladiators.

“Yes father”, you nodded at Anya and the both of you exited the arena, followed closely by a guard.

You turned quickly as you heard your name being called by a familiar voice, as you were int he shade of the hallways, as you turned you found yourself with your old friend from your childhood, Alysanne Blackwood

“How long haven’t we gaze upon one another?”, she said, grabbing your forearms as you did hers, she leaned in a made attempt to kiss both your cheeks as it was accustomed

“Too long”, you said with a long sigh

“We shall remedy that immediately!”, she said then, “you didn’t mind telling me your father’s Ludus was the one who owns the Northman himself?”, she tried

“Oh well, much has happened in the last couple of years”, you said shyly, smiling softly at her.

This was hardly the time, all the people were leaving the coliseum, and pushed you who were trying to stand on the sidelines. She looked at you with those deep green eyes of hers, she was so beautiful, lean and tall, with thick black hair fixed beautifully and big green eyes, her smile was contagious.

“Well it's been too long”, she said then, as you failed to meet what she desired, “and I will wait no longer, to get reacquainted with dear friend”, she said, grabbing your hands

“My villa, its mine for the night, as my father meets with important men”, you offered, her smile was as beautiful as the rest of her

“Perfect, Jeyne Frey is also here”, she said, “we’ll go together”.

To say you were nervous was an understatement

The night found you and your friends in the safety of the triclinium in your family’s villa, where the soft wine flowed freely and also the dining.

“And his cock was huge!”, she said, making you gasp

“Alyssane!”, you chided, “don’t say that!”, you said, feeling your cheeks heated

“What? Cock?”, she teased, “Cock! Cock! Cock! COCK!”

“Stop it!”, you slapped her arm playfully

“I see them all the time!”, Jeyne said then, looking sheepishly, hiding her smirk in her cup of wine.

“Only because you like to peek as your brothers have sex with slaves!”, mocked Alyssane

“No I don’t!”, she said, but you knew she was lying.

“I bet that Northman’s cock is huge too”, teased Alyssane, finally revealing her true intentions behind her and Jeyne’s visit to your father’s villa. You got quiet, so did Jeyne, but the expression on her face said it all, she was as intrigued as Alyssane

“I wouldn’t know, even if I saw it”, you said

“You had never seen a man naked?”, asked Alyssane, raising one of her perfect eyebrows

“No”, you said then, well… you sort of had, men, male slaves on sale on the streets, but you had refused to look long enough to draw a complete image in your mind. What you saw in a couple of seconds did not please you at all, rather… you disliked.. something so… small and wobbly. You shaked at the very memory of it.

“You had never seen any of your gladiators in such fashion?”, asked Jeyne, ready to tease and follow Alyssane’s lead.

“No I have not!”, you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you at least a bit curious?”, asked Jeyne

“Well, of course I am”, you defended

“You are to be married before the darkest of the winter months, you should at least know what you are up against”, Alyssane said simply, “and I would not deny the sight… of such a man”

“You are here just to gaze upon naked men?”, you said playfully, although, a bitter taste in your mouth, as you were feeling clearly used, and pressured.

“No, I am here to gaze upon naked gladiators”, Jeyne said then.

But another flavor joined the others, the need deep within you impress your friends, your friends from rich houses of the capital

“Bring me the Northman”, you said to the guard that stood in the corner watching the whole reunion, he seemed terribly nervous, but nodded and left you. You shaked with the resolution in your command, and felt a pit in your stomach in anticipation.

You knew he was going to take a while, so you turned back at your friends and smiled nervously, and they seemed terribly motivated.

“I must say”, began Jeyne, as she saw your face filled with trepidation, “that my tongue will not be kept from wagging about your hospitality to my father”, she wanted to make sure you knew there was going to be recompense for this, and good recompense. His father, as old as time, sat in the senate, she stood the daughter of a senator.

“Thank you Jeyne”, you said with a soft smile, you took a long gulp of your cup, to try and soothe your nerves. Alyssane did the same, but with a smirk on her lips, she said nothing as she studied your form.

Finally, they both took sit position in their triclinium as you heard movement behind you. You looked back to see their trainer Roose Bolton, following closely behind the man himself. The wildling from the tribes of the North, whose name was Cregan Stark, although everyone called him… ‘The Northman’

He stood with thick shackles around both wrists. in front of him. He was wearing nothing but a clean subligaria, and his body was like one of a god, well defined and gleamed under the light of the torches, he had recently been cleaned. The sight made your mouth dry, so you took another long sip of the mulsum in your cup. He had thick brown hair that he used tied in the back of his head, and he had sharp eyes, cold as ice and the same colour. The features of his face were soft, declaring his young age, your own, perhaps.

“Leave us”, you demanded, but the trainer Roose Bolton looked conflicted

“Domina, I don’t think…”

“I said leave us”, you said, about to lose your courage, your friends behind you giggled, weirdly giving you confidence to commit to your own command. With a grunt, the doctore nodded and left you, with only your friends, a couple of guards standing silently in the corners of the room behind veils, and him.

The Northman

He was deadly still, looking forwards, beyond you and your friends, beyond this room, his jaw was tense, you could tell that being here, summoned by you like this… for him was humiliating, but there he stood, tense like a bow. He said nothing, he didn’t move an inch.

“Is this what all northmen look like?”, Jeyne teased, “he is more beast than man”, you didn’t know if that was a real question, but your eyes never left his form, even if it wasn’t he didn’t answer.

“You can answer”, you encouraged

“All northmen do not look like me”, he said finally, the dark tone in his voice made the three of you gasp. “some make me look like an Andal”, Jeyne and Alyssane giggled at the prospect of finding even gruffer men than him.

“Oh he speaks the common tongue”, Alyssane was on fire, making you more uncomfortable. His eyes finally found yours, and you couldn’t take your own out of his.

“Yes he does”, you whispered, he indeed had a beautiful set of eyes. You then looked down at his chest, there was a red line, his injury from the battle in the Arena, it was still fresh, but you could tell it was healing properly

“I think he is handsome”, mumbled Alyssane, taking foot to walk towards him, you feared his reaction, as the guard standing in the corner of the room clenched his hand around the pommel of his sword.

But the gladiator still didn't move as Alysanne walked around him, teasing him with a single finger, touching his skin as she walked. His eyes were still on you.

“He stands as Mars, ready for war”, she whispered

“Alyssane seems taken by the man”, teased Jeyne in your ear

It was a curious thing, this what you were feeling, like somebody wanted to take something that belonged to you, but again, he wasn’t a thing, and you didn’t own him. Not technically at least, your father did.

“Their day starts early tomorrow”, you mumbled, making Alysane stop and look back at you with a teasing smile on her face. “his training I mean”, you said then

“Of course”, she said, you signaled the poor shaking guard and he grabbed Cregan, and took him from your side. You could swear you saw lingering eyes from him to you, but you must have imagined it.

“You should… enjoy him while you can”, said Jeyne finally, once you found yourselves alone again

“What do you mean?”, you asked her, her and Alyssane shared complicit looks

“Well, obviously, before you take an old bat as a husband, you should enjoy one of his gladiators, like that Northman for example”

“No…”, you said quickly, “I couldn’t possibly do something like that”

“Why not?”, asked Alyssane

“He is a man trained as a gladiator!”, you said, “he is a bit dirty…”, you tried, not quite convinced

“You have him bathed and oiled before you”, said Alyssane like it was no issue

“What if he doesn't want to?”, you tried then

“He is a slave, under your command…”, said Jeyne, “...and a man”

“What if he decided to kill me instead?”, you said then, “wrap his hands around my neck”

“I will not shame you is that is to your pleasure”, giggled Alyssane

“Aly!”, you whined, “the point is I really couldn’t, I mean, he is big and thick… and wild looking”

“Delicious then”, she offered

“Dangerous…”, you continued, although you felt your cheeks heated.

“Well if you don't have him, maybe I could!”, she teased

“What are you talking about?!”, you asked, scandalized, “when have you heard that proper Andal women lay with their gladiators?”

“Oh I’ve heard a ludus where such things happen quite frequently”, she teased

“Where?”, you asked

“In Alys Rivers’ ludus!”, your eyes opened wide in shock

“Really?”, you asked, “the bastard sister of the Lanista Larys Strong?”, you asked

“They say she offers her gladiators in… other manners”, she said, winking at you, “perhaps we should find ourselves at her door?”, she asked Jeyne

“Perhaps we shall”, she said back.

“Don’t be mean!”, you teased back, she laughed, as she was clearly jesting, you hoped.

“The hour is late”, said Jeyne with a soft smile, “I should start my journey back to my villa before my father starts a search party”, she said, raising from her chair

“Yes! me as well!”, said Alyssane, “I hope I can meet you tomorrow at the market?”, she asked you, you smiled and nodded profusely, as you accompanied them to the atrium, and therefore the door

As you watched them leave, nervousness started to take a hold on you, as did the warmth of the wine consumed to hide your embarrassment

It was not common to find yourself alone in your villa, your father had allowed it because you were in company of friends -who had influential fathers-, but now there you stood, no brothers, or sisters in law, father or friends to loom over you.

Your lower belly burned with necessity, with something you have never felt before, a longing, your body burned with anticipation and excitement. You didn’t know if it was the mulsum you had drank, or the power you just discovered, all the whole thing combined.

“Bring the Northman up here”, you said to the first guard you saw, he nodded and went to comply with your command. Your body was tingly because of the alcohol and you were excited to say the least, you didn’t even care that you had already sent the poor man down mere minutes ago, tonight, you had the power.

You shakily served yourself some more wine, back in the safety of the triclinium, the room where you ate, met with friends and family, where you were most comfortable. The man was standing right in front of you in minutes, the guards nodded at you and then left you as they had done before.

The gladiator stood there, now he seemed more surprised than before, as he found you alone, and he also seemed to be showing more of his emotions on his face.

“Northman”, you called, he turned to you quickly, anger in his eyes

“That’s not my name!”, it took you by surprise, you couldn’t deny it, the anger in his eyes, the sharpness in his tone.

“What is your name?”, it was of no consequence to you, his domina, and you should express so, that it did not matter anymore what his real name was, but, there you were, asking him nonetheless

“My parents named me Cregan”, he said, “of House Stark”, he said sharply, “as many leaders of my house before me”

There was so much more you wanted to ask, as his words truly shocked you, but as you gazed down the street you came to your senses, realizing that you should not allow such things. As your father tended to say, “who were you before this Ludus does not matter, the only thing in your mind should be sand, and the blood of your enemies”

“That is not what you are here for”, you finally find your voice, minimizing his anger at hand, turning his attention somewhere else.

“Remove your subligaria”, you whispered the command as if you did not wish it, and his sharp eyes were trained on you

“Look at you, a little domina in the making”, he teased, his tone much changed since he let you know of his true name. The very words made your cheeks heated, and you found yourself averting his gaze, his did not stray from your face as he released himself from the only item of clothing he was wearing. Your eyes followed the trail of his perfect skin, down his toned chest to his belly and…

The sight alone made you gasp.

This looked nothing like the ones of the male slaves in the market, if anything, those were… flacid and small, that sight brought you disgust and uneasiness, this one however, made your mouth dry and your skin tingle with desire. Desire that was pooling in your lower belly.

“You can touch me”, he said, he was being amused at your expense, only making you even more nervous, “I will not bite… much”, your hand was placed on his belly, muscles showing in beautiful shapes, you couldn't believe something could be hard but soft at the same time.

As your hand lowered, you found thick dark hairs there, making you shudder

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen”, he whispered, so close to your face your hand stopped right before getting to his base and you looked up at him.

“I’m the daughter of your dominus”, you said, as you believed he was forced to praise you.

“Do you think that’s got something to do with what I just said?”, he asked. Your hand stopped right as the base of his cock, you shuddered, his manhood was terribly hot.

You had never spoken to this man before today, you had barely glanced at him, and now, here he stood, under your command, looking at you with his sharp eyes, not missing a thing.

“I’m sorry, this was a bad idea…”, you whined retrieving your hands like his skin burned you. Cregan grunted when your soft hands left his cock, and that only made you burn more heatedly

“And you are going to leave me hanging like this?”, he asked, amused, mocking you, but inside he was suffering, he was enjoying it too much, it has been so long without a woman’s touch, “you can’t do that!”

“My apologies”, you said quickly, leaving him there standing

His doctore came to collect him, he retrieved his cloth from the ground, putting it in place

“A little tease that one”, he mumbled to the serious man

“Do not speak of domina in that way”, he growled as he pushed him

“There is not much domina in her”, he chuckled

“That’s it, five lashes in the courtyard”, he said

“I’d think better of it doctore”, he said defiantly, taking advantage of the fact that only the two of them were present in the narrow passage that separated the villa from the training grounds of the Slaves, “the Vulcanalia is merely a fortnight away from now, and they have high hopes for me”

“Keep walking boy”, Roose Bolton threatened.

He led him downstairs and then through the big gate that separated the villa from the ludus, where the gladiators lived and trained. A guard locked it tight after they passed through it

“I advise you to keep what happened to yourself”, he said gloomly, Cregan looked back at his doctore, but nodded.

He was directed straight to a long open room, where the gladiators ate lunch and dinner. He directed himself to the cook, who gave him a clay pot with a white mush in it, just like the day before, and the night before that.

“Here comes the whore!”, someone shouted at him, as his “brothers” started mocking him and winking at him.

It didn’t take much to guess what happened in the villa, there was only one reason you get called upon at such hours, and wearing so little

“Shut the hell up Ben”, he mumbled to his only friend he had in the Ludus, he haden’t say anything, but he was grinning at him like an idiot.

“Was it her?”, he asked him, “the daughter? the domina?”

“Yes”, he said, his friend pushed him playfully

“Did you fuck her?”, Cregan just looked at him angrily

“No”

“Was she not pleased with you then?”. he asked, frowning

“She is young, she doesn’t know what she wants”, he said simply, really not wanting to share what had happened upstairs.

It was humiliating, to say the least, to be treated like that. To be called upon to be gazed at by women who looked at him like a piece of meat, and then again to be touched.

Oh but he meant every word

You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, since the first time he saw you, standing on that balcony, looking down at him. He did not blame you for your father, for the blood that ran through your veins, for the republic that created you. You had nothing to do with any of it.

Just by looking at you he could tell the kind soul that moved your body and warmed your heart

But you were the daughter of the man who purchased him, he wasn’t the one who enslaved him, but it was the man that had condemned him to the life of a gladiator.

“Well, maybe you can change her mind”, he teased

The only reason he was playing along with the Andals was to see how to escape them, so far, it had been easy to stay alive, he had been trained since he could pick up a sword on how to hunt, how to fight, how to survive, the North was not a place for the weak

“Father?”, you called out loud, the servants all dropped their eyes as you passed them by looking for him, but you couldn’t find him in his study, so you were on your way to his room at the other side of the villa

“What’s this ruckus?”, he asked, looking at you with sharp eyes as he went to encounter you in the atrium

“My good friend Alyssane has summoned me to go to the market at noon”, you knew he wouldn’t refuse you, not if Alyssane was involved, so he just sighed and motioned for you to follow him. You went back to his study, passing all the statues decorating the atrium. A normal Andal family would display in honor effigies of their most prominent family members, but yours displayed the most prominent gladiators and fighters that had come from this ludus.

“Here”, he passed you a small punch filled with gold coins

“Thank you father”, you said, offering a complacent smile

“Take one of my men with you”, he said then, “one of the gladiators”

“I hardly think that’s necessary, a servant and a guard would do just fine”, you said quickly, always as you were in the market you wanted to pass by as inconspicuous as you could.

“I insist, after the games, and before the Vulcanalia, I want the people to see them, to get excited, take the Northman”, you hid your face before your father could see the embarrassment in it.

One of the guards of the villa went to fulfill his request, and you sighed in exasperation.

You came back to your rooms to get ready to go out, and once you were, you returned to the entrance of the house, where Cregan himself was waiting for you with a severe look on his face, this was not to his liking, he was standing right by a guard, and by Roose Bolton.

The sight alone made you tremble

Had he told anybody what happened the day before? that you had touched him and presumed to have him?

Once his eyes found yours, he smirked.

“If something befalls the daughter of your dominus, fate worse than death awaits you boy”, he said in his ear

“Rest assured, that I will look after her with my life”, he said with a silly little smile.

You took a long sigh, and nodded to the guards and started walking out of the villa.

The villa stood on top of a hill, you had a pretty nice view upon the city of King’s Landing, but the rest of it wasn't quite impressive, the road was made of dirt and the houses around it were less impressive than the one your father had inherited from his father. It had been in your family since the very creation of the city.

You led a small comitive, all on foot, as you bluntly refused to be carried in a cot. You, your faithful slave Anya, Cregan himself, being flanked by two guards.

The center of the city started right at the foot of the hill, so it was a short minute walk.

You reach a street made of cobblestone, one adjacent to the one that led to the main street, as it was time before you had to meet Alyssane, you started to look the small stores

“Did your father hear of the way you handled me last night?”, Cregan whispered as Anya was tending elsewhere, you look back sharply at the Northman.

“No, and he shall not!”, you said sharply

“Oh well, I guess if he had, he’d have me castrated”, he whispered for your ears only, “and I guess you don’t want that as it seems you like what you saw”, he teased

“Stop it”, you said back. Your father was a practical man, and if he had heard of what occurred last night, you would be the one at fault, as everyone involved was just following your command. “My father will never know of this”, you sentenced

“You wanted to lay with me? A gladiator? a slave?”, he asked then

“I was mistaken”, you said, trying to gaze upon what a man was cooking on his store towards the street, it smelled delicious

“You are mistaken”, you heard him claim, his thick accent made your thighs, “for seeking bedding before connecting, to seek sex, instead of love, to want lust before you even began to feel the fondness”, he said sincerely.

“Thinking love is something within the grasp of someone in my position is foolish, and I learned not to be blinded and distracted by foolish things”, you whispered sadly. You nodded at the man and exchanged a couple of aerus for a plate of lamb soup. “I’ll be married before the year is over”, you whispered.

#misguidedgladiators #cregan stark #ancient rome au #house of the dragon au #hosue of the dragon #cregan #gladiator!cregan #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n

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riding-with-the-wild-hunt · 5 months ago

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vetted fundraisers from today. please continue to support campaigns like these in whatever ways you're able. even if it doesn't seem like much to you, your contribution is helping to save someone's life

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desireangel · 5 months ago

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Infernal Desires | Part One

Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Synopsis: When your family is caught up in treasonous scandal, the Prince Regent makes an offer that is impossible to refuse. To avoid what certainly would have been death by his sword, your family promises you to a man who is followed by whispers of violence and sin.

Warnings: mdni 18+! Strictly. Dark-ish ??? Aemond! Bad language, reader is implied to be from a certain family but not really, rushed & unedited. Sexual tension, allusions to sex, mentions of death and killing, Aemond gets angry handsy, hair pulling, mention of the noose bc Aemond would never tell just anyone how he feels. This is mainly a word vomit - I am once again incapable of limiting my writing to one part.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: aaand I’m back with a rewrite of an old fic I started last year! hopefully this is somewhat decent to follow along with - I wrote this while severely sleep deprived, stressed about procrastinating my uni work and knackered from work. Let me know if we are even interested in a part 2 or if I’ve missed any warnings!

It is a debt to be paid and an alliance to be made, that is all it is.

Easy enough for them to say. After all, it was you who suffered from the mistakes of your family and not them. They may as well have left you to the dangers of King’s Landing with nothing more than a shattered dignity and the tears that trailed down your cheeks.

Shit. Crying wasn’t going to do anything and while you never intend to present yourself as weak to anyone, there was nothing you could do to stop the angry tears that welled in your eyes. You wondered if your parents truly pained to see their daughter cry or if the tremble in your mother’s lip was nothing more than a pretence.

Your father stared at the ground by your feet. “It was not meant to come to this.”

“But it did. Are you really going to barter me to–”

“We are not bartering you. Stop saying that,” He snapped. “All you will have to do is take the title as his wife and give him children. It cannot be that bad.”

The glare you sent his way was full of malice and rage. How could he say that? You were better than that, smarter than that and the thought of being reduced to who knows what that man had in store for you as his wife - they may as well have cut your tongue out and made you a slave. Knowing that your family, whom you loved endlessly, were so sure of selling you so easily to a cruel man like Aemond Targaryen caused a dull ache in your chest.

It seemed hard to breathe through the betrayal, your chest heavy with deceit and heartbreak. Had you known what your father had been planning, you could have run away and found a way to survive without the comfort of your family lands.

“What Prince Aemond has offered has saved us,” Jericho stood leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at you, his little sister who would have died before leaving him to such a fate. “I do not expect you to understand the complex relationships between our Houses but consider this, dear sister. Would you rather him have the Vale burned to ashes? Have us hung from the walls of the Red Keep? I made a mistake. I know this, and I am sorry but this is the only choice we have.”

There was a tense silence. Jericho had ruined everything with little chance of repair and it was you who had to pay the price. You knew how the Crown punished Rhaenyra’s sympathisers and Jericho had damned the future of your family. What was happening is wrong - war is never worth the price it takes. You wholeheartedly agreed with that but there was something inherently stupid about putting the people you cared about at risk just to send a raven with a conditional offer of a bent knee.

You blinked as you tried to make sense of it all. “Explain it to me. I do not understand.”

“Aemond Targaryen is Prince Regent but I was once his only friend,” Jericho said. You knew he used the word friend strategically. “He extended an olive branch. Repent our House’s treachery through our last daughter and a pin for the Vale on King Aegon’s map. You could not understand how generous that is. Refusing would have been a sentence of death.”

Friend? Generous? You would have laughed if you could. You briefly wondered how Jericho had managed to barter with the Prince Regent before they had taken his head. Alas, it would be of no use to ask a question you would get no answer to. The men of these walls underestimated the capabilities of a woman’s mind and a woman’s strength.

“All he gains is something to hold over your head, brother. Paying off your mistakes with my life? You have heard the stories - he has become a cruel man. Warming his bed when he sees fit and making his heirs will not fix what you did. Many have been executed for far less.”

Your father cleared his throat. “It is our only option. We have nothing more to offer in place and a ruined reputation. The family name holds the last of our power and without what little power we have left, your brother and I would lose the Vale. It is a miracle we have not already.”

“The Prince wants to dangle you over our heads? Fine. If that is what it takes for him to spare our lives.” Jericho’s voice was so rough. It was the first time you had seen him as anything other than gentle to you and you felt a heaviness at the sight of him so distressed.

There was not much left for you outside of the empty empire that your father’s father had built for your family. At least you still had each other and your titles, and despite the situation that they’ve forced you into, at the end of the day, you all loved each other to death. It would have been a death sentence but you could have run away instead, could have found a life for yourself somehow. But how could you live with yourself knowing that you’d damned those you love because of your pride and fear of life as a princess?

So reluctantly and tearfully, you nod your head and silently agree.

Aemond wondered whether he was making the right decision by giving Jericho a second chance. If it were anyone else, he would have had them hung without a second thought. But you and your brother were different.

It was a moment of weakness, an inexcusable lapse in his judgment to have spared Jericho’s treason because he remembered you and to have further justified his actions by claiming the Vale through your betrothal. While it was his first and foremost motivation and Aemond was bound by duty to take advantage of the opportunity, it was not the only reason he had suggested the idea at the Small Council.

There was hardly a person in Aemond’s life whom he could call a friend. There was not a soul in this world that Aemond could truly trust, not even Jericho who had been by his side for the first parts of his childhood.

Nor you, who had at once shown him kindness in his youth despite the mockery that was often made of him. You had only accompanied your brother and father to King’s Landing on three occasions, and what started as your soft conversation and willing smiles for him had left his memory entirely until he heard word of Jericho’s treacherous message.

Aemond, despite your attempts at friendship, had never returned your kindness. In truth, he didn’t know how to. And quickly, your smiles had turned to frowns and your attempts at friendly talk had become sarcastic remarks and quiet scoffs.

It was also a moment of selfishness and a decision made with nothing more than foolish curiosity. You had always been there, in the back of the picture and unnoticed by everyone apart from him. There was not a person in this world who had peaked his curious desire more than you and the two of you had spent the brief occasions together bickering and pestering one another. Regardless of your initial efforts, Aemond was never your friend. While he had never actually done you wrong before now, you were never really fooled by his deceiving nonchalance and forced manners.

The indifference that you had for each other had no cause to fade. Even less so with the recent murderous, vile stories of Aemond the Kinslayer who killed his nephew and (while most wouldn’t dare utter the words beyond certain walls) who may have crippled his own brother with Vaghar’s fire. You had almost fallen to your knees upon hearing of your betrothal to such a man.

Aemond was now twenty and three but when it came to whatever distorted plot he was planning, he felt juvenile. Your brother and your father were the perfect pawns. You were the perfect leverage - perhaps a pawn yourself. As much as he convinced himself that having you in his possession would mean he would have invaluable power over your House to do exactly as he wanted within his twisted politics while he has the power to do so, the idea of having you in the palm of his hand, in his control and eventually beneath his body was exciting.

He was never one for meaningless entertainment. But what was the harm in indulging himself this once?

It was a formality. Being presented at King’s Landing for the first time to your future husband, his family and to those whom he currently ruled over as the woman to be his wife.

You had changed since the last time Aemond had seen you. It had only been two years but he would never admit to his surprise at just how different you had become from the cowering young girl he remembered you to be when you were just ten and four.

He had rushed through the formalities of greeting you and your family, welcoming you into what would come to be your home. The lunch was painfully awkward as little was said between anyone. The Dowager Queen spoke formally yet kindly with your mother and shared a few words with you but you could barely engage with her conversation under the burning gaze of the Prince Regent who sat across from you.

It was over quickly, before anyone could start bickering about the traitorous reasons behind your presence. Aemond shortly convinced his mother that no escort would be needed, so long as Ser Criston Cole was there when you both were left to acquaint yourselves in private. You gulped as you were lead shamelessly into the Prince’s chambers.

Aemond only set a glance upon Ser Criston and the raven haired man took his place outside the closed doors.

You were sure that the Prince’s chambers were as large as an entire wing of your own home yet you felt claustrophobic under his gaze. His eye was hellfire as he silently stared at you, leaning back in his chair and resting his fingers under his chin. There was little you could do but stare back at him, anxiously tapping your foot on the marbled floor.

In your eyes, Aemond had always been torturously beautiful. But here, as his gaze fell upon you and you shared the silence of his personal space, he was ethereal. It caused your breath to catch as you waited for him to address you first.

Shakily, you broke the silence. “Why am I here, my Prince?”

“You are to be my wife,” He drawled, fingers tapping on the desk that he lazily dragged his hand along. What a stupid question. “That is why you are here.”

“I believe you know that is not what I ask, my Prince.” You scowled at him. It wasn’t smart to talk to him in such a way, you knew that. He is Prince Regent, after all. A memory of your brother’s warning to be careful flashed briefly in your mind.

His expression deceivingly calm, Aemond considered putting you in your place. He may be behaving in a way he does not recognise of himself but he would not tolerate your disrespect.

Instead, he somewhat answered your question. “We will be married so that your brother’s treason shall be forgiven and your House will be sworn to the King. You will stay here, in my chambers. Do whatever the seven hells you please, it does not matter.”

In any other instance, Aemond would have detested the sight of you gaping at him, stumbling over your words stupidly as your wide eyes confidently held his own. You had changed. Or maybe he had just been blind to the perfect curves of your body or the way you looked at him like he ruled the realms, so submissive yet so full of fire. So tempting.

He’d condemn himself to the noose before ever admitting to his thoughts.

“What?” you almost gasped. There was no chance that you could stay in his chambers like this. You were sure the whispers of the Keep were already running amok with Aemond’s insistence on isolating the two of you behind the doors to his private chambers.

Aemond took pleasure in the way you seethed. “I will not make it so easy for you to return to scheming with your treasonous family.”

You could hit him. If he weren’t a Prince, you would have. “You are keeping me prisoner? For something I have had no such hand in?”

“No,” he stood from the table and in two strides, he was in front of you. So close that you could smell the woody oils he bathed in mixing with the smell of his musk and the leather of his clothes. You shuddered. “Maybe I am. Call it what you like. You can do as you please, eat as you please, wear whatever you please, you can explore these halls as you wish. I do not care. But you will listen to me and it will all be as per my will.”

Before you could respond, Aemond continued. “For all they know, I’ve made it clear to everyone that you will stay in the chambers that I have chosen for you, on the other side of that wall.”

Aemond’s eye was a violet-blue inferno as it held yours. He was closer now and you let your eyes drag across every part of his devastating face, swallowing at his beauty and wondering what lay under the leather of his eye patch.

Struggling not to lose your breath, not to lean in to touch him and feel him, you held your head high and turned your back to him. “Fuck you.”

A gasp fell from your lips as Aemond’s hand found the back of your head in an instant, slender fingers weaving into your hair gently before closing into a tight fist and pulling back slowly so that you were forced to look up at the roof, the back of your head resting against his chest. His other hand wrapped around your waist, holding you back firmly against him. The tightness of his grip on your hair ached and left you dizzy, an unfamiliar longing for his hands to find more of you with the same fervour had you holding back a pathetic whine.

Suddenly, you were burning from head to toe, a fire setting on your skin as he held you roughly against him, so close that you felt the feather light tickle of his breath grazing your hair when he spoke. He was scorching you through the leather of his tunic, your dress doing little to shield you from the heat of his body.

More than his anger, Aemond’s amusement made the air heavy. The way he unashamedly let his stare fall upon your lips, tucked between your teeth as you struggled to hold your glare, had your breath snatched from your lungs.

Aemond dropped his head enough so that his lips lingered just under your ear, close enough that you could hear him draw in a breath, dragging his nose across the dip where your jaw met your neck. Your face burned at how shamelessly he had inhaled your soft scent.

“Is that how you talk to your Prince?” Aemond’s voice was low, dripping with a dominance that commanded respect. Placing his free hand on your left shoulder, he slowly turned you to face him, making sure to keep you tightly pressed against him.

Aemond was disastrously beautiful. The curve of his nose, the strength in his jaw, the way his scar painted the top of his cheek, the soft fall of his pin straight hair and the soft shine of his lips which you so badly yearned to feel. You cursed yourself for thinking such a thing as his low voice broke you out of your distraction. “This is my home. Right now, all of Westeros is mine. You are here because I said so, because I own everything. Everything. Including you. You would do well to remember your place while you are here, pretty thing.”

The fire in your blood was rage. You had never felt such desire that had your body craving another. It was anger driving you mad, it had to be. Despite your better judgment, you whispered once again, “Fuck. You.”

His jaw ticked and with a strong yank, you were flush against him. The pounding of your heart was violent and you were sure he could feel it against his chest but you were stuck under his burning gaze. Aemond was angry. And you couldn’t help but think that it suited him. It made him all the more desirable.

Aemond was strong and hard against your body, tense as he held you so intimately yet so roughly.

By the gods, you couldn’t even think. What was happening?

“My Pr-”

“Quiet,” Aemond commanded. His deep voice, raspy with lust and with rage sent shockwaves down your spine. “What a mouth on you, my Lady. Fuck me, is that so?”

You muttered incoherently under your breath, the desire and the fear making your eyes flutter shut as you trembled against the Prince who held you so roughly.

“Hm,” Aemond chuckled when you let out a short whimper. He squeezed you tightly, his voice low and dark. “I could have you begging on your knees, crying for my cock all day and all night and you would never deserve it. You best careful, ñuha dāria, because I can ruin you.”

Another gasp fell from your lips and Aemond took pleasure in the way you squirmed against him, thighs pressing together as you felt the flush of his words through your body. He hummed, you were so reactive. Somehow, you fit perfectly against him, so that he could feel every little tremor he caused in your body, every goosebump that he placed on your skin. His gaze never left you, his resolve solid as iron.

Your mouth watered at the thought of the things that Aemond could do to you. Thoughts you had never imagined yourself capable of harbouring, especially not for a man like Aemond Targaryen. It overwhelmed you - he overwhelmed you.

But all you had to do was glance at the map that was splayed over his table and the weaponry he had discarded at the foot of it before you were trying to shove him away from you. Aemond stepped away from you upon noticing the panic in your movements. You barely noticed the flash of worry that passed through his features before he so skilfully replaced his mask.

The rise and fall of your chest was heavy and you had the sudden urge to punch the sultry smirk right off of Aemond’s face. That was not okay. Right now, you didn’t even want to think about the way your body reacted to him, they way you would have let him have his way with you right there and then despite all the consequences that would rain down upon you.

“I will not stay in here,” You closed your eyes to avoid his stare, chest heaving as you caught your breath and reminded yourself of the formalities of Aemond’s title. And of the possible repercussions for denying him so stubbornly. “My Prince, it is not appropriate.”

You hadn’t heard him make his way across the room until you heard the door open. Aemond hesitated, his resolve was not as strong as he had thought given the way his heart was beating as if he had run a mile. The strain at his pelvis was almost painful and his hands urged to be tangled in your hair again, squeezing your hips, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath your clothing. Perhaps you weren’t wrong and Aemond returned to his hardened self at the thought of being unable to control his desires.

“Hm,” he drawled, stoic as ever and standing tall at the doorway and gazing down at you over his shoulder with a red hot spark in his eye. Aemond’s mind raced with a million words, many in the alluring language he knew you could not understand and they all tasted dangerous on his tongue. “You are not wrong. It is not appropriate until we are wed, ñuha dāria.”

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novaursa · 4 months ago

Text

Where Dragons Dare (3/3)

- Summary: Years later, Vaemond Velaryon petitions for his rightful claim to Driftmark. And a broken family must mend wounds that were inflicted long ago.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. If you want to read more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: this was requested by @witch-of-letters. I hope you enjoy this conclusion to the story. 🙂

- Previous chapter: 2

- Bonus part: Lost Chapters

You sit beside Alicent in your private chambers, the golden light of the late afternoon filtering through the high windows of the Red Keep. The day had been long, burdened by the weight of ruling in your father’s stead, and yet the discussion you’re having with your wife weighs heavier still. Rhaenyra’s impending visit to King’s Landing brings back memories—some bittersweet, some festering like old wounds—and it’s all been cast into sharper focus by Corlys Velaryon’s grievous injury. Now, with Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to claim Driftmark, the political storm brewing could tear apart the fragile peace you've fought to maintain.

Alicent’s eyes are fixed on you, concern mixed with resolve in those familiar dark depths. She’s changed over the years, just as you have; she’s no longer the uncertain girl manipulated by her father, but a woman of keen insight and strength—your equal and partner in every sense.

“It’s clear why Vaemond is pressing his claim,” she says quietly, her voice laced with tension. “He isn’t wrong to seek what he believes is his by rights. Driftmark belongs to the Velaryons, and the boys… well, it’s plain they’re not Laenor’s blood.”

Your eyes snap to hers, a flicker of warning there. “You shouldn’t speak of such things aloud, Alicent. Not with the walls of the Red Keep so eager to whisper.”

“It’s true, Y/N,” she replies firmly, her gaze unyielding. “Everyone knows it, even if they pretend not to. Viserys decreed them legitimate, but we all see the truth. The danger is in the pretense, in clinging to a lie for the sake of peace. But what peace is this, really? Vaemond’s words hold merit. Driftmark’s true heirs are being passed over for a fabricated legacy.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, the air thick with unspoken tensions that have lingered since the day of Laena’s funeral. Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to that dreadful night when everything unraveled—when Aemond claimed Vhagar and lost his eye for it. The memory of his pained screams still haunts you, a knife twisting in your heart each time you recall it. He bore it bravely, far braver than you expected from a boy his age, but the scars left behind were not just physical.

You let out a weary sigh, leaning back against the cushioned seat as your gaze falls to the intricate patterns on the stone floor. “I demanded justice for Aemond,” you murmur, bitterness seeping into your tone. “Luke should’ve been punished, but Father protected Rhaenyra as he always does. Her children are his blind spot, even now. She never truly acknowledged her son’s fault, not really, and from that moment on… everything between us was strained. We’re twins, yet she became a stranger after that day.”

Alicent’s fingers brush against yours, a silent comfort in her touch. “I’ve never forgotten what happened. I never will. It’s easy for Rhaenyra to speak of unity and family, but the truth is her actions always served her ambitions. She’s isolated herself on Dragonstone with Daemon, as if that distance absolves her from the mess she’s left behind.”

Your frown deepens. You love your sister, you do—but those love-blind affections have long been clouded by bitter reality. The bond you once shared feels frayed, worn thin by years of conflict and choices that placed her interests above everything else. Her sons—Jace, Luke, and little Joffrey—hold a place in your heart, but even that affection is tainted by the lies everyone is forced to maintain. You cannot forget how easily your own pleas for justice were disregarded, how Viserys himself demanded silence when you spoke of the truth.

“Viserys is clinging to a fantasy,” you say after a moment, your voice hard. “He wants to die believing that everything he’s built will remain intact, that the realm will carry on in harmony with Rhaenyra and her children. But there’s rot beneath the surface, and the realm won’t turn a blind eye forever.”

Alicent watches you carefully, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening. “It’s not only you who sees it. The lords whisper, the court shifts uneasily. And now Vaemond has brought that truth into the open, no longer content to pretend. The coming days will test the loyalty of those who have only remained silent out of fear.”

A silence falls once more, only broken by the distant cries of gulls and the muffled sounds of the capital below. The sun has dipped lower in the sky, casting sundown shadows across the room, but you can’t bring yourself to end this conversation, not when it feels as though so much is at stake.

“I don’t know what Viserys will do when Rhaenyra arrives,” you admit quietly. “He’s always favored her, always turned a blind eye when it comes to her and her children. If he sides with her again, if he dismisses Vaemond… it will spark something we may not be able to contain.”

Alicent shifts closer, her hand finding yours once more. “Then we must be ready for what comes. You are Prince Regent, Y/N. You have the authority to act, to protect the realm as you see fit. I know where my loyalties lie.”

You look at her, seeing the determination in her eyes, the quiet devotion that’s never wavered. She’s your wife, the mother of your children, and the one person who has stood beside you through all of it. The bitterness that lingers between you and Rhaenyra doesn’t extend here; with Alicent, there’s no pretense, no lies hidden behind strained smiles.

As night finally creeps over the capital, the light outside fading into a deep indigo, the two of you remain locked in conversation. You speak of the future, of what may come when Rhaenyra and Daemon set foot in the Red Keep, of the lines that may be drawn in the sand.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth as the night deepens, emitting warm flickers of light across your private chambers. The weight of the day’s troubles has lessened, replaced by the comfort of Alicent’s presence. The two of you remain close, sharing lingering touches and quiet words. As you move behind her, your hands begin to wander, gliding across the soft fabric of her gown. You hold her close, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath beneath your fingertips. Your lips brush against her ear as you murmur, “I think I must confess my sins before the gods, though I fear they are far too many.”

Alicent turns her head slightly, raising an eyebrow at your words. There’s a moment where she appears to take your confession seriously, but then her expression shifts, lips twitching as she fails to suppress a laugh. “That was horrible,” she chuckles, shaking her head, her laughter lightening the mood.

You grin, enjoying the way her laughter sounds, how it brightens the shadows of the evening. “Perhaps, but I’m not sure the gods would easily forgive me if they knew the true extent of my sins,” you jest, voice low and teasing as your hands tighten around her waist.

Her laughter softens into something more intimate as she turns fully toward you, her gaze lingering on your lips before she closes the distance. The kiss is slow at first, a familiar dance of lips and breath, but it quickly deepens as passion flares between you. Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer, and the world outside the chambers fades away. It’s just the two of you—no titles, no crowns, only the warmth of her body pressed against yours.

In the growing heat of the moment, clothing becomes a hindrance, something to be discarded in favor of the closeness you both crave. Your hands make quick work of her gown, letting it slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She helps you shed your attire just as quickly until bare skin meets bare skin. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before Alicent pushes you back onto the bed with a determined glint in her eye.

You watch as she climbs atop you, her every movement measured and deliberate. The sight of her like this—confident and in control—ignites something in you, a hunger that’s always been there but now roars to life. “You look like a queen,” you whisper, voice husky, your hands finding her hips as she guides you into her. “My heart, my love.”

Alicent gasps softly, closing her eyes as she sinks onto you, the slow, steady rhythm she sets sending shivers through you both. The pleasure builds gradually, each movement deliberate and teasing. You can see the mischief in her eyes as she reaches for a nearby candle, tipping it just enough to let drops of warm wax fall onto your chest. The heat is a sharp contrast against your skin, but it only spurs your desire further.

“To raise the dragon with fire,” she whispers, her voice low and filled with a playful edge as the wax continues to drip.

You chuckle darkly, gripping her hips more firmly as you thrust upward. “The dragon is already raised, my love.” Your words send a thrill through her, and the pace quickens as she moves above you, her moans mingling with your own.

The candles forgotten, they clatter to the floor as her movements become more intense, both of you teetering on the edge of release. But just as you feel yourself ready to fall over that precipice, Alicent suddenly stops, lifting herself away from you. The absence leaves you throbbing with frustration, your desire only heightened by the way she watches you, a knowing smile curving her lips.

“What are you doing?” you groan, the teasing ache almost too much to bear.

She leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss that only stokes the fire in your blood. “Patience, my love,” she whispers against your lips, her voice dripping with teasing amusement. But patience has never been your strong suit, not when it comes to her.

With a growl of determination, you flip her beneath you, your body pressing hers into the soft sheets. You position her on her stomach, her back arched as you take hold of her hips and guide yourself back into her. She moans your name, the sound sending a rush of satisfaction through you as you begin to move with renewed urgency, your rhythm rough and intense, driven by the need to claim her fully.

Alicent’s fingers clutch at the sheets as each thrust draws another cry of pleasure from her lips. You lean down, your mouth brushing against her ear as you whisper praises between ragged breaths, telling her how beautiful she is, how perfect, how she belongs to you as much as you belong to her. The words seem to drive her wild, her voice trembling as she reaches for that peak again.

The pace grows frantic as you both reach the edge together, your bodies locked in perfect harmony. With one final thrust, you feel the tension snap, sending you both spiraling into a shared high that leaves you breathless, your minds lost in the euphoria of your union.

When the last waves of pleasure fade, you collapse beside her, gathering her into your arms as you both catch your breath. The night is quiet now, only the distant hum of the city outside breaking the stillness. You press a kiss to her temple, your heart still pounding in your chest.

For now, in this moment, everything else can wait.

The corridors of the Red Keep echo softly with your footfalls as you walk side by side with your eldest son, Aegon. The council meeting had been more taxing than usual, and you could see the strain in the boy’s eyes, though he hides it behind a practiced indifference. You glance at him, noting how he chews the inside of his cheek—a habit he’s never quite grown out of.

“Father, I—” Aegon starts, his voice tense, betraying the anxiety that simmers beneath his confident exterior. “I didn’t mean to sound insolent when I questioned Lord Lyman, I just—”

You stop, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You did well, Aegon,” you say, cutting through his worry. “There was no fault in what you said. You spoke with strength and clarity, and you asked the right questions. We must be clear in our decisions, especially when others are too hesitant to say what needs to be said.”

Aegon blinks, the tension easing from his brow. He nods slowly, his expression softening. “Thank you, Father.” His voice is quieter now, laced with gratitude, and as the two of you continue walking, his steps seem lighter. The bond between you is often tested by his impulsiveness and uncertainty, but moments like this remind you that beneath the bravado, Aegon seeks your approval, your guidance.

You approach the sunroom, where a midday meal awaits. The bright sunlight streams through the windows, bathing the space in warmth. Already seated are Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, each engaged in their own conversations. Helaena’s face lights up the moment she sees you, her smile wide and genuine.

“Father! I finished my collection,” she announces excitedly, almost bouncing in her seat. Her gaze sparkles with the kind of innocent joy you’ve always cherished in her.

You smile back, a rare softness in your eyes. “That’s wonderful, Helaena. I promise I’ll come by later and see it. I’m sure it’s even more impressive than the last one.”

She beams at your words, her contentment visible, before returning her focus to the small assortment of insect jars she’s arranged on the table.

Aemond and Daeron, standing nearby, approach you as well. Aemond, ever the observant one, nods in greeting. “Father, it seems preparations for tonight’s feast are nearly complete. Mother mentioned that Rhaenyra’s arrival will likely set tongues wagging.” His tone is measured, hiding a touch of wariness behind his composed demeanor.

“Let them wag,” Daeron adds with a grin, his youthful energy apparent. “We’ll hold our own, as we always do.”

You can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest at how they’ve grown—each of them distinct in temperament, but unified by the bonds of family. “We will,” you agree, placing a reassuring hand on Daeron’s shoulder.

Before the conversation can continue, the door to the sunroom opens, and Alicent steps inside. Her eyes sweep across the room before settling on you. A subtle crease forms between her brows as she notices the slight grimace on your face—a telltale sign of discomfort you’ve never been able to fully mask from her. She moves toward you, concern evident in her expression.

“Y/N, is your leg bothering you again?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

Before you can answer, Helaena, ever attuned to things others overlook, speaks up from her seat. “It’s the weather. The clouds are moving in. His leg hurts when the air changes like that.”

Alicent’s alarm deepens. “Should I summon Grand Maester Orwyle to examine it? Perhaps there’s something he can do.”

You shake your head, offering her a comforting smile. “It’s nothing to worry over, Alicent. Just an old pain from that fall off Dallax years ago. It comes and goes with the weather, as Helaena said. I’ll be fine.”

Though she nods, you can see that she’s not fully reassured, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm, a silent expression of her lingering concern.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door, and one of the guards steps inside, bowing slightly. “Your Grace, the Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon have arrived with their children. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Vaemond are with them as well.”

A heavy sigh escapes you, the weight of the situation pressing down like an iron mantle. “Of course they have,” you mutter under your breath, straightening your posture. Turning back to Alicent, you catch her worried gaze, knowing she senses the unease that tightens in your chest. This reunion has all the makings of a volatile confrontation, and the old wounds that have never fully healed threaten to bleed anew.

“I must go and welcome them,” you say, your voice measured but weary. The obligations of duty pull you forward, even when your heart longs to stay here with your family in this fleeting moment of peace.

Alicent steps closer, her fingers brushing against your sleeve in a silent gesture of support. “We’ll be by your side.”

You nod, grateful for her presence, and glance back at your children, who watch you with varying degrees of concern and curiosity. Even now, they look to you for strength, for guidance, and you cannot fail them. Not today. Not ever.

With one last glance at the warm sunlit room—a sanctuary from the political storm outside—you prepare yourself for the inevitable tension that awaits in the great hall. The time for peace and warmth has passed; now, you must step back into the fray.

The throne room is heavy with the weight of history, the distant clang of armor and murmured whispers echoing through the vast chamber. You stand at the base of the Iron Throne, the twisted swords looming behind you like the sharp shadows of past decisions. This place has always felt suffocating—the power it represents, the burden it imposes—but today, it seems even more so. The air is filled with anticipation, with all the words left unspoken over the years, words that now hover like ghosts between you and your sister.

The grand doors creak open, and in walks Rhaenyra, flanked by Daemon and her children. The entourage is impressive in its own right. But your eyes meet Rhaenyra’s first, a mixture of affection and lingering resentment flickering in her gaze. Daemon’s expression is inscrutable as ever, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, as if he’s already prepared for whatever battle this day might bring.

“Brother,” Rhaenyra greets, her voice formal but laced with a warmth she struggles to fully suppress. The distance between you isn’t just measured by the steps she takes toward you but by the years of strained silences and fractured trust. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long indeed,” you reply, giving her a nod. “Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

She glances back at her children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey—who linger closer to their stepfather. It’s a small, subtle act, but one that doesn’t escape your notice. The lines have already been drawn, loyalties established, even within family. Your eyes shift momentarily to Lucerys, who shifts uncomfortably under your gaze. The memory of that night, when Aemond lost his eye, still lingers in the corners of your mind like a festering wound.

Daemon steps forward, offering you a mocking half-bow. “Prince Regent,” he drawls, the title rolling off his tongue with a hint of amusement. “I trust King’s Landing hasn’t dulled your edge in all this politicking?”

“King’s Landing has taught me that sharper edges are often hidden behind polished words,” you counter, meeting his smirk with one of your own. “But some things remain constant, no matter how much time has passed.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daemon’s eyes—approval, perhaps—but he gives nothing more than a faint nod. The moment stretches as if both of you are waiting for the other to strike first, but the tension is cut by the sound of more footsteps entering the throne room.

Alicent appears, resplendent in her green gown, with Aegon and Aemond trailing just behind her. They take their places beside you, Alicent’s presence a quiet assurance amidst the charged atmosphere. Her eyes briefly meet Rhaenyra’s—a mixture of cordiality and something more guarded passing between them.

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts back to you, her expression tight. “All this—Vaemond’s petition, this charade in court—is unnecessary. Corlys has already named Luke as his heir. This is nothing more than a farce driven by Vaemond’s ambition and desperation.”

You hold her gaze steadily, the words she speaks true, but there’s a bitterness beneath the surface that neither of you can quite hide. “Rhaenyra, you know as well as I do that perception is as powerful as truth in the eyes of the court. Vaemond’s claims are not without support among those who see blood over words. He’s leveraged the uncertainty surrounding Corlys’s health to rally those who resent the decree Viserys made years ago.”

“Resentment or ambition, it hardly matters,” Rhaenyra counters, her voice hardening. “Luke is Corlys’s chosen heir. This is nothing more than a blatant attempt to undermine our family, to sow discord in favor of personal gain.”

Before you can respond, Aemond’s cool voice cuts through the tension. “And yet, the matter has been brought before the court. The Driftwood Throne is more than just a seat; it represents the stability of our alliances and the power of the Velaryon fleet. Vaemond knows this well.”

Aegon shifts beside his brother, clearly eager to speak, but there’s an undercurrent of caution in his posture. “Let them debate the bloodlines and the claims. It’s all they seem to care about. But it’s our family’s unity that hangs in the balance.”

Alicent’s hand subtly rests on Aegon’s arm, a silent encouragement to temper his words. You can feel her worry radiating beside you, though she remains composed. “We cannot afford to be careless,” she adds, her voice steady. “The lords and ladies of the court are watching closely, each with their own interests at heart. We must tread carefully, especially with those like Vaemond, who are prepared to exploit any perceived weakness.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softens only slightly, the strain of years apart visible in the lines around her eyes. “I don’t want this to tear us further apart, brother. The realm needs stability, not more division. But it feels as though every step I take, every decision I make, is met with suspicion.”

You take a breath, weighing your words carefully. “Rhaenyra, I never wished for distance between us, nor did I want our paths to diverge as they have. But the choices we make carry consequences—sometimes ones we never intend. I want to believe that we can still find a way forward, even with everything that stands between us.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow slightly, watching you with a calculating gaze. He’s never been one to shy away from conflict, but even he seems to recognize that this moment is a delicate one.

Before anything further can be said, Alicent’s attention shifts as she catches sight of movement near the entrance. “It seems our guests have arrived.”

The doors swing open again, and in walk Princess Rhaenys and Lord Vaemond Velaryon, their presence commanding attention. Vaemond’s expression is one of grim determination, while Rhaenys’s gaze remains neutral, though there’s an underlying tension in the way she holds herself.

You sigh inwardly, the weight of what’s to come pressing heavily on your shoulders. “I must welcome them,” you say quietly, though the words feel more like a duty than a choice.

With a final glance at Alicent and your children, you steel yourself, ready to face whatever storm this day may bring.

The throne room is filled with an air of tension so thick it nearly suffocates, a place where every word and glance carries the weight of the realm’s future. You sit in front of the Iron Throne, flanked by your family—Alicent at your side, with Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron standing proudly beside you. Otto stands as a silent sentinel to your left, his expression carefully neutral but his calculating mind undoubtedly working behind those cold eyes.

This is your trial to preside over, not his.

Vaemond Velaryon stands before the court, his expression carved from stone, his voice carrying the authority of a man with righteous conviction. “I speak plainly because this matter is not one of politics, but of truth! The Driftwood Throne is a legacy that cannot be tainted by a lie. Lucerys Velaryon is no true Velaryon. He carries no blood of our house—he is not the son of Laenor Velaryon!”

Murmurs ripple through the gathered lords and ladies, some leaning in, eager to witness the drama unfold. Vaemond’s words are like daggers thrown across the room, aimed directly at Rhaenyra and her children. You can see the steel in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line as she holds her composure. Daemon stands beside her, eyes narrowing at the offense, but he remains still, his calculating mind no doubt waiting for the right moment to strike.

You raise a hand to silence the room, your voice calm but firm. “Lord Vaemond, you’ve made your case. But it is not solely yours to decide. Princess Rhaenys, as the wife of Lord Corlys and the one who has stood by his side through every battle and storm, you have the most voice in this matter. Speak now, for the realm listens.”

Rhaenys steps forward, her presence commanding respect. Dressed in the deep blacks and reds of her house, she carries the pride of House Velaryon on her shoulders, yet her expression remains inscrutable. You watch her closely, knowing that her words will determine more than just the fate of Driftmark—they will shape alliances and define loyalties.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she begins, her voice clear and unwavering. “It is true that my lord husband is gravely injured and unable to speak for himself. But before he took ill, he made his wishes clear. He named Lucerys as his heir. My husband’s word is law on Driftmark, and I intend to honor it.”

Vaemond shifts uncomfortably, but remains silent for now.

Rhaenys continues, her gaze moving to Rhaenyra before settling on you. “Furthermore, Princess Rhaenyra has proposed a union—one that would not only preserve the legacy of House Velaryon but strengthen it. She has offered her son, Lucerys, to wed my granddaughter, Rhaena. A match I wholeheartedly support.”

The court stirs at this revelation. You feel the weight of Rhaenys’s decision pressing against your chest. Her words do more than just confirm Lucerys’s claim—they solidify Rhaenyra’s position in this fight. The offer to wed Rhaena to Lucerys would ensure that Driftmark remains in Velaryon hands, through Laena’s trueborn daughter. It’s a maneuver as brilliant as it is decisive. Rhaenys has thrown her support behind Rhaenyra in a way that cannot be easily countered.

You pause, considering the ramifications. Your eyes briefly meet Rhaenyra’s, searching for some sign of what she’s truly feeling beneath her stoic mask. She knows the significance of Rhaenys’s declaration; it’s more than just the inheritance of Driftmark—it’s a public alignment of houses, a strengthening of her line.

Just as you’re about to speak, Vaemond’s voice rises again, sharper now, with barely concealed fury. “This is an insult! A mockery of our house! You may support these... false heirs, but I will not allow Driftmark to be handed over to bastards!”

The word hangs in the air, searing through the room like a brand. A cold silence falls, eyes darting between you and Vaemond. Even Otto’s composed mask slips slightly, his eyes narrowing at the brazenness of Vaemond’s outburst. You feel a ripple of anger stir within you, a flame that you must keep controlled, for it would be too easy to let it consume you here.

Daemon steps forward, his smile a dangerous thing as he drawls, “Say it again, Vaemond. Go on.” His hand rests casually on the hilt of his blade, the invitation clear.

You rise from your seat, your gaze locking onto Vaemond with the weight of a dragon’s stare. The silence that follows is heavy, the tension crackling like lightning in the air. The audacity of his words echoes through the chamber—bastards. A line has been crossed, and everyone knows it.

“Enough,” you command, your voice low but resonant, silencing the whispers that had begun to stir among the lords and ladies. “You forget yourself, Lord Vaemond.”

Vaemond’s face twists with fury, but he stands defiant, unwilling to yield. “Your Grace, I only speak the truth that everyone here knows but dares not voice! Driftmark is the seat of House Velaryon, a house built on blood and salt. That blood should flow true, and Lucerys Velaryon carries none of it! The realm cannot be governed by lies and pretenses.”

You take a step forward, your presence a shadow over the defiant lord. “You speak of truth, but your truth is tainted by ambition and grievance. Driftmark’s future is a matter for Lord Corlys’s bloodline, and it has been decided by the one who holds that legacy. Princess Rhaenys has spoken clearly on her husband’s wishes and on the betrothal that will secure Driftmark’s future.”

Rhaenys’s head lifts, her expression one of quiet strength. It is a rare thing for the ‘Queen Who Never Was’ to publicly choose a side so explicitly, and in doing so, she has thrown the full weight of House Velaryon behind Rhaenyra and her children.

But Vaemond is not done. His eyes blaze with a dangerous mix of pride and desperation. “And you would have us swallow this pretense, this farce? I will not see my house’s name sullied for the sake of politics!”

Rhaenyra’s expression is a careful mask, but you know her well enough to see the tension coiled beneath the surface. Her sons stand rigid, their youth apparent in how they strain to keep composed, particularly Lucerys, whose gaze keeps darting toward you as if searching for some semblance of reassurance. You can feel Alicent’s eyes on you as well, a silent plea for this matter to end without bloodshed.

You straighten, feeling the weight of the crown’s authority settle around your shoulders. “This is not about what you will or will not see, Lord Vaemond. The decision is not yours to make.” You look to the gathered lords and ladies, letting your words carry across the room. “House Velaryon’s seat belongs to Lucerys Velaryon, named by Lord Corlys and affirmed by his lady wife. This court upholds that decision.”

There’s a murmur of agreement among some of the gathered lords, though others shift uncomfortably, clearly aligning themselves more with Vaemond’s view, whether they dare voice it or not. Vaemond’s defiance hardens into something bitter, his eyes flicking briefly toward Daemon, who remains a silent sentinel, the edge of his smile dangerous.

“Lucerys Velaryon is not a true Velaryon,” Vaemond growls, his voice rising with barely-contained rage. “He is—”

“Say it,” Daemon’s voice slices through the air like a dagger, his smile cold, daring Vaemond to cross that final line for the last time.

For a moment, it looks as if Vaemond might take the bait, the word trembling on his lips, but the air is thick with unspoken threats. You can see the flicker of fear in his eyes, a recognition that his next words could cost him more than just this claim. He hesitates, but the anger does not fade.

“The truth is plain,” Vaemond finally says, quieter now but no less venomous. “You can wrap it in silks and gold, but it remains a lie.”

Your patience wears thin. “Your passion is noted, Lord Vaemond, but you would do well to remember where you stand and who you address.” You glance at Rhaenyra, who remains poised despite the insults cast her way, then back at Vaemond. “This court has rendered its judgment. The matter is settled.”

The finality in your tone leaves no room for further argument. Vaemond clenches his jaw, his fists trembling at his sides, but he knows he’s lost. His pride is wounded, and though he has supporters among the court, none will openly defy the crown’s decision. He gives you a look filled with loathing, and for a heartbeat, you think he might lash out.

Before anything can escalate, Alicent steps forward, her presence bringing a calming effect, if only briefly. “This matter is closed,” she says with cool authority, echoing your decree. “The realm must look forward, not cling to the past.”

You nod, turning your attention back to the court. “The feast tonight will be held in honor of family and unity. I expect all to attend.” You emphasize the word family, knowing it holds different meanings for those gathered. Your gaze lingers on Rhaenyra and her children, then back to Vaemond, whose seething gaze is impossible to ignore.

Vaemond’s face is twisted with barely-restrained fury, but he bows stiffly. “As you command, Your Grace.”

The lords and ladies begin to disperse, the unrest easing as conversations shift to safer topics. But the undercurrents of unease remain. Alliances have been made clearer, but new fissures have formed as well.

As the court disperses, you catch Rhaenyra’s gaze. There’s a gratitude there, mingled with sadness, a recognition of the unspoken rift that still lies between you. “Thank you, brother,” she says softly when she approaches, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and weariness.

You nod, offering a small, strained smile. “For now, let us put aside the politics and remember that we are family.”

Rhaenyra inclines her head, and though the words are spoken with good intent, there’s a heaviness that neither of you can ignore. The politics of blood, inheritance, and loyalty remain like shadows between you.

As Rhaenyra and Daemon leave the throne room with their children, you feel Alicent’s hand lightly rest on your arm. “You did well,” she says softly, her gaze searching yours for any trace of what you’re truly feeling.

You give a faint nod, but the weariness of the day weighs heavily on your mind. “Perhaps. But this is only the beginning. There are storms yet to come.”

Alicent’s eyes flicker with concern, but she remains composed. “Then we will face them together, as we always have.”

With that, you steel yourself for the next gathering—the feast, where smiles will hide sharpened knives and toasts will be laced with hidden meanings.

The Great Hall is aglow with the warmth of countless candles, their light reflecting off the polished silver goblets and rich tapestries lining the walls. The air is thick with the aromas of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the subtle sweetness of honeyed fruits. At the head of the table, King Viserys sits, smiling broadly, the years of weariness lifted, if only for tonight. His eyes, though dulled by age and illness, sparkle with the joy of seeing his family gathered together—just as he has always dreamed.

You sit to his right, with Alicent beside you, her presence a quiet, steadying force. Your children—Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron—are arranged around you, each reflecting the shared Targaryen and Hightower legacies. Across the table, Rhaenyra sits with Daemon, their children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, and Rhaena—filling the seats beside them. For once, the invisible line that has divided you all seems to blur, softened by the promise of reconciliation that hangs in the air.

Viserys raises his goblet, his voice trembling but rich with emotion. “To family,” he declares, looking first at you, then at Rhaenyra, his gaze lingering with unspoken hope. “We have all weathered many storms, but tonight, let us put aside our differences and remember the ties that bind us. Blood is what unites us, and that is stronger than any quarrel.”

You lift your goblet, meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze from across the table. There’s a flicker of warmth in her eyes, a reflection of the shared memories from when you were younger—before ambition and politics built walls between you. “To family,” you echo, letting your voice carry across the hall.

“To family,” Rhaenyra agrees, her voice softer, but sincere. The tension that usually clings to her words is absent, replaced by a genuine desire to find common ground. Daemon follows suit with a small nod, raising his goblet, though his eyes never lose their sharpness.

The others join in the toast, and for the first time in a long while, there’s a shared sense of unity at the table. The feast begins, and conversation flows more easily than you had expected. Laughter echoes, and even some of the past hurts seem to fade as old stories are shared, tales from when you and Rhaenyra were children, and the world was simpler.

Aegon, emboldened by the good cheer, leans toward Jacaerys with a grin. “So, cousin, when do we finally see if your swordplay has improved? Or are you still hiding behind the idea of ‘diplomacy’?” There’s a teasing lilt to his words, but it’s free of malice.

Jacaerys chuckles, accepting the challenge with grace. “Any time you wish, Aegon. Perhaps tomorrow, in the yard? I could use the exercise.”

Aegon laughs, and for once, it’s genuine. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Nearby, Helaena leans close to Rhaena, showing her a small, delicate beetle she’s been keeping. “This one’s new. I found it in the gardens this morning. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Rhaena’s face lights up with interest. “It is! You’ll have to show me where you find them. Perhaps we can look together tomorrow?”

Aemond, ever observant, listens as Daemon regales Daeron with stories of old Valyria, his tone as dramatic as ever. “You mustn’t rely only on strength, young prince,” Daemon advises with a sly smile. “There’s more power in a sharp mind than a sharp blade, though it’s best to wield both.”

As the night progresses, the atmosphere becomes lighter, laughter filling the hall. You notice Rhaenyra watching you, and when your eyes meet, she offers a tentative smile. There’s a pause, a moment where neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of unspoken words—regret, apology, and perhaps most importantly, a desire to heal what’s been broken.

“Brother,” she finally says, her voice tinged with emotion. “I’ve missed this—us, being together. I know there have been… difficulties, but I hope we can start anew.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the sincerity in her words. The distance between you hasn’t been easy, and the weight of your past grievances still lingers, but you find yourself nodding. “I’ve missed it too, Rhaenyra. We’ve both made mistakes, but we’re stronger together. Let’s try to move forward—for our family, for our father.”

Viserys beams at this exchange, his hand trembling as he lifts it to wipe away a tear. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. For all of us to be united, to leave behind the bitterness of the past.”

Alicent watches this with a soft smile, her hand slipping into yours beneath the table. “This is what he’s longed for,” she whispers. “You’ve given him peace, if only for tonight.”

As the meal continues, the tension that once plagued these gatherings begins to dissipate. Rhaenyra and Alicent exchange kind words, complimenting each other’s children. Daemon, though still carrying his usual edge, seems content to keep his barbs light, focusing more on keeping the mood lifted than on stirring the pot. Even Aemond, usually so guarded, appears more at ease, his exchanges with Jacaerys and Lucerys devoid of the usual undercurrents of rivalry.

At one point, Rhaenyra lifts her goblet again, a more private toast this time. “To new beginnings,” she says, looking at you with hope.

You smile, raising your own goblet in kind. “To new beginnings.”

The night stretches on, and for once, it feels as though the past might truly be put behind you. The bonds of family, strained though they’ve been, begin to mend. The ghosts of old wounds fade into the background as laughter, warmth, and shared memories take center stage.

Viserys, exhausted but happy, leans back in his chair, his hand resting on yours as he closes his eyes, a contented smile on his lips. “This… this is how it should always be,” he murmurs.

And for that night, at least, it is. Family, love, and unity win out, and the weight of the crown feels a little lighter.

From the Chronicles of King Y/N Targaryen I, The Reign of the Unified Flame

From “Fire and Blood: A History of House Targaryen” by Archmaester Melys:

Upon the passing of King Viserys I in the year 129 AC, the realm held its breath, fearing that the simmering tensions within House Targaryen would ignite into the civil war prophesied by many. But where the histories might have diverged into bloodshed and ruin, they instead tell a tale of unity and wise rule under King Y/N Targaryen, the Heir of Dragonstone, who ascended the Iron Throne as Y/N I, known to later generations as “Y/N the Peacemaker” and “The King of Balance.”

Though many lords whispered of conflict, it was King Y/N’s first decree that set the tone for his reign. Gathering his family—Queen Alicent, Princess Rhaenyra, and their respective children—he held council not in the Red Keep, but atop Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen. There, in the shadow of their ancestors and the elder dragons, they swore an oath of unity before gods and men. It is said that Prince Daemon himself, ever the rogue, was the first to lay down his blade, pledging his loyalty to his nephew. With that, the seeds of war were quelled, and the Dance of Dragons was averted.

High Speton Eustace credits King Y/N’s wisdom and firm hand for this peace, stating, “His Majesty’s reign was marked by clarity of vision and an understanding that compromise is often the sharpest weapon.” Mushroom, in his typically bawdy accounts, attributes the peace to the deep affection between the King and Queen Alicent, jesting that, “It was her gentle whispers at night and not the threats of swords that kept the realm from tearing itself apart.”

Under King Y/N’s rule, Westeros saw another golden era of peace and prosperity. His approach to governance combined the fiery decisiveness of his Targaryen blood with a measured balance that many compared to his mother, Queen Aemma Arryn. The king’s court was diverse and inclusive; Princess Rhaenyra was granted full authority over the small council alongside her brother, with the Velaryons remaining staunch allies after the successful betrothal of Lucerys Velaryon to Rhaena Targaryen. Driftmark’s legacy was secured without further bloodshed, ensuring that the sea lanes of Westeros remained open and secure.

King Y/N’s family played a crucial role in his reign. His children with Queen Alicent grew into respected figures in their own right. Aegon, though restless in his youth, became a trusted commander, leading the royal navy in expeditions to Essos that solidified trade routes. Aemond, despite the loss of his eye, was known as “The Iron Shield,” a prince famed for his discipline and loyalty, who often served as Hand of the King when his father took to Dragonstone for respite. Helaena’s prophecies, often dismissed in earlier years, became valued by the court, guiding many decisions with a wisdom that bordered on the mystical. Daeron, the youngest, was known as the people’s prince, a bridge between nobility and common folk, fostering goodwill in the Reach and beyond.

The reign of King Y/N I was not without its trials. The Ironborn rose in rebellion more than once, but swift action by Aemond and Daemon in a rare alliance quickly subdued the threat. The Riverlands also saw unrest when Lord Grover Tully’s ambitions threatened to spill into open conflict, but the King’s deft diplomacy resolved the dispute before it could escalate.

Even so, the unity within House Targaryen remained the cornerstone of Y/N’s reign. It is said that Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent, once rivals after their marriages, grew back into a friendship they shared in their youth, sharing their roles as matriarchs to an ever-growing brood of dragonlords. Mushroom—never one to miss an opportunity for scandal—claims that their peace was ensured by shared interests in a secretive cabal of noblewomen, but wiser heads discount this as the jester’s usual mischief.

King Y/N’s dragons also played a vital role in securing his legacy. His bond with Dallax, the Night Fury, became legendary. Dallax, with his black scales and green eyes, was a fearsome sight in battle, but it was his presence at royal negotiations that often quelled rebellious lords before blood could be spilled. The dragon’s reputation as both guardian and enforcer of the realm added to the mystique of King Y/N’s rule.

In 143 AC, King Y/N I presided over the Grand Council at Harrenhal, where matters of succession and law were codified, ensuring stability for generations to come. It was there that his wisdom was most evident; by balancing the interests of all regions and houses, he secured peace in the realm without resorting to brute force. When the Maester's Conclave reviewed the royal lineage in later years, it was agreed by many that King Y/N’s efforts had preserved not just the peace but the very legacy of House Targaryen.

Mushroom’s final words on the reign of King Y/N are perhaps the most fitting. “In an age where dragons danced upon the edge of war, it took not just a dragonrider, but a man who saw the value in holding back the flame, to keep the realm whole. Where others would have chosen fire and blood, he chose balance, and in doing so, left behind a reign that many would envy.”

King Y/N Targaryen I passed away in the year 150 AC, leaving behind a legacy of unity, prosperity, and a realm spared the horrors of civil war. His children carried forth his wisdom, and under their guidance, Westeros thrived in an era known as the “Second Golden Age.” And thus, the realm’s history turned, not on a dance of dragons, but on a single king’s steadfast resolve to keep his family—and his realm—united.

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