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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 4 months ago

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Cold-hearted wolf

Masterlist

Pairing: Cregan Stark × Martell reader

Tags: NSFW, arranged marriage, cregan starts out mean in this, enemies to lovers cus he's grumpy and has no time for feelings,

Chapter 4 - He finally reunites with you after months of war. Don't try this at home. Possible misuse of the wod "tenfold." Cheers ;)

The Stark bannermen arrived at Winterfell to happy cheers. A whirlwind of emotions swirled in Cegan's thoughts as he dismounted his steed and headed into the castle in determination to find you.

After reuniting with his half-sister, he was given knowledge that the training room was where you had apparently been spending most of your time when you weren't accepting audience with the common folk.

He pushed open the training room doors, armor clinking as he moved. His heart raced as he laid eyes on you, clad in a set of sparring leathers; breaches that hugged your legs, tucked into knee high boots, and a wrap of the same material around your torso and chest, leaving your shoulders and arms bare for mobility.

His brow furrowed. Some of the marks along your arms were new. Your hair was longer, and you grew in height. Your features matured during his time away. You looked beautiful. You always had, but there had been a warm naivety to your look that was now transformed into a cold beauty.

Oblivious to Cregan's presence, you were presently clashing sword to sword with your personal guard, ser Alek.

Cregan smirked, taking in your form in the tight clothes. War was a lonely ordeal, and this wasn't a bad view to come home to.

After a swift jab that you expertly deflected, your sparring partner stopped moving, looking over your shoulder. Lowering your blade, you followed his gaze and came to a halt.

Cregan stood across from you, covered in new wounds and bearing the marks of battle. His presence commanding. His stubble and the dark circles under his grey eyes were a stark contrast to the man you had last seen months back.

As he approached you, you couldn't help but notice the gravity in his gaze when it traveled across your body. There was an intensity in his eyes, a deep seriousness that sent shivers down your spine.

Gathering yourself, you curtseyed and cleared your throat. "Cr- my lord. Welcome home!"

Cregan gestured to your sparring partner, "Leave us," dismissing the knight with a single command. He then ordered, "Ensure that no one enters this room."

“My lord,” the knight bowed his head before heading out the door.

The room was now empty, leaving you alone with your husband. The tension was palpable, and your heart raced. Cregan turned his back to you and placed his sword against a wall, then began to unclasp his armor, discarding the shirt beneath it beneath as well. His back and arms have sharpened with muscle since you parted and were now painted with fresh bruises and marks.

“You didn't wish to welcome me, wife?” He asked, still facing away from you.

"I did." You swallowed. “But you have not returned my letters. I wasn't sure if you were cross with me...”

He faced you again and strode to the wash basin in the corner of the room, dipping his hands in the cold water and running them over his body to scrub off dried blood and dirt.

You let out a gasp when you saw the massive scar ranging from the top of his neck down to his lower abdomen. It was stitched up. Recently. You instinctively walked up to him, but remembering their last encounter, you stopped.

Cregan's eyes roamed over you, taking in your sparring leathers. You raised your chin defiantly, preparing to hear to more scrutiny of your cultural wardrobe. “I see you've kept yourself busy.” He muttered, eyeing the door behind which stood ser Alek.

You exhaled sharply, detesting the implication of his words. Summoning your patience, you replied coolly, "You must be tired from your travels. Shall I summon a maester?” You made way for the door.

"No, stay," He said firmly, his voice commanding and filled with an intensity that you were used to seeing from him by now.

“I see your displeasure with me outlasted our time apart.” You murmured, unable to help yourself.

He chuckled, and you got a strange sense that the joke was on you. Your patience was wearing thin, and you couldn't hold back your frustration any longer.

You exhaled sharply. "My parents lied when they told me about our engagement."

"Lied?"

“Yes.” You insisted, raising your chin defiantly. “I didn't need to be told you'd be a great ruler. There was enough talk throughout the realm of the young warrior, Cregan Stark." You rolled your eyes. "But they promised I would have love. And you know nothing of the word."

"Oh?" He raised a brow, feigning curiosity. "By all means, go on."

You did. "A strong marriage should be built on love, passion, and friendship-"

Cregan laughed harshly. His eyes burning with an intensity that took you by surprise. He took a step closer, and you took a step back. "Love has no place in a marriage of alliance, princess. Passion doesn't mix well with duty..."

His grey eyes held yours as he made steps towards you, backing you up until your back hit a wall. "As for friendship… I'm afraid I fall short on that front too. Forgive me, but I don't wish to be your friend.” He sneered at the last word.

Your breath quickened, searching his eyes for the meaning of his words. Why was he so cruel? What have you ever done to him? The room spun as Cregan closed the distance between himself and you.

“Can't you pretend, then?” You let out the words between and gasp and a sob. “For the sake of duty, tell me that you missed me. That you missed your wife!” You begged, eyes glistening with tears as you looked up at him.

His lips were on yours before you could say another word. His bare arms circling around your back to pull you roughly against him, grasping at the you wore. His bare skin was hot against yours, and the sensory overload had you struggling to breathe. Tremors followed wherever his scarred, calloused fingers touched your skin.

His kiss was heavy with emotion. Everything he wanted to say to you for the past months was in that kiss. Not letting you part for a moment, his hands held you tightly against his hard frame.

Growing light-headed, you pulled away to take in some much needed oxygen.

The action had him glaring at you. “You dare pull away from me?”

“I was short of breath!” You rushed to explain, still trying to gain control of your speeding heart.

His icy stare cracked with a small quirk of his lips. He enveloped your lips in another hungry kiss, distracting you as his hands unfastened the ties of your breaches, reaching in to slide his fingers against your folds.

You whined, arching into him. The movement lowered the material wrapped around your chest, exposing your breasts.

You couldn't believe it. Here you were, a princess of Dorne, half clad and held against the wall of a training room by the Lord of Winterfell as he trailed vicious bites and kisses down your breasts while his fingers played with you.

Cregan dove in without hesitation, biting one nipple hungirly. You jumped as the mix of pain and pleasure. Your nipples were already sensitive from the cold of the room. His scorching tongue only added fuel to the fire, his stubble leaving scratches on your skin. Cregan's gaze focused on you, enjoying the display in front of him as you offered your body like a gift.

He switched to your other nipple, as his fingers began to apply pressure to your clit. He looked at you with adoration as he wispered. "I missed you, princess. Fuck, have I missed you..."

Your heart swelled with his confession as you moved against his fingers. Strands of hair fell apart from your braid, sticking your forehead, while your lips, red, swollen, and glistening from his kisses, framed every moan, whimper, and whine you made. You looked absolutely spent, and he hasn't even done anything yet.

When he and his friends first visited the brothel, the women acted shy and timid outside of the bedroom, but in it, they were experienced, confident. You were the opposite, he noted, carrying yourself with such dignity even back when he first met you. But right now, his hot-tempered little wife was blushing, falling apart at his words, tongue, and fingers. Gods, he needed to see you like this every day from now on.

He lowered to his knees, opening your breaches to take slow licks up your slit. He inserted a finger into your cunt. Feeling how drenched you were, he groaned against you, the vibrations travelling across your skin, making you shudder.

His smile grew with each wimper you let out as he sucked on your clit, tilting his head from side to side, changing angles to find the right one. Your wimpers picked up. You would have been surprised if the staff walking outside the room didn't know exactly what was happening behind the doors.

Cregan inserted another finger into you, his thumb pressing circles on your clit.

“Cregan!” You moaned, struggling to speak. “Please, im- oh!”

“You're what, princess?” You heard the wicked grin in his question. Seeing your hips move up and down against him, chasing that intense feeling, summoned a wave of pride in him. Curving his fingers inside you, he searched for that specific spot he knew you always cried for. A sudden squeal from you confirmed his successful exploration, and he ran his fingers over the bundle of nerves again and again.

Your hands grasped at the wall behind you, shuddering to the movements of his tongue and fingers. He licked your clit through your orgasm until you shook though the last of it.

Getting up, he kissed you deeply, pushing his tongue in to let you taste herself. You whined against him, your body curling into istelf as the last aftershocks of your orgasm subsided. He was holding you up, stopping you from completely collapsing on the floor.

You don't recall when he had lowered his breaches or lined your bodies up so that the tip of his cock would be at your entrance. Panic filled your mind at the danger he was putting himself in. “Cregan, your stitches!”

“I dont care. I need to feel you.” He growled, lifting you up with ease, strong arms wrapping your legs around his torso. Lowering to kiss you again, Cregan slowly pushed into you. He groaned into the kiss, pulling away to savor the view.

His wife looked so fragile like this, blinking up at him like he was a god among men, unable to catch her breath, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He slowly began to move in and out of you, echoing your earlier words back at you. “Tell your husband you missed him, y/n."

“I missed you, s-so much!” You whimpered, happy to finally experience the sensation you had longed for for the past five months. To feel full. Whole again. You hurt on those lonely nights while he was away, fighting for your kingdom. Fighting for your people. Fighting for you.

“I love you, Cregan.” You didn't care that this was a marriage of convenience to him, that duty and passion didn't mix. It was how you felt, and you wanted him to know.

He groaned against your throat, making you shiver. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated.

“Again, darling.”

“I love you!”

He held you possessively biting his lip as he watched you meet his every thrust. “I love you too, princess.”

“I love you.” Your voice broke as you felt the warm feeling coming closer and closer. “Please don't stop,”

His movements sped up and he groaned against you. You held tight when he thrust harshly against you, both of you gasping as you reached completion.

With one hand still holding you up, he leaned the other to prop himself up against the wall behind you. You held on to him as tightly as you could, mumbling. “Don't let go, don't let me go.”

“Shh, princess.” He kissed your eyes, your cheeks, and your lips. “I'm right here. I have you.”

You couldn't stay conscious if you wanted to, a powerful wave of exhaustion had you blinking In and out of sleep.

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You woke up the next day snuggled against him in your bed of furs. He had washed himself clean, muscular arms wrapped around you covered in washed and healing scars. His face looked nearly peaceful if it wasn't for the worried crease between his dark brows.

You carefully brought your finger to the scar etching across his chest. Your hand shook as you thought of how close he was to death, had the weapon hit a mere inch lower. You planted a kiss on the wound, thanking the gods he came back home to you.

“It isn't so bad,” his voice raspy from sleep, spoke above you as his hand came to cradle the back of your head. “I fed him to my sword tenfold.”

You smiled, gently resting your head on his chest, taking in his scent. You missed it so much. “I only care that you came back to me.”

The sounds of the palace staff beginning their day's work behind the doors reminded you that you needed to get up to attend to your responsibilities. When you began to sit up, he pulled you back down, turning the two of you so that you were flat on your back with him resting on his elbows above you. He leaned down and kissed you gently. “I was a fool to dismiss you.”

“You were”

His shoulders shook with laughter, as he trailed kisses around your face and neck, his lips tickling your skin. “Your plan saved many of our men.”

“Our plan.” You said, sighing against his kisses.

“Your idea.” He insisted, nipping your collarbone, telling you not to argue.

It was your turn to laugh. “Very well then.”

You saw movements at the foot of the bed, and Cregan's dog jumped up to you, eagerl licking your face.

“Grey!” You smiled at the dog, who was panting with his tongue out, nuzzling against you. “How I missed you, my furry friend.”

You heard a muffled groan and something that sounded like "attention theif" behind you as Cregan untangled himself and walked over to slip on his robe. You watched in awe before clearing your throat, remembering something important. "Busy day today for you."

"Is that so?" He hummed, coming to lean on his hands against the bed, his face inches from yours as he whispered. “And what do I have planned?”

“You're to meet with a delegation from the Eyrie.” You supplied, reminding him that you worked as the Lady of the house while he was away, conducting business on his behalf. “There is business regarding crop shortages you need to address.”

His brow creased, and you hand shot up to brush it until the frown was gone. “Infighting?” He murmured,

You nodded.

“In the riverlands?”

“Aye, there's tension in the south.”

"Kings Landing?"

"Yes."

He pursed his lips before getting up. Muttering "Always something with that fucking family," under his breath.

You grinned at his annoyed expression, "Duty awaits, lord Stark." You turned back to the dog, petting him. "We can stay here, right Grey?"

"Oh, think again, lady Stark." Cregan took your hand and pulled you from the bed and against him with ease. You squeaked and rushed to grab a pelt to cover yourself as Grey stirred and jumped from the bed as well.

Cregan drew you against him. “What time is the meeting with the delegation?"

"In the late morning." You looked up at him. "Soon,"

He gave you his signature wolfish grin and raised his brow. "Then you better get ready."

@malfoycassimalfoy @leahnicole1219 @literishdegree99 @sardynes @magicseahorse @nsr-15 @littlebirdgot @ginarely-blog

#cregan stark x reader #cregan x you #cregan stark #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #smut #cregan stark smut

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witchybitchycrybaby · 4 months ago

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Enemies in public, lovers in private

Davos Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, it's basically porn without plot, suggestive language, fighting

Words: 3k

Also this is my first ever attempt at writing 18+ content, I hope I did well

✨✨✨

It was a perfect day for another traditional clash between Blackwoods and Brackens. It wasn't too hot nor cold, it didn't rain at all and the sun wasn't shining in their faces, hidden behind clouds.

Maybe it was hiding because it no longer wanted to see the unresolved conflict between the two houses.

The air was thick with tension and hatred at the boundary line. Davos Blackwood, with a handful of his men, stood at the edge of their territory, the Red Fork River murmuring softly nearby. Opposite them, you and your brother Aeron approached, flanked by a few Bracken soldiers.

Your eyes locked with Davos' brown ones with a mix of frustration and longing. That was the only way you could communicate something more than insults without anyone paying attention to you. You blinked quickly, hiding every one of your feelings behind a cold, resentful mask.

"Blackwood," Aeron sneered, his voice, though a little bit unsure, was dripping with disdain he didn't even try to disguise. He then looked the dark haired boy up and down. "What brings you to our lands? Lost your way like a stray dog?"

Davis gritted his teeth at the insult. He took one step closer to where the bracken stood. “Just making sure you craven lot aren’t overstepping your boundaries, Bracken. Your family has a knack for moving boundary stones.”

"Funny thing, Blackwood," you barked back, his name a stinging venom on your tongue. "We were just discussing how often those stones seem to wander towards our side. Must be the wind, perhaps, or the dragons. Surely, you wouldn't have any share in that, would you?"

One of the Blackwood men, until now staying a pace behind Davos, took a step forward and looked at you with so much hate and anger you had to suppress a shiver. You stood still however; you would rather die than cower before them.

"Careful, you Bracken wench. Watch your tongue before we cut it out."

Before anyone could react, Aeron's face twisted with fury, and he drew his sword. His grip was however a bit uncertain. You really appreciated this, his want to always protect you. He was the more delicate one among the two of you, not suited for battle. And yet, he was very stubborn to prove himself.

You saw the way Davos' jaw tightened as his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. Davos Blackwood instantly unsheathed his weapon, eyes trained on the blond boy. "Looks like little Bracken is shaking in his boots. Did your sister drag you out here to play knight?"

"I've got more honor in my little finger than you have in your entire body, Blackwood."

Davos stepped closer, his eyes darkening. "Honor? You wouldn't know honor even if it bit you."

With a war cry on his lips Aeron lunged at the Blackwood boy. The metallic sound of the sword struck the otherwise quiet air like a thunder. The clang of steel against steel echoed through the trees as they clashed with a fury borne of centuries-old hatred. Their hits were brutal and fast; their movements swift and well-practiced. You watched, your heart aching with every strike, knowing you had to play your part.

The fight was intense but brief. Both men landed a few cuts, blood staining their clothes but nothing fatal. As Davos prepared for another strike, you decided you were fed up with this fight and stormed between them, your eyes blazing with anger. You put a hold on both of their arms, stopping them from doing something they would later regret.

"Stop this, both of you, or I’ll take my sword and kill you myself,” you said with ice in your voice. Your gaze wandered from one boy to the other.

They both well knew you could and would do it; you weren't the one to make empty promises. They could play their little war all they wanted, but not on your watch. You'd faster claim a dragon than let them kill themselves over some stupid boundary stones.

Your grip on their arms remained strong until both of them lowered their swords. You could feel Davos' muscles twitching beneath your touch. He huffed with anger and wrenched himself from your grasp.

For a brief moment, Davos' eyes softened as he looked at you, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. "Listen to your little cunt of a sister, Bracken. Fuck off to your side of the river.”

As he walked away to his men, you tugged at your brother and pulled him to yours. He would bitch about it later, you knew it. But oh well, you'd take it.

Aeron glared at you enraged and also pulled his arm away from you. "What are you doing, (y/n)? They deserve to be taught a lesson."

"And you'll be the one to learn it if you don't back down," you retorted, your hand closing to the hilt of your own sword. "This pathetic Blackwood isn't worth the blood on your blade."

His jaw tightened but he had enough sense in his head not to speak.

You heard Davos sheathing his sword so you turned to him. There was a small cut on his cheek and your heartbeat quickened. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand and stared right into your eyes. You lifted your chin just a little and crossed your arms.

"Tell your men to stop moving the boundary stones, and we won't have to keep coming here to correct your mistakes."

"Perhaps if your men had the integrity to keep to their own lands, we wouldn't have this problem."

A scoff came from one of the Bracken men. "You're saying you have integrity, Blackwood?"

Davos smirked, you practically could see the glint of craze in his eyes.

"It's not us who's always trying to take more than what’s ours.”

The Blackwood and Bracken men exchanged hostile glances, muttering curses under their breath. You balled your hands into fists, your knuckles white.

"Enough!" yelled Aeron. "We'll leave your precious stones alone if you do the same."

There was a moment of silence on the hill. You knew how much Davos loved those little battles between your houses and that no matter what he might now say will stop them.

Finally, Davos gave a mocking bow, his dark eyes flashed with something very opposite to the want of truce. "Fine. But don't think this is over, Blackwood."

Aeron nodded curtly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

With that, Davos Blackwood shot you a final glance and ordered his friends to retreat. There was promise in his eyes that only you could understand. You watched them go, your heart thudding in your chest. You played this meeting well, your love-hate relationship still sealed and hidden.

"Next time, dear sister," Aeron hissed. "I won't back down so easily."

You sighed when he moved away. Maybe you won't stop him next time. Maybe you should just let them kill themselves and they'd be rid of this callow feud.

As the Brackens turned back to their lands, your thoughts lingered on Davos. Your love was a dangerous game, one that could cost you everything. But for now, you had survived another day, your secret safe for a little longer.

~•~

The Mill stood at the edge of Blackwood and Bracken lands, silent and dark, shrouded in shadows. It wasn't precisely a mill anymore, truth be told. Nobody used it, so it stood empty and alone.

And it was just perfect for Davos and you. The Mill became your sanctuary, its walls one of a very few confidants of your love and late-night trysts.

Davos waited inside, not daring to light any candles for fear of drawing unwanted attention. His breath was steady, but his heart racing. He knew you'd come. You always did.

He fixed his eyes on the wooden door when he heard the soft and cautious footsteps. Your footsteps. You quietly slipped inside, the door creaking when you closed it behind yourself. You barely had time to turn around and properly look at him before he surged forward, and in seconds was on you, pushing you against the rough wall. You yelped in surprise, but it was quickly swallowed by Davos' hungry mouth when his lips crashed against yours in a hard, desperate kiss.

You instantly melted into him with a fervent response. Your hands threaded through his silken, dark locks, pulling him even closer. His hands roamed over your clothed body, caressing the curves of your waist and hips, which he knew so well.

Finally, you broke the kiss, panting heavily, both completely out of breath. There was a string of saliva connecting your lips. You leaned back, resting your head against the wall.

"Cunt?" You asked rising an eyebrow. "I thought you'd have some more sophisticated terms up your sleeve, Blackwood."

He laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "My apologies. Had to keep up the appearances." he murmured, his voice anything but apologetic. He pressed a kiss to the column of your neck, and you shivered. "Would you prefer 'Bracken witch' instead?"

Your eyes narrowed in mock-serious resentment, but your body betrayed you, arching towards him. "Bastard." You whispered with a smirk on your lips. Just like that, he was forgiven.

He'd kneel if you'd asked. He would beg, and he wouldn't find any trace of shame it that. Seven Hells, he'd crawl if that was what you wanted. He'd do everything without a second to lose, because you were his Brecken. His and nobody elses.

"And you love me anyway." He gave you one more peck on the lips and grasped your hand in his. He pulled you further into the Mill, towards the makeshift bed of hay and blankets. As you moved, he kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his hands moving to the laces of your shirt. You could feel his impatient fingers grazing over your sternum and stomach. You sighed with contentment when the material slid from your shoulders and fell to the ground.

"I hate how much I've missed you too," you admitted, your hands clasping his shirt and pulling it over his head.

Davos attacked your lips with a new wave of desire, he kissed you like a man starved, and you were the sweetest of fruits. His hands slid down your waist to the lacing of your breeches and slipped them off. He picked you up, and you crossed your ankles behind his back. His body was so hot; in every place you touched, you felt fire.

He laid you gently on the blanket and quickly discarded his own breeches somewhere in the corner. He then climbed on top of you, careful not to put his whole body weight on you. You opened your legs to accommodate him and you gasped when his half-hard cock brushed against your inner thigh.

"I was a bit disappointed seeing you fight today, Blackwood. I've seen better fighting from children. Do you train with toddlers in Raventree Hall?"

"You vixen," Davos rasped and bit your lip and didn't let go until he tasted warm metallic liquid on his tongue. "My fighting is better than whatever pathetic excuse for training do Brackens do. I bet even a blindfolded squire could best you or your brother."

His lips wandered down your body, leaving open mouthed kisses in their wake. Down the column of your neck, to your collarbone, and to your breasts. He eagerly took one nipple in his mouth, teasing it into hard peak. He then continued his ministrations on the other one, all while you were a squirming and whining mess under him.

You threw your head back and dug your nails deep into his shoulders when Davos put his hand between your heated bodies. He was sure that the marks you'd leave would stay on his back for quite a while. His finger travelled between your folds and stopped right at your entrance. You pushed your hips to seek any type of friction but he just released your nipple with a soft pop and shook his head, a crazed smirk on his face.

"You know, Bracken," he whispered slowly, leaning above you, his face mere inches from yours. "I used 'cunt' on purpose. Because yours is just divine.

And with that he thrusted one of his digits inside you. You moaned, and all he wanted to do was freeze the time and capture the sound in a bottle. His perfect Bracken, all pretty and pliant for him. He could do whatever he wanted to you, and you'd let him. His ethereal lover.

You buckled your hips once more when he pulled and pushed two fingers. In and out, in and out. He could see the unshed tears on your lashes when his thumb started to tease your clit.

"Fuck-.Davos..." You whimpered. "You lousy teaser."

He captured your lips in his again, a low groan escaped from him when your soft, warm walls started to tighten around his fingers.

"You are so eager, my dear Bracken, so unsated. You will come on my fingers and then I'll fuck you stupid, I promise."

And it didn't take long. He kissed you until both of you were breathless, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear; whispered how good you were for him, how good you were taking him, heaven-sent just for him to have and take care of. He pushed his fingers and continued his assault oh your clit until your legs started shaking. Your back arched into him, and with his name on your lips, you climaxed. And even after that, he didn't stop because that's what he was there for. To make you happy, to worship you, your body and the ground you walked on.

You panted when he removed his fingers and brought them to his lips. You watched as his tongue darted around them, licking up your juices.

"You will be the death of me, Blackwood," you moaned and kissed him hard. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it made your head spin. You locked your ankles behind his back to keep him in place. As if Davos would rather be anywhere else than right here.

"Will you give me another one?" He asked and positioned his cock right at your entrance. You shivered some more when you felt his already leaking tip tease and push at you. "Will you," he pushed more until he was inside your warmth. "be a good girl to me?"

You writhed beneath him and it made him swell with pride. He made that. He was responsible for this state you were in. His sweet, sweet girl.

"If you don't put it in right now, I'll do it," you blurted.

"As the lady commands." He grinned at you and bottomed out in one smooth thrust.

He groaned at the feeling and hid his face in the crook of your neck. He needed a moment to compose himself and not come right away. You were so warm and tight, he truly didn't mind dying like that, inside of you.

You gasped for air and looped your arms around his neck. One of your hands tangled into his hair, your nails scratching his scalp. Did you know how much he loved you? Did you know that he would kill for you? Gods, he would start a war in your name, all you had to do was ask.

Davos tightened his jaw and rolled his hips just a little. Both of you moaned in unison. You didn't believe in heaven or hell, but you sure knew that heaven was right here, with him between your legs and inside you.

"You chicken out, Blackwood? Are you just gonna lie there and look pretty, or will you move already?"

"I should've put this mouth of yours to a better use," he muttered but did as he was told. He pulled out almost completely and then thrust back in. Hard. You yelped and cried out in pleasure.

He did it again. And again. And again. It was a torturous tempo, and everything in him screamed to be faster and claim you already. But you were a brat today, a spoiled brat, and he wanted to punish you for it. Yet, your sweet mewling and moaning made him grit his teeth and go faster.

He placed his hands in the bend of your legs and brought them to your chest to give himself even better access to your pulsating core. You were so beautiful like this, so hauntingly beautiful he could cry. His Bracken, his, his, his and he accentuated it with each deep thrust he made.

You moved together, your tempo more erratic with each push. The world outside the walls of the Mill stopped existing; there were no more lands, no more Blackwoods and no more Brackens. There were just you and your desire.

Davos knew he wouldn't last much longer, and neither would you. He left open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck and collarbones until he felt the climax building up within himself. He could feel it in you too by how your walls were tightening around him. You had this serene, fucked-out expression on your face, your eyes glassy. And it tipped him over the edge.

You came together. His milky spent filled your insides, some starting to leak out as soon as he pulled out and turned around to lie on his back beside you. Your bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat, the smell of sex filling the air.

You panted heavily for a while, and then Davos pulled you on top of him, your hair pooling around you two. You placed your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

You then pulled yourself up and leaned on your elbows. Your smile was sated when you looked into his eyes, but it faltered when your gaze fell on the cut on his cheek. You gently traced it with your fingers.

"Does it hurt?" You asked softly.

But he just turned his head and kissed your wrist. "It's not bad. Blackwoods are tougher than Brackens, I assure you."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Stubborn as mules, more like."

"Maybe," he replied and caressed your cheek. "But we know what we want."

"And what do you want, Davos Blackwood?" You whispered leaning into his touch.

"You, (y/n) Bracken. Always you."

#english is not my first language #davos blackwood #aeron bracken #davos blackwood x reader #davos blackwood x you #x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #davos blackwood smut #hotd smut #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader

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blarshwritezz · 7 months ago

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Yandere Prince x Reader

this is gonna be fun

TW - general yandere behavior, abuse of power

Yan!Prince was a spoiled brat. As a child he threw massive tantrums and only one thing could calm him down. Fairy tales.

Yan!Prince especially loved reading the ones where the princesses would be saved by brave knights and live happily ever after.

Yan!Prince could never be a knight though. He was sheltered his whole life, and never saw any need to be strong when he had actual knights to be strong for him.

Yan!Prince initially didn't care at all when you were appointed as his personal knight. He's had a million of them, honorable men and women that just weren't interesting enough to stay.

Yan!Prince wasn't planning on you sticking around for long either. That was until you saved him. Sure he knew that he'd be in danger if some stupid enemy kingdom decided to attack, but he never expected it!

Yan!Prince was taken in the night by a spy and held hostage. All his training for what to do in this situation was gone.

Yan!Prince thought this was the end. For 5 hours days, perhaps even weeks he was trapped there! Held captive by these disgusting men. That was, until you came along.

Yan!Prince was in awe as you fought off the men single handedly. He didn't even mind the blood that splattered on his cheek. An intense blush spread across his face as you picked him up to carry him home.

Yan!Prince realized that it was you. You were his knight in shining armor. And he would have his happily ever after with you, no matter what it took.

Yan!Prince was incredibly clingy after that. He never ever let you leave his sight, not even for a second. You needed to go attend training? Well, he'd just have to join and watch you. You needed sleep? You'd have to join him in his bed. After all, you needed to protect him.

Yan!Prince didn't let any of the other knights near you. The man that pat your back after training? Fired. Or the woman who shared her water with you? Mysteriously disappeared.

Yan!Prince eventually made you move in with him, making you bring all your belongings to his room. He was even considerate enough to add new decor that would suit your tastes!

Yan!Prince was a parasite you couldn't get rid of. You just had to have your meals together, sleep together, and even shower together.

Yan!Prince never missed an opportunity to use his authority over you. You just had to bend over to pick up that item he dropped! Not because he wanted a view of your rear...

Yan!Prince finally gave you a day off...but only if you brought him with you. Seeing you in your civilian clothes made his heart beat so fast it could have escaped his chest.

Yan!Prince finally convinced his parents to approve a marriage between the two of you. Damn old hags we're getting in the way of his happily ever after...He just couldn't wait to surprise you with the news! He was sure you'd be just as thrilled!

Yan!Prince is elated if you comply! He couldn't wait to see how you'd look at the ceremony!

Yan!Prince if you protest, however, isn't nearly as pleased. He had other ways to make you marry him. You became a knight for the money, right? So you could pay for your parents to have a better life? You must care about them a great deal. Sure would be a shame if his future in laws were framed for some horrible crime and were executed...

Yan!Prince knows you'll be happy with him, whether you like or not. It's in the name, isn't it? You two will live happily ever after...

Hope ya'll enjoyed! Any interaction is always appreciated!

#yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere prince #prince yandere #prince x reader #x reader

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

Crown of Fire

- Summary: Aegon didn't conquer Westeros because of the prophecy. He did it because of you. And it started as a child’s game.

- Note: Events that transpired in this short story happened before The Broken Crown.

- Rating: Mature 16+

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

The sun was high in the sky, casting warm, golden light over the cliffs of Dragonstone. The air was filled with the sound of waves crashing against the jagged rocks below, mingling with the calls of seabirds that circled overhead. The children of House Targaryen played in the castle’s courtyard, their laughter bright and free as only youth could be. Visenya, the eldest, was a blur of silver hair and dark armor as she sparred with one of the guards, her movements fluid and fierce. At fifteen, she was already a formidable warrior, wielding Dark Sister as if the Valyrian steel blade were an extension of herself.

Aegon, at fourteen, watched her with his usual calm intensity, a faint smile on his lips. He was tall for his age, his face still carrying the soft lines of boyhood, though his violet eyes spoke of a seriousness beyond his years. Rhaenys, all of thirteen and full of boundless energy, had draped herself dramatically over the carved stone bench nearby, pretending to swoon at the sight of Visenya’s prowess.

But it was you, the youngest at ten, who caught Aegon’s gaze more often than not. You, with your bright laughter and infectious spirit, darting around the courtyard like a flame that couldn’t be contained. Your silvery hair whipped around your face as you twirled, a makeshift crown of wildflowers slipping down to rest lopsided on your brow. You had always been their little sunbeam, the one who could draw a smile even from Visenya’s stern lips and make Rhaenys’ endless schemes seem tame in comparison.

“Aegon, come play!” you called, running up to him and tugging at his sleeve. He looked down at you, a rare, soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he set aside the practice sword he’d been holding.

“And what game would you have us play today, little sister?” he asked, his voice gentle in a way that he used for no one else.

You grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s play kings and queens!” you declared, hopping from one foot to the other. “I’ll be the queen, of course. And you all have to be my subjects.”

Rhaenys laughed, clapping her hands. “I shall be your loyal knight, Your Grace,” she said with a mock bow, her face alight with amusement.

Visenya, pausing in her training, raised an eyebrow. “And who do you imagine will be your king, then?” she asked, her tone teasing.

You pursed your lips, pretending to think deeply. “Hmm… I suppose I’ll have to marry one of the kings of Westeros.” you said, a playful glint in your eye.

Rhaenys burst out laughing, and even Visenya cracked a smile. “Which one, little sister?” Rhaenys asked, her eyes dancing with amusement. “The fat one in the Riverlands, or the one in the North who always looks like he swallowed something sour?”

You thought for a moment, then raised your chin, mimicking the haughty tone of the court ladies you’d seen at Dragonstone. “Maybe the King of the North! They say Starks are very handsome.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt the air change. It was subtle, but you noticed. Aegon’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. You were too young to understand the depth of his feelings then, but you knew how to get a rise out of him, and his reaction made your heart beat a little faster.

“Why would you want to marry a Stark?” he asked, his voice a touch too steady. “The North is cold and bleak. You wouldn’t like it there.”

You shrugged, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “But if I’m to be a queen, I must marry someone important, no?” you said, your tone light and teasing. “Unless… unless you mean to conquer the kingdoms yourself, brother. Then I would have no need to marry anyone else. I could be queen, and you could be… king.”

There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to still around you. Aegon’s gaze locked onto yours, something fierce and unspoken flickering in his eyes. He reached out, almost unconsciously, and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering.

“Maybe I will, then,” he murmured, so quietly that only you could hear. “Maybe I will conquer them all. So that you’ll never have to leave.”

You blinked, surprised by the intensity in his voice. It was a game, wasn’t it? A child’s dream, nothing more. But something in the way he looked at you made your heart flutter strangely, a feeling you didn’t yet have a name for.

“Don’t be silly, Aegon,” you said, trying to laugh it off. “You can’t conquer the whole world just for me.”

But the look he gave you then was one you would remember long after, a look that promised he would do exactly that, and more, if you asked it of him.

“I would conquer it all,” he said, his voice steady, “just to see you smile.”

You shook your head, trying to hide your blush as you spun away, your laughter echoing around the courtyard. “Then I’ll be waiting, King Aegon,” you called over your shoulder, skipping away to join Rhaenys in her dramatics.

But even as you played, your words had already taken root in Aegon’s mind, planting a seed that would one day grow into a fire that would consume the Seven Kingdoms.

He watched you, his little sister, his beloved Y/N, and knew, even then, that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. He would break any betrothal, defy any tradition, and, if necessary, lay waste to the entire continent, just to make sure you were his and his alone.

The game might have ended that day, but Aegon’s resolve had only begun to form. And though you couldn’t know it then, your innocent words had set in motion a chain of events that would shape the history of Westeros forever.

Aegon I Targaryen, the first of his name, stood atop the hill, surveying the devastation below. The smell of smoke and blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the cries of the wounded and the dying. His armor, blackened and scorched, bore the marks of battle, but he felt no pain, no weariness. Only a cold, relentless purpose.

He had begun this conquest with fire and blood, and he would end it the same way.

The Seven Kingdoms had once seemed so distant, disparate lands ruled by petty kings and warlords, their power fractured and fleeting. Yet now, as he gazed across the smoking ruins of Harrenhal, the shattered stronghold of House Hoare, he felt the inevitable weight of destiny settle upon his shoulders. This was his, all of it, as he had always known it would be. And he would bind it together under one rule—his rule.

But even as he claimed victory after victory, his mind kept drifting back to a single thought, a promise made long ago in the carefree days of childhood.

You.

He had known since that day, when you had teased him with talk of kings and queens, that he would never let you go. He had watched you grow from the lively, carefree child who danced through Dragonstone’s halls, to a fierce young woman whose spirit shone brighter than any flame. You were his joy, his anchor, the one thing in this world that made him feel truly alive. And he would not let you be taken from him—not by anyone, not even by duty.

The other kings of Westeros had fallen one by one before him. The Reach and the Riverlands had bent the knee. The Ironborn were broken. Dorne remained stubbornly defiant, but they would come to heel in time. Yet the North… the North was different. Stark men were proud, unyielding. Torrhen Stark had sent word of his intent to negotiate, to discuss terms, and with it, a reminder of the betrothal promised long ago—a political arrangement meant to solidify alliances.

Aegon’s grip tightened on Blackfyre’s hilt at the thought, his knuckles white beneath the leather. Torrhen Stark, King in the North, dared to speak as if the arrangement still held weight, as if he could claim you as his own. The very idea made something fierce and possessive rise within him, a dark flame that burned hotter than dragonfire.

He remembered your face the day your father had first mentioned the match, the way you had looked at Aegon, eyes wide and uncertain, seeking his reaction. He had said nothing then, merely turned and left the hall, his silence a mask for the storm raging within him. He had known even then that he would never allow it, but he had let the betrothal stand for a time, waiting, biding his moment.

That moment was now.

Aegon closed his eyes, the din of battle fading to a distant hum as he focused inward. He saw your face, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of dreams and adventures. He remembered the softness in your voice when you spoke of the future, how you had confided in him your fears and hopes. You were not meant to be some lord’s prize, bartered and traded for power. You were meant to rule, to stand beside him as his equal, as his queen.

His resolve hardened. The North would bend, just like the rest. Torrhen Stark would come before him, crown in hand, and he would kneel. But not as a suitor. As a subject. He would relinquish any claim he thought he had to you, or he would face the wrath of Balerion’s flames. There was no compromise, no room for negotiation.

The betrothal would be broken. You would not be sent away, not to the frozen wasteland of the North, not anywhere. You would be here, with him, where you belonged.

And then, when the last of the kings had bent the knee, when the Seven Kingdoms were his and his alone, he would turn to you. He would take your hand and look into your eyes, and you would see that this—all of this—had been for you.

He could already imagine the scene, the way you would look at him, the disbelief that would give way to understanding, to the same fierce love that burned in his own heart. You had resisted him for so long, pushing him away, keeping him at arm’s length even as you had grown closer to his sisters. He knew it was because of that broken promise, the shattered dream of freedom that he had taken from you. But he would show you that this was the only way, the only path that would ever make sense.

The thought of you—of your stubborn defiance, your laughter, the fire in your eyes—gave him strength as he turned back to his men. The conquest was not yet finished. There were still battles to be fought, crowns to be claimed, and a future to secure.

But soon, soon he would return to Dragonstone, to you. And when he did, he would take you in his arms and tell you the truth of it all. That every kingdom he had claimed, every battle he had fought, had been for you. That he would burn the world itself if it meant keeping you by his side.

He mounted Balerion with a fluid grace, feeling the great beast’s muscles coil beneath him, the heat of the dragon’s breath warming his legs through the scales of his armor. The conquest would go on, and he would crush any who stood in his way. But his heart, his mind, his very soul, were already set on the moment he would return to you, victorious.

He would place the crown upon your head, not as a gesture of power, but of devotion. He would marry you, not because of duty or tradition, but because you were his, and he was yours, bound together by a fire that could never be quenched.

And if anyone tried to take you from him—be it Stark, Lannister, or even the gods themselves—he would unleash hell upon them all. Because you were his queen, his beloved Y/N, and he would let the world burn before he let you go.

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

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r0ugesun · 3 months ago

Text

The Great War

Beta read by @moonstruksandco 👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏾

Chapter 1 (1/?)

Synopsis: On Dragonstone, tensions rise as war looms on the horizon and the Targaryen family braces for conflict. Jacaerys discovers y/n, his enigmatic stepsister, secretly training with their formidable father, Daemon Targaryen. Initially at odds and harboring deep seated resentment, Jacaerys and y/n’s relationship evolves from adversaries to reluctant allies. As they confront their shared secrets and familial expectations, they find themselves drawn to each other.

Warnings: slow burn infidelity(sorry baela)period accurate misogyny eventual smut

Jace Velaryon x Reader

Drāñe aōha nykeōragon! (Widen your stance!)

Adere! (Faster)

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an amber glow across the gardens of the Red Keep. The air was rich with the fragrance of blooming roses, their petals kissed by the evening dew. Within the shadows of the castle walls, a solitary figure moved with grace and precision, the sound of clashing steel echoing through the corridors.

Y/n targaryen, the last daughter of Daemon and Laena, had grown accustomed to the isolation her father's overprotectiveness had imposed. As the youngest and final remnant of her mother's legacy, she bore the weight of her father's undying devotion and his refusal to let her be betrothed. Unlike her sisters, who had dragons and betrothals to occupy their thoughts, y/n had been denied these privileges no her rights, her father's fierce love turning to a cage of golden bars.

In the stillness of the training yard, she faced her father, their swords a blur of motion. Daemon, the Rogue Prince, had been her mentor for years, y/n held a sword in her hand before she even learned to walk, his rigorous training instilling in her a mastery of the blade that rivaled the finest knights of Westeros. Their practice sessions were a secret kept from prying eyes, a testament to Daemon's belief in her strength and his desire to keep her hidden from the suitors who sought her hand.

"You must be quicker, daughter" Daemon admonished, parrying her strike with ease. "Your opponent will not grant you the luxury of hesitation."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, her lips forming a determined line as she pressed her attack, their swords ringing out in the twilight. She was a vision of fierce beauty, her movements a dance of deadly elegance. It was in these moments, away from the court's scrutiny, that she felt truly alive.

She stepped back, adjusting her grip on the hilt, her muscles taut with effort and determination. Each clash of their blades sent vibrations through her arms, but she did not falter.

"Ao vāedis!" (You hesitate!) Daemon's voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. His eyes, a mirror of her own, bore into her with intensity.

"Ao rūs!" (You retreat!)

Y/n growled, a sound of frustration and resolve mingled, as she advanced once more. This time, she let her instincts take over, her body moving with the fluid grace of a dragon in flight. Her sword sliced through the air, a deadly arc aimed at Daemon's side. He barely had time to deflect it, his lips twitching in approval.

"Better" he murmured, their swords locked together in a struggle of strength.

With a swift movement, he disarmed her, sending her blade skittering across the stone floor. Y/n stumbled back, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Again," he commanded, not giving her a moment's respite.

Y/n retrieved her sword, her mind racing. She needed to find a way to break through his defenses. The moon had risen high, casting a silvery light over the training yard, illuminating their fierce battle.

As they resumed their sparring, Y/n could feel the burn of fatigue creeping into her limbs, but she pushed it aside. This was her chance to prove herself, to show her father that she was not just a daughter to be protected, but a warrior to be reckoned with.

Their movements became a blur of speed and precision, the clang of steel filling the night air. With a final burst of energy, Y/n feinted to the left and then swung her blade in a wide arc, catching Daemon off guard. The tip of her sword rested against his chest, a triumphant smile curling her lips.

Daemon looked down at the blade, then up at his daughter, a rare smile breaking through his stern demeanor. "Well done." He said “but-”

and Daemon’s smile was fleeting, quickly replaced by a serious expression. voice carrying both pride and challenge, "-not quite enough."

Before Y/n could react, Daemon moved with a sudden burst of speed. He sidestepped her blade, bringing his own sword up in a sweeping arc that left her no room to maneuver. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed her once more, sending her sword spinning away.

Y/n fell to her knees, panting heavily, her body drenched in sweat. She looked up at Daemon, her face a mix of frustration and respect. "You *pant* beat me… again" she said, her voice trembling with fatigue. No matter how skilled a warrior she thought she was, six men or sixty, he is still Daemon Targaryen. Or so the saying goes.

Daemon extended a hand to her, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "I know what you’re capable of. You have the blood of the dragon, but you need to hone it into something more than mere fire. Strength alone won’t win battles."

Y/n took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Despite her exhaustion, a flicker of determination sparked in her eyes. "I understand" she said, her voice firm. "And I will continue to fight, to become better, until I surpass even you."

Daemon’s gaze held hers, a mixture of challenge and pride evident. "Then keep fighting" he said.

—————————————

Jacaerys sat in the grand common room of Dragonstone, his attention flickering between Baela’s animated chatter and the expansive view of the island’s rugged landscape through the window. The day had turned gray, with clouds rolling in over the sea, casting a dim light over the stone walls. Baela’s voice, though pleasant, faded into a gentle murmur, its rhythm lost against the backdrop of his restless thoughts.

“...and then Ser Greyjoy said—” Baela’s words trailed off as she noticed Jacaerys’s distracted gaze. She studied him for a moment, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Jace, you seem miles away. Are you feeling unwell?”

Jacaerys shook himself from his reverie, offering a polite, if lackluster, smile. “Uh yes, Baela. Just….a bit weary. I think I’ll take a stroll before dinner.”

Baela’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you later.”

With a polite nod and a murmured farewell, Jacaerys rose from his seat and exited into the cool, dim-lit corridors of the castle. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and stone as he meandered through the labyrinthine passages. His footsteps echoed softly against the ancient walls, a rhythmic counterpoint to his wandering thoughts.

Jacaerys continued his aimless wander through Dragonstone, seeking solace from his mounting boredom. His footsteps echoed softly against the ancient stone, the castle’s grandeur lost on him as he drifted through its labyrinthine corridors. The chill in the air hinted at the coming of a storm, and the gray light seeping through the narrow windows did little to lift his spirits.

As he rounded a particularly dim and winding corridor, he stumbled upon a concealed door, partially obscured by a heavy tapestry. Curiosity sparked, he pushed it open, revealing a hidden staircase descending into shadows. He stared at the weathered stone, its been abandoned for gods knows who how long, should he leave? Alert a guard maybe? Driven by a sudden intrigue, Jacaerys made his way down, his steps echoing softly underfoot.

At the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in a secluded training area, its walls lined with worn, wooden dummies and scattered practice weapons. The room was illuminated by a few flickering torches, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. The sound of clashing swords filled the air, sharp and rhythmic, each strike echoing with the intensity of a serious duel.

Jacaerys edged closer, his heart quickening with anticipation. Through a narrow opening, he glimpsed the source of the commotion. Y/n and Daemon were engaged in a fierce training session, their swords moving with a fluidity and precision that left Jacaerys utterly breathless.

Y/n’s form was a revelation—her movements were both powerful and graceful, each strike and parry executed with a mastery that belied her royal status. Sweat glistened on her brow, and her violet eyes were alight with fierce determination. She wielded her sword with a natural ease, her skill evident in every fluid motion.

Daemon, for his part, matched her with his usual blend of skill and intensity, his focus unwavering as he guided her through the relentless practice. The dynamic between them was electric, a testament to both their expertise and the depth of their training.

Jacaerys watched from the shadows, utterly mesmerized. The sight of Y/n, a princess so adept in the art of combat, was both astonishing and captivating. She moved with a raw, unrestrained energy, each clash of swords sending a thrill through him. Her dedication and strength were palpable, breaking the mold of what he had expected from someone of her rank.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Jacaerys remained hidden, his fascination growing with every moment. The intensity of the training session unfolded before him, leaving him awestruck by Y/n’s sheer skill and determination.

the clashing of swords continued, Jacaerys remained concealed in the shadows, his eyes never leaving Y/n. The way she moved was almost hypnotic, she seemed to embody the very essence of a warrior of a dragon, each movement fluid and deliberate. The torchlight cast flickering patterns on her face, highlighting the fierce concentration in her eyes as she parried Daemon’s relentless attacks.

Daemon, despite his usual stoic demeanor, displayed a rare warmth in his gaze as he watched Y/n. It was clear that their training was more than just a lesson, it was a mutual respect, a shared passion for the art of combat. Jacaerys could see the bond between them, an unspoken understanding that transcended mere instruction.

Y/n’s breaths came in measured bursts, her face flushed with exertion but her spirit unbroken. Each time Daemon disarmed her, she would swiftly retrieve her sword, her resolve unshaken. It was as if she was fueled by an inner fire, a drive to prove herself beyond the constraints of her royal title.

Jacaerys could scarcely believe what he was witnessing. The sight of a princess so engaged in combat, with such raw and unfiltered skill, was both shocking and awe-inspiring. His admiration grew with each passing moment, the image of her unwavering focus and strength imprinted on his mind.

As the training session drew to a close, Y/n’s movements slowed, her fatigue evident. She took a moment to catch her breath, wiping the sweat from her brow. Daemon approached, his expression one of quiet pride, and extended a hand to her. Y/n grasped it, allowing him to help her to her feet with a tired but triumphant smile.

Jacaerys, still hidden, felt a pang of regret that he had not revealed himself. The moment was too intimate, too profound, to intrude upon. Yet he was overwhelmed by the urge to learn more about this remarkable new side to the princess who defied every expectation.

As Y/n and Daemon walked away, Jacaerys emerged from his hiding place, the hidden training ground now feeling like a precious secret he had stumbled upon. He retraced his steps, his mind racing with the revelation of Y/n’s skill and the realization that she was not just a mere princess but a formidable warrior.

________________________

As Jacaerys took his place beside Baela, the grand dining hall was alive with the clinking of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, and the rich aroma of the feast. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her regal presence commanding respect, while Daemon loomed at the far end, his imposing figure a constant reminder of his authority.

But Jacaerys was anything but focused on the feast. His mind was a whirlwind, consumed by the revelation of Y/n’s true nature. Seated a few places away, she engaged animatedly with Daemon, her relaxed demeanor concealing a fierce intensity that left Jacaerys utterly stunned. He struggled to maintain his composure, his heart racing as he tried to anchor himself in the present, focusing on Baela beside him.

Baela, clearly noticing his distraction, leaned in with a hint of irritation. “You’re unusually distant today, Jace. What’s on your mind?”

Jacaerys forced a strained smile, his mind still reeling from the discovery. “Just a bit distracted, Baela. Nothing to worry about.”

Baela’s gaze followed his distracted line of sight to Y/n. “You seem particularly absorbed in Y/n. You’ve hardly interacted with her before.”

Jacaerys’s mind was in turmoil, grappling for a coherent explanation. “She… she seems different tonight. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

Baela’s expression grew sharper. “Y/n has always been somewhat aloof, and her attitude towards you has been especially cold. So what’s changed with her my prince?”

Jacaerys’s cheeks burned as he struggled to compose himself. “I didn’t realize… I suppose I’ve never had much reason to engage with her.”

As if on cue, Y/n glanced up from her conversation with Daemon and caught Jacaerys’s gaze. Her eyes narrowed, and a sneer formed on her lips. “If you’re going to stare, might I suggest you find a less conspicuous way of doing it?”

Jacaerys’s heart raced, and he quickly looked away, his face flushed crimson with embarrassment and panic. He cleared his throat, his voice shaky. “My apologies, Y/n. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Baela’s tone was clipped as she observed his reaction. “It’s clear she’s not fond of your attention. Maybe you should focus on our conversation.”

Jacaerys shifted in his seat, his mind still reeling. “Yes, of course.”

As the evening progressed, Jacaerys struggled to stay present. His thoughts kept spiraling back to the shocking realization, Y/n was not just the aloof youngest sister of his betrothed but a fierce warrior who could likely best the finest knights. The weight of this revelation was almost too much to bear. His heart pounded, his mind raced with questions, and he felt an overwhelming sense of urgency and confusion. Balancing his engagement to Baela with this newfound, intense fascination for Y/n was a struggle that left him grappling with a storm of emotions, trying desperately to appear calm while his internal world was anything but.

_______________

Jacaerys lay in his bed, the luxurious sheets offering little comfort as he stared up at the canopy, his mind a tumultuous storm. The room was dim, illuminated only by the flickering light of a solitary candle, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Despite the late hour, sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, visions of Y/n swam before him, a relentless tide of thoughts he couldn’t control.

He had seen Y/n countless times over the years, always regarding her as inconsequential, just another member of the extended family. But tonight had shattered that illusion. The memory of her fierce intensity, her casual yet commanding presence, played over and over in his mind. His heart still raced with the revelation that she was so much more than he had ever imagined.

“Seven hells,” Jacaerys muttered, turning over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time. The shock of seeing her sparring, her skill and strength evident, had turned his world upside down. How had he missed this? How had he been so blind?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the thoughts, but they only grew stronger. Her fierce eyes, the way she had sneered at him, the effortless grace in her movements—these images were seared into his mind. He realized that her aloofness, her distance, had all been an act. The real Y/n was formidable, a force to be reckoned with.

The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. His mind raced with questions. Had anyone else known? Had baela and rhaena? How long had she been hiding this side of herself? And why?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder, someone who had stumbled upon a closely guarded secret. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his perception of her had been completely wrong. She wasn’t just the youngest sister of his betrothed, she was a warrior, and he had to know more.

He had an insatiable desire to understand her, to learn more about the real Y/n. The very thought made his heart pound even harder.

———————-

Rolling out of bed, jace knew he couldn’t wait until morning. He had to confront her, to get answers. Pulling on his clothes with a sense of urgency, he left his chambers, navigating the dimly lit corridors with purpose.

He made his way to the same tapestry from earlier and pulled it back to reveal the hidden stairwell. It was eerily quiet, the moon casting a silvery glow through the cracks of the ceiling illuminating over the grounds. His heart raced as he approached, hoping to find her there.

Sure enough, there she was. Y/n stood alone, her sword in hand, practicing her forms with a precision that took his breath away. She moved with the fluidity of a dancer and the deadly intent of a warrior.

Jace ventured forth, his footsteps hesitant yet purposeful. His heart pounded in his chest, driven by an insatiable curiosity that would not be quelled. He watched her, mesmerized, as she wielded her sword with a grace that belied its lethal intent.

He stepped forward, the gravel beneath his feet betraying his presence. Her head snapped up, eyes widening in shock before narrowing into a glare of cold fury. "Jacaerys!? What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice a mix of surprise and irritation.

"I-I couldn't sleep" he stammered, advancing tentatively. "I saw you slip away and... I followed you."

She blinked, the incredulity plain on her face. "Why? What possesses you to intrude upon my solitude?"

"I just... I had to know," he mumbled, his gaze faltering under her scrutiny. "Why you're training like this. Why in secret."

"It is none of your concern" she retorted, lowering her sword yet maintaining a stance of wary readiness. "Leave, jacaerys."

But he remained steadfast, words tumbling from his lips in a desperate attempt to explain. "No, I mean... I want to understand. This side of you... it’s different."

Her eyes flashed with a tempest of anger. "You ought not to be here. How did you even find me?"

He shrugged, still fumbling for coherence. "I just... I was talking with baela and then took a walk and the tapestry was there and you-, and... I don't know, I followed it down. And, um... I saw you training with Daemon the other day, you were incredible really" he added, an awkward laugh escaping him. "I didn't mean to spy, but—"

She cut him off, her voice seething with fury. "You spied on me with father? You have no right—"

"I know, I know" Jace interjected, hands raised in a gesture of placation. "But I was curious, I had no idea I would find you here. You are….exceptionally skilled, and I wanted to comprehend why you kept this hidden."

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, knuckles white with anger. "You had no right to follow me or to spy on me. This is my business, not yours. Leave at once."

"…No," Jace said, though his voice quivered with uncertainty. He reached for a sword from the rack, clutching it tightly. "I… I want you to train with me."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a scowl. "You think you can match me? Very well. But if I win, you leave me alone. Forever."

Jace nodded, determination flickering in his eyes despite the apprehension. He took his stance, readying himself. As they squared off, he was acutely aware of the disparity in their skills. He had been trained by Ser Harwin and his father, Ser Laenor, both formidable fighters. Yet, the difference in their skill became glaringly apparent as soon as the duel commenced.

She moved with a fluidity and precision that seemed almost effortless. Jace, while not unskilled, found himself struggling to keep up. Her blade was a blur of motion, each strike landing with an ease that belied her skill. Jace’s attempts to block and parry were clumsy in comparison, his sword heavy in his hand, his movements less coordinated.

With a deft sidestep, she evaded his clumsy counterattack, her blade flicking out to land a sharp, stinging blow against his side. Jace grunted, stumbling back as he tried to regain his footing. He tried to press the attack, his strikes intended to be forceful and precise, but she anticipated and dodged each one with practiced grace.

Her training under Daemon was evident in every movement. Her speed and control were extraordinary, a product of years of rigorous instruction. Jace, despite his own solid training, was outmatched by the sheer finesse of her techniques. His blade wavered as he fought to keep pace, his breath coming in short, labored gasps.

She continued her relentless assault, her strikes not only precise but delivered with a speed that left him barely able to react. He attempted to anticipate her moves, but she was always a step ahead, her sword flashing through the air with a deadly grace that rendered his defenses ineffective.

Finally, with a decisive strike, she disarmed him, sending his sword clattering to the ground. He fell to one knee, panting heavily, his face flushed with exhaustion. Her blade hovered above him, a clear indication of her superior skill.

"Stay away from me" she commanded coldly, her voice laced with a fierce finality.

Jace, still on the ground, looked up at her with a mix of admiration and frustration. He nodded, breathless and defeated. "I’ll let you be…. For now."

With a final, disdainful glance, she turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. Jace remained where he was, his resolve both tested and strengthened by the encounter. The duel had not only shown him the breadth of her training but also deepened his determination to understand the enigmatic warrior.

#house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd #jace velaryon #jace targaryen #house targaryen #dragonstone #prince of dragonstone #hotd jacaerys #prince jacaerys #jacaerys strong #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys smut #jace x reader #jace x you

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my-my-my · 26 days ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 8 - Masturbation: Jugram Haschwalth x Female Reader

By popular vote, this is posted today!

Summary: The seasons come and go. Summer, spring, autumn, and winter leave memories of you, your piano and knight Jugram Haschwalth, haunting your mind.

TW: MDNI! This is a historical AU (the time period is purposefully unclear), where you are Yhwach’s niece. Classism, implied gender and class roles, unrequited feelings, infidelity, arranged marriage. Mutual masturbation. This is kind of melancholic for the most part.

Word count: (the longest so far!) 4548

Read on AO3 here.

It’s autumn and you’re standing on the tips of your toes to watch the new pages practice with wooden swords.

They look small, like you, with childlike wonder as they hold their makeshift swords. Their eyes are filled with wonder and excitement. Except for one.

One of the shortest of the bunch, a boy with brilliant blonde hair, looks at his sword with concern and hesitation. He gives it a weak swing; you swear he looks like he’s trembling. Another boy, with dark red hair, yells at him, scaring the blonde boy, forcing his head up. You press your face against the window for a better look.

“He’s so pretty.” You said out loud, when one of your maids tugs your hand away from the scene.

“Mistress! Remove your face from the window this instance!” Your caretaker rushes to you, pulling you away from the view below. “You must attend your piano lessons. Don’t mind those boys.” Your caretaker scolds you, holding your hand firmly as you’re led away from the window. As you move away, you see the little blonde boy look up and you give him a wave as you’re pulled away.

It's autumn and you rather be playing outside in the fallen leaves with the blonde boy who doesn’t want to hold his sword.

Your piano teacher waits for you in the music room, where your black, grand piano awaits. It’s massive compared to your piano teacher, it’s even bigger compared to you. The piano is near another window, one that is open. The light breeze fills the room with a faint scent of fallen leaves and the grunts and yelps of the pages practicing outside. Your piano teacher, a lean, young man with blonde hair but not as pretty as the blonde boy outside you thought, approaches you. He gave you a grin, “little lady, you’ve kept me waitin’!” His voice has a bit of an accent, you were told he came from lands “far, far away.”

Your caretaker taps your shoulder, reminding you of your manners, “I’m sorry Mr. Hirako. Please excuse my tardiness.” You recite, your tone monotonous. Words repeated and echoed through your etiquette training.

Mr. Hirako lets out a snicker, “don’t worry about it, miss. Let’s get you warmed up with some scales.”

You watch your caretaker leave the room once Mr. Hirako ushers you to your seat. The notes glide off your fingertips, as Mr. Hirako watches you with intensity. Scale after scale, note after note, your music fills the room, echoing nearby.

The pages, who were done for the day, walk away from their practice session. But the little blonde boy hears the distant sound of piano playing and walks closer. He watches you, the little girl from the window. He stares at you in awe and envy, as he listens to your music playing. “Jugo! Whatcha doin’?! We gotta hurry back, Sister Retsu will get angry at us if we’re late!” The red-haired boy from earlier yells, slapping “Jugo’s” back. He pulls at the blonde boy’s sleeves, dragging him away from the window, while the blonde boy just stares until you’re out of his view.

It’s winter and beautiful. Fresh snow covers your manor in a haunting shade of white. It leaves your manor in absolute silence. There is no one around, and so you open the window in your piano room. There’s a slight chill in the air, but you love it nonetheless. The atmosphere helps you with your concentration.

Your recital approaches and you stare at your music sheets. You read over Mr. Hirako’s instructions and tips to steel yourself for your first recital. Little slips of paper stick out of your music books, while notes and coloured markings fill sections on what you need to practice, reminders to yourself of mistakes you have made.

You warm up with selections from Hanon’s Virtuoso Pianist. Scales, arpeggios and everything in between fly from your fingers. It feels effortless, your mind is focused and clear. You begin the first piece of your recital’s repertoire, Bach’s Fugue No. 16 from the second book of his Well-Tempered Clavier. The notes start heavy, with your fingers increasing in speed as bars fly from your vision.

Snap.

You stop playing, the loud snap shaking you out of your concentration. An animal wouldn’t have made such loud noises, it sounded like footsteps, you thought. You peer down the window and see the blonde boy of your youth, now a squire. His blonde hair is past his ears now, and he dons a black, long-sleeved tunic with your uncle’s family crest above his chest with white pants. He looks startled to see you, as you are of him.

You give him a polite smile and wave to him, but he doesn’t respond. It wasn’t just his hair that grew, you realized. The pages who trained endlessly, day after day, in sunshine, rain or snow, have now became squires. The changing of seasons and time reflected their physical growth as well. The blonde boy was now a teen, and he was tall, taller than you are now.

“Wait!” You yell at him, as he begins to walk away. You run through your manor, pushing past servants until you see him outside.

It’s winter and terribly cold, but you don’t care. The blonde teen looks startled to see you, and you were right, he was taller than you.

“Mistress, you shouldn’t be out here.” His voice is shaky as he tries step away from you.

“I’m fine!” You shout. He smiles weakly at you.

“How can I be of service to you, Mistress?” The teen asks, bowing his head at you.

You click your tongue disapprovingly, “we’re the same age, right?” You say, introducing yourself and extending your hand. The teen avoids your gaze and open palm as he whispers your name.

He ignores your question, “I’m Jugram Haschwalth, Lord Yhwach’s squire.” He says, finally looking at you. Hesitation and anxiousness fill his voice.

His eyes are a brilliant shade of green, reminding you of the meadows in springtime. You repeated his name over and over again, “I’ll definitely be able to remember that! And besides, I knew you were one of my uncle’s squires.” You laughed, “I just didn’t know your name.”

“Oh, right…” Jugram said softly.

The winter chill is creeping up through your clothes, as the two of you stand awkwardly.

“You’ll do anything I say, Jugram?” You ask, as you stare at him, you notice his posture, the way he slouches, and how he holds his arm behind his back.

He looks at you briefly, then looks away, “yes.”

“Then come listen to me practice!” You exclaim, “I need an audience anyways. I have my first recital coming.” You beamed at him, trying to get Jugram to relax a little.

He looks at you and then back to his feet, “I can’t –” and he immediately regrets his words, as disappoint washes over your face, “I mean, I can stay for one song.” He offers.

You give him a grin and bring him inside.

Music fills the room as Jugram watches you play. His back is straight as an arrow, but not out of confidence, but out of nerves. I don’t belong here, he thinks to himself.

But your music snaps him out of his thoughts as you continue to play your pieces. Before he even realizes, he’s smiling as he watches you play. You beamed at him from your seat, as you continued to play. You look back to your music sheets and close your eyes, your fingers having memorized every note and crescendo.

You come to a stop. Without looking up, you ask “Will you come to my recital, Jugram?” But he was gone. The room empty once again.

It’s spring, and you’re struggling to breathe. Your caretaker watches you as the seamstress tightens your corset. Your débutante ball is tonight and all your etiquette training, tutoring and classes prepared you for this night. You were to be presented as a young woman of upper society.

You looked at yourself in the mirror: rosy lips, lashes long and thick, hair styled tastefully, with an exceptionally beautiful silk ball gown. An elegant necklace drapes over your décolletage, with matching earrings already in place. You were to be a vision to guests and suitors alike.

It’s spring and you were dreading nightfall. Upper society was so stiff with its rules and mannerisms. Your one solace was your piano. As the seamstress continues her tightening, you stare at your hands, covered in matching silk gloves as your dress. Long and thin, evidence of the years of piano playing etched on every single finger. You chuckled to yourself as the memories of Mr. Hirako’s tutelage floods your mind.

You rather prepare for another recital than for a ball. Sighing, you turned your head and looked out the window, the setting sun in the distance. It fills your room and the nearby meadows with a golden glow.

You wonder if Jugram will be there tonight. It had been a few years since that day in the music room. He never came to your recital, but he was always around the manor, practicing, training, preparing with the other squires.

Well, you gave a quiet laugh, he wasn’t a squire anymore. The once shy boy and nervous teen was now a calm, talented and confident knight. A faint blush spreads your face at the thought of him. He would politely engage with you if you were nearby, asking you about your music, how you were, and what was occupying your time, but he would never acknowledge your first recital, or any recitals you invited to him after that. On the rare occasion he would sit and listen to you to play, maybe that’s a recital in it of itself, you mused. He would applaud you once you were finished but spoke only a few words about your music and talent.

You two would be in the same room, but sometimes it felt like you were distances apart. A wall between him and you that your only your music would lower.

You weren’t sure if he was a friend or not. You would watch him from afar, how he commanded his small troop with a cool confidence. His once bruise-covered, shaking arms, held his sword and shield with grace and poise, while he was distant and cold with his men, there was a soft, respectful and caring tone with you.

The seamstress stepped away from you, finished with your dress and admiring her work, “she’s ready.”

Your caretaker eyes are filled with love and awe, “you look magnificent, Mistress! You’ll be the talk of the ball tonight.” You gave her a wry smile, “thank you.”

It’s spring and you were wistful, looking out your carriage. Your manor grows smaller in the distance as the night grows darker.

The carriage comes to a halt in front of the castle. The castle was large and imposing, made of bright white stone. Women and men dressed in exquisite silk, satin and velvet, as they mingled, chatted and drank through the halls.

You were immediately escorted to another room, with other ladies who were preparing for their debut as well. You recognized some of them – classmates and acquaintances from your lessons. You politely nodded your head at them, but kept your distance, rather looking out the window instead.

“Ugh, he’s so boring.” You heard one woman say, loudly. Her brown, almost black hair was styled in a French twist with a thin tiara on top of her head. Her dress was red, it almost reminded you of blood.

“Bambietta, he’s your fiancé!” Another woman with blonde hair in loose curls and a seafoam-coloured gown, whispered harshly. You pretended not to pay attention to them but watched them through the faint reflection of the window.

Bambietta Basterbine, you recalled. The daughter of a weapons manufacturer who was close to your uncle. You had only met her a handful of times but found her quite rude with how she treated servants and those of lower rank.

“No, it’s insulting!” Bambietta scoffed, “if he weren’t one of Lord Yhwach’s most trusted knights, he wouldn’t even be here. He is a peasant in knight’s armour.” She sneered. Your ears twitched, one of your uncle’s knights?

“But at least he’s handsome… Lord Yhwach has some pretty ugly soldiers in his army.” Her blonde friend quipped, trying to diffuse the situation.

You could see Bambietta roll her eyes, “and he’s probably terrible in bed. His friend, you know the one with the black hair. Hubert?” Bambietta grinned, licking her lips, “he was fun. And besides, I’ll have my pick of the litter if he doesn’t satisfy me.” Bambietta said with a dismissive tone.

Your eyes widened from hearing their conversation, but you kept your cool. This was between her and her fiancé. Although... Hubert… you knew vaguely of him within your uncle’s army… he was Jugram’s second-in-command.

You felt your body churn out of anxiety, but your heart felt like it was crumbling.

An older madame entered the room and ushered all the ladies together, including you. You were each to be escorted by a knight as you descended the royal steps. Your stomach was in knots with anxiety creeping up your body.

Bambietta was to be in front of you and you could tell she was in a foul mood with the way she was pouting and glaring at you and everyone in the room.

And soon, the knights entered. You recognized Jugram immediately, one of the taller knights. You thought you saw his eyes widen as he saw you, but his gaze diverted to Bambietta. He was decorated in a fine white uniform, reminding you of snow, with a turquoise fur trim running along his jacket and gold fixtures. His sword fastened at his hip, and long blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail. “Bambietta” Jugram said, a bit coldly you thought. He held his hand to Bambietta, who scoffed and begrudgingly held it.

You were one of the few without a fiancé and were to be assigned a knight to escort you tonight. Hubert, the man in your uncle’s army, the second-in-command to Jugram, and Bambietta’s bed partner, gave you a small smile and bowed, taking your hand, “it’ll be my honor to escort you tonight, milady.”

You gave a sad smile and extended your hand. He kissed the back of your hand, and you wanted to wince. But you recalled your etiquette training and remained polite.

The train of knights and ladies descended the steps as orchestral music filled the hall. You looked ahead of you, to Jugram’s back, as he confidently escorted Bambietta down the steps.

“Announcing Lady Bambietta of the Basterbine family, escorted by her fiancé, Grandmaster Jugram Haschwalth.”

Then it was you and Hubert, stepping down to the marble floor. Once all the pairs were called upon, the first dance commenced. You smiled politely as Hubert held you. His grip was too tight on your hip and arm, as you winced while you danced. Eventually the song came to an end, and you parted ways.

The elites of the upper society began to swarm you, prodding you on to take Hubert as a fiancé, how your uncle would support you on the endeavour, but you politely declined. Stepping away from the crowd, you found a balcony to decompress, and people watch.

Some couples were dancing still, including Jugram and Bambietta. Their movements were fluid and graceful. You could hear in the distance guests gossiping about them, how beautiful their family would be.

Once the song ended you followed Jugram to another balcony outside. He was shocked to see you, eyes wide as you tried to gather courage for what you were about to say.

“Bambietta isn’t good for you!” You yelled, as sadness enveloped you, “she’s been sleeping with Hubert, and has no issues with seeing other men besides you.”

The look Jugram gave you scared you. Cold, lifeless green eyes staring into your soul. “It’s my duty to Lord Yhwach to marry who he sees fit.” He stared at you, his voice devoid of its usual warmth for you, “it doesn’t matter to me, as long as she’s happy.” He pushed you aside, walking back to the hall, leaving you alone on the balcony.

It was spring and you wanted to cry.

It’s summer and you’re visiting your uncle’s manor. Nothing has changed from what you can see. The gardens are beautiful as ever, with your favourite flowers in full bloom. You’re greeted by familiar servants and staff, welcoming you back into your home as they take your belongings to your room.

You walked through the halls towards your music room. Passing by the window, you see a familiar scene of young pages training to become knights, of wooden swords and childish laughter. How nostalgic you thought.

Lord Yhwach is away but promised to visit in the coming days. Your uncle wanted you to enjoy your stay in his home for the time being, taking a break from “the disgusting air of the city” as he described it. He didn’t like you living in the city, but you preferred it, playing recitals and teaching students music.

He also didn’t like that you remained unmarried. Neither did the rest of your family and your caretaker. Suitors would visit you from afar, and past visits back home would have a man waiting for your return, but you would dismiss each one.

Now you were reaching the “ineligible” age. An age where the annoying, nosy and rude ladies of upper society turned their noses at unmarried women. Sighing, you entered your music room. A song would distract you from those thoughts.

Your piano room was clean, albeit a bit stuffy. You opened the large windows by them to air out the room. The faint sound of children laughing can be heard, followed by the buzzing of cicadas, bringing a smile to your lips.

It’s summer and you deserve to enjoy yourself at your own pace.

You lift the cover of your piano to find clean and polished keys. You run your fingers gently across them, no sound being made. You settle yourself and decide on what piece to play. Your mind flashes to one of your first concerts in the city, where you received a standing ovation, and a large bouquet of your favourite flowers awaited your waiting room. There was no name attached to the bouquet, other than the note of “Congratulations.” Signed with your uncle’s crest. To this day you figured it was him. Recital after recital, you would find beautiful bouquets awaiting you with a note from your uncle.

Your fingers glided over the keys as you played the first piece from your first ever recital. The one where you had dragged Jugram to listen to that one winter’s day. You smiled to yourself as you closed your eyes, letting your fingers play the song from memory. You mind wandered as you continued to play, thinking of Jugram.

In the coming days after the ball, to save face, you had congratulated him on his engagement. You were a witness to his coronation as Imperial Advisor to your uncle. You had attended his wedding to Bambietta. And then you ran to the city.

Your hands were moving on their own as you recalled all of it, as tears started to prick your eyes. As the piece was nearing its end, you felt your hands grow heavy and you stopped.

“That was an old piece you played.” Jugram’s voice startled you.

“Jugram! I didn’t notice you were here.” You exclaimed, jumping out of your seat. You bowed to him as he did to you. “Did you just come in?” You asked, wondering when he entered the room.

“The servants told me you had arrived. I knew I would find you here.” He said, his voice even and calm. His uniform was stark white, he looked even taller than before.

But his green eyes were soft today, unlike the time at the ball. This was the Jugram you wanted to remember.

“Please excuse my intrusion,” a maid servant announced, as she brought tea and snacks for you.

“Oh thank you, but could you bring these outside? I’d like to enjoy them with Advisor Haschwalth.” You smiled, as the three of you were led outside.

The two of you sat in the gazebo in silence, as the wind tickled your hair. The sun was slowly beginning its descent into the horizon.

“How have you been, Jugram? How is Bambietta?”

Jugram sipped on his water, as his eyes lingered to the flowers nearby. “She’s fine.” He murmured.

“And you?” You asked again.

“Fine.” He said, always a man with few words. The air was warm, but comforting, but you noticed him unbutton his jacket.

“I’m always surprised to see you wearing your uniform during this heat.” You laughed, to which Jugram gave a slight smile.

“The fabric is suitable for all seasons, but it’s quite warm today.” He mused, taking another sip of water.

Silence grew again, as the two of you stared out in the distance.

“I –”

“You –”

The two of you spoke at the same time. Jugram ushered you to go first.

“I’m sorry about the ball. I know it’s been so many years, but I’m sorry for how I acted. It wasn’t my place.” You apologized, looking at him. Jugram’s face was expressionless.

“Bambietta and I are separating for now.” He murmured, still staring at the garden. Was he… disappointed? Relieved? You couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jugram. That must have been difficult for you both to agree on.” You sighed.

Jugram gave you a sad smile. “She was upset with the bouquets I was having delivered.”

Your eyes widened in surprised, “isn’t that a bit hypocritical of her? But I’m surprised, you had someone else?”

Jugram gave a dry chuckle, “no, I never bedded them, but I suppose it was unfair to her that I would gift flowers to someone and visit the city every now and then.” Your heart panged again, sadness washing over you that Jugram’s affections laid with someone else... again.

“Are you going to be with this person once your separation is finalized?” You asked, unsure if you could handle his answer.

“I want to.” He said calmly, his face again, remained expressionless, “but that depends on her.” He mused, his lips forming to a wistful smile.

“Do you regret what happened?” You asked softly, trying to remain composed for whatever Jugram may say.

“I have no regrets.” He murmured, “I made my own choice to marry her, and it’s now my choice to separate from her and be with someone else.”

“But what about my uncle?” You asked, worried that Jugram may have been on the receiving end of your uncle’s ruthlessness.

“He signed off on it. I suppose whatever deal he had with the Basterbine family was fulfilled.” Jugram said, wistfully.

The silence between you two grew again as the sun began to set.

“Did you like the bouquets?” He asked, staring at you.

“The bouquets?” You asked in confusion. “Wait, that… that was from you?”

Jugram nodded. “I attended some of your recitals.” He said calmly, finishing his glass of water. “You are truly a gift from God.” He quietly said.

“I thought they were from Lord Yhwach all this time…” You said, your voice wavering. Your heart was beating so loudly. You began to feel felt faint.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were there? I—” You asked, trying to calm yourself.

Jugram remained silent, as he continued to stare into the gardens.

“If I didn’t see you play at least once in my life,” Jugram said, “I would die with that regret.” He whispered, looking at the distance with a longing in eyes. “And then one recital, became multiple.”

Jugram got up from his seat and stood in front of you, extending his hand. You gave him yours, to which he bowed and kissed the back of your hand. “Please allow me to escort you to dinner tonight, your highness.” Jugram asked.

The days are long, and the nights are warm. Your body aches and your pussy is sore, sticky remnants covering your thigh. You had consummated your marriage to Jugram.

Your nipples are sensitive from Jugram’s teeth marks. Your lips are puffy and swollen from the kisses he stole from you.

Although everything hurt, you ached for more of him.

His cheeks were slightly flushed for the evening’s earlier activities, but now he laid asleep next you, his broad chest moving to every hitch of breath he was taking. His face was relaxed, his lips weren’t frowning, his eyebrows weren’t crossed. He looked at peace. You gently placed your hand over his heart, your long fingers gently tapping to the song from your youth.

Yet like everything Jugram does, he surprises you as his hand interlocks with yours.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Jugo.” You whispered, kissing him softly on the lips. “I couldn’t help myself.” You murmured, kissing him again, “you just looked so content.”

Jugram cupped your face in his hand as the two of you laid side-by-side. “You must be sore from tonight.” He said, kissing your forehead.

You felt heat rise below and peered down below the blanket. Jugram’s cock was growing stiff. You bit your lip in anticipation, reaching your hand down below, but Jugram stopped you.

“Rest, my highness.” Jugram murmured, “I can wait.”

You pouted at him, “can I watch at least?” You politely asked, giving him an innocent look. Jugram looked at you, eyes wide at the question. Your hand reached down and gently grabbed his growing erection, sliding your hand up and down.

Jugram grunted at the feeling, and pulled your arm away from his cock, replacing it with his own. “What her majesty wants, her majesty will get.” He whispered into your ear, as you watched Jugram slide his hand over his stiff cock. Precum leaked from the tip as Jugram watched you. He pinched your nipple and stole another kiss from you.

You moaned into him, throwing your arms around his neck, but he pulled away, continuing to pump his cock.

Watching him left a familiar ache of your own, as your hand darted to your pussy, rubbing your clit gently watching Jugram masturbate on top of you. You slipped one of your fingers inside, whimpering as you thought of Jugram’s cock inside you instead.

Jugram’s movements grew more erratic, and his breath more laboured as he watched you play with yourself, moaning his name. He watched you insert a second finger inside you, arching your back at the feeling, another moan of his name escaping his lips.

It was too much for him, as Jugram closed his eyes and groaned your name, his cum thick on your stomach. You slipped your fingers out from your pussy, using them to scoop his cooling cum of your body and tasting it. “Delicious.” You teased, licking your fingers clean.

Jugram panted, but gave you a wry smile, “you will be the death of me, your majesty.”

THANKS FOR READING!! This was originally planned to be super angst heavy, but my brain went another way haha! Here are some notes for this fic:

The title of the song on AO3 is from Duran Duran's "The Chauffeur" (one of my top favourite songs of all time), but I was specifically listening to Sneaker Pimps' cover of it.

Hanon's Virtuoso Pianist, is actually a great tool to build your finger strength and helps with scales and technical studies for piano playing.

The Bach piece that reader plays with Jugram in the room is Bach's Fugue No. 16 in G Minor from Book 2 of The Well-Tempered Clavier.

For the reason I chose Bambietta is based off this goofy omake between her and Jugram lmao

I really enjoyed writing this fic, so I hope you all enjoy it as well!!

#bleach #jugram haschwalth #bleach jugram #bleach smut #jugram haschwalth x reader #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach x female reader #jugram haschwalth x you #jugram bleach #jugram #bleach haschwalth #kinktober #a writes #kinktober 2024

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lovelynim · 1 month ago

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TickleTober2024/Day 07 - Teaching

Honkai: Star Rail - Yanqing & Jing Yuan

“Wahaha!” Yanqing squealed, some water spilling out of the buckets he was holding on each of his hands. The lieutenant gritted his teeth as a crooked smile took place in his lips. His gaze was focused on the distance while Jing Yuan walked around him.

“A Cloud Knight must never let slip their weapon, nor let slacken their form," Jing Yuan repeated, probably for the tenth time that afternoon, while watching his apprentice’s limbs tremble under all that struggle.

Yanqing inhaled sharply, squinting his eyes as he tried to maintain his shambling focus. “Y-yehes, general!”

The answer made Jing Yuan chuckle softly and nod, proud of Yanqing’s resolve. However, he still had to make sure that today’s lesson would stick to his apprentice’s mind. “Straighten your back,” the general commanded, using the tip of the wooden sword he was holding to deliver another poke to Yanqing’s side.

“AHAh!”

“And stop wasting water,” the general said, trying to sound angry as he delivered another poke, this time under Yanqing’s arm, somewhere between his armpit and his ribs. Of course, this only lead to another stream of giggles and more splashes of water falling to the ground. “How are we going to water the garden if you spill everything?”

“I-I’m tryhihing, general!” Yanqing groaned, shivering as some of the cold water spilled into his own clothes and stumbling a little before recovering his balance, or at least seeming to.

Yanqing could only blame himself for boasting in front of the general. When he asked for a harder, more intensive training, he expected more series of exercises or new opponents to spar with… not whatever this method that Jing Yuan decided to use was.

The buckets of water weren’t even that heavy anymore and the only thing keeping him from maintaining a good posture was the anticipation, the anxiety that came from not knowing when Jing Yuan would strike - or, better saying, tickle - him next.

Step after step, the general continued to slowly circle him, watching his form with ultimate attention. “Good, you’re learning rapidly, indeed,” Jing Yuan praised under his breath, tapping the back of Yanqing’s ankle with the wooden sword as a sign for him to fix his center of gravity.

“T-thank you, general,” Yanqing stuttered in a hurry, taking another huge gasp for air, “I think I-I’m getting the hand-AHAH!”

The lieutenant laughed, again, as Jing Yuan prodded against his stomach this time. “Your shoulders aren’t aligned. Remember: a Cloud Knight must never let slip their weapon-”

“N-nohoor let slahahacken their form!” The apprentice groaned, his cheeks a little red from all the effort and laughter in this training session.

And just like in any other training session, the longer it went on, the harder it was to achieve his goal. At this point, it would be a matter of seconds for Yanqing to drop one of the buckets - that is if they had any water left by that time.

“Should we take a break?” Jing Yuan suggested, thrusting the wooden sword on the ground as he stood before the lieutenant, a kind and warm smile in his lips.

Normally, Yanqing would still have the energy to run at least ten laps around the training ground. Today, however, Jing Yuan could tell that this new method took a toll on his endurance.

Yanqing sighed, lowering his arms and placing the buckets down shortly before throwing himself back, sitting on the floor. “Y-yes, please, general,” he sighed, lowering his head.

“Very well. Let me prepare some tea, then, we can play a round of Celestial Jade while you recover,” Jing Yuan muttered, noticing that Yanqing didn’t seem frustrated despite the tiredness. Well, maybe this recently-made-up method could, indeed, provide some growth to his apprentice, after all.

A/N: You guys may thank @otomiyaa for bringing this idea up to me, as this was her request while I was asking for suggestions among my friend, ehe

Still, writing anything for these two is always a joyride, specially after the lateest quests hahaha

#lovelytickletober #tickletober 2024 #tickletober #honkai star rail #honkai star rail tickling #yanqing #jing yuan #lee!yanqing #ticklish!yanqing #ler!jing yuan #tickle fic

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erinkeifer · 1 year ago

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ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖

[Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Fem Reader]

Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 Not My Code Masterlist

Summary: For several years, you've been Anakin Skywalker's Padawan. Even though you're afraid to admit it, you've burned out. You have no intention of adhering to the Jedi code any longer, and fighting for the Republic has ceased to be your sole purpose in life. However, your knighthood is approaching soon, but before that happens, you must undergo one final training session alongside your master. Why won't you complete it?

Author Note: I wouldn't technically call it pure 'smut' but due to nudity and sexual tension, I would classify my text as suitable for readers aged 18+. I apologize for any inconvenience!

Word Count: 4,2k

This isn't the first time something inside you has started to crack before entering the training room. The closer the knighting ceremony approached, the more your thoughts turned away from the Order. Obi-Wan's lectures no longer resonated with you – though you hold him in the highest regard, you no longer see value in the moralizing lessons about what Jedi can and cannot do.

For some time now, he no longer stops you in the corridor to share his guidance repeatedly, believing that since he handed you over to Anakin, you would become more disciplined and loyal to the Order.

Well... it's quite the opposite.

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

Today's training was a torment - not because Anakin demanded too much, and not because you were resistant to the activities. This time, Anakin's mind was completely elsewhere, and there were moments when he wasn't even paying attention to what you were doing. The lack of instructions left you unsure of what to do, and the minutes of exercises stretched out like hours.

At this time, the contours of the training room were illuminated only by the view of the nighttime Coruscant and the blue glow of your lightsaber. You practiced old, familiar combat forms while Anakin stood with his back turned to you, gazing pensively at the view beyond the mighty glass window.

For you, it was supposed to be training as usual, and you stuck to that. You wanted to impress your Master as much as possible, and despite the lack of guidance, you operated at full throttle. However, even increasing your performance didn't allow you to focus when your thoughts drifted to Anakin.

There was a cloud of tension over him, so thick that you could hardly recognize him. And even though you knew that he had experienced some rough days since his divorce from Padme, today you sensed something entirely different.

"Focus," Anakin mumbled, standing with his arms crossed behind his back, his gaze fixed on the cityscape.

In moments like these, you always cursed your ability to read each other's emotions. You chose to remain silent in response to his words and continued your improvised training as if nothing had happened. At least for a while.

"Master?" You paused, trying to get his attention.

"Master, do you even know what I'm doing right now?" You added, deactivating your lightsaber.

Anakin didn't react to your words, which filled you with even greater concern. Was it your fault? Did you mess something up? Did you disappoint him? Negative thoughts swirled in your head so intensely that you didn't even notice when you first addressed him by his name.

"Anakin? What's going on?"

Hearing his name, he almost immediately turned towards you, remaining silent for the first few moments.

"Please, go back to your training," he uttered after a brief silence, causing even more doubts within you.

"No..." You replied after a while, gathering your thoughts to justify your actions.

"So we have nothing to talk about." Anakin interrupted, turning back towards the window.

"I can't even remember the last time we had a normal conversation... Master, I'm just worried," you said, gently grabbing Anakin's arm.

"Worried? About what?" he muttered, not even looking at your anxious face.

"About you. You're... different. Lately, we can't even work together... communicate..." you replied in an emotional tone, receiving only silence in return.

"I know the past few months haven't been kind to you... the divorce from Padme was tr..."

"Don't say that name," Anakin impulsively interrupted, turning towards you and removing your hand from his arm.

His tone abruptly turned rough and commanding, and the gesture he made instinctively made you take a step back.

"I'm sorry, Master, I didn't mean to..."

"So, tell me what you meant," Anakin cut you off once again, and you felt the boundary you were trying to establish in your communication with your Master shatter.

"Whatever is happening, good or not, I want to know... I want to know if I might be the problem here by any chance. Am I making a mistake? Am I getting on your nerves?" The longer you spoke, the more anxious your tone became.

"You shouldn't care about that. Our path is coming to an end soon, and ahead of you lies a new one that you'll traverse on your own... unless your conflict dictates otherwise," Anakin replied with a serious tone, this time not averting his gaze from you.

Hearing about the conflict sent shivers down your spine. Did Obi-Wan tell him about your doubts? Or, worse, does he know about your stance towards the Order?

"Conflict? W-what do you mean?" you stammered, feeling the stress engulfing you more and more.

"Let's be serious. I didn't need anyone to convey your doubts to me... I know that this training means little to you," Anakin explained in a calmer tone.

"It's not like that... I've always been committed..."

"Believe me, you have no reason to give up. Leaving the Order at this stage is not a good choice, especially for..."

"Master, please stop," you interrupted Anakin, feeling like you had nothing left to lose. He had seen through you completely. You no longer cared whether he found out on his own or through someone else.

"I have a reason for it," you replied with a trembling voice, trying to gradually focus all of Anakin's attention on yourself.

"What reason?" he asked with a voice full of doubt.

"It's about you, Master," you continued, not believing you had spoken those words.

"I'm sorry, but..." You felt yourself slowly falling apart. Anakin stood before you in complete confusion, and you seized the moment. You stood on tiptoe to reach his face, and your lips collided. The kiss you gave him was so intense that it would have sufficed if it were never to happen again. At least that was the intention, because the reality was entirely different - no longer, deeper, more intense kiss would satisfy you enough to leave this room fulfilled.

Anakin broke the kiss, not believing what had just happened. As soon as your gazes returned to each other – his, full of confusion, and yours, filled with guilt and shame – Anakin distanced himself and had no idea what to do with himself. He nervously glanced around the room.

"Go back to your quarters. Training is over," he replied in a cold, trembling tone, and you did as he commanded.

Tears welled up in your eyes even before leaving the training room. It felt like your end – the official end with the Jedi and the end of a certain chapter in your life, which, despite everything, had seemed to be the most beautiful.

The doors slammed shut behind you with a bang, and as soon as you found yourself in the corridor, you began to run. You sobbed, knowing that at this time, no one should be wandering down this path, even though you knew it was not a place where you could afford to release your emotions.

Without the strength to use the Force, you opened the door to your room with a code and impulsively slammed it shut behind you. As soon as you removed the belt with your lightsaber and tossed it aside, you threw yourself onto your bed, burying your head in the pillow, trying to scream and cry out all your emotions and the indescribable pain inside you.

It was a moment when you felt as if you were awaiting execution rather than preparing for sleep. The pain consumed you from within to the point that you might have understood for the first time why Jedi couldn't have attachments.

A dead silence filled the room, against which your sobbing became even more piercing. You wished you could escape from the temple – you just wanted to run away and leave Coruscant without a trace, but you knew it was impossible.

At that moment, you felt someone's presence. The door to your room slowly opened, even though you had made sure to lock it.

Anakin.

You felt as if your heart had stopped, and only the darkest thoughts filled your mind. You were certain he had come to reprimand you, perhaps take away your lightsaber, or even expel you from the temple. Drenched in tears, turned away from your master, you waited as if for a judgment.

"Master, I... I'm so sorry... I swear, I..." you stammered with a trembling voice, feeling Anakin's gaze on your back as he stood in the doorway.

"Never do this again," Anakin interrupted in a stern voice. As he spoke those words, you sat on the bed motionless, lacking the courage to turn and look at him.

Soon, you shuddered at the sound of the door closing. Although at first, you were certain your master had left the room, you realized that what you had heard was the sound of the lock being turned from the inside.

"Not where the surveillance can see us," he added after a moment, slowly making his way toward you.

It was a moment when you froze. Not knowing what to do, you nervously got off the bed, still avoiding eye contact with Anakin.

"Don't," Anakin said, noticing that you were about to turn toward him.

You stood there, trembling, your back still turned to your master, not knowing what he meant. You felt vulnerable, and though the fear still lingered within you, this time you sensed that the kind of tension that had built up around Anakin was entirely different from what you had experienced before.

He sensed you better than you sensed him. He felt every flicker of your fear, felt your sadness, and the tension you had laid out before him like a platter. His steps sent shivers down your spine, but you no longer heard them. He stood right behind you, mere millimeters from your back.

His right mechanical hand, clad in a black leather glove, landed on your waist. Your cutout white jumpsuit exposed your bare skin there, so you instantly felt the chill of his touch.

"Don't be afraid of me," he whispered into your ear after a moment, causing you to feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

Your body was completely paralyzed under his touch – you stood still, nervously swallowing saliva as you looked at your reflections in the glass tiles on the wall in front of where you both stood.

"I- I'm not." you whispered so softly that as soon as Anakin realized you were trying to speak, he leaned down lower to understand what you meant.

"I feel something else." Anakin replied, bringing his face close to yours to the point where you could feel the touch of his heated cheek. You had never been this close to him, and his scent, which reminded you of a combination of leather and saffron, was intoxicating.

You closed your eyes, and soon you felt his lips on your neck – it was a moment when you felt as if an electric current had passed through you, so intense that you didn't even notice when his left, uncovered hand landed on the other side of your waist.

This time, the touch of his hand felt much more passionate to you – and it was hardly surprising because at this moment, he felt your body with his own skin, not touch sensors.

You shivered slightly when you suddenly felt him bite the soft skin on your neck, and you instinctively entwined your fingers in his messy, wavy hair, gently massaging it at the roots. As he felt the touch of your hand, he sucked on your skin even harder than before, leaving purple bruises one after another.

You had the feeling that it was a dream. You couldn't believe what was happening, but second by second, it was sinking in that every movement was happening here and now. It wasn't a dream, and everything you felt was real and intense – you also knew that you wanted to give the same to Anakin.

You wanted to give him pleasure, and in some way... you had known it for a long time.

Gently, you raised his left hand to your face, which had been attached to your body until now, and started kissing it – the longer you did it, the more passion you put into it. Anakin lifted his lips from your neck to watch your movements through your arm.

You tried to satisfy his gaze to the point that you didn't even notice when his fingers traveled to your mouth. At this moment, the tension that buzzed within him was gradually approaching a very dangerous limit - you felt it as intensely as never before.

You finally wanted to look into his eyes and see something more than just the corner of his face, so you gently lowered his hand, moist from your kisses, to turn around and face your Master. Anakin realized your intention faster than you expected - without saying anything, he grabbed you by your waist with such force that you instinctively clenched your teeth - he didn't allow you to change your position.

"Master, I just..." you began nervously, but quickly stopped when you felt Anakin's hand on your face.

"Shhh... I know." he whispered, his face very close to yours, and expecting your obedience, he removed his hand from your face.

You stood still for a moment, only to suddenly feel Anakin tearing apart the upper part of your jumpsuit with both of his hands. The material was elastic and snug against your body, but thin enough that he ripped it into pieces with surprising ease.

At that moment, Anakin spun you around to have you face him. You felt like your legs were giving way beneath you at the sight of his heated expression. You could swear there was something wild in his demeanor—his eyes seemed darker than usual, and his pupils pulsed, scanning every detail of your face.

"Now, say what you wanted to say," Anakin whispered, gazing into your eyes, which were still swollen from your earlier tears.

You didn't intend to cry anymore, at least not out of despair... Only out of pleasure.

"Nothing. Just... continue," you murmured timidly, glancing with flushed cheeks at the torn neckline of your outfit as it hung down.

"Good girl," he whispered under his breath, slowly bringing his face closer to yours.

You closed your eyes as Anakin began to kiss the spots on your cheeks where the traces of your earlier tears had run. Although you could feel the tension simmering within him, he did it incredibly gently, tracing sweet kisses along a smooth path until he reached your lips.

You expected this to be the point where the gentleness would end – and you were absolutely right. You let him take the lead in this situation – your lips were practically motionless, and your mouth slightly parted as he passionately and slowly sucked on them. After a moment, you took action yourself, exploring his firm lips enough to taste them and never forget their flavor.

Your kisses became messy and aggressive, and through half-closed eyelids, you watched as his lips and cheeks reddened. Soon, you felt him grab your torn jumpsuit's jagged collar with his hands, and with a determined motion, he slid it down. You sensed his deep breath on your breasts when he realized you weren't wearing any underwear, and his pupils dilated, exploring your bare chest amidst the shreds of white fabric.

After a moment of scanning your body with his gaze, his exposed hand found its way to your chest. Immersing yourself in his passionate touch, you intertwined your fingers with his hand anchored to your body, feeling the smooth skin beneath your fingertips and your own exposed form.

"What do you feel?" Anakin whispered, but you didn't hear his words when he kept his lips at your collarbone.

"Hm?" you murmured, inquiringly, making eye contact with him.

"Tell me. What do you feel?" You had always loved his voice, but hearing it in this situation, when his tone was strong and hungry, made your heart race steadily.

"I don't know how to... Uh... It's just..." you mumbled, hesitating to confess how strong the desire you were feeling was. Instead, you pressed his hands against your bare chest and closed your eyes, allowing him to sense your emotions through the Force.

"No," Anakin said firmly, sliding his hands down to your waist.

"I can feel you perfectly. I feel everything, but I want to hear it," he added, gazing deeply into your eyes.

You were a transparent mirror of your emotions for him, and nothing could hide from him. He knew it, and you knew it, and you had never felt more exposed to anyone.

"I... I feel... Anakin... I want you," you forced out, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

After your words, the tension in him increased, and his hands tightened on your skin.

"Prove it," he whispered after a moment, releasing his hands from your body, as if giving you free rein.

Even though you were determined to prove it to him at all costs, you didn't know where to start.

Anakin stood before you in his black robes, which you were eager to start removing, but you had no idea how to proceed. Without further calculation, you entwined your hands in his hair and began kissing his neck – initially gently and sensually, but soon you did it greedily, in sync with his accelerating heartbeat.

You nibbled and sucked on his skin, and his accelerated breaths urged you to continue. Your tongue traced along the line of his jaw, and one of your hands clenched on his robed chest.

You felt shivers hearing the soft, intermittent moans he emitted as you caressed his skin, and your inhibition gradually faded, so you wondered what your next move would be.

"Enough," he uttered in a stern and gruff tone.

You were shocked by what he said, but he didn't allow you to dwell on it any longer. He grabbed you with both strong hands and pushed you back, causing you to land on your bed. You lay on your back and observed his movements as he took a few steps to stand over you, wearing the most arrogant of smirks.

You froze as you noticed Anakin beginning to unbuckle his belt, all the while not breaking eye contact with you. Biting your lip, you observed his every move, and as he discarded the first layer of his robes, you began to slide down the lower part of your jumpsuit.

"Let me..." Anakin interrupted your actions as he saw what you were getting at and raised his mechanical hand towards your waist.

With a single, confident motion, Anakin slid the lower part of your jumpsuit down and removed the tall boots fastened to them, leaving you in just your panties. You felt excitement coursing through him as he watched you in such a state, and as you suspected, he couldn't wait any longer.

He lunged towards you, eager to be on top, and you both immediately engaged in a fervent kiss, touching each other's bodies as if time were running out.

In the midst of your passionate touches, you felt your hips collide, and instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind raced as you felt Anakin's pulsating rhythm as he rubbed his hips against the most sensitive parts of your body, gradually picking up the pace, knowing he was pushing you to the edge of endurance.

"Anakin... Please." you whispered straight into his moist lips, after which his face lifted to look you directly in the eyes.

"Please what?" he replied with a hungry tone, expecting you to elaborate.

"I... I want..." you began to mumble.

"Words. I need your words." he whispered, maneuvering his hand around your lower abdomen.

"Fuck." you muttered under your breath, feeling how his touch electrified your entire body.

"Do you want this? Do you want me to fuck you?" he continued in a hoarse, desire-filled voice.

"Yes... Yes, please," you squeezed out, impulsively reaching for his belt, which, though unfastened, was still in place.

"Say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you." he commanded, holding your hand against his belt.

"I want you to fuck me," you responded with a breathless voice and, finally, a hint of self-assurance.

"That's what I meant," he whispered with a slight, teasing smirk, then quickly pushed the belt aside to pull his clothes down from the waist up.

With butterflies in your stomach, you admired his impressive, naturally sculpted chest as he knelt on the bed between your legs, which you soon spread a bit wider to make more room for him. Anakin knelt, scanning every inch of your body with his eyes, but he knew that one more element was missing to complete the picture.

His hand smoothly moved up your thigh and landed on your panties, where it lingered for a while. You moaned when his fingers began to massage you through the thin fabric, but for some reason, you held back from making louder sounds, which Anakin noticed.

"The walls are soundproofed. You can scream as loud as you need to... The louder, the better," he reassured you, seeing how nervously you glanced around the room, and you nodded.

After a moment of teasing you through your clothes, Anakin reached for his pants, but after some consideration, he postponed that task and took hold of your hands.

"Do it," he said, and you pulled yourself into a half-sitting position, allowing yourself to be carried away by your intrusive thoughts.

You started by kissing his chest, gradually moving down from his collarbones. Repaying him for the purple bruises on your neck, you left a few of your own on his body as you sucked on his skin, making your way down to his abdomen.

You paused when your hands began to unbutton his pants, during which Anakin helped you by pushing his pants down the sides.

Without waiting any longer, you slipped your hand beneath his underwear, and upon feeling him, you had to admit that you were a bit concerned about whether you could handle it. Well... It's more than impressive.

With your free hand, you pushed his clothing down a bit further and began to massage him with considerable force, so much so that Anakin immediately groaned and, overwhelmed by the feeling, tilted his head backward.

"Keep.... Uh... Keep it this way." Anakin murmured, propping himself up on his arms on the bed.

You nodded, biting your lip, and continued, carefully observing the pleasure on his face. Both of you knew, however, that you wouldn't finish this way, so you began to slide off the last piece of your clothing with your free hand. But you flinched when you heard an unfamiliar sound.

"What's that? Did you hear that?" Anakin immediately turned his face toward you when he heard your words and waited for a moment to catch the presumed sound.

"General Skywalker, can you hear us?"

"Fuck," Anakin cursed, completely shocked, as he realized someone was trying to contact him through the communicator embedded in his belt.

Your disappointment was equally profound. The only thing you could do at this point was to grab your head and collapse on the bed right next to him.

"Will you answer?" you whispered, feeling Anakin's growing anger.

"I'm afraid I have no choice." he replied through gritted teeth, then rolled onto the bed enough to reach for the communicator.

"I hear you. What's the problem?" he relayed, masking his frustration as best as he could.

"General, it's better if you get here as soon as possible. We had an explosion near the temple, and there are injuries among our people. I'm sending the coordinates."

Anakin clenched his hand on the communicator and nervously swallowed, realizing that his plans for the night had just taken a 180-degree turn.

"You'd better check what's going on there," you whispered, gently stroking his shoulder.

Both of you knew it was inevitable. So, without saying anything more, Anakin left one last passionate kiss on your lips and began to put his clothes back on. Meanwhile, you pulled out some lighter nightwear from one of the drawers and threw it on temporarily, knowing that you would need to shower and change properly in the bathroom once Anakin left.

"I'm sorry about this," he said to you with a disappointed tone.

"No... You shouldn't be. I understand... Go and make sure everyone is safe."

Anakin just nodded and grabbed the doorknob, but he stopped for a moment as he was about to leave.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked again, making eye contact with you.

"Tomorrow. Same time, Master." you replied, running your fingers through your hair. This time, both of you exchanged a mischievous smirk, but Anakin's gaze on you was like never before. He looked at you as if he had just discovered something, as if he had unearthed a treasure he desired and wanted to dig up even more.

"Get some rest." he managed to say before finally closing the door to your room.

That was the moment when you felt drained. You felt disappointment, but also an incredible, surreal ecstasy. You fell onto the bed and didn't know what to do next, other than to gaze up at the ceiling.

Well... whatever you do, one thing is for sure—you won't be sleeping tonight.

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sarahisslytherin · 3 months ago

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lovely.

harwin strong x reader

summary: after your life is threatened, you convince ser harwin to train you in combat.

contains: swordplay, flirty banter.

a/n: ik they should be using wooden swords but valyrian steel is so much cooler and i don't care. also this one's short n' sweet!

word count: 0.6k

Harwin dodged your blow as you sent the weight of your body lunging towards him. Steel met steel and sang through the otherwise vacant courtyard. There had been an attempt upon your life at the last royal ball, and though Harwin had indeed been quick to scoop you up and escort you to safety, you did not wish to rely entirely on him should such an encounter repeat itself. So you asked him in the most charming tone you could muster if he would be willing to train you. His initial response was no, as was to be expected. It would hardly be very becoming of a princess to handle weaponry such as the Valyrian steel sword you now wielded. He had started you off with wooden swords, but you soon surprised him and yourself with your natural skill for swordplay. Now you stalked towards him as if he were your prey, your hands growing more and more accustomed to the weight of the steel.

“If I didn’t know any better, Ser Harwin,” you taunted playfully, “I would take that look in your eye to be something akin to fear.”

The knight barked a laugh at that. “One must admire your — arrogance?” He lunged, the steel clanging once again as you found your footing.

“You dare speak this way to your Princess?” you teased, reveling in the pink hue that blossomed on his cheeks. “You surely have a lot of faith in me and my gift for forgiveness.”

You moved in tandem, swords swinging here and there. It looked like a dance more than anything as you fell into step with each other, gazing at each other with such intensity a third party might’ve felt the need to look away. A particular maneuver led you to stop mere inches away from Harwin’s face. His hazel eyes did not leave yours as you breathed heavily.

“I do have faith in you, my Princess.” he heaved. “Though I must admit it saddens me that I will no longer be needed to protect you.” You stepped back, angling your sword once again as you resumed your lesson.

“What makes you say that, Ser?” you asked before trailing off into a grunt as Harwin lunged for you once again.

“At this rate,” he paused to maneuver himself out of a compromising position “you’ll be taking my spot as captain of the City Watch out from under me.”

You laughed as you swerved away from his blade. “I’d gladly trade places with you.”

“I doubt I’d have what it takes to be Princess.” he smirked in return. “Don’t think I would look as lovely as you, Your Highness.”

It was in that moment that your stomach flipped and you lost your concentration long enough for Harwin to sweep your feet, your limbs thudding as you hit the ground. You heard his laughter fill the air as your cheeks became flushed. He knelt down beside you, his russet curls falling perfectly onto his equally perfect face. At times you couldn’t stand him, his unrelenting boyishness.

“What ever is the matter, my Princess?” he jested beside you. If your scowl was any indication, you were not pleased with this brand of trickery.

“Nothing is the matter.” you huffed somewhat childishly. “It is not very becoming of a knight to mock his Princess, Ser.”

“Oh, I see.” he did his best to stifle his grin. “I did not mean to offend, Your Highness. I meant every word.”

You shot him an incredulous look.

“Now, don’t be looking at me like that.” he clicked his tongue as he extended a hand to you. You couldn’t fight back your smile as you took it and rose to your feet. He towered over you, forever shielding you from harm’s way.

“Am I?” you asked, and clarified after seeing his brows furrow. “Lovely.”

He beamed down at you, gently clasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Loveliest lady in the Seven Kingdoms.” He took a step back, unsheathing his sword once again as he smirked. “Let’s make you the deadliest as well.”

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @spxllcxstxr @auroravelaryon @locinne @solangeminou @nikipuppeteer

#harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong x you #harwin strong x y/n #house of the dragon #hotd

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 3 months ago

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The Silver Dragon (14)

The Sapphire

Aemond struggles to adjust to Arianwyn’s absence. But on his nameday, Ser Gerold Royce arrives with a bronze-wrapped present.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: Masturbation (M)

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Aemond woke at dawn each morning consumed by the knowledge that he would not see Aria that day.

It had been more than half a year since he saw her, and yet the pain was still as fresh as the day he had flown away from her.

At least he had her letters.

And at least he was finally able to read them himself and in his own room. Orwyle had only released him from the Maester’s Tower a few weeks ago. No more fevers that rattled his mind with hallucinations, no more additional procedures that whittled away at his flesh, and no more pain so intense it chained him to his bed.

There was still pain. Orwyle told him he would likely always have pain. But it was bearable now – mostly. Bearable enough that he could convince both the Maester and his mother that he no longer needed daily doses of milk of the poppy. He hated it nearly as much as he hated Daemon. The loss of his senses was something he could not accept.

On Driftmark, his fear and anger had overridden his senses, and because of it, he lost Aria. He would not allow such a thing to happen again. To himself or to her.

Aria thought he had healed long ago. She thought he had been well enough to ride Vhagar for months. She thought he was happy and well.

Aemond was anything but.

He missed her so much it ached; the pain sharpened by the fact that he knew it would be years before they saw each other again. It took all his strength to pull himself from his bed rather than sleep until she was at last free of her father. For in his dreams, they were still together.

But Aemond had made her a promise. The next time she saw him, he would be the fiercest of their line since Aegon the Conqueror. He could not accomplish that by lying despondently in bed.

So, he stood and faced the sunlight streaming in through an eastward-facing window, stretching his sore muscles. Each morning, he tried to gaze far enough into the sea to see Dragonstone and the castle and Aria’s tower. But all he ever saw was the distant horizon.

He dressed in the leathers he had ordered specially made to be suited for both fighting and flying. To be as fierce as the Conqueror, his skill on dragonback must be matched by an equal proficiency with the sword.

Cole had been so impressed by Aemond’s defense of Aria and his determination to adapt to the loss of his eye that the Kingsguard had gifted him with a real blade to replace the flimsy wood of his practice sword. It was simple and wrought of ordinary steel – the ancestral Valyrian Steel of House Targaryen was still wielded by the king and Daemon – but it was still a fine sword.

And Aemond was growing into a fine warrior. Every morning, without fail, he went directly to the training yard after a meager breakfast in his rooms. He usually had the yard to himself for at least an hour before the other guards and knights began to arrive.

Aemond cherished that time he spent alone. It allowed him privacy as he brutally attacked the practice dummy, imagining it was Daemon. If any others saw how he attacked then, viciously and mercilessly, they would no doubt ask questions. But this was one fight he had to wage alone, at least for the time being.

Perhaps one day, after the King was gone, he would have the chance to wield his blade against the real Daemon. He would make him suffer for all he had done to Aria.

For now, all he could do was imagine. As he did so often these days.

He imagined Aria standing on the ramparts, watching him with a proud smile.

He imagined her across the table from him in the library, reading to him with her sweet voice until he fell asleep.

He imagined her astride Emrys, flying beside him through the skies and laughing as the wind whipped through their hair.

He imagined her everywhere.

But she was never really there.

For the first time in his life, Aemond dreaded his nameday. It had never been in his nature to enjoy the interminable celebrations and massive crowds, but the festivities meant he could spend several days with Aria by his side from dawn to dusk.

She would talk for him when he was too shy, encourage him to try the strange new creations from visiting foreign chefs, and squeal with delight at every present he received. Her presence was always his most favorite gift.

Now, he would have to endure it without her.

Getting through the tourney was relatively easy. He simply refused to leave the royal box, and he didn’t have to engage with anyone he didn’t already know. When he tired of talking with even them, most of the jousts and duels were impressive enough to hold his attention. Still, he would rather be riding Vhagar. But he had sent her to the Kingswood to roam and hunt while the tourney took place.

The feast was far more difficult. He was forced to endure hours of constant interruptions to his meal, only able to take four bites of his food before the whole plate went cold.

Lowborn knights aiming to elevate their status boasted to him, hoping to tempt him into accompanying them on their travels. Second sons from every house in Westeros tried to strike up a conversation, hoping to secure their place at court through him. And shy young ladies, both noble and wealthy, were paraded before him by their social climbing fathers.

Aemond was sure his brain would rot from the monotony of it all.

He had hoped the angry red scar still covering half his face would have scared at least some of them off, but he had no such luck. By the time he lost count of how many people had spoken to him, he was tempted to rip his eyepatch off and expose the gaping, gruesome hole where his eye had once been, just to try and get rid of them.

But that would only fuel the whispers.

Since the first day he emerged from Orwyle’s tower, he’d heard people whispering about him – about his wound and what happened on Driftmark. According to his mother, the king had forbidden all talk of the ‘incident’ in the court, but even the king could not suppress rumors and gossip. No matter how many tongues he cuts out or how many men he sends to the Wall.

Though the king had not made such threats on his son’s behalf – had not made any threats. It was a toothless order. He only made threats to protect Rhaenyra and her bastards.

Few of the whispers surrounding Aemond even mentioned that it was one of those bastards that took his eye. Fewer still acknowledged that he had been the one attacked. No, most cast him as the villain in that narrative, a devious thief who could only claim a dragon by stealing it in the night.

He wanted to scream at them. To tell them how foolish and stupid they were, all of them. He even wanted to him some of them – those that had spread the worst of the lies.

Before he could act on the impulse, a friendly face finally appeared before him.

“Prince Aemond, the people of Runestone wish you all the happiness of the world on your fifteenth nameday,” said Ser Gerold Royce. He held out a small wooden box wrapped with gleaming bronze ribbon and smiled at the Prince. “As does their lady.”

For the first time that night, Aemond found himself smiling as well. He took the box from Ser Gerold and began to carefully unwrap the ribbon.

“Aria deeply regrets that she could not be here to give this to you herself,” the knight explained. “But rest assured, she sends this gift with all her love.”

Aemond’s hands froze over the lid of the box. He knew Ser Gerold was expecting a response but did not know what to say. There was too much he wanted to say. But those words were only for Aria.

His mother saved him from having to say anything. “It is very kind of you to bring this yourself, Ser Gerold,” the Queen said with a sad smile. “We all miss Aria very much and pray that we will be able to see her again soon.”

Indeed, Aemond prayed for it every night. But that prayer had yet to be answered.

Alicent placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, sensing the cloud of gloom coming over him. “Go on, Aemond,” she said, “Open it.”

Taking a deep breath, Aemond lifted the lid from the box. His heart immediately lightened when he saw a folded note written in a familiar, messy hand.

Aemond, Happy nameday! I’m so sorry I can’t be there. Is the party miserable without me? You will just have to imagine all the brilliantly witty remarks I would have made if I were with you. And be sure to tell me everything that happened in your next letter—I want to feel as if I were really there! Oh, how I wish I could see your face when you open this gift. It took me a long time to figure out how I could possibly match the book you sent me months ago, but I think I’ve done it with this. I hope it works, and that you think of me every time you look in the mirror. I miss you beyond words. Your dearest friend, Arianwyn

If she only knew how often he imagined her by his side.

Her words intrigued him. Why would he see the gift in the mirror? The box was far too small to be any kind of clothing, armor, or anything else he could imagine wearing. Desperate to sate his curiosity, he hastily refolded the note, turned back to the box, and withdrew the contents.

The gift was wrapped in a small silk cloth, the color somewhere between a bright violet and the gentle blue of a winter sky. Aemond’s eagerness to see what was held within nearly vanished when he beheld the embroidery on the cloth.

Runes. Tiny, delicate runic incantations in bronze, silver, and black thread.

As Aemond tugged on it to better see one of the smaller symbols, the whole cloth came loose, and something small and round fell into his hand.

A sapphire.

With the cloth still held in one hand, Aemond lifted the gemstone with the other, holding it to the candlelight to examine it. It was not round – it had dozens of small facets on the surface. And engraved on each facet were the same runes embroidered in the cloth.

It was perhaps the most beautiful thing Aemond had ever seen.

“Aria wanted the stone to match,” Ser Gerold said, gesturing to the cloth, “but this was the closest we could find with such limited time.”

The prince lifted the cloth back to the gem. Indeed, the colors were quite different, though he could find a tinge of purple within the blue stone. But why was the color of the silk significant?

Oh.

When he truly looked at the color of the silk, he found it familiar. It was the same shade as his eyes – his eye.

He knew what the gift was. It had been over a month since he wrote to Aria about Orwyle’s plan to replace his eye. He had nearly forgotten. But she had not.

She had made something beautiful for him. Something that, if he were reading the runes correctly, would grant him strength, bravery, wisdom, and protection. Things he felt he was missing since she had been taken from him. She was giving them back to him in the only way she knew how – through the ancient magic of her ancestors.

Suddenly, Aemond was all too aware of Ser Gerold and his mother’s presence. They were waiting for him to say something. But there were no words, in any language that he knew, that could express what he was feeling in that moment.

“I…” he stammered, eyes darting between the stone and the cloth. “I miss her so much.”

Alicent wrapped a protective arm around her son, pulling him into her chest. “I know, my darling. I miss her as well.” As she spoke, Ser Gerold bowed and retreated back into the party, sensing his continued presence was unnecessary.

Aemond’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “There has to be something we can do to bring her home!”

“Believe me,” Alicent said, rubbing her hand across his back, “I wish there were. But, according to your father, until she is of age or married, Daemon has every right to keep her on Dragonstone.”

The sapphire flashed in the candlelight as Aemond turned it in his hand. “Then I will marry her,” he declared. “I am a man grown. I will marry her and rescue her from Daemon.” He felt something blossom in his chest as he said the words, a warmth that quickly spread throughout his body.

Yes, he wanted to save Aria. To get her away from her horrid father. But as he let his imagination take flight, picturing Aria in a white gown, smiling sweetly as she placed her hand on his, he realized that was not all he wanted.

He wanted her.

He loved her.

He had once read that love was pain. An unbearable, agonizing pain that could only be soothed when the object of your affection loved you back.

That was why his very soul ached every day, every hour, every minute she was gone – he loved her, and she was not here to love him back. If she ever did.

The startling realization faded when he felt his mother cupping his cheek. She turned him away from the presents in his hands and toward her. “Aemond,” she said, “nothing would make me happier than to see you and Aria wed.”

But her dark eyes did not look happy. No, they held an overwhelming sadness. “That night on Driftmark,” she continued, “I offered to betroth you to her. To prevent Daemon from taking her away. And while your father thought it a wonderful solution to mend the broken bonds within our family, Daemon refused.”

“Then he will wed her to someone else, and she will be taken far from me,” Aemond whispered, giving voice to his newest and greatest fear.

“No!” the queen assured, “I do not believe he will. If that were his plan, he would have done it by now, or at least made a betrothal. No, he wants to keep her on Dragonstone, where he has full control of her, for as long as he can.”

Aemond laughed sadly, his lip shaking as he spoke, “So we just leave her there, not knowing what he may one day do?”

“That is all we can do, my love.” Alicent dropped her hand to the table, where she grabbed the note Aria had sent with her wonderful gifts. “We wait, we pray, and we offer her as much comfort as we can from afar.”

With a sigh, Aemond looked down at the sapphire and the silk. He would not stop praying, would not stop writing to her every day. He would not give up hope that he would see her one day. And when he did, he would never allow himself to be parted from her again.

Whispers followed him everywhere he went.

They spoke of him like he was something dangerous to be avoided.

They said that a hateful god of Old Valyria had granted him dark powers at the cost of his eye and heart.

They called him a villain.

His father did nothing.

The whispers continued. They would not stop.

To the world, save his dear Aria, he was the fearsome, loathsome Prince Aemond “One-Eye.”

When nearly all believed it, what good would it do to fight against it?

What did he care what those beneath him thought, so long as Aria still cared for him?

He didn’t.

But Aria was gone. Unreachable. He was no longer sure he would ever see her again.

So, if the world believed him to be Aemond One-Eye, that is what he would be.

Only with Aria would he ever again be just Aemond.

Years later, Aemond once more pulled himself from bed to face the morning sun in the window, relishing the warmth on his face before looking down at the mirror he had placed on the windowsill so that his sapphire would be the first thing he saw each morning. Aria was right. Every time he glimpsed his reflection, he thought of her.

But he could not spend all day gazing into a mirror.

He sat back down at the edge of the bed, slipping his hand beneath his pillow. He smiled when he found what he sought and brought the small silk cloth to his face.

Though it had been years since she held it, Aemond could still find her scent in the fabric. Smoke and cold air filled his mind as he breathed in deeply.

He pictured her, not as the girl she had been when he last saw her, but how he imagined her now, as a beautiful young woman. Whenever a nobleman returned from a visit to Dragonstone, he pressed them for a description of her.

The image was so clear in his mind. Her long white hair that curled down to her waist, and those silver eyes that still held her characteristic sparkle. He imagined the slight upturn of her button nose and the deep lines in her cheeks when she smiled.

Oh, that smile. It could brighten the darkest night and warm the coldest winter.

He needed that smile once more. He needed Aria.

Aemond closed his eyes, keeping the soft silk pressed to his lips with one hand as he sank into the bed and his already hardened length in the other. He inhaled Aria’s delicious scent again and began to pump slowly, wanting to savor this ritual – one of the few sources of pleasure he still had.

He returned to his imagination, to Aria. He imagined running his fingers through her hair, tangling those perfect curls. He imagined wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her flush against him. He imagined dragging his fingers down the soft skin of her cheeks to her full, pink lips, lingering there before he pounced.

How would it feel to kiss her? Would she lean back into him or let him take control? Would she wrap her arms around his neck? His waist? Or would she gently caress the sides of his face? Aemond’s breath hiked as he imagined the feel of her soft fingers on his skin.

He stroked himself harder and faster, practically hearing the way she would sigh and moan when he pulled himself away from her and moved to her neck. He would brush aside her hair and kiss her gently, playfully, hoping to draw more of those delectable noises from her. She would arch into him, as desperate for her touch as he was for hers. Then, when she could take no more of his teasing, she would seize his collar and bring him back to her lips. He would devour her then, showing her exactly how much he craved her.

Release came when he imagined her pressing her forehead to his, at last ending their kiss as she whispered against his lips, “I love you.”

Laying back on the bed, Aemond’s breath came heavy as he finally lowered the silk from his face. The relief from his release was short-lived, for he knew that this was all he had: his hand and his imagination.

With a great sigh, he raised himself again from the bed and began to dress for the day. As he left his bedchamber, he strapped his sword and dagger to his belt and tucked the purple silk into his breast pocket.

It had been more than eight years since Aria was taken from him, and still, he clung to every scrap of her that remained. And though the waiting was torture, he took comfort that it would soon end. Aria had celebrated her nineteenth nameday only weeks before. She would soon come of age and be free of her father.

If, on that day, Daemon did not release her, Aemond would take Vhagar to the Dragonstone and rescue her himself. Consequences be damned. He would be the noble prince to save the girl in the tower.

Then, they would have their happy ending.

#aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond imagine #prince aemond #aemond x oc #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond fic #hotd fanfic #aemond xf!oc #aemond x original female character #aemond x original character #the silver dragon

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romerona · 4 months ago

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Stellar Veil

In which a star falls in Westeros.

Cregan Stark x reader????

Words 1.7k

The night draped Westeros in its customary shroud, stars flickering like cold diamonds against the dark tapestry of the sky. And yet, amidst this celestial dance, a singular brilliance unfolded—a comet, resplendent in its fiery tail, streaked boldly across the heavens.

In King's Landing, where ambition and conspiracy brewed as thick as the city's smog, the Red Keep stood sentinel against the cosmic display. Nobles and commoners alike were drawn to its battlements and gardens, their faces upturned in wonder and trepidation. The comet's golden glow suffused the city, casting shadows that danced across cobblestones and whispered secrets into the night.

Far to the west, where the Iron Islands gripped the tempestuous seas, sailors paused in their dance with the waves. From the deck of every longship, weathered faces turned skyward, witnessing the comet's passage mirrored in the restless waters below. Above them, the ancient castle of Pyke seemed to hold its breath, its jagged silhouette outlined against the blaze.

Across the tumultuous waters of the Narrow Sea, the comet's brilliance reflected off the prow of Braavosi merchant ships and the galleys of the Free Cities. Sailors, traders and slaves hardened by salt and sea, paused in their endless voyages to witness this divine occurrence.

In the Reach, where the verdant fields of Highgarden stretched beneath a canopy of stars, peasants and nobles alike paused. They gazed heavenward, their hearts filled with awe and mistrust, as tales danced upon their lips.

And in the North, where the night was as black as obsidian and the stars burned with an icy intensity, the comet blazed its final path. Its light pierced the veil of mist hanging over the haunted forest and the desolate lands beyond. There, amidst the sentinel trees and the solemn silence of the far North, the comet's radiance flared brightly before vanishing beyond the horizon.

South of the Wall, in the desolate expanse known as the Gift, the comet's descent shattered the silence of the frozen wilderness with fierce force. A blinding flash of light, brighter than the pale moon above, rent the night asunder. The ground trembled violently beneath the celestial impact, sending shockwaves rippling through the thick crust of snow that covered the ancient land.

As the earth ceased its violent tremors, silence descended upon the northern wilderness like a heavy cloak. The Night's Watch, vigilant guardians of the Wall and the realms of men, stood amidst the aftermath of the comet's impact, their faces etched with awe and apprehension.

Commander Ulric Rivers, a grizzled veteran of many winters, surveyed the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His voice cut through the lingering echoes of the crash, commanding attention from the assembled rangers.

"Brothers," he intoned, his words carrying the weight of authority earned through years of service beyond the Wall. "Gather your gear. We must survey the impact site."

The rangers, seasoned men clad in black with weapons and fur-trimmed cloaks, exchanged glances of determination. Among them, Harald Snow, a knight of the Watch known for his keen eye and steady hand, stepped forward.

"Commander," Ser Harald spoke, his voice steady despite the tension that hung in the air, "We will go. We'll bring back word of what we find, true as steel."

Commander Ulric nodded in approval, his expression grim but resolute. "Go swiftly, and return with all haste. The hour is late."

With that, the rangers set forth, the horses steps crunch on the icy ground as they ventured towards the crater that marked the comet's violent descent. Behind them, the rest of the Night's Watch remained vigilant, their eyes trained upon the northern horizon where the comet's trail still lingered faintly in the night sky.

The rangers approached the crater cautiously, their breath visible in the frigid air as they navigated the transformed landscape. The snow around the impact site had melted into a steaming morass, revealing scorched earth and jagged fragments of rock still glowing faintly with residual heat. The air hummed with a strange, palpable energy, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene.

Ser Jaremy Woodbear, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, led the way with Harald Snow close behind. Their sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, taking in every detail with the precision of a seasoned watchman. Beside them, Alexio Stone, a stoic figure with weathered features and a keen intellect, knelt to examine a particularly large fragment of rock that jutted from the ground like a blackened tooth.

"Careful now," Harald Snow cautioned, his voice a low murmur that carried on the wind. "We don't know what this rock may hold. Keep your wits about you."

Ser Jaremy Woodbear, ever vigilant, was the first to notice the form inside the crater—a woman.

"Ser Harald, come, there's a woman..." Jaremy called out quietly, his voice carrying a note of awe and uncertainty.

Harald Snow hurried to his side, his eyes narrowing as he beheld the scene before him. Nestled amidst the charred remnants of the comet's impact lay a figure unlike any he had seen in his years ranging away from the Wall. A woman, an ethereal woman. Her skin seemed to shimmer with a faint glow, casting gentle reflections upon the jagged rocks that surrounded her.

"Gods be good," Harald muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "What in the name of the Seven Kingdoms...?"

Alexio Stone slowly made his way down and knelt beside the woman, his weathered hands hovering uncertainly above her prone form. "She... she's glowing,"

The woman lay still, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that seemed out of place amidst the chaos of the impact site. Her hair, a cascade that shimmered like moonlight, framed a face that could have graced the halls of the most illustrious castles in Westeros. Despite the harshness of her surroundings, an air of tranquility radiated from her presence, as if she were untouched by the violence that had torn through the night.

"She does not seem a threat. We'll take her back to Castle Black,” Harald decided finally, his gaze lingering upon the woman's enigmatic form. "Ser Jaremy, help me carry her."

With careful hands, the ranger lifted the unconscious woman from the heart of the crater, cradling her as gently as if she were made of glass. Her ethereal glow seemed to pulse faintly in response to the touch, but as they traveled, the ethereal glow that had surrounded her began to dim, fading like the dying embers of a once brilliant fire. Her radiant presence dwindled until she appeared as any ordinary woman, though her beauty still held a haunting quality that spoke of otherworldly origins.

Harald Snow glanced at her intermittently, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "Keep an eye on her," he instructed the rangers quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of uncertainty. "We know not what we carry."

The journey back to Castle Black was fraught with quiet tension, each step echoing with the weight of their extraordinary discovery. The woman remained unconscious, her features peaceful yet arcane as if she carried secrets woven into the very fabric of her being.

As the gates of Castle Black creaked open to admit the weary party, all eyes turned towards the mysterious woman cradled in the arms of Ser Jaremy Woodbear and his fellow rangers. The men of the Night's Watch gathered in hushed clusters, their faces etched with curiosity and apprehension as they beheld the ethereal beauty now brought within their walls. Commander Ulric Rivers stepped forward to greet them, his brow furrowed in stern inquiry. His gaze locked onto the woman.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ulric Rivers demanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the assembled ranks. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, though beneath the stern exterior, there flickered a hint of curiosity and perhaps even concern.

Harald Snow, unwavering in the face of his superior's scrutiny, stepped forward with measured resolve. "We found her at the site of the comet's impact," he explained evenly, his tone betraying none of the awe he felt at the mysterious woman's presence thought he hesitated to continue. "She… appeared to be glowing.”

The courtyard fell silent as the gravity of their discovery settled over the assembled brothers. Whispers filled the air, mingling with the chill wind that swept down from the Wall, most not believing, saying it was a wildling woman, others whispering about sorcery.

Ulric Rivers approached the woman with cautious steps, his gaze assessing her with a mixture of scepticism and a begrudging acknowledgement of the inexplicable. Her ethereal beauty was undeniable—a stark contrast to the rugged surroundings of the ancient stronghold. Her hair, a shade that shimmered iridescently in the torchlight, cascaded around her like a flowing waterfall of sapphire strands. It was a hue unlike any he had seen before.

Her attire was equally unusual—a gown of fine fabric that seemed to shift and shimmer with every movement, as if woven from threads spun by the stars themselves. Its design was intricate, with patterns that hinted at craftsmanship far beyond the skills known to the realms of Westeros.

Ulric Rivers frowned, his thoughts racing with speculation. "This is no wildling," he muttered under his breath, his voice a gruff murmur that carried a note of wonder. "Nor any woman of our lands."

Beside Ulric, Harald Snow exchanged a meaningful glance with Ser Jaremy Woodbear and Alexio Stone. They had seen many things in their years on the Wall, but none quite like this.

"Should we remove her gown?" Harald asked quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. That statement earn a hum of agreement from the men around them.

However, Ulric shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the woman. "No, leave her be for now, we'll keep her under watch until we have answers. Lord Stark will need to hear of this. Prepare quarters for her," he instructed, his tone firm despite the uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of his command. "And summon the Maester. We'll need his counsel."

With practiced efficiency, ser Jaremy Woodbear carried the woman to a chamber within Castle Black, where torchlight flickered against the ancient stone walls and cast long shadows across the floor. And above them, the stars continued their eternal dance, oblivious to the upheaval their celestial sibling had wrought upon the realm of men.

Part 2?????

A/N: The story is inspired by Stardust by Neil Gaiman.

I’m still unsure who is the main LI will be but Cregan is top 3.

And while it's an Xreader I will be describing the hair colour and eyes. But just that.

#the house of the dragon #the house of the dragon fanfic #winterfell #hotd imagines #Stardust #cregan x reader #house of the dragon x you #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #jace targaryen x reader #team black #westeros

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ollyissleppy · 5 days ago

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𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 | kaeya x reader

diluc's and venti's confession summary: Keaya confessing his lvoe to you while drunk tags: reader is a captain in the Knights of Favonious, Diluc for once does something for his brother, cw: drinking, mentions of killing someone

Knock on the door, woke you up. It was so late into the night that at first you weren't sure it wasn't just a part of your dream. As you were about to fall back asleep, you heard it again. This time you were sure it was really happening. In a slight panic, you rushed your way to your front door. You assumed it must have been an emergency due to your line of work. Surely that had to be the reason; why else would anyone wake you up so late at night? Before you made it to the door, you heard one more knock; this time it was much quieter, as if someone that was behind them was starting to change their mind.

"So sorry to disturb you" was the first thing you heard the moment you opened the door. Standing in front of you was clearly distressed, Diluc.

"Don't worry about it. Is everything alright, Master Diluc?" You rub your eyes to relieve your stubborn sleepiness. "You look stressed."

"He's stressing me out," Diluc says, moving out of the doorframe for you to check behind him to see who he is talking about.

"There you are, cutie!" Keaya's drunken expression brightens at the sight of you. He barely makes it to where you're standing, his legs failing to coodrinate just as he reaches you, before falling on top of you.

Lucky for everyone involved, the hard training you went through in order to become a captain paid off, and you managed to remain on your feet, only ever so slightly stumbling back due to being caught off guard. Diluc steps in, dragging away the drunk Cavalry Captain, which earned a whine from his brother. You move out of the way so Diluc can bring him into your home. The man follows you to our living room, with Keaya's drunken self being dragged along with him. You help Diluc lay Keaya down on your couch. While still remaining by Keaya's side, you watch Diluc leave after quietly apologising to Oyu once again. You look back at your coworker, unsure if he's still conscious at this point. You decide against leaving him without any cover; you don't want to be dealing with sick Keaya. As you start to move from your spot next to the couch, a hand catches your wrist.

"Don't leave; I'll die without you by my side," Keaya says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I just want to bring you some blankets so you won't get cold," you try your best to sound comforting, assuming his drunk mind is simply scared of staying in a place it doesn't recognise in the dark. You try to carefully remove Keaya's hand from your wrist, but with no success.

"I don't need blankets; I just need you," and with that, Keaya pulls you closer to him; in doing so, he makes you fall on top of him, your head edging up on Keaya's chest.

"Alright, I'm not leaving anywhere," you assure him, moving ever so slightly in order to make your current position any less inappropriate. You're surprised at how strong Keaya is; you despise his drunk state when the iron grip he has on you makes it impossible to adjust your position.

"Thank you"

Your living room falls into somewhat comfortable silence. If it weren't for the smell of alcohol that accompanied the both of you, it would've felt like all the times you imagined cuddling with Keaya felt like. You sigh, as your body was starting to get more comfortable in Keaya's presence. The atmosphere was so calming that staying awake seemed unachievable. You knew that falling asleep like that, knowing your companion is drunk and will likely not remember any of it, was highly inappropriate. With that in mind, you focused on the smell of alcohol, which was more intense with every breath that left Keaya's mouth.

"You make me feel like I truly belong here." Keaya spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of you. "I feel like I don't thank you enough for that, so thank you. You're always so kind to me."

"It's nothing really. Even when you annoy me a little bit at times, I simply can't find it in me to be mean to you." You say, feeling you beating so hard you're worried it'll break your ribs and run away.

"That's why I love you, you know? You have so much kindness in you. Makes me want to kill everyone that even looks at you wrong."

#kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya fanfic #genshin kaeya #kaeya fluff #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya x you

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hahawallysimp · 1 year ago

Text

Royalty Wally x GN!Reader

(Art and au by @neonross + This fic is heavily inspired by and set in the world built by Emma in her Royalty Au Fic so please go check her out!)

Synopsis: As one of the few knights left under the Spade's council rule, the King of Hearts takes particular interest in you after seeing your fencing abilities, even against one of your own court.

You took a deep breath in, calming yourself. Today the shuffling, a gathering between all four kingdoms, was holding an event. Fencing. Though you certainly didn't consider your skills extraordinary or anything, you were proud of your swordsmanship nonetheless, having trained since childhood. You looked over to the rest of your peers and nodded to Arnold, a duke and soon to be ruler of the Spades Kingdom once he reached of age and maturity.

Silently, you went to go stand next to the Lord, speaking softly so that only he could hear you, "Remember, you are to under no circumstances become prideful or brash in front of this audience." You look to the younger boy sternly, meeting his gaze before continuing, "The kingdom has too much relying on this shuffling going well for you to do so." You could tell Arnold was holding back some indignance at your words, but were glad he kept it under lock and key.

Refocusing your gaze to the large hall where the fencing would be held, you took in the several platforms they had put together. You counted eight in total, all holding different duels as the audience could watch from the giant bleachers. Many had already lined up to take their seats, rows and rows of different shades of red, aqua, and green flooded your eyes and started to overwhelm your senses.

You shook your head quickly, reminding yourself that you must keep it together, if only to put on a good show for the nobles of your neighboring kingdoms. You heard a shriek, and swerved you gaze to face it, realizing a whistle had been blown and a man, a servant of the heart's kingdom by the look of it, was handing out the schedule for those competing. You raced over to meet the man and find where your placement was in the first round.

Seventh stage, with a one... Duke Below? You scoff internally at the odd name, but nod to the servant and thank them before moving away and finding the stage you'd be on. Suddenly, you feel your heart skip a beat as you realize the stage you were put on would be right in front of the tree royals. Squealing internally you think to yourself 'Lady Ebony is going to be so excited, I might be able to impress the royals and give a good name to the spades!'

Shaking your hands you go to the far left of the stage, facing the royals stand before finding where the necessary items for such a duel had been set. You smile to yourself, seeing the mask provided was a dark black, with a blue spade painted on the back. Your sword even had a blue handle, though it's blade was the usual silver. As you wait for the duels to begin you practice your moves, striking and slashing the air gracefully, looking like a grand opry dancer.

After a few moments, you begin to feel eyes on you, though, as a member of the Spades kingdom it wasn't all that of an unfamiliar feeling by now. Judgement was common among the kingdoms by now, with the death of your prior king and the Great Departure that followed it. You take their gaze and smirk under your mask almost resentfully, moving faster, and striking sooner. With a twirl to the other side, you suddenly realize why it seemed as if the stares had gotten so much more intense.

The King. The King of Hearts was staring at you. You felt your breath hitch as your face turned a bright apple red, thankful that he couldn't see it under the mask. He looked at you in such deep thought... one might even say in admiration... 'Focus (Y/N).' You continued to remind yourself, and resuming your practice despite the faltering moment. A bell rings soon after and you straighten yourself, walking up to the stairs that lead up to the stage to meet your opponent.

In front of you stood Duke Below, wearing white and aqua suit and mask. 'Ah, so he's a Duke of Diamonds then.' You snap back into focus as the ref nods and initiates the match. Suddenly, you are in position, dancing around the Duke as he forcefully attempts to jab you even as you move with ease out of the way. His fighting style, if it could even be called as such, reminded you of the young Lord Arnold's, vicious, offensive, barbaric even. Feeling the disappointment fill your chest as you realize the Duke wasn't as experienced as you would have expected, you frown, before aiming a quick strike to his chest and knocking him down with ease, winning the match easily.

After shaking the Dukes hand, you could see the anger almost radiating off of him, stomping his way down the steps and throwing his mask down with a clash. You shake your head, almost embarrassed at the man's behavior, sighing and shaking your head before stepping off the stage and setting your weapon and mask down to get some rest. Though you don't get much time to rest before suddenly a servant of the Hearts is running up to you with a cup of water.

"The King requested you drink some water after such a match, he is very impressed by your skill. You will also be staying on this stage for the rest of the tournament, so long as you aren't disqualified, also at the King's request" The servant curtsies and hands the water as they speak and your eyes widen, almost left without words, simply nodding at the servant before they leave. You chug the water before setting the cup down and looking back to the Royals, finding the King's gaze on you yet again.

Clumsily, you bow attempting to show the King your thanks before nearly tripping over your own to feet. Looking up quickly to try and apologize, at least as best you could from so far away, you were surprised to find the kind chuckling at your actions, with a seemingly genuine smile. Such a smile even graced your face as you looked up to the King, shaking your head before rushing to get your gear back on as the second rounds are announced.

This time you were put against Lord Braxter, dressed in red and white gear that showed off his alliance to the Kingdom of Hearts. Similar to the first round, you played primarily defense, though unlike the Duke, Lord Braxter was careful, calculated even with his movement. You grinned under your mask as you moved quicker, looking for any opening you could find. In a moment he switching from his piercing moves to attempt to slash your shoulder, forcing you to slide to the other side, moving to stand behind him. In a moment, your sword had pierced the back of his clothing, pride filling you at such a genius move in the moment.

Yet again, you were declared the winner, shaking the Lord's hands as he thanked you for a good fight, but this time as you went to go take your break, you already found a cup of water waiting for you, smiling at it. Though you also noticed a small note next to it, examining the slightly rough handwriting before reading it.

Hello, Mx. (L/N) I just wanted to let you know I am very impressed by your skill and grace in these duels. Truly, your strategy and thinking is just such a delightful sight - Darling, King of Hearts

You almost spit out your water as you read the note, unable to hide your shock. Your face turned that same bright red again before you spun your head to face the royals. Though you didn't find any gaze on you this time, thankful that they wouldn't have seen your shock or red face. Sighing through your nose you thank the spirits before looking around you. Surprised, you see that you had already reached the last four, and that the young lord, Arnold, had also made it.

You smiled for a moment, before it fell seeing his prideful grin. You could tell his hubris was beginning to take over, fearing what might result from it. Suddenly, he was walking towards your stage. It took a moment, but you soon realized he was to be your next opponent. You nodded to him but he simply walked past you without so much as a glance, still grinning. The same disgust from earlier began to rise up, yet you kept your face cold and emotionless. You solemnly put your mask on, tightening it as you pick up the sword, feeling the coolness of the handle through your gloves as you walk up the steps yet again, meeting the young lord's stance. 'I have to keep him from winning' His pride could not be shown by a loss to anyone but a fellow Spade, you wouldn't let Lady Ebony's plans all fail because of an immature child like Arnold.

You could feel the eyes of everyone boring into you and Arnold as the duel was signaled to begin, seeing the King's intense gaze back on you from the corner of your eye. This time, you went on the offense, dancing around Arnold as he swung wildly, yet powerfully at you. He couldn't seem to land a hit as you would simply dance out of the way each time he attempted a strike. You could feel the anger boil up in your heart as you realized this was how he had won all of his other matches. By fighting like a child, with no grace or beauty to be seen in it. You were seeing red. All you could feel was the burn of your muscles as you kept dancing around the young man, playing with him like cat does a mouse. Just like he did with all of his other opponents. You could see him getting weary, slowing down and making weaker strikes.

Suddenly, there was a gasp among the crowd. Arnold was on the ground, several yards away. You struck him. Hard. You almost felt guilty, but it faded soon when you remembered how he treated everybody else. You held your chin up in victory as you walked softly to the center of the stage, watching Arnold clutch his abdomen where his clothing was slightly ripped. He limped over to you as he shook your hand. You could feel his intense glare and embarrassment as he looked at you through the mask. Though above the noise of the audience, a loud clapping could be heard as you walked off the stage. Turning around, you saw the King of Hearts clapping to your victory.

Your heart soared at his approval, feeling your face move to be a large grin. As you move down you find yet another full cup of water, but no note or servant this time, almost grateful for no more surprises. You chugged the water quickly, thankful for the cool relief it brought as your muscles ached and burned. You could hear Arnold's voice complaining, indignant to his lost against his own night and shook your head. You would've gone to talk to him about it, but you knew Lady Ebony would eventually discuss the actions he should take going forward anyways. Shaking your head you look down, before jumping up as you hear a deep, monotone voice from in front of you.

"Hello there, Mx. Hedrick." You look up, absolutely flabbergasted as you see the King of Hearts in front of you. Talking to you. A Knight of Spades. Your brain short circuits for a moment as you mumble out stutters and the King smiles at you, chuckling at your surprise. After a moment of pure confusion, you're able to configure your words properly.

"Oh um Your Highness! May I ask why you are here?" You couldn't hide your nerves no matter how hard you tried, your voice was too loud, too unnatural. You felt internal embarrassment and cursed yourself for being so strange around the King. Thankfully though, he didn't seem to mind.

"Well, what kind of host would I be if I didn't personally congratulate the winner, my dear?" Your brain officially stopped working at that point. Winner? There was supposed to be one more match, you were sure of it. It seemed the King noticed your confusion and elaborated quickly. "The other two were forced to come to a draw as one was cut past their protection and the other seems to have broken their leg." Your eyes widened. At a loss for words you simply nodded at the King. He chuckled, his usual monotone, adorable chuckle. You could feel your face heat up at his chuckle, looking down to try and hide it, thanking him for his congratulations.

"T-Thank you, your Highness, I appreciate your thought" He looked down at you and kneeled to meet your height, surprising you as you realized he was doing this in front of everyone. Suddenly, the trophy was in your hands and you smiled, thanking him again before setting it down next to you. "The Spades appreciate you being such a delightful host" You bowed as best as you could from you sitting position. Wally grabbed your hand gently, kissing it and making your face light up on fire.

"Your welcome M'lady." You felt yourself internally die at his words, not believing he would treat a simple night as such. Much less one from the Spade's Kingdom. Just as quickly as he came to you, he left leaving you with a trophy, and a face redder than the most delicious apples of the Heart's Kingdom.

"A King... Just kissed me..." You stared out into the distance, absolutely astonished at the day's events.

#wally darling #wally darling x reader #wally darling x y/n #welcomehomeau #royalty au #wh royalty au #royalty au wally darling

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