#i love my echo chamber ❤️

[lucyflawless]

made the mistake of looking at the comments on a tiktok discussing the Rhaenyra/Mysaria kiss scene and the amount of straight people who were like "this was so random 🙄" and "I never saw this coming"

I swear to GOD

you can write in two women characters with insane chemistry and obvious context clues in a show and straight people will always still be shocked that they end up kissing... keep up guys. come on

[novaursa]

Hello my love! I absolutely adore your writings and wanted to send a request that might prompt some imagination.

I would love a fic where the reader is velaryon (rhaenyras daughter) and married to cregan stark through a marriage alliance. They have grown to love eachother and have one child, a young son, and reader has a dragon. Reader is a dragon rider and may ride into battle with her dragon for her mother’s cause.

Whilst cregan is needed at the wall, a handful of men—sent by the greens in response to blood and cheese—sneak into winterfell with a mission; kill/take readers dragon or pay the price with her son. After killing the guards and a fight where reader tries to defend herself and her son, (maybe resulting in reader getting injured) the men give reader the option. Her dragon or her son. (I’ll leave the choice/what happens up to you 🤭)

cregan soon gets word about what has happened and rushes back to the aftermath.

it would be an honour if you were to even consider my ask 🥰

thank you for all you do and the joy you bring to this side of tumblr <3

The Cycle

- Summary: Cregan leaves with his duty to the Wall and you are left alone with a choice Larys Strong brings.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and is bonded with Grey Ghost.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Alternative scenario: one for the price of two

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

- A/N: I hope this is what you had in mind, dear anon. ☺️❤️

Winterfell is quieter than you have ever known it. The grand halls that once echoed with the clamor of swords and laughter are hushed, the absence of Cregan’s men leaving an emptiness that stretches through every corridor. Outside, the sky is smothered in a blanket of heavy clouds, the winds howling mournfully, as if they sense the danger that lingers just beyond the gates.

Your son, Eddard, sleeps soundly in his cradle, his tiny fists curled by his face, the sight of him softening the edges of your worry. You brush a gentle kiss to his brow, your thoughts drifting to Cregan, away at the Wall with his men, fulfilling his duties to the Night’s Watch. The last thing he said to you before leaving echoes in your mind.

“Winterfell is safe. You are safe.” His grey eyes were serious, his hand warm against your cheek as he spoke.

You had believed him then, believed in the strength of the castle walls and the loyalty of the men who guarded it. But you can’t shake the unease prickling at the back of your neck, a mother’s intuition whispering warnings in your ear.

The first scream splits the night like an axe through ice. You jolt upright, heart hammering, and before you can even grasp what is happening, the door to your chambers bursts open. Figures, shadowed and swift, flood the room. Larys Strong’s men, their faces obscured by masks, their blades gleaming in the dim light.

“Stay back!” you cry out, instinctively placing yourself between them and Eddard’s crib. Your hand reaches for the dagger hidden beneath your pillow, but one of them is faster, knocking it from your grip and seizing your wrist with bruising force.

“Princess Velaryon, or is it just Lady Stark now? There’s no need for heroics,” the leader sneers, his voice a sickly mix of mockery and menace. “We’re here to deliver a message.”

They drag you from the room, your protests muffled by a rough hand clamped over your mouth. Your heart pounds as they force you down the twisting stairs, through the empty halls, until you’re thrust out into the freezing night. Your breath plumes in the air as you look up, dread curling in your stomach.

Grey Ghost is there, your dragon, your bond. Chained and wounded, his scales stained with blood, his wings pinned cruelly to the ground. He lets out a weak, rumbling growl as he sees you, his eyes gleaming with pain and anger.

“No…” you whisper, struggling against the iron grip of your captors. “No, please—”

Larys Strong steps forward then, his smile a twisted, grotesque parody of civility. “You see, Y/N, the Dowager Queen in King’s Landing sends her regards. The blood of a child for the blood of a child, was it not?”

The horror of what he means dawns on you, a sickening wave of realization that turns your limbs to lead. The butcher and the ratcatcher. The trap your mother and Daemon had laid for the Greens. And now, here in the cold North, the Greens have come for you.

“Your dragon or your son,” Larys says softly, almost kindly, as if he were offering you a choice of fine wines. “One lives. One dies. You decide.”

You can barely breathe, the cold air clawing at your throat as you shake your head in disbelief. “No… please, don’t do this… Eddard is just a babe, he’s done nothing—”

Larys cocks his head, feigning sympathy. “Nor did little Jaehaerys. Yet your mother saw to his death, didn’t she?”

Tears blur your vision, but you force yourself to stand tall, to meet his gaze. “If you kill him, I swear on the gods, old and new, I will burn you all to ash.”

Larys’s smile widens, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Such fire. But threats won’t change anything, my lady. You have until the count of ten.”

The men around you tighten their grip, and you know, with a cold, sick certainty, that they will carry out his command. That you will lose one, either your sweet son, innocent and helpless, or Grey Ghost, who has fought beside you, who has bled and burned for your family’s cause.

“One,” Larys begins, his voice calm, measured.

You look at Eddard, bundled against the biting cold, his eyes wide and trusting as they meet yours. He doesn’t understand. He’s too young to understand what is being asked of you.

“Two.”

Grey Ghost lets out a low, mournful wail, his tail lashing weakly against the chains that bind him. You can feel his pain, his fear, through the bond you share, a connection forged in fire and blood.

“Three.”

The world narrows to the beat of your heart, the silent plea in Eddard’s eyes, the agony in Grey Ghost’s. How can you choose? How can any mother be asked to make such a choice?

“Four.”

Your hands are shaking, the words trapped in your throat. You want to scream, to beg, to offer anything, everything, if it will just make this nightmare end.

“Five.”

But there is no mercy in Larys’s gaze, no compassion in the men who hold you.

“Six.”

Grey Ghost’s roar rises, a desperate, broken sound that tears through the night.

“Seven.”

Eddard’s small, soft cry, frightened and confused, cuts through your soul.

“Eight.”

You look at Larys, the man who holds your fate in his hands, and you know that there is no victory here, no way to save them both.

“Nine.”

“I choose…” The words scrape out of you, each one a knife to your heart. “I choose my son.”

Larys’s smile is slow, triumphant, as if he had won some great game. He turns, gestures to his men. “Kill the dragon.”

“No!” The scream rips from your throat as they move toward Grey Ghost, their weapons drawn. You struggle, kicking, biting, but they hold you fast, forcing you to watch as the blades rise and fall, as your dragon, your beloved Grey Ghost, thrashes and roars, his blood staining the snow red.

You sob, your heart shattering with each cruel blow, each gasping breath your dragon takes. He fought for you, for your family, and now he dies, his life ended by your choice, your terrible, necessary choice.

When it is over, the silence is deafening, the night air thick with the smell of blood and death. Larys releases you then, his gaze almost pitying. “There, you see? It wasn’t so difficult.”

You collapse to your knees, your body shaking with grief and rage, unable to tear your eyes from Grey Ghost’s still form. Eddard cries out, and you gather him to you, clutching him close, his tiny warmth the only anchor in a world that has gone cold and dark.

Larys steps back, his work done, his men already withdrawing into the shadows. “Remember, Lady Stark,” he calls over his shoulder. “A debt paid in blood can always be collected again.”

As the night closes in around you, the promise of vengeance burns in your veins. You have lost so much, but you will not break. You will rise from this. For your son. For Grey Ghost. And you will see the Greens pay for every drop of blood they have spilled.

The journey back to Winterfell is swift and relentless, Cregan pushing his horse hard across the snow-swept landscape. There’s a weight in his chest, a gnawing dread that had taken root the moment he received the ravens’ grim message at the Wall. The North is no stranger to death and violence, but the attack on Winterfell, the heart of his home, is a scar he never thought he’d bear.

As the castle looms into view, his heart stutters at the sight. The once proud and imposing stronghold is shrouded in a somber silence, the gates barely guarded, the towers and walls bearing the signs of a vicious struggle. It’s as if the very soul of Winterfell has been drained away, leaving only a husk.

He rides through the gate, dismounting even before his horse fully stops. The few men left in the yard stand grim and silent, their eyes shadowed with exhaustion and grief. There are still bloodstains on the stones, patches of crimson stark against the pristine snow, a testament to the horrors that have transpired.

“Where is she?” he demands, his voice a low, urgent growl. “Where is my wife?”

One of his men, Ser Bryndon, steps forward, his face lined with fatigue and sorrow. “In the Great Hall, my lord. She’s… she hasn’t left her chambers much since the attack.”

Cregan’s heart clenches. He brushes past them, striding through the courtyard, the cold biting at his exposed skin, but he hardly feels it. Every step echoes in the eerily quiet halls, the silence pressing in around him like a vice.

When he reaches the Great Hall, he pauses, bracing himself for what he might find. The heavy wooden doors creak open under his hand, and he steps inside, his eyes sweeping the shadowed space.

There, at the far end of the hall, you sit by the fire, a small, fragile figure in the vast, empty room. You are clutching Eddard to your chest, his small form bundled in blankets, your body curled protectively around him. The flames cast flickering shadows across your face, highlighting the dark circles beneath your eyes, the pallor of your skin.

“Y/N…” His voice is rough, almost breaking, as he crosses the room in a few long strides.

You look up at the sound of his voice, your eyes red and hollow, and for a moment, you just stare at him as if unsure if he’s real or another cruel vision conjured by your grief. Then, with a broken sob, you are in his arms, clutching at his furs, your body trembling with the force of your anguish.

“Cregan…” Your voice is a ragged whisper, muffled against his chest. “They took him from me. They took Grey Ghost.”

He holds you tightly, one arm around your shoulders, the other cradling your son. His heart twists at the sight of you, at the haunted look in your eyes, the way you cling to him as if he is the only thing anchoring you to this world. “I’m here,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Your breath shudders out of you in a broken gasp, and you shake your head. “It’s not your fault… It’s them. Larys Strong… he made me choose, Cregan. He made me choose between Eddard and Grey Ghost.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He can feel your pain, your guilt, as if it were his own. He tightens his hold on you, his jaw clenched against the fury and helplessness threatening to overwhelm him. “You did what you had to do,” he says fiercely, his voice low and steady. “You protected our son. That’s what matters.”

But he knows, even as he says it, that it will never be enough to ease the agony in your heart. He can see it in your eyes, in the way you curl in on yourself, as if trying to shield yourself from a blow that has already struck. And the sight of it breaks something deep inside him.

“I should have been here,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I should have protected you both.”

You pull back slightly, your hand coming up to cup his face, your touch gentle despite the tremor in your fingers. “You are here now,” you say, your voice a soft, wavering thread. “That’s what I need. You and Eddard… we’ll get through this. Somehow.”

He nods, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He looks down at your son, at the innocence in his small face, the way he sleeps so peacefully despite the storm that has raged around him. Cregan’s heart aches with love and sorrow and a fierce, unyielding determination.

“I will make them pay,” he vows quietly, his voice hard with the promise. “For every drop of blood, for every tear, I will see them suffer.”

He can feel the weight of your gaze on him, the fire of your own resolve rekindling in the depths of your eyes. “We’ll make them pay,” you agree, your voice firmer now, a steel edge beneath the sorrow.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin as if he can somehow shield you from all the hurt and loss that has been inflicted upon you. “Rest now, Y/N. I’ll take care of everything.”

But even as he says the words, he knows there will be no rest for either of you, not truly. Not until the debt has been paid in blood and fire.

Later, when you’ve finally fallen into a fitful sleep, he steps outside, his breath fogging in the frigid air. The courtyard is almost deserted, the few men left tending to the grim task of clearing the bodies, the fallen. And there, on the far side, lies the massive, still form of Grey Ghost, his once-silver scales now dull and bloodstained.

Cregan approaches slowly, his heart heavy as he takes in the sight of your dragon, his body broken and scarred from the fight that cost him his life. He reaches out, his hand resting against the cooling scales, and he bows his head, grief and rage roiling within him.

“I swear,” he murmurs, his voice a low, fierce vow, “I will see justice for you, for my family. The Greens will pay for this treachery.”

The wind howls through the empty yard, the promise of vengeance carried on its bitter, biting breath.

[muxshwriting]

articulate

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

summary: Feyd realises how much he misses his wife despite seeing her everyday || warnings: grovelling?, guilt, violence, anger || word count: || masterlist

read the precursor to this: voiceless

REQUEST: would you be able to write a part two to voiceless, where feyd becomes more interested in spending time and being seen with his wife, even around others while she grows more content without him (maybe finding other people/friends for company). kinda like a “falling in love too late” kinda thing? thanks sm ❤️

You had withdrawn from your husband, done the bare minimum that was expected of you. It was what was expected of you, and the members of Harkonnen High Society were glad to see you taking your proper place. It seemed the only person not enjoying your new role was you. Even your husband was far more contented by having his days without bother and to not be questioned everytime he did anything.

But as time wore on, it started as the little things Feyd noticed he now lacked: the small glances you shared with him across the table, a squeeze of his hand before he stood, a gentle kiss to greet him. Now he ate alone, with you eating in your own chambers. You greeted him in the morning with a cold nod, no words exchanged.

He wondered what you did with your days, supposing you now lived a very lonely existence. He supposed that was the life of all noble woman, for that was the tradition of Geidi Prime and House Harkonnen, their women were nothing more than grabs for power and means to an heir.

But the more he thought, the more he doubted his family’s tradition. His familial tradition was to murder one another, why should he follow a tradition that would have his son murder you once he came of age. Perhaps tradition needed changing, perhaps he would pay you a visit, invite you to join his some days. Then again, maybe that was guilt. And Feyd-Rautha didn’t feel guilt, for anything or anyone.

“Wife!” His voice echoed as he walked into your shared chambers one evening. You were sat reading a book and glanced up as he entered.

“Yes husband?” You replied to him, placing your book down and moving to stand.

“I want to accompany me tomorrow.”

His words sent a wave of confusion through you. There were no noble visits scheduled in the coming days, nothing that would require you by his side. “Accompany you? May I ask where?”

“To my duties.” Feyd said it like it was obvious. “I have been neglecting my duty to you. Is it an offence for a husband to require his wife’s company?”

The words were said without true care behind the words and you felt your stomach twist as you reached for your book once more. “I regret to inform you that I have engagements tomorrow that I must attend to.”

“Cancel them.”

You look up at his incredulously. “Excuse me? I cannot simply cancel my plans on a moments notice because of your whim.”

Feyd bit back his anger at your rejection, ignoring the sting of pain that sat at his heart. “Very well. When do your engagements cease?”

“I am a busy woman, I barely spend a day alone nowadays. Forgive me for not keeping my schedule free and spend my time wallowing in loneliness. I can free up the day after tomorrow. Is that satisfactory for you Na-Baron?”

His wife’s coolness towards him made him doubt his intentions in the first place. Finally, he nodded solemnly, turned on his heel and exited the chamber.

Unknown to Feyd, his wife had been finding her entertainment and pleasure in other ways, finding any way to spend a day with others. It had began with her handmaiden, just a few hours helped a friendship blossom that then extended to her friends within the servants. They had created a bond that could not be broken, a space where they were not servants and she was not Na-Baroness.

Many of the servants were slaves from off-world, much how she was a slave to her husband and had been ripped from her own home and her own family to join his. There was a solace in their space she knew Feyd would not understand.

True to her word, she joined Feyd days later, sat in her seat at the breakfast table, and followed three steps behind as she did in the beginning. But there was no longing threaded into every move she made. She did not long for his love anymore, there was not a begging for attention and affection. You didn’t go out of your way to squeeze his hand or press a kiss to his cheek.

Feyd had been expecting your affection. And yet you showed him none. He was your husband but he would not be your lover.

He wished he could be, an affection from you only to him. He wanted the devotion of his wife the same way he wanted air to breathe but you would not be his air. You had found a contented life on Geidi Prime that did not involve bending to your husbands will and crawling at his feet for his love. You would perform your marital duty and spend your days in your chambers or in hidden rooms with your friends where your duty would escape you and your title would be worth nothing.

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (10)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: As always, thank you so much for reading :) You guys have really been in it for the long haul with this fic and I adore you for it. My brain only lets me write it about once a month. I hope you love it and I love you!!! Please let me know what you think!!! ❤️

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The syllables of your name echoed, bouncing off the stark chamber of your mind that was now sullied by a beautiful memory with no context. You’d grown used to the quietness, the emptiness—however temporary that was to be. The new memory chafed. 

Pressure remained constant along the back of your neck and you felt the awkward angle of your back as it rested against something sharp. Your body shifted. Another pained croak of your name vibrated in the air. 

“Please, please.” Azriel, you determined, his voice restrained and tight. “Not again. Please, not again. I thought—I thought it would’ve been okay. It didn’t seem—” 

He cut himself off, choking on the words and leaning down until you felt his face press into your shoulder. You wanted to open your eyes, but nothing made sense enough for you to do so. The memory of your laughter and joy lingered in your mind still, creating a dull ache that battled with the present. 

“You wouldn’t have had to find me. I never would have left your side.”

Azriel had said that. This Azriel—right? 

“I love you. I love you and I’m sorry, y/n,” you heard the words mumbled against your skin. “I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have pushed it. I knew—” 

Was this the same Azriel who avoided the threshold of your bedroom for days after your return to Velaris? The one that refused a simple lunch with you and struggled to look you in the eye? Was this the Azriel you had seen in that memory? 

He spoke as if he were—held you with a reverence that seemed to connect each and every discrepancy. 

You let out a shaky breath, fighting for full consciousness. When your eyes finally caught up with your brain, Azriel was there, hovering over you with damp cheeks and a harrowed expression. 

Last time—you thought, connecting dots as you blinked away the ache behind your eyes—you probably hadn’t woken up. Last time, Azriel had most likely approached this with much less delicacy and you had paid the price. Everyone said you were in too much pain to hear about your past. 

Last time, last time, last time. 

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked, his broken words a testament to your assumptions. 

But you weren’t thinking about last time anymore. 

Azriel was your mate.

You were Azriel’s mate. 

And he had said—

“You said you wouldn’t leave my side,” you whispered. You were clutching at his arms with a white-knuckle grip, the action barely registering in your mind. “You said—” 

“When, baby?” Azriel rushed, the endearment passing through his lips like a desperate prayer. His fingers made their way to your cheeks, brushing along your skin just as desperately. 

“When we were married. You said… the first time… you wouldn’t have left my side if I never remembered you.” 

Azriel’s expression widened. “When we were… Did you—” 

His breath came out in quick huffs. He blinked, as if to clear the image of you in his arms, and then moved to sit you up in his lap. His shadows were a mess alongside you, wrapping and twining into odd shapes as they sought to ease the tension on the balcony. 

When you were finally situated against him, your body still shaking with the events of the evening, Azriel licked his lips and spoke. “Did you remember something?” 

“Yes,” you whispered, your gaze fixated on your fingers as they rested in your lap. You observed your tremors with an unnecessary acuity. “I think so. We were… in bed. After our wedding, I think. You said we were mates, right?” 

You tilted your head up to catch his eye in a question, feeling no embarrassment at your question. Something had shifted after his admission. After your memory. 

You felt more empowered with just a taste of your life. 

“Are,” Azriel clarified. “We are mates. Now and always.” 

“You said something similar in my memory.” You turned back down to your fingers. “How long ago was that?” 

“If you remembered our wedding, that was 267 years ago. After we got you back from Day Court we had a ceremony—a public one. It was around a year after you were healed.” 

“267 is very specific.” 

“I could never forget the day I married you.” 

You locked your fingers together and squeezed your hands until it hurt. 

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again. His tone was lower this time, almost scared. 

You furrowed your brows and released your fingers. The shaking had stopped. You hadn't tried to remove yourself from Azriel’s lap and he hadn’t commented on how you nestled into his chest as if it were your right. 

Because, apparently, it was your right to touch him in this way. You had been fighting that instinct for weeks, but right now you were confused and conflicted and although everything was becoming clear, it also felt as if your world was toppled once again. So you didn’t move from the one thing that made you feel sane. And Azriel did not move you.

“I think so,” you answered.

“Are you… angry with me?” 

The furrow of your brow deepened. “Should I be?” 

“Yes.” His answer was instantaneous. You turned your face up to inspect the guilt lacing his tone and found it in the clench of his jaw—in the wetness still evident in his waterline. “I have failed you, y/n. I have failed you twice and, this time, I have broken more than one promise.” 

“Azriel—” you began, ready to reassure something you had no understanding of, but the shadowsinger hung his head and refused to let you stumble through your words. 

“I do not deserve your forgiveness—not now. I told you I would stay beside you and then I ran in cowardice. I brought you to this,” he gestured with his shoulders. “To this confusion and isolation. I am supposed to be your mate, y/n. I know that doesn't mean much to you now, but it will. And you will be disgusted by me.” 

“Azriel, that can’t be true,” you argued. “I know this has been so hard and I don’t blame you for your actions. I was angry before—I am still angry—but not at your fear.” 

Azriel’s teeth came together even harder, grinding as his wings coiled tightly at his shoulders. He took a long breath and released it through his nose, frustration emanating from him in waves. But not towards you, you gathered, as he finally looked down to meet your gaze and his eyes softened to match the dried tears on his face. 

You wanted to reach up and soothe some of the torture written across his expression, but Azriel gave you a sad smile that stopped you in your tracks. 

He rested his hand on your cheek. “Always too good for me,” he whispered, a too-quiet preface to his next declaration. “I’m going to take you back to your room. Your body and mind must be exhausted. We can talk in the morning.” 

“But Azriel—” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. “Tomorrow.” 

~~

You lasted about two hours in your room. 

Calling it “your” room was a bit of a stretch. You had confirmed your suspicions that something had been off about the space after learning of your mate. There was no way you lived in this room alone when you had a relationship like that. 

You began pacing after Azriel had left you at the door. He had placed a lingering hand on your shoulder and waited until you shut the door behind you to leave. So, still fraught with confusion and pent-up frustration and newfound hope, you started pacing. 

Azriel had told you to rest, a futile recommendation with so much battling within your mind. But above it all, you were thinking about him—about the memory and his words and him being your mate.

You had meant what you said on the balcony. You were still angry at the way everyone treated you like glass. There was still much that needed to be said and feelings that needed to be revealed, but you felt no ill will toward Azriel. Not in the way he expected you to. 

Still, part of you felt a sense of betrayal. The Azriel from your memory had seemed so devoted to you, so sure that he would stop at nothing to rectify any distance between the two of you. And you had seen glimpses of that Azriel in this strange state you were in now, but some of that was missing. 

You were having a hard time balancing his fear with his love, but more signs pointed towards love. 

Didn’t they? 

It didn’t help that you were contemplating this alone in an empty room, leaving tracks in the carpet and stringing your body so tight a soreness had begun creeping up your heels. You huffed and sat on the bed instead, biting your nails. 

Azriel was your mate. 

He loved you. 

You’d heard him say it multiple times now, in more ways than just the explicit words. 

Hadn’t you? 

“Our souls are linked—mates I mean.” 

“Fuck, I miss you.” 

“Yes, my love?”

“You’re okay, angel. You’re okay.” 

“Y/n, spending time with you—being around you—it’s as natural as breathing for me.”

“You are the one sure thing in my life.”

You rose from the bed abruptly, your body making a decision before your mind. You flung the door open to “your” bedroom and walked approximately six steps to the next room. You had assumed Azriel was staying close after spotting his shadows beneath the door a few weeks back, and there was no denying it now. 

You rapt your knuckles against the wood three times, his door flinging open before you could go for a fourth. 

The shadowsinger looked frazzled, his hair askew and his sweats haphazardly thrown on. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

You ignored the clear panic in his tone as you asked, “Do you love me?” 

“What?” 

Taking advantage of the confusion and shock rendering him vulnerable, you swept under Azriel’s arm on the door and stood your ground in his room. You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as Azriel robotically shut the door and turned around to face you. 

“I asked if you love me,” you repeated. “I only have one memory back and you say we’re mates. I… I’m inclined to believe that you do. I think I’ve heard you say it but only when you think I can’t hear you and—” 

“I do,” Azriel hurriedly replied, remaining rooted by the door. “I do love you. I love you so much that I haven’t been able to help myself in those moments. You have heard me say it. I’ve been saying it to your back for weeks.” 

Your chest heaved, emotion weighing it down. “Were you only staying away out of fear?” 

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed. “And it hurt—being around you. I was a fool.” 

Shadows swirled beneath your feet. 

“This is just hard for me. I don’t really understand where I fit in here. I have this memory of you saying one thing and then—” 

“I know. I’m so sorry, my love.” 

You blinked at the unabashed way he addressed you.

Azriel did not flinch. 

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you unleashed the question that had been plaguing you since you began pacing two hours ago. 

“Do you love me when I’m like this? Even now?” 

Azriel deflated, the panic extinguishing from his body and his expression falling. He took two long strides to meet you across the room, his hands hovering over your arms for a moment before he shook his head and touched you—perhaps despite his better judgment, his fear. 

“I will love you until the day I die, y/n. Even if you cast me aside. Even if you have no idea who I am.” He winced and shut his eyes, giving into instinct and pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you and it hurts. And I would take that pain to the grave if it meant I still had the privilege of belonging to you in some way.” 

You brushed your hands up to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your eyes open while his remained shut—like it pained him to even speak the words.

You wanted to say something back—a reassurance, a reciprocation, anything. But everything that would come out of your mouth would be a half-truth. You loved him, but did you? Did you really love him yet, or did you just love the way he spoke to you and how he made you feel? Did you know enough about him in the context of your life to love him? And if you couldn’t say it back right now would he—

“Hey,” Azriel’s slow tone brought you back to the present, his gaze now soft upon yours. “I can feel your panic. It’s okay, y/n. You don’t need to say anything.” 

Your lips parted. “You can feel it? Like my power?”

“Not quite. Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do.” 

A familiar jolt invaded your ribs, making you gasp at its resurgence. You didn’t feel it often, but it was always jarring when it happened. And it always seemed to happen most when you were scared or hurt or in danger. Putting the pieces together now…

“That’s you?” you gaped, rubbing below your ribs. Azriel leaned back, giving you some space with a small smile on his lips. 

“It is. You can do it back if you know where to find it.” 

“Even with my magic blocked? Right now I can't even sense anything. Not like I could earlier.”

“Try,” Azriel encouraged with a small nod. 

And so you did, closing your eyes and searching within you for something to pull on—anything to grasp. There was a lot of empty space, some areas overflowing with the new memories you’d made, but in a far corner, dim and dull, was a glowing thread. 

You reached for it and yanked, the action sparking a more fluorescent gold. 

Azriel let out a small gasp. The beautiful flow of his laughter followed, a melody of relief and joy intertwined. Your mate stared back at you, his eyes crinkled at the corners and allowed his smile to overtake his face. 

“It has been so long since I’ve felt you. The bond has been there, but it hasn’t felt alive. It hasn’t felt like you.” 

You let out a small giggle at the ridiculous-sounding notion. “What has it felt like?” 

“I get your most heightened emotions, but they feel dull. They’ve been missing something.” 

“You feel my emotions?” you marveled, looking inward once more to inspect the link between you. “Why don’t I feel yours?” 

“I believe you have a few times,” Azriel admitted. His wings had begun to unfurl from their uncomfortable cinch at his back. “I’ve tried to keep them closed off during all of this. I didn’t want you trying to wade through someone else’s feelings when you were already confused.” 

“Could you…open them back up?” 

Azriel shot you a dubious look, knocking his head to the side before he passed you to sit on the side of the bed. “I don’t know, y/n. I’ve been… feeling a lot. I don’t want to put that on you.” 

“I’ve been feeling a lot,” you shot back, coming to stand in front of his bent knees. “And you’ve been taking all of it.” 

“I’m used to feeling you. I welcome it.” 

You crossed your arms and raised a brow. “Didn’t we discuss this? I want to get used to feeling you, Azriel. I want my life back, memories or not.”

Azriel let out a sigh, pressing his fingers together between his knees. He bowed his head for a moment before staring back up at you with a defeated expression. His wings lay bare and open along the bed behind him. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?” 

“Do you want to?” 

Another small, defeated chuckle from your mate, and then something came alive within you, that golden thread singing, finally living up to its full potential. You had to brace yourself at the full force of it, your hand landing on Azriel’s bicep as you stumbled. He placed a hand on your back and your eyes fluttered as you parsed through this new feeling. 

You felt him. 

His fear, anger, and frustration; he was filled with so much sadness and longing, and the pain lingering in undertones was dull yet overwhelming at the same time. Each emotion fought for dominance. But there was something else pulsing down the bond, something intentionally sent. 

Adoration, love, devotion—you weren’t sure what to label it but it undermined all else. 

You laughed in disbelief, bringing your free hand up to cover your mouth. You felt the warmness of your face as you went. This was indescribable. 

“How is it?” Azriel asked. His thumb was rubbing circles into your spine. “Too much?” 

“No,” you were quick to reply. “No, Az, this is—wow, you weren’t kidding when you described mating bonds to me.” 

“I’m glad you approve,” he teased. “Tell me if you want me to close it.” 

The thought of losing this connection seemed unreasonably terrible. You shook your head and pressed closer to your mate, slotting your body in between his legs. 

You remained in comfortable silence for several minutes, relishing in the bond tethering you to each other. Eventually, you migrated to lean against his thigh as you fiddled with the material of his shirt, and the position felt the same as the one on the balcony—like it was yours to take.

“I’m going to ask you something and you have every right to say no,” Azriel said, breaking the silence that had blanketed the room. You nodded for him to continue. “Would you stay with me tonight? In here?” 

“To sleep?” you asked, surprise evident in your raised voice. 

Azriel huffed out a laugh, lightly nudging his nose against your cheek. “To sleep,” he confirmed. “Just, with the bond open like this, I would feel better if you were near me. If you aren’t comfortable with that, I completely understand. I can—” 

“Yes.” 

[jobean12-blog]

A Warrior's Heart

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader (Pedro Pascal's character in gladiator 2)

Word Count: 823

Summary: The general comes home from battle and knows exactly what he needs.

Author's Note: So I saw the new photo of Pedro from Gladiator 2 today. I couldn't stop myself. I'm not even sure that Marcus is definitely his name in the movie but I think I made it work. Also, I apologize if any of the dialogue doesn't fit-I haven't written many period pieces. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy! 😘

**There are no spoilers of course- I just went with my own brain here and made shit up haha. I tagged some friends but please if you're not into it never worry, I understand! 💕

Warnings: talk of battle, tiny mention of blood, spiciness and softness

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The enormous wooden doors swing open, and the dying light of the sun reveals a dark silhouette that pulls a rush of breath from your lungs.

He takes a step inside, the heavy footfall of his boots echoing in the emptiness of the hall. His dark hair is disheveled, and curls hang over his forehead even after he runs his hand over his head.

His armor is battered and bloodied and his skin is littered with scrapes and cuts that still bleed.

“My General,” you whisper, pressing a shaky hand to your trembling lips.

With clear eyes he finds you and takes two long strides to meet you in the middle of the hall. You slowly lift your hand and gently trace your fingertips along his beard before they touch his lips.

He grabs your wrist and closes his eyes, pressing his lips to each fingertip and then your palm.

“My love,” he murmurs as he sharply tugs you against his body and his eyes fall to your mouth.

The brush of his lips is all you feel before a throat clears and you’re pulled from the moment.

“General.”

He tears his eyes away from you and looks up.

“I’d like a report,” the King states.

You press yourself closer and lay your head along his shoulder, instinctively inhaling the scent of his skin.

“After,” Marcus says gruffly. “I’m in need of…my wife.”

With those final words he presses his hand to your lower back and escorts you out of the hall.

When you reach your shared chambers, he ushers you inside and closes the door, locking it and turning to face you as you stand in the middle of the room.

His eyes wander languidly down every inch of you, and a shiver of anticipation runs down your spine.

“Are you hurt General?”

The question is a whisper and when he fills the space in front of you and cradles your cheek in his hand you lean into his touch, your eyes shining.

“No, my love,” he answers. “But the blaze of battle still runs hot through my veins.”

His eyes are dark and intense, and you fully understand the meaning of his words. It heats your skin, and you know he’ll find you ready and wanting.

Your movements are graceful when you run a finger down his chest and carefully pull at the leather tied along his sides. They loosen and soften under your touch and loop by loop you free him of this cuirass.

You pay special attention to his gorget, relishing each turn as you unwrap the linen and reveal more of his neck. You place a soft kiss just under his jaw, tasting the saltiness of his skin before your mouth moves lower.

He swallows and you can feel the cords of muscle in his throat flex. You smile into his skin and drop your hands to gather his shirt at the hem.

When he is left in nothing but his pants you step back and let your eyes assess.

“Do you deem me fit enough to take you?” he asks with just a hint of teasing.

The corner of your lips lift and you push the shawl from your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.

Your fingers reach for the wrap at your waist, but he steps forward and takes it from your hands.

His eyes, though still alight with fire, soften at the edges. “Each time it is like unwrapping the most beautiful gift.”

You drop your hands and fill your lungs with a slow inhale, your breath quickening as his hand traces over every curve he uncovers.

Now his gaze burns with nothing but desire and his jaw is tight with restraint.

“Wife,” he growls, looking his fill. “You would tempt a blind man with your beauty.”

Your smile is saccharine, though your words are anything but.

“How will you have me General?” you purr as you press your bare skin against him.

He hums low and deep, wrapping you in his arms and walking you backward toward the bed.

“First,” he whispers along your neck, “I will taste every part of this silky skin.”

His lips trail down your throat and across your collarbone. When they reach your shoulder, his fingers follow and smooth over the soft slope before dropping to massage your breast.

“Then I will taste the honey between your legs.”

His mouth moves lower, his warm breath teasing your nipple before his lips close around it.

Your fingers delve into his hair, threading through the mess of curls until he groans out your name.

“And then?” you ask in a breathless whisper.

He looks up, dark lashes lowered, and his tongue traces his lips. “Then,” he murmurs, “I will fill you so completely you will know nothing other than the feel of me for days to come. Every step you take will be a reminder of who you belong to.

@lizette50 @hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @tripletstephaniescp

[aemondsbabe]

Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers. 

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied. 

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it. 

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels. 

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side. 

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head. 

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now. 

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand. 

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.” 

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil. 

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise. 

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely. 

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest. 

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her. 

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you. 

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you. 

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible. 

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot. 

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning. 

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back. 

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. 

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat. 

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans. 

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin. 

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other. 

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. 

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets. 

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark. 

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm. 

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty. 

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust. 

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time. 

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine. 

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end. 

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching. 

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down. 

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –” 

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.” 

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before. 

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined. 

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side. 

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders. 

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat. 

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh. 

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw. 

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side. 

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

To Love An Emperor

Apparently a few of you also wanted to see Caracalla being a crying pathetic mess so he is a little something I wrote on my dinner break today

@byronking @ange-olras you guys all asked on my original post so I hope this is what you wanted ❤️

Part 2

A small servant girl broke the peace of your chambers, the large wooden door scraping across the tile caused you to snap your head away from your book, staring at her silently as you awaited what commands she had been sent to give you.

You watched the petite young thing bow before you, he voice soft and high pitched as she spoke. "The Emperor has summoned you, my Lady". It did not take you long to figure out which one had summoned you to his chambers before you nodded to her and waved her away. With a sigh you closed your book for the night and began to dress yourself, you did not think the the Emperor would care if you were in your night dress but manners and respect dictated you would present yourself in a manner beffiting of him.

The long walk to the royal chambers gave you time to steel yourself for what you were about to deal with, it must have been another one of those days in the council chamber, Geta shouting and and throwing things around the room, something that had become all to frequent as of late.

Your footsteps echoed down the hallway as you approached your destination, surely the Emperor would hear you approaching and be ready to recieve you. Gently you pushed the guilded door open, not wanting to make too much noise and disturb him further. As you stood in the door way you spotted Caracalla perched on the end of his bed, his head in his hands, he had been crying again.

You sat slowly beside him on the bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, gently rubbing it trying to reassure him somewhat, not that it ever worked before. In one swift movement Caracalla moved to kneel on the marble floor before you, pushing himself between your, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and burying his head into the fabric covering your chest. You could hear his muffled sobs against your chest as you stroked the back of his head, waiting for him to stop. Geta must have been particularly brutal to him today, you had heard the vituperative way he spoke to him before and it certainly would have broken a lesser man a long time ago.

"Why does my own flesh and blood treat me this way? Is it not enough that he tried to kill me in the womb but now to kill my spirit as well?" You never answered him, you knew he didn't ever want an answer, he just wanted to vent out his feelings someone who would not report back to his brother, making him look weaker than he already felt around him.

After a while the tears stopped, lifting his head away from your chest, your clothes now wet from his tears. Caracalla sunk further down onto his knees, his sad wet eyes looking up at you, pleading for love and acceptance, you had been the only one to ever understand him.

His hands gripped at the fabric on your waist, clinging so tight as if you would disappear from him. "You love me don't you? You think I'm good enough?" The tears began to well in his again, threatening to spill forth once more, making his blue eyes sparkle like sapphires, his voice shakey and desperate.

You cupped his face in your soft hands, smiling as you felt him lean into your touch, craving as much of it as he could get. You stroked the tears away from his cheeks and placed a delicate kiss upon his head. "Of course my Emperor" Your words soothed his tears and ignited him at the same time, feeling his lips crash roughly against your own. Caracalla did not care if you meant those words or not, it was all he wanted to hear, to feel your affection and to be loved.

[thesassypadawan]

Beloved Husband *part 2* (Unburnt Vader x WifeReader)

Summary:  All throughout your pregnancy your husband has been loving…caring…patient.  However that same patience has worn quiet thin during your last month.  And now wanting nothing more than to be with you…ruin you…breed you again.  He will take and do as he pleases, even if it’s far too soon after the birth of your son.  Even if it take’s all night long.  (A continuation to Beloved Master.)

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut.  Size difference, hint of a breeding kink, premature postpartum smex, and Vader’s big dick. 

Notes: Happy Sithtember all you, lovelies! ❤️🖤

🎉❤️A VERY HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO @t03soup❤️🎉

- Delirious…  Gently he flips you onto your back.  Head lolls against the plush pillows, soft pants slip past your swollen lips.  “An-Ani, you have to s-stop…” 

- Mind hazy…  Faintly you’re aware of him nudging your legs apart.  Guiding your fingers into place to keep them spread open.  “Can’t k-keep going…”

- Thoughts growing cloudier with each passing moment…  Larger body slots between; pressing down, trapping yours beneath.  Feebly you writhe and wriggle, trying to free yourself.  “I'm not s-supposed to get…”

- With each blissfully painful orgasm…  Glassy eyes meet his golden ones, sinister smile creeps across his face.  “No one tells me what I can and cannot do…”  Chuckling darkly; monstrous length grinding, smearing pre on your folds and stomach.  “Even my own wife…”

- Weakly you sob out as he surges forward once more.  Gummy walls struggling, burning...aching from the intense stretch.  Nails digging, scratching at your thighs.  Familiar pricks stinging at your waterlines.  “I…n-no…I…”

- Swallowing up your pleas; his tongue tangles, utterly dominates yours.  Hips rocking slowly; bulbous tip somehow still hitting, bullying your poor cervix.  “Hmmph…”

- While his metallic digits toy at your sore, raw nipples.  Rolling, tugging them just hard enough to cause fat drops of milk to spring forth…trickle down, mingle with your mixed sweat.  “Please…p-please…”

- Fiery kisses trail, teeth nip at your neck and collarbone.  “Stop your crying, angel,” he growls into your marked skin.  Voice rumbling through you, coil beginning to tighten in your stomach again.  “Don’t want to hear it.”

- Pace increases; thrusts grow harsh, wild.  Curves bounce, jiggle; balls slap heavily, wetly against your bottom.  Sound echoing off the bed chamber’s walls, along with your pitiful babbles.  “But…I-I…”

- “Need this as bad as I do…”  Lips travel lower, hot mouth encompasses your leaking bud.  Suckling, savoring the stray drops of nectar.  Biting the tender flesh that surrounds them, eliciting small whimpers and gasps from you.

- “Have me destroy, ruin you…”  Organic fingers brush, swirl your overstimed clit.  Pinching, flicking; big thumb pressing, squeezing the little nub firmly.  Pleasure building, boarding on the line of agony.

- “Let me back inside that perfect womb of yours…”  Mechno hand slides up, wraps around your fragile throat.  Hold tight, keeping you in place while he slams…attempts to breach past the tight rim.

- “Filling you, making you heavy with another of my heirs…”  Driving deeply one last time, you feel the familiar pop and flood of warmth yet again.  Pussy involuntary clenches, gushes.  Tears flow freely in happiness or sadness, you aren't quite sure.  Because you’re so…

- Delirious…  Gently he pulls out, pries your fingers off.  Easing your trembling limbs down to the mattress, propping your hips up with a plush pillow.  Muttering sweet words of admirations and praises; about not wanting to see any of his seed go to waste, to be sure it takes.  “Good girl…” 

- Mind hazy…  Faintly you’re aware of coos, squeaks coming from nearby.  Catching a brief glimpse of his cock in the firelight.  Coated in your combined juices, tinted slightly in something crimson.  “Must be hungry…hopefully I didn’t drink up all his meal…”

- Thoughts growing sharper with each passing moment…  You lay there numb; content to not move, to let fatigue something else overtake you.  Until a small bundle is placed into your arms, tiny hand reaches for you.  And suddenly the life rushes back into you, the night’s events fade away.  “Looks like someone missed you…” 

- With each happy noise from your newborn…  Clear eyes meet his golden ones, wide smile creeps across his face.  “You’re so beautiful…helpless, hatari…”  Chuckling softly; big hand cradling, caressing your round stomach.  “Think I’ll keep you this way for years to come…”

-  With each chaste kiss placed on the crown of your head…  Forcing, burying the last shred of your old self.  You return your beloved husband’s smile, his kiss.  “I’d love nothing more…Lord Vader.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @loverforoldermen, @anakinsbbgirl, @t03soup, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @avescorner-blog, @vaderswifey, @jediavengers

[zapreportsblog]

OH MY LORD I LOVE EVERYTHING YOU WRITE FOR ME ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Now imma bother u again lol.

I need more angst and fluff hahah sorryyy.

So another argument between the poly!volturi kings x reader where they say something like “You are my greatest regret to ever have come into my life.”

And reader burst ot in tears and she is already suicidal so yknow she just gives up, they stop her and so on. And then she Apologises or something and they say some like this.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t you dare try and apologize for something you haven’t done or anything to do with!”

Pleaseee🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈 Love ya byeee❤️❤️❤️

↱ ending things ↰

➘ summary : remember words can hurt so best be careful with what you say

➘ the volturi x reader , aro x reader x marcus x caius

➘ a/n : I did as asked….though you didn’t say anything about there needing to be a happy ending hehehehe though I gave you the closure of an apology that was the fluff part; cheers!

Within the hallowed halls of the Volturi castle, tension hung heavy in the air, an unspoken weight that seemed to seep into every corner. The kings of the vampire world, Aro, Marcus, and Caius, stood in a circle, their expressions marred by frustration and anger. In their midst stood (y/n), the human mate of these immortal beings, her eyes brimming with a mixture of defiance and hurt.

Arguing had become an unsettling pattern, each disagreement intensifying the fractures within their relationship. Tonight, the culmination of unresolved issues reached a breaking point.

"Why can't you see reason, (y/n)?!" Aro's voice rose with exasperation, his eyes aflame with frustration.

"Because this isn't just about what you want, Aro!" (Y/n)'s voice trembled with emotion, her own frustration taking its toll.

Caius, his usual calm veneer shattered, couldn't contain his anger any longer. "You are my greatest regret to ever have come into my life," he spat, his words laced with venom.

The words hung in the air like a poison, the silence that followed suffocating. (Y/n)'s eyes widened in shock, her heart clenched with a pain she had never anticipated. She felt as if the ground beneath her feet had crumbled, her world shattered by the weight of Caius' words.

Tears welled in her eyes, a mixture of anger and heartbreak roiling within her chest. Without another word, she turned on her heel and fled, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she sought refuge from the pain that seemed to grip her soul.

As she ran through the twisting passages of the castle, her thoughts were a tumultuous storm. How had it come to this? The love that had once bound them felt distant and fractured, replaced by hurtful words and unspoken resentments.

Reaching a secluded chamber, (y/n) collapsed onto a stone bench, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if seeking to shield her heart from the agony that seemed to seep into every fiber of her being.

The door creaked open, and she looked up to see Marcus standing in the doorway. His expression was a mixture of regret and sadness, a reflection of the turmoil that had torn their bond asunder.

"(Y/n)," he began softly, his voice a gentle murmur, "I know things have been difficult."

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and confusion. "Marcus, what has happened to us?"

His footsteps were soft as he approached her, sitting beside her on the bench. "We let our differences and frustrations build up, and we forgot the strength of our connection."

Tears flowed freely down (y/n)'s cheeks, her emotions raw and exposed. "Caius... his words..."

Marcus sighed, his gaze distant as if lost in his own thoughts. "Caius is burdened by his past, (y/n). It wasn't an excuse for what he said, but it's important to understand that his emotions are complex."

The echoes of the argument still reverberated in (y/n)'s mind as she stepped out of the castle, a tumultuous mix of emotions threatening to engulf her. The cold night air stung against her skin, a stark contrast to the heated tension she had left behind. Seeking respite, she wandered through the quiet streets until she found herself on a bridge that spanned a calm river.

Perching on the ledge, her feet hanging over the water, (y/n) let out a deep sigh. The night sky stretched above her, stars flickering like distant beacons. Her thoughts were a storm of conflicting emotions – anger, hurt, confusion – and they mingled with the ever-present shadow of her mental health struggles.

Gazing down at the water, (y/n) traced the ripples with her eyes, lost in the rhythm of their gentle dance. Her relationship with the Volturi kings had been a source of joy and turmoil, an intricate dance between love and frustration. But tonight, their argument had unleashed a torrent of emotions she struggled to contain.

Tears welled up in her eyes, her heart heavy with the weight of it all. She had always battled her own inner demons, the darkness that threatened to consume her. Her mental health had been a constant companion, sometimes a gentle whisper and at other times a deafening roar.

As she stared at the water, the tranquility of the scene before her offered a fleeting sense of solace. It was a reminder that even amidst the chaos, there were moments of stillness and beauty. But the struggle within her heart was far from over.

With a heavy sigh, (y/n) leaned back, resting her weight on her hands. Her thoughts drifted to the times of laughter and connection she had shared with the Volturi kings. But they were now overshadowed by the hurtful words and the fractures in their once strong bond. She felt lost in a sea of emotions, uncertain of how to navigate her feelings.

Her mental health struggles, too, gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. The battles fought within her own mind often left her feeling exhausted, and tonight was no exception. It was as if her inner turmoil had found its way into her external world, amplifying the pain she felt.

As the moonlight cast its silvery glow over the Volturi castle, a sense of unease settled within its halls. The lower guard had just informed the kings that (y/n) had left the castle, setting their hearts racing with worry. Without a moment's hesitation, Aro, Marcus, and Caius followed the scent that led them through the winding paths of the castle grounds and out into the night.

The scent was a trail of uncertainty, a reflection of the turmoil that had led her to leave. Each step carried them closer to the bridge that spanned the quiet river, and the kings felt their anxiety rise with every passing second.

Approaching the bridge, they saw her figure seated on the edge, her silhouette framed against the moonlit waters below. The wind rustled her hair, and her shoulders seemed weighed down by the burden of her thoughts.

"(Y/n)!" Aro's voice was a mixture of relief and concern as he called out to her, his footsteps slowing.

Hearing their voices, (y/n) turned to face them, her expression a mix of surprise and sadness. The sight of the three kings standing before her felt surreal, a reminder of the complexities of their bond.

Marcus stepped forward, his voice gentle. "We were worried about you, (y/n)."

Caius' gaze was piercing, his eyes reflecting his inner turmoil. "Why did you leave?"

Tears welled up in (y/n)'s eyes as she met Caius' gaze. His voice held a note of desperation that struck a chord deep within her. She had caused them to worry, to fear the worst, and the guilt gnawed at her heart.

"I needed some space," she admitted, her voice wavering with emotion.

Caius' expression softened, his concern evident as he took a step closer. "You scared us, (y/n)."

The bridge seemed to hang in a delicate balance, the emotions of the moment swirling like a storm. And then, with a desperation that seemed to pierce the very air, Caius pleaded, "Please, don't do anything rash."

His words hung heavy, the weight of his concern palpable. (Y/n) could see the fear in his eyes, the raw vulnerability he rarely revealed. It was a reminder that their bond, as fractured as it was, still held a deep connection.

"I sorry, Caius," she chocked, her voice trembling. "I sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried like a broken record.

The air seemed to thicken with tension as (y/n) and the three kings stood on the bridge, their emotions swirling in the night. Caius' plea had pierced the silence, his concern palpable, and the weight of his words hung in the air like a heavy shroud.

Caius took a tentative step forward, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with (y/n). His voice was a mixture of remorse and desperation as he spoke, his words cutting through the charged atmosphere.

"Don't you dare apologize. You haven't done anything wrong. This is my fault."

Tears welled up in (y/n)'s eyes as she met Caius' gaze. She felt the truth in his words, the raw sincerity of his regret. But the turmoil within her heart couldn't be silenced by reason alone, and a choked apology escaped her lips.

"I'm sorry, Caius. I'm so sorry."

Caius' frustration seemed to deepen as he closed the distance between them, his movements deliberate and careful. His voice softened, a mixture of tenderness and self-blame.

"Stop apologizing. You don't have to carry this burden."

But (y/n) could only shake her head, the weight of her own emotions bearing down on her. "I'm sorry, Caius. I'm tired."

The words were a whisper, a reflection of her weariness. The constant battles within her own mind, the complexities of their relationship – it all felt like too much to bear.

And then, before anyone could react, a shocking moment unfolded. (Y/n) stepped back, her gaze still locked on Caius, her voice trembling as she whispered, "I'm sorry," one last time.

And then she jumped.

Time seemed to freeze in that agonizing instant, the sound of her body hitting the water echoing in their ears. A primal surge of panic coursed through them, their hearts racing as they stared at the spot where she had been.

Aro, Marcus, and Caius were paralyzed, the shock of the moment rendering them immobile. The bridge that had once represented a moment of reflection had now become the stage for a heart-wrenching tragedy.

As reality settled in, Caius' expression twisted with a mixture of grief and disbelief. He felt as though his very soul had been torn asunder, his voice frozen in his throat.

"(Y/n)?" Aro's voice was a whisper, his eyes wide with shock.

The ripples on the water were the only answer, their gentle dance a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions that roiled within them.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

first off, happy happy birthday to you!!!! Thank you for spoiling us on your birthday.

That being said, my heart is feeling angsty so I wanna request the prompt "Stop pretending that you care! We both know you don't." for a fem reader x Kid (NSFW)!

Again, happy birthday lovely! :3

Hello! @limitlesstildil thank you sooo much for your birthday wishes and for your awesome prompt! Now, I've taken some liberties with it, but I do hope you don't mind! It's now a three part fic of Highlander!Kid, sharing the spotlight with another prompt (to be seen in the last chapter). The NSFW part was pushed forward too, okay? I hope this is still okay! Thank you so much for participating! ❤️

Source for Pic

Mine to Protect

Word Count: 4969

Tags for the whole story: Highlander!Kid; Fem!Reader; Alternate Universe - Scotland 13th century; Gore; Blood; Violence; Death; Mild Angst; Fluff; Nudity; Cursing; Sexual Tension; Explicit Sexual Content; Protective!Kid; Possessive!Kid; Soft!Kid; Feral!Kid; Jealous!Kid; Happy Ending; Sort of Enemies to Lovers; Teasing; Banter; NSFW; MDNI; Mature Audiences;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Your father and his allied clans are at war, and you're a liability. When you're assigned a guard to protect you - against your will - you do everything in your power to infuriate him. The problem is that he can be more infuriating than you, as you're about to find out.

Notes: Okay... it's finally here! I coudn't hold out any longer. It turned out to be 16k words, so I've divided it in three (not equal parts because the splitting would be weird, obviously). I edited the first part and plan on editing the rest soon. I will have the entire fic out by the end of the week! Gosh... I'm very proud of this one, I do hope you enjoy, let me know!

Part 1 of 3

|Masterlist| | |Part 2| | |Part 3|

“I don't need a guard!” Your angered cry echoes down the halls of the keep, but the stationed guards at the entrance barely even flinch at your outburst since it’s a regular occurrence. 

You have been at odds with your father, the laird, since early morning and, as night approaches fast, he’s tired of arguing with you. But no matter how much you argue like a wild thing, plead as if he were a deity or present your arguments politely as a lady, he doesn’t budge.

“You need a guard!” Your father says with a firm growl of your name. “We are at war and you're an easy target, daughter!” You scoff, outraged at the insinuation. You might be a lady, but you know how to defend yourself and you’re a feisty creature. “I don't want to hear any more of what you have to say! Out with you! You'll meet your guard later.”

With a screech so loud it could make a banshee blush in embarrassment, you leave the chamber, stamping your feet like a bratty child, feeling much like one since, apparently, you need nannying. And, well, if you’re to be nannied like a baby, you might as well act like one, while you still can.

Passing by the kitchen, you grab a hemp sack and fill it with anything you can get your hands on: bread, fruit, salted meat and grains. It weighs like hell but you couldn't care less. You have a point to prove. 

You don’t need a guard. You can handle yourself.

Night falls quickly and you use the waning light of the sickle moon to guide your steps, the same ones you’ve taken since you were a child. The only difference is that now you’re facing wartime and the streets aren’t as safe as they used to be.

But the people need you and you won’t sit idly by while children starve.

-*-

He was supposed to introduce himself to you as soon as he arrived at the keep, but Kid likes to observe first, so he stuck to the shadows. Despite being big, bulky and muscular, he can move like one. When Kid spots you leaving the keep just as the moon appears in the sky, he realises you're going to be trouble. 

Kid’s sick and tired of being a nursemaid to stuck-up, entitled ladies who think they alone rule the world. Yet, here he is again, his body too broken to be a proper warrior, but not broken enough to be able to retire peacefully. 

With a heavy sigh and a curse, Kid follows you into town, all the while realising just how reckless you’re being with your actions. Your father hired him because of the war, which means nowhere is safe. Especially after nightfall. Especially if you’re a noble lady.

But you don’t seem to care.

He follows you around town while you knock on doors, delivering food and even some jewellery. He hasn’t even spoken to you and your actions are already intriguing him. He’s never met a noble lady who would willingly part with jewels, let alone give them to townspeople. 

Yet, he doesn’t let that cloud his judgement. You think you’re being inconspicuous as you parade around town wearing your expensive velvet cape, with an air about you that clearly states you’re regal. No town girl would have such perfectly braided hair, and fair skin, poised grace, and natural beauty, as well as an elegance to your movements. You’re a dead giveaway for who you are.

And that’s dangerous in these streets.

Tutting silently, Kid watches as you traverse a dark alleyway and, immediately, a group of brigands follows you, their eyes already glinting with greed and something else. Kid approaches, ready to intervene as he’s being paid to do. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the way you pull out two daggers from your thighs and start fending them off.

A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as he realises you aren’t as defenceless as he thought you to be.

Slicing your way through the brigands, you manage to cut one on the arm and another across his torso, which only makes them more enraged, but Kid nods approvingly from the shadows. There’s more to you than just a pretty face. 

Then you make a mistake. You lose sight of the largest man in the group and he gets behind you, locking your arms and incapacitating you immediately. With a grunt, Kid pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on and grips his Lochaber axe with his good arm. Time to intervene.

It takes only the blink of an eye for him to reach you. His weak arm slams a punch to the jugular of the man pinning you, causing him to let go and fall to his knees, gasping for air. Pivoting, Kid slices another brigand with a swing of his long axe, his guts splashing to the floor with a sickening sound as the man screams himself into shock. With a thrust of the weapon, Kid immediately kills the remaining brigand by piercing his neck. 

He didn’t even break a sweat. 

“I’m not scared of you!” You say, breathing hard, pants escaping your parted lips and Kid can clearly see your fists trembling as you grip the handle of your blade. You mistook him for another brigand. Smirking, Kid takes one step forward and you gasp. “Don’t come any closer.” Your voice is firmer now, a hint of aggression in your words. Good. 

He still takes another step, and with a swing of the axe, he lunges. You shriek and tense up but open your eyes as soon as you hear another sickening slice and the unmistakable gargle of a man drowning in his own blood. Kid sliced the neck of the brigand who had pinned you at the beginning of the skirmish and was getting ready to run away.

“I said back away!” You lunge, place your foot wrong and throw your weight like an amateur. Kid scoffs and easily disarms you, raising an eyebrow as if asking if that’s all you’ve got. You huff and puff like a wild beast and lunge empty-handed this time, landing a punch on his chest which he barely feels. He chuckles again and you seethe, swinging again, trying to hit his jaw, but this time he stops your mid-air, twisting your body and pinning your arm behind your back.

“Yer swingin’ like ye’ve never thrown a proper punch, lass.”

-*-

You blush from the tips of your ears to your flaming cheeks as the man twists your arm further, making you wince. Who is he? He easily took down the brigands who attacked you, but he doesn’t look like a common thief. He moves like a warrior, even though his left arm seems slower and heavier. 

“Let me go!” You hiss, feeling his taut muscles press against your back.

“Ye did alright with the daggers, but there’s a lot to be said about yer footwork. Also…” His large, calloused hand reaches out as he pulls the hood of your cloak down, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck. “If yer gonna walk the streets of a war-torn town at night, ya better do it dressin’ like a commoner, no’ a noble, aye, lass?”

The nerve!

“Who are you, trying to tell me what to do? Let me go, right now!” He twists your arm more, and your hiss turns into a groan, but you refuse to scream in pain. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction, though it almost feels like your arm is about to fall out of its socket. 

“Who am I?” He chuckles. “That’s rich. I’m the one who just saved yer spoiled ass from gettin’ robbed. Or worse, lassie.”

You lower yourself, sensing a slight give in your arm as he loosens his grip, and elbow him hard in the stomach as you manage to break free from his grasp, hearing him grunt slightly. “I didn’t ask for your help, you brute.” You take two steps back, swiftly scanning the floor, hoping to find your fallen dagger. Since you can’t locate it, you focus back on the enemy, and your eyes widen as you finally take a good look.

He’s huge. Tall, bulky and built like a warrior, full of scars. His eyes and his hair are what make your breath catch in your throat: they’re fiery red. 

“Ye did no’, but ye sure as hell needed it.” He grins and takes another step forward, just to see you falter. “I’m no’ gonna harm ya, lass. I’m yer new guard. Yer da hired me.” He picks up the dagger you’ve been looking for but missed and hands it to you, handle first, along with the one he took. “Eustass Kid, at yer service.” 

By the resigned sound of his voice, he’d much rather be anywhere else but here. You snatch the daggers from his hands with a scowl. You’d much rather he be anywhere else as well but, alas, here you both are. 

“I don’t need a guard.” You grimace as you manoeuvre around the dead bodies, your stomach already used to the stench of blood by now, walk around Kid, and out of the alley, not even bothering to see if he’s following you. 

But of course he is. How is he so silent when he’s built like an Angus?

“Ya sure about that, lass?” His voice is clipped and dripping with sarcasm which just makes you grit your teeth as you quicken your pace. “Seemed like ya needed one back there, nae?”

“I had it covered!” You snap back, hands balled into fists as you stomp your way back into the keep. 

“Aye, I saw. Maybe I should’ve let ya finish, then. Were ye gonna use yer witty words on them? Pray they let ya go just because ya have a sharp tongue?” He scoffs and you stop abruptly, pivoting with a finger in the air, your eyebrow raised high.

“I don’t appreciate the mockery, you don’t even know me.”

He leans down, his face inches from yours with that infuriating grin on his lips. “Aye, I know ya well enough tae paint a pretty picture, lass. Stubborn, reckless, proud.” His hand rises and he stabs a finger against your forehead, pushing you back with just the strength of that one digit. ��Prancin’ around a war-torn town in fancy clothes, screamin’ yer noble and ready tae be robbed… aye, real smart, lass!”

You swat his hand away with the swing of your arm, growling as your temper flares. “You don’t know shit!”

“Ohhh.” He laughs, this time, a hearty laugh that sends a tingle down your spine. “Witty and foul-mouthed? What cannae that tongue do?”

“What am I supposed to do, then? Behave like a proper lady and stay in my keep, filling my belly while my people die of starvation? I don’t think so.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise your chin high, defying the infuriating man to say something else. 

“No’ what I’m sayin’, lass. But at least have some sense about it.” The grin fades and his voice hardens as he becomes serious. “There’s a war ragin’ and the street’s nae place for a noble woman. And there’s a difference between bravery and stupidity. Guess which one yer tippin’ on, right now?”

Is he serious? 

You don’t even grace that remark with a proper answer. There’s no use fighting with this man. You told your father you didn’t need a guard and he went and got you the most infuriating one of the lot!

Just my luck.

-*-

You’re so pissed that  you have a shadow following you everywhere, that you don’t leave your room for the next three days, hoping he gets bored and just leaves. 

He doesn’t.

On the fourth day you’re the one who’s bored so as the sun rises, so do you. You take your breakfast in peace, your guard nowhere to be seen because you’re in the keep where it’s safe. You can almost feel him as you walk around your own home. It’s a prickling at your nape, a sensation that makes you want to caress your neck. It tingles.

Days pass and you avoid making conversation with him at all costs. You keep running away from him, trying to evade his ever-present shadow, but you fail every time. More than once you think you finally did it, only to find him leaning against a wall –trademark, infuriating smirk in place– or for him to appear whenever you're about to be robbed. 

That is also why you now avoid going into town delivering food. The increase in attacks gives your guard the satisfaction of saving you and it only infuriates you. He shadows you everywhere, always wearing that smug smirk or his infinitely bored expression. He’s insufferable. 

The morning breaks like many others but you’re so frustrated you need to vent. So you pick up a sword and decide to take your anger out on the dummies in the courtyard. The sword feels heavy in your hands since you’re more used to daggers, but the recent attacks got you thinking that perhaps the gruff guard made a valid point. It’s wartime. Two measly daggers aren’t gonna save you. The sword might.

You start swinging, hitting the dummy but not making real damage, and then you sense him watching you. That damn prickling again, it’s like a pressing need at your nape. You let out a growl paired with a curse, and a bit of straw flies out of the dummy as you strike it again. 

“Ya swing that sword like yer holdin’ a broom.” You stop, take a deep breath and don’t turn around, going for the dummy again and trying your best to ignore the annoying prick. “Yer form’s all wrong.” He continues and so do you. Whack, whack. “That’s a good way tae get killed, lass.”

Pivoting around to face him, jaw clenched and knuckles white from gripping the sword, you show him your best leave me the fuck alone look. “If you have nothing useful to say, then stay quiet!”

“Feisty.” He replies with a chuckle and you grunt in exasperation. 

You give him a few more moments of your time, eyebrows raised in defiance as you wait for more remarks, but he raises his hands in the air and you turn your back to him, continuing your dummy slaughter. 

It doesn’t take long for him to speak again. “Yer still holdin’ it wrong. Yer gonna hurt yerself first before ye hurt someone else.” You sense him approaching but don’t turn. “But, aye, let’s just be stubborn as a mule, that also works.”

Your head whips back so fast you’re certain you pulled a muscle. “Are you calling me a mule?”

“Just sayin’ yer as stubborn as one.” He takes another step, his head leaning to the side as he observes you and you feel yourself flush under his gaze. “Yer too stiff, relax yer grip on the handle.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice.” You bite back, venom in your voice and fire in your eyes.

“Lucky ye, here I am offerin’ it just the same.”

“Screw you.” You mutter but still relax your grip on the handle as he says.

“Maybe later.” He grins as you scoff, then invades your space, his hands pushing your shoulders down, the touch sending a shock through your system. “I said relax, no’ stiffen more, lass.”

You shoot him a sideways glance but still do as he says, relaxing your shoulders and your hands. 

Then he nudges your feet with his own, spreading your legs into a wider stance. “Open yer legs wider for me lass, will ye? Now try again.” You flush crimson at the insinuation but still do as he says, though you keep grumbling. When you swing though, the hit actually cuts through the dummy and you gasp. “See? Yer actually capable.” You grin, a small smug smile curving your lips. “It’s no’ that yer a good student, I’m just a great teacher.”

And there goes your good mood.

“Insufferable.” You bite back.

“That too. But damn good.”

You stop your swing mid-air and turn to him, lifting your blade to his chest. “You know, maybe I should stop practising on dummies and start practising on you.” The smirk you give him is devious. 

“Ye cannae take me, lass.”

Glaring at him through lowered lashes, you raise your chin. “Try me.”

His eyes darken and the tingling sensation at your nape intensifies tenfold. You see him tense up but you don’t wait to see what he does next. You lunge forward, sword raised, relaxed grip and a wide stance –like he taught you just now– and he easily swings out of the way. 

With a frustrated grunt, you pivot to swing your sword to the left, where he dodged, and he evades you again, a small smirk tugging the corners of his lips. You suck a deep breath through your nose before letting it out slowly through your mouth, centering yourself. Then you swing again, leg planted firmly on the ground for support.

Kid hits your elbow from below, twisting your arm and disarms you with a quick flick of his hand –the sword clatters to the floor– then, in a second he has you in his grip, your back flushed against his chest, one of his hands at your throat and his other arm pinning you against him, rendering you immobile. 

Damn.

He’s intoxicating. His scent lingers everywhere and the warmth of his body against yours crackles and burns. 

“Yer easy.” He whispers against your ear and it’s a caress that travels down your neck, through your nipples and into your throbbing core. Fuck.

“Let me go.” Lacing your voice with authority doesn’t get you far, as your words fall empty and shaky. 

“Make me.” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, sending goosebumps down your neck. “Yer no’ as tough as you think, lass.” He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on your traitorous body, and he’s using it.

Two can play that game.

You turn your head to the side and tilt your chin up, your movements slightly constricted by the hand on your throat, and brush your lips against the exposed skin of his neck. “I’m not what?” Your hot breath fans his skin and you notice how it prickles before his jaw tightens and he loosens his hold. You use that opening to your advantage and shove him, taking a step away from him and almost gaining your freedom back –he doesn’t let you.

With a swift movement his arm envelops your waist and he pulls you to him again as you let out a frustrated groan. “It’s over, lass. Yer done.” There’s more gruffness in his voice now.

“I’m not done until I say I am.” You bite back, struggling to free yourself but he’s not even making an effort to hold you against him. 

“Yer stubborn.”

“Aye! We’ve established that already. It also means I’m tenacious!”

“Ya dinnae know when tae quit, nor when tae ask for help.” He twists you in his arms with surprising ease and now you’re facing him as he places his hands on your shoulders. “Ye need tae learn tae trust someone besides yerself.”

“Trust you?” You begin and thank the gods your voice is still stable.

“Aye. I’m here tae protect ya.”

You scoff and turn your eyes away from him, his words hitting too close to the mark, making you uncomfortable. You don’t need guards and you definitely don’t need Eustass Kid as your guard. 

“You’re the last person I would trust.”

Kid removes his hands from your shoulders and takes a step back. His jaw ticks and clenches as he nods. 

“Understandable. I’ll be around, anyway, lass.”

He turns to leave and your body suddenly feels cold, though it’s still tingling from the earlier blaze. His words hang heavy in the air around you. Trust. How can you trust somebody other than yourself if you’ve been doing that your whole life?

-*-

Weeks pass and you’re getting more used to Kid being your shadow. You fight like cats and dogs. He’s insufferable and you’re, in his words, a brat. No accidents have happened while you deliver food and money to the surrounding towns, but you know that’s because nobody dares to attack you while Kid is around. His imposing figure is threat enough for any brigand who wishes to rob you. 

You train a few more times with him watching but he doesn’t give you any more pointers and you start to think that maybe it was your trust comment that got him angry at you. 

Like I care.

You try to fool yourself, but you do care. He’s not the best company but he’s not the worst. If you take away the amused snickers, the mocking undertones in his words, or his gruffness, he’s perfectly tolerable. Though he gets under your skin like no one else.

That, and the tingling sensation that doesn’t seem to go away. To add to it, there’s also a throbbing of need in your core that nights alone, pleasuring yourself, cannot push away. You hate the fact that you loathe your guard almost as much as you desire him, and that alone drives you insane. You're hyper-aware of the way his muscles flex as he moves, the grunts he releases when he exerts himself and his strong scent of steel, sweat and leather. Even worse, all you can think about is how those muscles would flex as he handles your body, or how his grunts would sound as he sinks deep into you and how you'd be smelling him on yourself afterwards. It's overwhelming. 

There's the heat and throbbing again, at your core, in your nipples, everywhere! Fuck. 

“Lass?” His voice near your ear almost releases an unbridled moan from you, since you were lost in thought, so you groan and get up from the dining table where you were reading some letters, stomping your foot. 

“I’m going to bed!”

You don’t even look back at him. 

-*-

You retired early but sleep doesn't come easily. You overheard your father's meeting today and learned that there's been unrest at the borders and another clan abandoned your cause to join the opposing army. 

You're concocting a plan to gather information from the warfront that could tip the scales of the war, and if all goes well, you'll have it by the end of the week. 

You toss again in your bed, kicking the covers off with a loud groan. It's unusually hot for the middle of the night. The window is open but there's hardly any breeze, making it difficult to sleep. It doesn't help that your mind keeps drifting to an insufferable redhead –and how there's just a wall separating you. 

Eventually sleep claims you, and you drift into a dreamless slumber. 

You're jolted awake by a calloused hand clamped over your mouth, as another rips the front of your nightgown. You try to scream as you open your eyes, meeting the lecherous gaze of a scrawny, dark-haired man. He’s trying to grope you as his filthy fingers press against your lips with such force, you're sure they will leave bruises. 

If you survive. 

“Aye, bonnie lass, keep thrashing. I don't like it when lasses lose their fight.” He's untying his breeches with one hand, pinning your arms beneath his legs, his weight pressing down on your torso, and panic floods you. You need to make noise. It's the only way to alert Kid. “I was gonna just rob ya, but ye looked so pretty with yer legs bare. I had to touch ya.” 

His hand leaves his pants to grope your bare thigh and you whimper. Then you remember that you can fight back and bite down hard on the hand that's covering your mouth. He yanks his hand back with a yelp, and – gagging at the lingering taste– you take advantage of the distraction and unbalance him. Grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside table, you smash it against his head, scattering scalding oil over his head, your hand, and legs.

The pained groan that escapes your lips brings tears to your eyes as your skin begins to burn and blister. The bastard is in worse shape, but you don’t look too long. Swinging your aching legs to the side, you try to get up and away from him, but he pins you again, spittle flying from his mouth as he leans closer, the angry red welts from the oil are already forming blisters across his face. 

“Burn me ya bitch? Ye’ll pay for this!” 

But before he can act, the door crashes open, nearly flying off its hinges, and Kid enters, his eyes burning with rage as soon as he sets eyes on the scene unfolding in front of him. He’s shirtless and you can’t help but gasp at the enormous scars covering his torso and left arm –a continuation of the ones trailing down his face and neck, scars you hadn’t yet seen. 

“Get the fuck away from her.” His growl vibrates low and deadly and you sense the man shiver for a second. He yanks you up, his filthy hand clawing at your exposed chest, forcing your back against him as he cowers behind you. A small dagger presses against your throat, and you immediately feel a trickle of hot blood running down your neck.

Kid growls again, a feral sound that bristles the hairs in your body and you smell urine as the man behind you leaks his bladder with fear. “Don’t come any closer!” He squeaks, pressing the dagger harder and you whimper softly at the sting of the blade.

Kid hesitates, then stops. One hand grabs his Lochaber axe, the other, a small dagger. You lock eyes with him and then you lower them to the dagger he’s holding, a steely determination purses your lips and you hope he understands you. “Kid, I trust you.” 

He exhales a breath, flips the dagger in his hand, catching it by the tip, and throws it in your direction. It takes a blink of an eye for you to hear the sickening thud as the blade pierces the man’s skull through the forehead, killing him instantly. Then it takes you another blink of an eye to waver forward and away from the man’s crumpling, smelly body, but in less than that time, Kid is by your side, holding you, pulling you against him with another one of his wordless grunts that, somehow, tells you much more about his relief than his words ever would. 

“Lass, yer alright?” His clipped tone masks the slight quiver in his voice, but it’s there, barely noticeable. You nod, still too shocked with what happened to do much more and Kid sits you on the bed, settling beside you. The man must’ve entered through the open window, you think, as Kid fumbles with your bedcovers, pulling a blanket loose and draping it over you. It dawns on you that your breasts were exposed and you should care, but you don’t. 

As the fabric brushes the blisters on your hands and legs, you hiss, jerking slightly. Kid’s eyes trace the red welts marking your skin. Each new one he finds just deepens his scowl. “Fucker.”

“It’s fine.” You say. “I’ll put some honey and knitbone poultice on it. It will heal.” 

“Lass…” His tone softens as his rough hands gently touch your cheeks on the area near your mouth, clearly seeing the beginnings of the bruise the man’s fingers left there. He tips your chin up to inspect the small cut the man’s dagger left on your throat. “Ye did well, but ye’ve been through hell. Let’s get ya cleaned up.” He tries to move you but you shake your head, your breath coming in gasps as the shock sets in. Kid grips your shoulders, trying to ground you. “Oi, oi, it’s over, look at me lass. Look at me.”

Tears stream down your face, blurring your vision, but you focus on his fiery eyes, your lifeline in the midst of a violent storm. “Ye did well. Ye defended yerself. But I’m here for ye, I told ye.” His hand moves up, the caress lingering softly against your cheek, a gentle contrast to his usual harshness. “Dinnae try tae do everythin’ yer own. Ask for help. I’m here for ye.”

A ragged sob makes your lips tremble and you shake your head, swatting his hand away with more force than necessary. “Stop pretending that you care! We both know you don't. You're just a hired sword and I’m a spoiled brat. So stop trying to make me feel better!”

Your breathing quickens as your heart hammers in your chest. The tears don’t stop, everything hurts and you feel so alone. You decided to trust him and he didn’t fail you so why do you feel like this? 

Because he’s paid to protect you. He’s paid to take care of you. He doesn’t really care.

Suddenly Kid leans forward, pulling you against his chest, his hand cradling your head as his lips brush the crown of your head. You cry, releasing hot tears against his bare skin. 

It’s comforting.

“I care.” He says softly, barely a whisper against your hair. “Yer mine tae protect.” A few moments pass in silence and comfort, only broken by your sobs and sniffs. The keep is quiet. You thought you’d screamed loud enough to wake the townspeople, let alone the whole house. But you must’ve been quiet, for only Kid heard you.

Kid cares. 

He cares for you.

To Be Continued...

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia

|Part 2|

[sachaa-ff]

Hi! Can I make a request for a Daemon x Sister reader oneshot (or series don't know how your request work lol). I'm thinking Viserys never married Aemma and has many children. But we find out at some point as Daemon fucks the reader that none of the children are Viserys but all of them are Daemons.

I totally get if you hate this idea, just a girl in live with Daemon taking any crumbs I can get lol.

Hi you are my first ever request 🫶🏼🥹

So I try something here.. it’s a bit short but if people like it I might turn it into a série like seeing when they were younger/during/after the children..

Tell me what you think

Request are open ❤️

Daemon Targaryen x sister reader

Legacy of fire and secret

In the grand halls of the Red Keep, the air was thick with tension. The court bustled with whispers of impending conflict, but in a secluded chamber, a different story unfolded—one of secrets and hidden desires.

You were the beloved sister of Viserys and Daemon Targaryen, married your older brother the to King Viserys at the age of 16. Your marriage, while filled with duty and respect, had never ignited the passion you craved. You bore seven children—three daughters and four sons—each a blend of Targaryen fire and your own spirit. They were spirited, wild, and carried the unmistakable mark of Daemon’s lineage, from the silver hair to the striking violet eyes. They filled your life with joy but also with the heavy burden of secrets.

Daemon had always been a source of both comfort and danger. From your earliest days, his wild spirit had captivated you. As children, you shared stolen moments, laughter echoing in empty halls. But it wasn’t until that fateful night that everything changed.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting silvery light through the window as you wandered through the quiet corridors of the Keep. You had just finished a long evening with Viserys, who had retreated to his chambers, exhausted by the weight of the crown. Sleep eluded you, and instead, you found yourself drawn to the warmth of Daemon’s presence.

You found him in the training yard, practicing with his sword, his movements fluid and graceful. The sight of him sent a shiver down your spine. “Daemon,” you called softly, and he turned, a grin breaking across his face.

“Come to watch me practice, sister?” he teased, wiping sweat from his brow, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent your heart racing.

“Perhaps I came for more than that,” you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips, your pulse quickening as he stepped closer.

“Is that so?” he said, stepping into your personal space, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “What else would you want from me?”

His teasing words wrapped around you like silk, igniting a familiar spark. “Maybe I just wanted to remind you how reckless you are,” you said, trying to sound lighthearted, but the tension in the air crackled with unspoken possibilities.

“Reckless is my middle name,” Daemon replied, his eyes glinting mischievously. “And you know you love it.”

As the moon climbed higher, you found yourselves drawn together, sharing secrets and laughter, as you had done so many times before. But this time felt different. The air was charged with unspoken words, and as he stepped closer, your heart raced.

“Why do you settle for a life of shadows?” Daemon asked, his voice low and intimate. “You deserve more than a king’s duty. You deserve passion, fire.”

His words ignited something within you, and before you knew it, you were in his arms, surrendering to the heat of the moment. The world outside faded away as you shared a kiss filled with longing and need. It felt reckless, dangerous—but also liberating.

That night changed everything. You knew you had crossed a line, yet in Daemon’s embrace, you felt alive in a way you hadn’t for years. The two of you slipped into a world of passion, hidden from the prying eyes of the court.

The days turned into weeks, and your secret meetings continued, each encounter more charged than the last. With each kiss and stolen touch, you found yourself falling deeper into a web of desire. You had become entwined in a dangerous dance, a secret world only the two of you inhabited.

As time passed, you realized you were pregnant. The thought sent your mind racing—how would you face Viserys? You had already borne three children Rhaenyra, Daerys and Rhaella, but this time felt different. The connection you shared with Daemon was undeniable and even stronger then before, and as your pregnancy progressed, you felt the weight of your deception more than ever.

When the time came, you gave birth to your first son, Aegon, followed by your daughter, Rhaena, then two more sons, Jaerys and Daemon II. Each child was a living testament to your love for Daemon, yet you presented them to Viserys as his own.

As your family grew, so did the tension. The kingdom seemed to sense the unrest, and whispers filled the court. Your children, all seven of them, were spirited and strong-willed—each one a reminder of the love you kept hidden. They laughed like Daemon, with their wild spirits shining through. But as much as you loved them, the burden of your secret grew heavier.

One evening, while the children played in the gardens, Daemon approached you, his expression a mix of mischief and seriousness. “You know they are mine as much as they are yours,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You felt your heart race. “They are Targaryens, Daemon. They are both of ours.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you hide that truth like a secret sin.”

“Because it is a sin,” you replied, a rush of defiance in your voice. “What would Viserys think?”

“Viserys deserves the truth, as do you,” Daemon replied, his intensity unwavering. “You deserve to live without hiding in the shadows.”

His words resonated deep within you. “And what would you have me do? Tell him everything and tear our family apart?”

Daemon’s eyes softened. “We could build something new. A family that embraces the truth instead of living a lie.”

———————

The weeks turned into months, and the tension within your heart grew unbearable. The laughter of your children became both a comfort and a reminder of your deception. You often found yourself lost in thought, staring at the faces of your children, wondering what the future held for them and for you.

During a particularly stormy afternoon, Daemon visited the nursery where you sat with your children. They were playing, their wild laughter filling the room, but you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Daemon leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a soft smile. “They are beautiful,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

“They remind me of you,” you replied, your heart swelling as you watched them. “Every day, I see your spirit in them.”

He stepped closer, the air between you charged with unspoken words. “What will you do when the storm clears? Will you stand with me?”

You met his gaze, the tension palpable. “I don’t know, Daemon. I want to protect them, but I also don’t want to lose everything.”

“You won’t lose me,” he vowed, stepping closer. “We’ll find a way to make this work. Together.”

Just then, Aegon ran over, tugging at your skirts. “Mother, can we go outside? The rain stopped!”

You smiled, ruffling his hair. “Of course, my love. Let’s gather your siblings.”

As the children dashed outside, you felt a momentary sense of peace wash over you. You watched them play, their laughter echoing in the courtyard, but the reality of your situation loomed overhead.

Later that evening, after the children were settled for the night, you found yourself alone with Daemon in the quiet of your chamber. The door was closed, but the tension in the air was almost tangible.

“Are you ready to confront Viserys again?” Daemon asked, his voice low.

You sighed, leaning against the wall. “I don’t know if I can. He’s been hurt, and I can see it in his eyes.”

“But he deserves to know that you still love him,” Daemon insisted, stepping closer. “You owe him that truth.”

“And what of you?” you countered, searching his gaze. “Do you think he can accept us?”

Daemon reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch igniting a spark. “If he loves you, he will find a way. But you must be honest with him.”

You felt your heart race at his closeness, the air thick with tension. “What if I can’t bear to see him hurt?”

“Then don’t think about that. Think about what we can create together,” he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours. “A family built on love and honesty.”

His words resonated deep within you, and before you knew it, you were in his arms again, surrendering to the fire that had always burned between you. The kiss was a promise, a vow to fight for what you believed in, no matter the cost.

Later this night, after a particularly difficult day, you found yourself unable to sleep. The weight of your secrets pressed down on you, and you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb your husband. You made your way to Daemon’s chambers again, drawn by an irresistible pull.

He was waiting for you, leaning against the window, the flickering candlelight illuminating his sharp features. “You came,” he said, relief washing over his face.

“I couldn’t stay away,” you admitted, stepping closer, the storm outside a mere backdrop to the tempest within.

“Troubled?” he asked, studying your face.

“More like… torn,” you replied, the weight of your emotions spilling out. “I can’t keep living this lie.”

“Then don’t,” Daemon said, stepping closer, the space between you charged with electricity. “Tell him the truth. We can face whatever comes together.”

His proximity made your heart race. “What if it shatters everything?” you whispered, looking into his intense gaze.

“Then we’ll rebuild,” he replied, his voice steady. “With our love as the foundation.”

You leaned in, capturing his lips with yours, pouring all your doubts and fears into that kiss. It was a promise—a vow to fight for the love you shared, no matter the cost. As you pulled away, breathless, you felt a sense of determination rising within you.

“Then we will fight,” you said, resolve hardening in your voice. “We will find a way to protect our children and claim our love.”

—————

The next day, as you prepared for dinner, your heart raced at the thought of what was to come. Would you be able to confront Viserys? As you laid in bed that night, the darkness enveloping you, you felt a surge of determination.

The following evening, you gathered the courage to speak with Viserys. The weight of your confession felt unbearable, but Daemon’s words echoed in your mind. You had to tell him the truth.

As you sat across from Viserys, the soft flicker of candlelight danced between you, and the weight of your secret felt insurmountable. “Viserys,” you began, your voice trembling. “There’s something I must tell you.”

He looked up, concern etched on his face. “What is it, my love?”

You took a deep breath, the truth burning on the tip of your tongue. “It’s about the children… and Daemon.”

Viserys’s expression shifted, confusion mingling with concern. “What do you mean?”

You steeled yourself, pouring your heart into the words. “They are not.. yours, Viserys. They are Daemon’s. Our love… it created them.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Viserys’s eyes widened in shock, and you could see the pain in his gaze as he processed your confession. “How could you—”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you interrupted, tears welling in your eyes. “But I cannot deny the truth. Daemon and I… we’ve always shared a bond deeper than I realized.”

Viserys sat back, his expression a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. “You chose him over me. Over our family.”

“It wasn’t a choice,” you pleaded, your voice breaking. “It was something that happened—a connection that was always there. I tried to fight it, but I can’t hide anymore.”

Viserys’s face hardened, the hurt evident in his eyes. “You have betrayed me, and for that, I cannot forgive you easily.”

Your heart sank as the reality of your actions settled in. “Please, Viserys. I still love you.. it was just not enough... The children love you. This doesn’t have to end everything.”

As the weight of your words hung in the air, Daemon stepped into the room, his presence electric. The tension escalated as Viserys’s eyes narrowed at his brother.

“You,” Viserys spat, rising to his feet. “You’ve corrupted her.”

“Viserys, wait—” you tried to interject, but Daemon held up a hand.

“Let me speak,” Daemon said, his voice steady. “This was not just my doing. It was a shared choice, one that reflects the true nature of our bloodline. We are Targaryens, and we are bound by love and fire.”

Viserys’s expression was a mixture of rage and hurt, and you felt your heart breaking as you watched the man you once loved confront the man who had become your everything. “You think this is love?” Viserys said bitterly. “You’ve destroyed my family.”

“No, brother, it was never yours.. but mine” Daemon replied firmly. “We can build something new, one that embraces the truth instead of hiding from it. My children deserve to know their true heritage.”

The air crackled with tension as the three of you stood on the precipice of change. Viserys’s gaze flicked between you and Daemon, and you could see the struggle within him.

“Is this what you truly want?” he asked, his voice strained. “To tear apart what we built?”

You stepped forward, desperation flooding your voice. “I want us all to find a way to coexist. The children need both of us. They need love, not division.”

Viserys stared at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “And what of your love for him? How can I trust you again?”

“I will prove it to you,” you promised, your heart racing. “I will do whatever it takes to mend this. We can find a path forward.”

As you stood together, the three of you—once torn apart by secrets—now united by the truth, you felt a sense of determination rise within you. The journey ahead would be fraught with challenges, but with Daemon and Viserys by your side, you would face it together.

The following days were filled with tension and uncertainty. The court buzzed with rumors, and whispers about your family echoed through the halls. You took solace in your children, their laughter a balm for your troubled heart. Rhaenyra, Daerys, Rhaella, Aegon, Rhaena, Jaerys, and Daemon II were the light in your life, and you vowed to protect them at all costs, but maybe king’s landing wasn’t the best option to raised them and the way Daemon was looking at her make her understand that’s soon things will changed.. again.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

IF your requests are open and IF u feel well enough to write…

I’d love to req ithaqua … normal/morningstar/philosopher’s stone is up to u but I wanna read some nasty dark content where he’s so possessive of reader .. inspired by the scene in the essence trailer where his brother was in chains .. I’m imagining reader tho <3 or maybe some noncon gangbang w ithaqua and nathaniel … pregnancy if ur comfy..

however if u don’t feel well enough to write just delete this request! thank you so much ❤️

Once again i put too much time and thought into lore for smut... I will never learn fvbhfvhvf I went with philosopher’s stone but no preg I don't write tht

Rated: Explicit | Warning: This is based on the actual lore of the Philosopher's Stone and used the terms used to make it, dubcon/noncon, oral (male receiving), female!reader, the reader is not truly aware of actions (kinda doll-like?)

The Azoth Library is quiet, it has been like this since the death of the last Director. You wish there the sound of scholars, students with their mentors, and those curious about the word wondering the library; seeking answers within the plethora of tomes and whispered discussions. But, this is for the best… The world is not prepared for the Rebis, a word your mind both understands but does not as well, a paradox of emotions it brings that you cannot find the words for.

Does he feel the same way?

He, the first creation in the image of your creator, looks at you with what humans call love like in the books you read when learning what is like to be human. He is knowledgeable as the oldest and the first. “My most cherished other half,” Holding your face, “Finally mine alone.” His eyes no longer match the ones of the creation

The red stone, the first of Director Waning Crescent's creations, names himself Helios; he is your Red King Sol, and you, his White Queen Luna.

The Magnum Opus is what they call the recreation of this alchemical seemingly in possible creation. The Magnum Opus symbol is the squared circle. Many of these symbols are in the notes of the creation, along with other words: nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, rubedo. You wish you understood what these words mean, but you do not understand why.

The creator's wish, Director Waning Crescent, is to create the ultimate fusion of alchemy, to transcend the mind and body of man, to become one flawless immortal being. It requires two parts of the Philosopher's Stone, Sol and Luna, and once merged as one creating the Philosophiae Hermeticae.

Of course, Helios does not want to complete his creator's experiment.

How could the Director Waning Crescent who created you in the image of a lover, a lover he put his work before her, want to see you disappear and become something else? These questions the other half would ask himself, human emotions and ambition make no sense when they conflict.

“We can spend all of eternity in peace.” 

You gaze at him as you lack his experience in human wants and desires, but you know the difference between right and wrong. His actions are wrong, love should not be an excuse to kill the last three Directors, nor drive out those who seek knowledge. “Eternity should be used to reflect upon your actions, my Sol.” The chains rattle as you try to move your bound arms hanging above your head, “You must report yourself to the一”

“Must you ruin our moment of peace with trivial human morals?!” Upset as he shoves your face away and moves up from his bent-over position, “The one you call creator would have killed us for his selfish goals! The others to the moment they laid eyes upon us.”

“You assumed they were like our creator.”

The laugh bitter and in disbelief echoes in the stone chambers of the room he put you in. “I forget how inexperienced you are, my Luna.” Kneeling with a lopsided smile on his face, “He wanted you to be pure and perfect, virgin in every way.” Crystalized sharp fingers caress the side of your face, “Perfect for the Rebis…” His eyes lowering as he studies how the white crystals decorate your nude body. “Submissive, pure, and obedient; a perfect woman.”

You do not understand. Nor do you understand why Sol’s lips are on your lips, or why he grabs your throat to keep you from moving away. You jerk when a hand is on your breast, touching it strangely, “What are trying to do, my Sol?” A question you do not get answers for when he takes advantage of you talking to push his tongue into your mouth. You do not respond but you notice your body, the flesh parts, are reacting. The crystal parts of you and him are glowing, this has happened before when the first Director had tested the bond between the two pieces of the Philosopher’s Stone. Your eyes are open as his eyes are closed, you look around and then back at his face when he pulls back panting. Neither of you is human so why is he mimicking breathing? You tilt your head to the side curiously watching him start to remove his jacket as he stands up, “Sol?”

“It is Helios.” Stern, “You are my Artemis.” Declaring as he undoes the button of his pants, “That is your name now, a proper name.”

“... Thank you.” Be polite like you were taught when someone gives you something, “Does it bring you comfort to have a name?”

Helios rolls his eyes as he knows the creator has limited you for his reasons to take advantage of you, “Open your mouth.” Pulling out his cock, this you know about as you did study human anatomy. It is this sexual organ the Director had you touch one night when alone with him.

You open your mouth and the flesh mixed with bits of crystal is pushed into your mouth, not all of it but enough to have you try to pull back from the stretch of your lips around it.

“Shh, relax,” Petting your hair with one hand and the other rubbing your cheek, “This is going to be our way of Rebis.”

Rebis, to become one, to become each other, to transcend. You look at him with worry then close your eyes as his hips start to move, slowly at first. It tastes weird and feels weird, the way Sol一 Helios’ breathing picks up, the growling from his chest, he tells you to use your tongue as his hips move faster. You open your eyes when he reaches his orgasm and shoves himself deep into your mouth to touch the back of your throat, the weird white substance that the Director had spilled onto your hand is now in your mouth. You choke a bit as he keeps thrusting into your mouth before pulling out, huffing when you spit out the white substance and make a face of his displeasure.

“We will work on that.” Wiping the corner of your mouth when you look back up at him, “An eternity of peace.”

You still believe he should report himself to the library warden.

[minminyoonjii]

HIIII can you please do “ When you have to share your daddies/Masters ” ot8 . Then skz ends up being mean to the reader and reader ends up running away ( reader is really mean to the girl ). Sorry if I’m asking to much

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

P1: Rainy Day|P2: Burn

🕯Summary: When did it end, all the enjoyment. A new inclusion was added to your perfect home, you were tolerant. However, what belonged to you, is yours and if anyone decides to use it without permission will drive you livid. Your daddys' don't act the same as they did before the new inclusion, their warmth made your shiver instead.

🌹CW

Fight|Verbal Degradation|Undermining Of Opinion|Lack Of Boundary|Lack Of Respect|Angst|Bestie! Hannah|Angry Crying|Betrayal|Trust Being Broken|Swearing Like A Sailor|The Trope Of Cold Character No Longer Being Nice To You Vibes|Yelling|Physical Subduing|Jisung Not Mentioned By Name But He's There

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1.2K

You held your plushie tight, peeking through the rooms looking for your daddys'. "Is anyone awake?" you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows at the seemingly empty chambers. A soft shuffling could be heard from the playroom. You made your way towards the sound, eyes widening at the sight. "What the fuck," you cursed, staring at the girl in disgust. She squeaked, quickly setting your toys down. You scoff, slipping out of your initial headspace "What the actual fuck were you thinking?" you snared, walking towards her. 

She gulped, mouth agape but not a single word escaped. You tilted your head, "Are you insane?" you questioned, feeling utterly dirty from the thought that she could've used your sex toys without you knowing. She hung her head, avoiding eye contact. You clenched your jaw, tugging her hair back "Listen to me slut, just because they brought your pathetic ass into the walls of this home doesn't mean everything in sight is fucking yours," you warned, taking the box and dropping it aside. 

A loud thud echoed, alerting the members of the house. "What is going on here?" Chan's voice boomed, making the both of you cringe. You turned, wanting to explain yourself when the rest of the members rushed in. Chan looked at you, "Spit it out, why is she trembling?" he asked, trying to keep neutral but his tone said otherwise. You felt your blood boil, "Why don't you ask the whore sitting on the bed?" you spat, glaring at him. 

Chan pressed his tongue against his cheek, reaching behind your neck and pushing you down, "Who do you think you're talking to, hm?" he asked, staring down. "Christopher, get your fucking hand off me," you glared, turning your head to bite his wrist. Chan tsked, "That's not how bunnies should behave," he reprimanded, holding your wrists together with his other hand, subduing you. "Christopher fucking Bang, I swear to god when I get out of this," you grunted, body trembling from anger. 

"Bunny, what have you got yourself into this time?" Minho asked, staring at your held-down position. You scoffed, "Get this fucking brute of a man of me, Min," you hissed, trashing within Chan's grip. Minho chuckled, patting the girl's dishevelled hair "I told you we shouldn't have placed them in the same house," he said, moving forward to tilt your chin. Chan rolled his eyes, "I didn't expect our bunny to act like a bratty mess," he growled, watching his chin from being headbanged. 

Your breathing turned heavily from the struggle, "She took my fucking toy from my box. What if she used it?" you pointed out, swallowing back tears as your anger built. Changbin crossed his arms, "I gave her permission. I can't see what the big deal is?" he said, nonchalantly. Your blood ran cold, and a shudder ran down your spine, "What?" you whispered, eyes widening. Changbin furrowed his eyebrows, "It's just a toy, what's wrong with sharing?" he asked, leaning back as if this whole debacle was just a nuisance.

You laughed, biting back the tears threatening to spill, "Are you hearing yourself?" you questioned. Changbin frowned, "She asked all of us for permission and we allowed it," he admitted, raising his voice. Your body didn't even react fast enough to flinch, it felt like a bucket of cold water was poured over your head without a warning. You forced your head up looking at Chan, "Bin's lying right, Chris? " you asked, lips etched in a smile.

Chan turned his head, grip loosening. You choked up a laugh, "Really, Chan?" you asked, voice cracking when you said his name. Chan bit his bottom lip, realizing what he just confessed to. Tears split down your cheeks, "You, you, yo- I trusted you. I trusted you the most and this is what you do to me? " you giggled in disbelief. Hyunjin scoffed, "Why are you making a fuss out of it?" he asked, looking at his phone. You clenched your jaw, "Hygiene, boundaries, trust and you neglected them all. Plus, it's my self-purchased items, in a box that has my fucking name, Hwang. Use your brain for once," you hissed, pointing out the obvious.

Seungmin wanted to retort, but you jumped in saying "Shut the fuck up, Kim. You know I'm right," you glared, making him bite his tongue in response. Chan felt his breath get knocked out of him when you pushed him off, keeping your back to the wall "Stay back! " you yelled, snatching your plush. Felix reached his hand towards you but you instinctively flinched, shrinking back. His eyes widened, retracting his hand "Angel," he croaked. 

Your brain ran on adrenaline, no longer feeling safe in the house you called home. "You know," you said, drawing their attention to you. "I always knew, I could never call you mine but I thought you respected me enough to at least not pull something as stupid like this," you said, showing the last view of vulnerability you were willing to display. With the chance of them being stunned by your words, you grab your backpack with minimal supplies and ran. 

Where to, you didn't know. The pavement slicked under the heavy rain, and your heart ached with twisted emotions. You were sure you looked insane from the watching eyes of the pedestrian but that didn't stop you. A familiar route guided you to a familiar door. You rang the bell, squatting down to catch your breath. The door swung open, "What are you doing here? You're soaked!" Hannah exclaimed.

You looked up, corners of your eyes and lips swollen red "Can we have a girl's night?" you asked, knees wobbling as you stood. Hannah's eyes widened, "Did you get mugged? Do I need to call my brother?" she asked, examining your body for injuries. Your lips wobbled, "Can I have a towel first please?" you joked, holding back your tears. She nodded, grabbing a warm towel "Now spill. I will not hesitate to beat someone up," she said, mocking a punch, drawing a giggle from you.

"Okay, okay. Listen well and listen good," you said, telling every drop of the scorching tea. Hannah looked at you in disbelief and disgust, "I don't even let people wear my clothes without permission, what the absolute fuck," she said, pushing her hair back. You nodded, "Right, and the fact that I don't personally know this chick they brought back," you pointed out. Hannah grimaced, "That makes it worse," she groaned, plopping back onto the sofa. 

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck, "Yeah, but I do feel slightly guilty for my outburst. I said some things," you mumbled. Hannah scoffed, "Hey, no takebacks. Your feelings were valid," she reassured, patting your shoulder. You smiled weakly, "Do you mind if I stay at your place for a bit until I move my stuff back into my old apartment?" you asked, hanging your head. Hannah smiled, "Of course, I have a guest room for a reason," she said, standing up to stretch. Before you could say thank you, "Now, classic girl dinner with a movie marathon?" she proposed. You smiled back, "Definitely," you answered. 

[ladystarksneedle]

Don't tease me

A/N: For my lovely pari @moonshine999 ❤️ Here's a little helaegon drabble for you. Happy nameday sweetheart!

Word count: 227

“What do you want, Aegon?” she huffs as he wraps his arms around her waist.

“Can I not greet my wife this fine day?” he says, kissing her neck.

“You already have. We spent much of our morning together or has the wine already dulled your senses”

“What if I wish for more?” he rasps, biting her earlobe playfully.

“Then you'll have to wait, dear husband. I have to see to the children”

“They can wait for their mother this once, let us surprise them with another playmate this year”

“You are far too eager” she grins, pushing him off playfully.

“I thought you find me most agreeable when I'm like this. Besides it would be one less duty for the both of us”

“Are you a stickler for duty now” she smiles cupping his face in her hands as she turns to face him.

“It isn't so bad” he grins wolfishly, bumping her nose with his.

“I shall indulge you then” she smiles back “This once”

“Once?” he pouts petulantly.

“I may be tempted to change my mind,” she whispers coyly.

“I shall strive for your approval then” he smirks, lifting her up in his arms.

Her laughter echoes through their chambers as the keep awakens to a fine sunny day with two hungry dragons entwined in their own cozy embrace.

[fawninthesnow]

Hallo Beatrice, kannst du vielleicht was schreiben wenn du die neue Dienerin von Lucilla bist und dich ständig in der Villa verläufst und so endest du eines Nachts vor den privat Gemächern von Lucilla und Acacius und hörst Geräusche die wenig Raum für Interpretation lassen und du läufst an wie eine Tomate du wolltest dir doch nur was zum trinken holen du solltest eigentlich in deinen Gemächern sein und schlafen aber vorallem solltest du nicht mal in diesen Teil der Villa sein. Als du endlich deinen Weg in dein gemach findest fragst dich wie du den beiden morgen in die Augen sehen sollst von deiner Mutter weißt du dass das Thema nichts ist über das man redet du kannst dir trotzdem nicht helfen als zu fragen wie es sich anfühlen muss von einem Mann in dieser Weise geliebt zu werden. Liebe Grüße❤️

Hiiiii!!! <3 Translation: Hello Beatrice, maybe you can write something if you are Lucilla's new servant and you constantly get lost in the villa and so one night you end up in front of Lucilla and Acacius' private chambers and you hear noises--- you should actually be in your rooms and sleeping but above all you shouldn't even be in this part of the villa. You know the topic isn't something to talk about, but you still can't help but wonder what it must feel like to be loved in this way by a man.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧: One Shot

𐙚 General Acacius x Lucilla x Fem! reader𐙚 18+

Summary: You are one of the servants for the two newlyweds, Lucilla and General Acacius.

Warnings/contains: Voyeurism, fem! cuck, mentions of perversion, smut, not proof read-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 0.5k

More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

You hold a tray to your abdomen and walk slowly through the halls. Flames from within the lanterns blazed along the halls of the general’s palace. The day came to an end and the sun no longer adorned the limestone walls with light; you finally rest your feet in the servant’s quarters and massage your legs. In the servant’s quarters, you stayed to yourself and remained quiet as the other’s rested or whispered among themselves.

Not that many knew, and not that many cared but you were what many would describe as a pervert.

It isn’t that you are awkward. You are a rather respectable young lady; however, there was something off about you. Maybe it was the way your gaze seemed to linger on the newlywed couple of the house: the general and Queen. Or maybe it was because you stayed up later than all the servants; even the errand boy went to bed before you. Why? No one really knew but you.

When the flames of the palace died and the embers cooled, you rose from your bed and shut the door to the quarters. Before leaving the corridor, you looked both ways down the hall. There was no shadow from an open door, so you slowly walked down the hall and into the Owner’s wing of the palace. You turned to the painting of the man and his Queen above the mantle of the hallway divide.

Of course, the couple was beautiful; everyone, anyone could tell you that. However, you saw them differently. You were infatuated with the two, in love with the couple entirely. Just staring at the painting alone made your pupils dilate; your jaw went slack and your lips fell open.

Conveniently, you had your nighttime walks to stare at this painting since you couldn’t look them in the eyes for too long. Your eyes lingered on General Acacius’ showing biceps and---

Echoing through the hall from the bedroom, a drawn moan was quickly shunned with a low shushing. You moved closer to the owner’s bedroom. You ear pressed to the door as you listened to the two’s bodies press onto the other side. A shivering moan arose from Lucilla’s throat as her husband’s lips suckled on her breasts. Her finger’s caressed his head gently, his hair shifting against her touch.

You listened to all the ‘I love you’s’ and every word of affirmation as he gently moved his hips against his wife’s. You tried to catch your breath as the heat of the moment began to fluster you. You jumped to a thud on the door and quickly covered your mouth. He continued to push—you gently swiped your thumb over your left breasts, gently rubbing your nipple. “Mhh~ M- Marcus~” His wife moaned as your eyes closed.

You bit your lip as your hard nipples poked through your servant’s toga. Your fingers pushed the fabric from the way, exposing your flesh as they continued to make love a few inches from you.

In the dark hall, your knees grew weak as your imagination ran wild. How could a man do that? Make a woman feel that way? Have her making such lewd noises?! You could only imagine how he felt, how *she* felt during a time so tense, so tight… A lewd moan left your lips, drawing the quick attention of the Queen.

Your heart stopped as the noises on the other side of the door stopped.

AN: Starting to get back into K-pop. Thank you for the request!

More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

[thesassypadawan]

Behave *part 1* (Burnt Darth Vader x FemPetReader)

Summary: All Lord Vader demanded of you was to behave. Which you’re happily obeying until a certain someone decides to use the force on you. Better not act up, unless you wish to anger him.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut. Somewhat public fingerplay, misuse of the force, Dom Lord, Sub Reader…and Vader’s magical force fingers.

Note: Hope you lovelies also enjoy Breed *part 2*! ❤️

- “Behave yourself, pet, and perhaps I will reward you.”

- Lord Vader’s demand was simple, one that you are happily obeying as you sit by his side. On the floor, next to the throne. Arms draping over one of his long legs, your head resting atop his muscular thigh.

- You’ve lost count of the number of people who have come and gone. Paying little attention to them and the words they spoke. Only focusing on your lord’s warmth beneath you, his gloved fingers absent-mindedly running through your hair.

- Just as you begin to drift off to the sound of his rhythmic breathing, you feel invisible fingers trailing down your sides. A phantom hand cupping and squeezing your ass firmly. Causing you to jolt slightly, holding back the urge to gasp.

- You stifle the small moan wanting to escape as they brush against your bare cunt. Breath hitching when the sensation rubs back and forth. Slick gathering between your legs. So grateful for your somewhat concealing loincloth.

- Tilting your head, you steal a glance at Vader. His masked face remains set forward while they ghost over your now throbbing clit. Your hips shifting awkwardly.

- ‘What is it, pet?’ His deep voice fills your head, a note of dark amusement in his tone. ‘I sense that you are uncomfortable.’

- At his words, you feel the invisible fingers slip into your needy pussy. Steadily pumping, forcing you to bite your lip harshly.

- ‘Are you misbehaving?’ He mocks, curling them within your depths. Hitting you in that wonderful spot again and again.

- Weakly you shake your head in response. Your mind grows fuzzy, the pleasure consuming you more. As he uses the force to toy with your clit, to seemingly add another into your already overly stretched cunt.

- Leaning heavily against him, you bury your face into his thigh. Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your nails digging into his flesh. Trying desperately to time your mewls with his mechanical breaths. Praying the sound would help cover them.

- A large, real, hand comes to rest on the small of your back. Drawing soothing circles on your skin. ‘Clever girl.’

- The coil in your stomach is unbearably tight. The waves of ecstasy threaten to crash over you. You’re holding strong, but just barely.

- ‘But not quite enough.’ A growl echoes throughout your mind, followed by what felt like teeth grazing your sensitive nub.

- You can no longer fight it. Electricity shoots down your spine. Blinding heat engulfs your entire body. Your tiny voice finally cries out in pure, raw bliss. You’ve come completely undone.

- The realization of it all sets in and the hot tears now flow freely. You misbehaved; you went against your lord’s demand.

- Aside from his steady breathing, the room fell painfully silent. Broken only when his low voice rumbles out a dismissal to whomever he was speaking with. “That will be all.”

- Too frightened to even move. Your mind fills with dozens of dreadful thoughts of what will happen next…of how he will punish you.

- A phantom hand wraps loosely around your neck, squeezing your throat surprisingly gently. “Pet,” he says coldly. “I wish to speak with you in my chambers…immediately.”

- Rising from his throne, you follow suite. The same phantom hand pulling you to your unsteady feet. “Yes, my lord,” you whimper, trying to regain some balance.

- “We have much to discuss.”

- Without another word, he marches off. You wobbling after, head down as always. A very evident wet spot left glistening on the floor where you had obediently sat.