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madame-fear · 4 months ago

Note

Okay but like am I the only one that thrives on angst?? Because imagine if Jacaerys and his young wife, who he by the way only married for the support of The Arryns, had marriage problems because there’s always been tension between her and Baela (just an idea, I love my Baela bc she’s my girl!!) as Jacaerys was supposed to be married to her instead..and might I mention that reader was shipped off to Dragonstone by herself to give birth to her son and she’s been alone and scared all the time, until she’s brought back to Kingslanding after her mother in-law, Queen Rhaenyra, finally claimed back the throne with a peace treaty between the Hightowers. His wife is so so shy and alone because she’s only used to being with their baby, and Jacaerys is just absolutely worried for her because he hasn’t visited her at all due to his duties as heir and it just so happens that his wife thinks he hates herr 💔💔 (this was a bit long..but idk)

𐙚 𝐐𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : the so awaited Arryn reader fic is here !! Hope it was what you expected, and overall enjoy it! Thought this was longer than 3.6k words! 😭🤲💗 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : ∿ request above! ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 3.6k

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : angst to fluff. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Arryn!Wife!Reader.

After many years of a long, nearly never ending war, it had finally subsided— bringing peace for once and for all. It had been the same war that provoked the death of innocent people, and the one responsible for your marriage with Prince Jacaerys, as well.

A rather complex marriage, you’d say it was— though, it was an engagement that could only be expected. Betrothals and marriages had never been done for the sake of genuine love, but only for the sake of allies & tying deeper bonds between the Houses; helplessly falling in forced, unhappy marriages.

There had been little to no time for any of you two to establish some sort of proper relationships between each other. It worked as an engagement with the sole purpose of gaining support from House Arryn amidst the war with the Greens. “A betrothal, in exchange for support”, and it served with it’s purpose as it should in a way, you guessed.

Except, for the looming tension that came along your marriage.

Jace’s previous betrothal to Lady Baela, firstborn daughter of the Rogue Prince, wasn’t unbeknownst to you; a betrothal that had to be broken off when you appeared in the picture, as the support from the Arryns would be placed as number one priority— with Jacaerys marrying you as the one and only condition for yet another ally. It was inconvenient, but very much needed.

The growing tension between you and his previous betrothed notoriously loomed in the air as soon as you both met one another— being presented with little to no words from Baela, and most of the time, all the endless attempts you did in order to establish a good relationship with her, were dismissed; thrown into the wind, as you were given a cold stare, with no words said... Being walked right past, left ignored.

Often times, you could feel her contemptuous stare fixed on you, each time you were sat next to Jacaerys.

Solitude had leisurely grown as a frequent monster lurking in your surroundings. “I can’t do anything about it, I can’t act as an intermediary to your relationship.” was the strict response given to you by your future Lord Husband, when speaking your mind regarding how the Lady Baela gave you a cold shoulder, despite the constant friendliness you had to offer.

Jacaerys didn’t seem to care much at all. You swore that the eldest Velaryon prince was as indifferent towards you, as his previous betrothed was— maybe, he even resented you for breaking off his already arranged betrothal. And you couldn’t say you didnt understand the situation, however.

Years of having known, trusted, each other, growing by each other’s side... Having their betrothal arranged for years— you could even silently observe the way in which they gazed at each other, occasionally. All of that had only been for it to turn into ash & dust when the time to seek support from allies had come.

But what other choice did you have, except none at all? Had you any blame, at all? Were you truly the one at fault? The growing solitude and the hefty weight of guilt was nearly asphyxiating. You felt desperately trapped in an escapeless labyrinth, being fully aware of how you had no one at all to release each one of your thoughts to— with your betrothed often giving you a cold shoulder as well, or simply, being far too engaged in his duties. Each private conversation, managed to quickly be dismissed; you had been forced to be kept to yourself, in a way.

All for a war between kin. All for the sake of allies. And you, right in the middle of it all.

Things hadn’t grown to become any better at all by the time you fell pregnant with your first child— with his child. Much less considering it was all still under the looming tension of war felt in the atmosphere.

Dragonstone had become your temporary home; one you had been sent to all by yourself, still being with child. Taking proper care of yourself throughout your pregnancy had been a difficult task, considering how the general situation provoked a constant state of fright and concern to you. Alone, with no one else to rely on; finding mere solace in talking to yourself... Or, rather, talking quietly to your unborn child.

It wasn’t exactly the healthiest thing for the fragile conditions you were mentally experiencing— it simply deepened that inner void, those bitter feelings of loneliness; poisoning you slowly with every quiet tear you dropped late at night in your chambers, after holding on to the knot that formed on your throat during the day.

The rocky castle had been the same place where you had birthed your child— a healthy boy, much to your fortune. Something that the Gods had finally graced you with. And that grace was, providing an heir for your husband... Though, you had given birth to your babe in the mere company of a few maids, and maesters. Your own mother-in-law couldn’t be there by your side, as much as she deeply desired to. Your own husband, with his duties as Rhaenyra’s heir, couldn’t assist, either— and much less, your own blood.

The Gods have a strange way of treating you, you thought. Blessing you with an heir to your husband, and, simultaneously, remaining to provide you with solitude throughout the entire way.

Not long passed after you gave birth, that war had finally subsided, moving from Dragonstone to King’s Landing with a small babe in your arms. Queen Rhaenyra had made peace treaty with the Greens, allowing her to claim her birthright, the Iron Throne, for once and for all— bringing a wave of relief, tossing aside a hefty weight burdening you.

Of course, just one small bit of a burdening weight had been removed from your life, and you dared to say, it was the most important heaviness lingering on the atmosphere— yet, you still had your own issues to solve. Moving all by yourself with a small baby boy towards the Red Keep wasn’t an easy task either, it simply stirred the occasional anxiety you suffered, along with bitter loneliness.

Those series of events happened in, what you considered, to be such a short time lapse— barely allowing you to process your wedding ceremony, the looming tension between you and his previous betrothed, not being able to have properly bonded with your husband as you married for mere alliances, having very little bonding with your mother-in-law, living in a whole different place from one day to another, having a babe, and moving once again this time with your child after the peace treaty...

... And you could keep naming each, and every single one of the little things that provoked an asphyxiating knot on your throat; one you had to bitterly swallow and keep to yourself. How could you not be overwhelmed with the circumstances?

You had grown used to being alone, with only the company of your little boy to keep your sanity hanging from a fragile, fraying thread. You briefly, and very feebly managed to interact with the rest of the members of House Targaryen— but you never throughoutly engaged in a deeper bond with them, or were often seen walking around the large halls, once the war had finished and you moved to the Red Keep.

The war had passed immediatly after the peace treaty with the Hightowers. No usurper on the Throne, no more dead men and innocent people— and all the burden you carried behind of you now, was that of the lurking solitude haunting you. It was just your small, sweet boy and you to spend time together; the one whom you found some warmth, despite still being practically a babe. Though, you couldn’t occasionally help but long for the company of anyone else from your new family.

At the present moment, you spent time on your private chambers. your little boy rested on your lap, as you quietly sat on the ground. On his hand, was a dragon wooden toy which he played with— making some cooing sounds. He had been your only companion for the moment, managing to spare you from any feelings of loneliness from the moment you had learned you were with child, being the one you often spoke to despite not receiving back an answer.

A faint grin graced your lips, with your hand gently caressing the back of his hair. You craned your head gently, releasing a soft chuckle at the sight of your boy engaged into his own world. You both were almost headed to sleep, but you preferred to spend some more time together— enjoying the quietness of the night, and the peace that came along.

The stillness looming in the atmosphere had been interrupted by a soft knock sounding twice against the wooden doors of your chambers. Raising your sight curiously as your boy remained playing in your lap with the wooden dragon toy. Not often having many visitors at the late hours of the night, you softly muttered “Come in.”

The door was gently swayed, revealing to be your Husband the one who knocked, closing the door behind him— which, it wasn’t a common occurence, for him to visit you in your chambers. The constant duties of the eldest Velaryon prince, on his role of being his mother’s heir to the Throne, were more than time-consuming; occupying the entirety of his attention.

But of course, with you being his wife, mother of his son, having shared little to nothing — plus having married only for alliances — and having some previous marriage problems regarding his broken betrothal, could only burden his thoughts. You had done an important effort to be a proper wife to him, one that couldn’t pass unnoticed.

You married to support what his mother fought for, you managed the notorious tension there was between you and his previous betrothed— you had given him a son, birthing all by yourself, and moved to Dragonstone, and then the Red Keep all by yourself, as well; only for him to spend his days focused on what was asked of him, leaving little time to even pay you and your baby son a short visit.

Guilt was overriding him in a constant, haunting manner. It was only natural for Jacaerys to be consumed by his preoccupied feelings towards you. Perhaps, you didn’t often engage or bond together in a convenient way, and you might’ve had troubles before when it came to discussing about your uneasy relationship with Lady Baela— but that didn’t mean he didn’t love you, much less notice your strenght in every sense.

It was only fair to show his appreciation, and his concern for your wellbeing.

“Hope I’m not troubling both of you with my presence?” Jace said in a lighthearted manner, with a faint grin appearing on his rosy lips, tilting his head briefly. His presence had been quite a surprise for you, and that expressed on the looks in your features, along with some tension in the air— not being used to being visited by Rhaenyra’s heir, your husband. Which, if anything, it deepened the looming guilt on him.

You shook your head gently, looking down at your son timidly, using your index finger to delicately caress him on his cheek. “Not at all, we were spending some time before heading to sleep.” you muttered in response. “Is anything the matter? Has something happened?” you inquired with slight concern, furrowing your eyebrows, lifting your gaze once again, staring into his dark coffee eyes. The innocence on your features were most beloved by him, managing to properly appreciate them as, now, it was just the two of you in the room— no duties in between, no one else to bother you.

Jacaerys shook his head. “Nothing’s the matter, fortunately.” he answered, with a tone of relief. His lips frowned for a split second, thoroughly processing his words before continuing. “I... Simply wished to pay you, and our son, a visit— as I haven’t been able to do so lately with my duties as my mother’s heir.” his eyes lingered on the ground shyly, before returning to stare at your own. “I wanted to know if you were doing alright as well, and if you felt comfortable around, of course.”

The expressions on your face softened leisurely. “Oh,” your lips partly opened in surprise, stuttering for a moment, before closing them rather quickly. You had been momentarily taken aback by his unexpected statement, as you had never shared a private moment like this with him before. It had been a situation you would have never guessed you would ever experience, yet, here you were— and it felt as if the world surrounding you stopped for a second.

You swallowed thickly, looking down over your boy, who stared at his father, and then at you. “Keep playing with your toys, my love. I will be right back.” pressing a smooch on your son’s forehead, you carefully moved him so he would sit on the rug decorating the room beneath both of you. A wide, almost toothless smile graced his features, before continuing to play with his own toys as you stood, and approached Jace.

It was almost admirable how much of a dedicated, loving mother you were, Jace thought to himself, staring at the scene— with a grin helplessly increasing on the corner of his lips. Your hands turned into fists, meekly fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. You almost couldn’t stare at him in the eyes, allowing him to notice as well a growing fluster in your cheeks.

“I-I’m... Doing quite alright.” the words came off whispered, and stuttered, from your lips, “We have been managing together all this time, after the war.” you mentioned, staring at your boy — who was absorbed into his own innocent world — before returning to stare at Jacaerys. “Thank you... For asking.” the eldest Velaryon smiled sweetly at you, noticing how you very faintly stared at him in the eyes.

“I’m quite relieved to hear so.” he replied back, in a low, casual tone, continuing to offer a kind grin to you as his eyes guided themselves towards his baby boy playing in the background. Brief moments of awkward silence passed, with a palpable tension in the atmosphere.

You had been given little time — to not say , none at all — to bond with each other, before your wedding ceremony. You knew nothing about one another, and it could only be expected that you would be awkward in each other’s presence. But now that the war had ended, the possibility of engaging in a proper, sweet manner with each other was now given. You could softly hear Jace take a deep breath, before continuing to talk with you.

“I came to visit you to offer my apologies, as well.” furrowing your eyebrows, your stare darted at his own— which lingered on the ground, noticing a rosy taint beginning to cover his cheeks. “What for?” it was a rather innocent ask, or at least, Jace considered it to be that way. With a lingering guilt that weighed constantly on him, offering his apologies felt very little with everything he actually owed you, after all the things you had done for him.

The heir nibbled on his lower lip for a moment, allowing himself to properly process in words each and every single little thing he had to thank you, and apologise for. “For many things, I dare to say.” he scoffed in a teasing way, provoking a frowny grin to grow upon your lips, as you kept delicately fidgeting with the fabric of your dress in a discreet manner. “One of the things I would like to apologise for the most, is for... Not simply not visiting you, and our baby son due to my duties as heir— but for having given you a cold shoulder all this time, in a way.”

Your expressions began softening, not uttering a single word to allow him to continue. The looks on your face were almost puzzling to him, as it contained several emotions— all mostly ranging from surprise, to a... relieved one. But mostly, a shyly relieved look began expressing itself all across your features. “I never expressed to you my admiration for your strength and courage. Much less, I have given you my gratitude for marrying me and giving me an heir, all in order to gain new allies amidst war.”

“You have done everything by yourself. Moved to Dragonstone alone, birthed alone, and moved to the Red Keep after the peace treaty all by yourself, with our boy. I often scorn myself for not having done the slightest effort of accompanying you.” it was true. All this time, you had grown to be used only to the presence of your little child offering you solace, and company.

Hearing his words shed a light of understanding to the implicances of war when it came to the perspective— after all, being heir to the Throne is not easy at all, much less when your birthright is usurped. But for Jace, being an heir occupied with his duties, before and after war, was no excuse to give offer you a piece of his genuine love and admiration. If anything, he resented himself for not having visited you earlier.

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t thought about you, or haven’t grown any more preoccupied. And I’m sorry for not having shown it earlier, when I should have. Your efforts have never passed unnoticed.”

A gentle sigh spurred from you, nibbling shyly on your lower lip, with your gaze meekly darting towards the ground. Hearing such statement coming from him felt almost surreal, considering each moment you spent alone, wondering to yourself if your husband felt mere disdain towards you after breaking off his previous betrothal to Lady Baela. You had to process the moment for several seconds, leaving a few seconds of silence to hang in the air until you gave your response, but you couldn’t deny that a part of you was satisfied to know his true thoughts about you.

“I would’ve thought you... Resented me for breaking off your betrothal, and occupying the place of Lady Baela.” you muttered timidly, maintaining your eyes gazing at the floor. His eyes widened faintly in surprise. Gods, your words didn’t help with the intensely growing guilt-feelings he suffered, almost as if your statement sharply stabbed him in the heart— how could he ever resent you?

You had nothing to do with anything. You simply did your required duties, what was asked of you.

Jace stood silent for a moment, “How could I ever resent you?” he began, a certain desperation, and disbelief, vibrating on his tone upon hearing your statement. It almost shattered him, knowing you thought that— and all because his mind was consumed in war strategies and responsibilities as heir. The tip of his index finger placed itself on your underchin, delicately — yet firmly — lifting your face so you would stare at each other.

His dark coffee eyes stared profoundly into your own, “I could never resent you for something that was not your choice, much less after all the efforts you did.” you swore you could feel a knot beginning to form on your throat, from both the overwhelming sensation of having thought all this time that Jacaerys disdained you, and from content. “The idea of breaking off my betrothal to Lady Baela and become used to your presence for alliances might have been complicated initially, but I could never resent you for it.”

“Quite the contrary, I have grown to love and silently admire you.” both his hands had gone to cup your cheeks affectionately, taking the moments of quietness to admire every inch of your features. That was, before his arms rapidly embraced themselves around you, tightly wrapping you into a hug. One of his hands went to the back of your head, interwining his fingers in between your hair, as his other hand softly moved up and down, caressing your back; nuzzling the tip of his nose against your hair in a discreet manner— finding comfort in your sweet scent.

For a moment, you stood there, being firmly hugged by Jace, as you leisurely processed the — quite abrupt — situation. Your eyes had widened slightly in surprise, only to feel your body relaxing a few seconds after the eldest Velaryon held you in the warmth of his arms, slowly giving into the embrace. Your arms delicately wrapped themselves around his own body, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. A wide range of emotions came afloat at the moment, but all you could feel, was a gleeful sensation of relief.

What you had so longed for, had been finally given in your life— to seek and find comfort in your husband.

“All I can only do, is constantly cherish the lucky fact of your existence, I have never felt a single ounce of resentment, or hatred.” he muttered, continuing to nuzzle his nose against your hair in a loving manner, before firmly pressing his lips against your temple for several seconds. “I hope you can forgive me, and know that I’ll be visiting and spending time with both of you more often— because I adore you, immensely.”

The ghost of a soft, shy grin began growing on the corner of your lips. You knew everything would be alright, from now on— it would all be less dreadful, and less lonely, knowing that your husband would now be accompanying you in a proper manner.

The Gods did have a strange way of treating you, but all for an ultimate good.

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#彡 ꒰ ✒ amira writes ; jacaerys velaryon.── ꒱#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x you #hotd imagine

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green-aeggs-and-spam · 11 months ago

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Reasons a lord might support the Greens, other than "I Hate Women."

"A king is not above the law, and declaring an heir is not enough to supersede tradition."

"My liege lord supports the Greens, and it's safer for me to follow their lead."

"Under no circumstances should Daemon Targaryen ever become king, not even King Consort."

"My father swore that oath, not me, and I'm not bound by it."

"I have an elder sister and a bastard brother, and I don't want them thinking they have a right to my lands and titles."

"If Rhaenyra becomes queen, we'll have another succession crisis between her sons after she dies."

"It's wrong to deny a firstborn son his inheritance."

"This other lord that I don't like is supporting the Blacks, and I oppose him on principle."

"Aegon has an experienced Small Council who have been ruling for years. I prefer that stability over a bunch of newcomers."

"Rhaenyra is willing to commit treason for her baseborn sons and have her husband murdered, I could never trust her as queen."

"The Greens already have control of King's Landing, might as well sign up with the winning side."

"I'm more scared of Vhagar than I am of Caraxes."

Are all of these necessarily true? No. Are some of them still motivated by sexism? Absolutely. But with only the information that's available to a lord in Westeros, these are all pretty reasonable takes, and I think it makes for a better story when the morality isn't black and white.

#house of the dragon #hotd #team green #hotd critical #aegon ii targaryen

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tiredmamaissy · 1 year ago

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Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode IV

Seed of Life

This is @zestys-stuff 's OC. All credits to this character goes to this beautiful, talented artist. Thank you again for allowing me to explore and create with him!

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, angst, early pregnancy smut (will be forewarned before it happens), daddy daughter drama, Ralak being little rough because reader won’t stop teasing him, Ralak literally has blue balls, ball play, blowjob, brief thigh fucking, likely incorrect na’vi, teacher/student dynamics/roleplay, p in v, quickie, squirting, masturbation, dirty talk, sexual tension, age gap

Disclaimer: This chapter entails pregnancy and sexual intimacy during early pregnancy. I include a warning directly before the smut happens in the case that you want to indulge in this chapter but aren’t necessarily up for the pregnancy smut.

Word Count: 10k sorry

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: thank you guys for always being so patient with me. i love yall too the moon and back <3 happy holidays and a happy new year! also, I’ve realised that I unintentionally decided that Kiri is not involved in this series (i dunno honestly, it’s just occuring to me that I’ve never really mentioned her before and it feels difficult to incorporate her at this point i suppose). It seems like we (reader) have taken her place in this au in regards to being jakes adopted ‘babygirl’ (nothing else though—no superpowers or anything loool).

Synopsis: After telling Ralak that he's going to be a father, the reality dawns on you that you need to break the news to your own father.

<- Previous -> Next

This pregnancy shouldn’t be much of a surprise to you, honestly. How could you not be? After such a breeding it would be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant. Yet the news wasn’t quite sinking in, even when Tsireya looked at you with wide eyes and spelled it out for you. But now that you’re walking towards the tsahìk, you’re faced with reality and it begins to sink in as you count each step you take.

Forty-two…

The words that rolled off the tarsem’s tongue echo in your skull.

Forty-three…

Etching themselves into the bone, leaving you with no space to deny the truth.

Forty-four…

“You are with child.”

The ringing in your ears stops as your vision refocuses on the stone cold expression of the Tsahìk. Her voice is unfaltering and clear as it delivers the news to your ears a second time. Bowing to the taller woman, you sweep three fingers away from your forehead and turn your heel to walk away. But before you can take two steps she announces something that makes your ears stand tall.

“A boy.”

Her two harshly spoken words strike through your chest, a sinking feeling now brewing in the pit of your stomach. You stop dead in your tracks and lift your head that was once tilted down to your feet. Things become even more real, having you force down a wad of your spit to keep your vision from splitting again. You’re barely able to use your voice—your mouth partially open and your tongue rolling from the churn of your tummy.

“Thank you, Ronal.” You manage to squeak a decibel or two over a whisper, dropping your head again to lock your stare to your feet before fleeing the now-crowding scene. You overhear the people murmuring the news as you scurry away to your marui pod.

‘The forest girl expects the firstborn of the village’s best warrior’;

‘She won’t make it out alive!’;

‘Did you hear? She will birth the first of a new kind. A kind with demon blood’.

If your legs could go any quicker, they would.

A child grows in your womb now. A child for the man you love—Ralak. The man who deserves it most. You’re scared and excited all at once. Proud to bear a son for such a notable and fearsome man. But afraid of how your family will take to the news.

This was your first month of being a mated pair, and you’ve already succumbed to your most primordial instinct to mate. And with what everyone is already whispering, you’re scared of much more than that. Is what they say true? Is this a risky thing? Will he be teased for being different? Will he be rejected from the clan?

Does Ralak… even want this?

You both hadn’t even sat down and spoken about the possible consequences of such a cosmic event—your synced cycles. What if he hadn’t meant all the things he said? Or if he really just couldn’t prevent the things that he did during his rut? How would he react if that were the case?

Your mind is running at a hundred clicks an hour and your nerves are wringing your stomach that it takes the hot sand spilling through the cracks of your toes to make you realise that you’re already home.

And there he is, in all his glory.

Doing nothing other than sharpening his damn spear. Sitting on his knees, leaned back with his flexed abs and gathered brows, concentrating on his task—blissfully unaware of the gossip spreading throughout the clan. The sight brings serenity to the white noise in your head, leaving nothing but the crash of the waves and the splash of the ilus off in the distance. I

Ralak’s ears twitch as he senses your presence, but he remains focused on the stroke of his whetstone against the blade. He can feel your apprehension from where he sits, and he can already tell what you’re here for. Yet he chooses to keep his appearance no less than stoic, but not enough to be intimidating.

“Tanhì.” He hums low enough that you strain to hear him.

“I need to speak with you.” You utter, wetting your dry lips with a quick swipe of your tongue. You stand there fidgeting with your fingers as you await a reply from your husband. It’s almost mortifying how silent this man can actually be. You see the slight tilt of his head and his ear perk up to listen closely. Taking this as your cue to speak, you try to find the words to say.

How do I say this?

Ralak is a simple man, perhaps it’s better to give it to him straight. An easy, ‘I carry your unborn son’, would do, right? You begin to gnaw on the dry skin on your bottom lip as you think. But his silence is really getting to you today. How can he sit there so… unbothered? Not even a glance thrown your way or an eyelash batted. Maybe you should just spit it out — ‘you got me pregnant’.

“Hm?” He lets out a muffled grunt, swiping the whetstone against the spearhead. It sounds innocent. Like he’s just immersed in a task and couldn’t quite bring himself to completely stop.

“We no longer need to prepare for my heat.” You blurt out, not even knowing where the words came from. You witness his spine straighten and him quickly stilling his movements.

Little did you know his heart gallops at the speed of a direhorse, thumping wildly between his ribs as he prepares himself to finally hear you utter the words. Oh, how he had been waiting for your sweet voice to sing the news. But he realises that you seem to need an extra push to say them.

“And why is that?” Ralak husks, still unmoving.

You wait for him to turn around. To look your way. Something.

But… nothing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Ralaks heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. A grin spreads from ear to ear, so strong and wide that if you were really paying attention you would have caught the way his ears stand at full height.

But you were too busy fighting the bubble of the blood in your thumping heart, trying to keep your frustration to a minimum. You had expected more. For him to turn around, at the very least. All you could hear was the da-dump and the silence between you two. Until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Perhaps it’s all the hushed chatter from earlier or maybe it’s just the new surge of hormones and out-of-whack pheromones but you can’t help the burn of your eyes as they fill with tears.

“So w-what? Not even a glance my way? You knock me up and have nothing to s-say for it?” You choke back your heated tears of frustration, Ralak now huffing a vehement sigh. “You’re not even surprised, or—” Your blubbering is cut short by your husband's quick movement.

Ralak instantaneously brings himself to his feet and storms over to you, towering over your petite frame. Now he’s peering down at you, dark, smouldering eyes holding the most intimidating gaze with you as he closes the distance between your bodies. He’s still damp from seeing to the ilus this morning that when your chest touches his cold, bare stomach, it hardens your nipples into stiff peaks.

“Surprised?” He rasps, his large hand flying to your lower stomach, gently pressing into it. Heaving shoulders slowing as he steadies his breathing, Ralak lowers his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear—

“Do you not think I had every intention of putting this baby inside of you?”

Hearing this spoken in such an assertive tone sends shivers up your spine—Ralak knows exactly how to handle you and your… sensitivity. He always has. Your tail sways uncontrollably behind you, earning a well concealed smirk from the giant before you. It’s always been one of his favourite parts of you, but now—oh, now he has a new favourite part of you.

Your soon-to-be swelling belly.

“I have known.” He admits through a whisper, smoothing his entire palm over your budding womb, planting a quick kiss on your temple. “Your scent… it has changed, tanhì.”

“What?” You whisper, almost pulling away from his tender touches to look at him. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I wanted to hear you say it. I have been waiting… to hear you say it.” He’s the one to pull away this time, looking you deeply in the eyes. His free hand raises, using his thumb to wipe away a tear seeping from the corner of your eye. “Please. Do not cry.”

You don’t even know what to say. Yet again, Ralak leaves you speechless—with trembling lips and a swelling throat.

“And you are actually eating the payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] I cook.”

“What?” You snort, letting loose a sudden, nasally giggle. You drop your smile and try to fix a serious expression on your face. “What do you mean? I always eat your payoang niktsyey [fish wraps]”

Ralak laughs, his three fingers tucking hair behind your ear, “I see you throw them to the ilus, tanhì. I am no fool.”

You laugh again, snotty-nosed and teary-eyed, sniffling when the uncontrollable giggling fit ends. “It seems that our son enjoys your cooking, ‘lak.” You bubbler with a wobbly smile, blinking harshly to clear your vision.

Ralaks eyes bulge as they frantically search yours—a beaming smile spreading across his lips, his pointed teeth on full display. “Son?” He exhales softly, his left brow bone jumping ever so slightly.

All you can do is nod, letting your wobbly smile morph into a grin. The tears come back like they never left, twice as much and even hotter than before. You swear you see Ralaks eyes gloss over too, glistering in the sunlight.

Ralak sinks to his knees, coming face to face with your soft tummy.

“My prrnen [baby]. My ‘evengan [son; boy child]. It is your sempu [daddy].” He whispers, heated lips slightly pressed against your silken skin. Chin tucked to your chest, you watch in awe, straining to listen to his hushed whispers. “I have wanted you for so long.”

Hearing that—oh, how hearing that makes you feel. You feel warm inside, your heart so full all your earlier fears melt away. Ralak looks up at you, azure blue eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration—gratitude and admiration.

“My sweet tanhì. You have made me the man I have always wanted to be.” He croons at you, planting a long, soft kiss on your stomach—eyes still locked with yours. “And I thank you for that. Nìt’iluke [forever; never-endingly]”

And just like that, the butterflies you felt when you first laid eyes on this man come rushing in, flapping their wings at full force.

“I am your mate.” You sputter out a little, tiny sob. “It’s what I-I am supposed to do.”

Ralak stands up, holding eye contact with you the entire way.

“You owe me nothing. It is an honour that you carry my unborn, y/n.” His hand leaves your stomach to grasp your hand, intertwining his thickset fingers with yours. “You will be a nawm [great] mother.”

“And you will be the best father.” You choke back your sobs, struggling to get your words out. A comfortable silence passes, where you both immerse yourselves into one another’s touch. Until Ralak witnesses your expression morph into something of worry.

“What is it?” He asks in a hushed voice, keeping his tone calm and cool.

“Speaking of… fathers.” The column of your throat undulates when you gulp hard, “How will I tell mine?”

Ralak swallows, too. The thought had crossed his mind a few times over the past week. He saw the answer as simple – tell him. Ralak holds a lot of respect for your father, looking up at him as a superior given his status and skill as a warrior. And although he’s slightly intimidated by your father, Ralak sees this respect as mutual—therefore, it should be returned. Surely, this will go smoothly if you both remain polite.

Right?

“We tell him. Together.” Ralak grasps your hand once more, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, his heavy accent shining through now that he’s high on emotions, “I keep you safe. Both of you.”

——

Both you and Ralak make your way down the shore towards the webbing of overlapping mangrove roots. Though you insisted on breaking the news to your family by yourself, he was adamant that he accompanies you. You couldn’t bear the thought of your father lashing out on Ralak, especially in front of the others. You tried to explain that to him, but he simply shook his head and tightened the clasp of his saya (knife sheath) on his hip.

You make the trek by foot, wanting a little more time to think about what you were going to say, and he ensured to stay right behind you. Quite literally—looming behind you like some sort of bodyguard. Every na’vi you pass are quick to avert their gaze elsewhere when they see the giant you have as a shadow. They tried not to look to begin with, but it was a rare sight to see you two so close together among the clan.

Their hushed whispers are kept to an absolute minimum but Ralak hears them nonetheless. It doesn’t bother him. Not anymore, at least. It used to bother him before he had met you—hearing the chatter of the gossip about his voluntary six year celibacy despite being the chief’s right hand man. And now that the murmurs entail nothing but his relationship with you, he could care less.

But then he hears the indistinct mumble about the babe budding in your womb. It’s something along the lines of ‘it being some demon hybrid’. The comment alone has Ralak screeching to a halt, his head snapping in the direction of a stocky, young warrior in training. One that Tonowari had relentlessly urged Ralak to teach until he begrudgingly gave him a couple combat lessons.

Ralak’s eyes narrow and sharpen, snapping down to shoot a threatening leer down at him. That's all it took for the stumpy na’vi to drop his head in shame and scurry away with his younger companions.

Sensing that Ralak is no longer on your tail, you turn around, half-expecting him to be five steps behind. Instead, he’s right where you left him, with a reassuring smile and an extended hand gesturing you to ‘continue’. You return a light hearted smile and spin around, taking another step towards your family marui.

——

“To what do we owe the visit?” Neteyam smiles as he greets you at the marui door, arms splayed out for a hug. You smile and slump into your brother, allowing him to envelope you in a warm embrace. “We haven’t seen you in what feels like weeks, sis.”

“Because we haven’t.” Lo’ak adds, lurking behind his bigger brother, arms crossed over his chest with a grin on his face.

“Hey Lo’.” You say in a low voice, smiling at him as you let go of your big brother. Ralak silently stands at the marui door, head awkwardly tilted in an attempt to fit himself in such a tight space.

“Hey, sissy.” Lo’ak throws an arm around your neck, patting your shoulder a few times as he walks you further inside and away from Ralak. “What’s up with the shadow?” He doesn’t even try to quieten his voice as he nudges his chin in your husband's direction.

You force a little laugh, unwrapping his arm from around your neck so you can inch away back to your ‘shadow’. You back up until you bump into his solid build, making a muffled thump when you collide. He steadies you by the shoulders, lidded eyes flicking down to check that you’re okay. He can sense your nervousness.

“I–we… have something to tell you guys.” You begin, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Where’s everyone else?”

Lo’ak’s eyes squint, brows furrowing as the gears in his brain grind twice as fast to figure out what you could possibly be calling a family meeting for. “No fucking way. Already?” He blurts out when he finally puts two and two together. Your eyes widen when they dart over to him, catching sight of the shit eating grin plastered to his face.

Fuck, is this skxawng going to spoil it for me? You think to yourself, apparently loud enough for Ralak to hear. He squeezes your shoulders before sliding his hands down the full length of your arms and letting go. “Mawey [calm].” He breathes, his head still hanging low. You look behind you, tilting your head up to meet his comforting gaze.

“Hey, babygirl.” Jake’s voice snaps your attention back down, having you look your father in the eye. His smile is as wide as his arms as he approaches you for a hug.

“Dad. Hey.” You whisper, returning the hug and snuggling into his chest. You bask in the moment, lingering onto how things are now—before you drop the bomb on him.

“I missed ya.” Jake chuckles, rubbing your back. He finally lifts his head and sees your ‘shadow’ hovering a little closer than needed. “Jeez, let her breathe, boy. She’s just huggin’ her old man.” Ralak keeps his head hung and takes a small but noticeable step back. Jake gives you a quick peck on the head as he begins to pull away. “What have ya’ been up—”

Jake cuts himself short, leaning back in to smell your hair. His eyebrows gather when he recognizes the familiar scent. Neytiri has smelled similarly a few times before. Jake grinds his teeth, scrunched brows and narrow eyes giving away his current state of mind. His hands slide down your arms, gripping then as he looks you dead in the eye. “Y/n. You got somethin’ to tell me?”

“Dad–” You swallow down the knot in your throat, already getting choked up.

Jake's lips purse into a thin line as his death-stare immediately averts to Ralak. And for what feels like an eternity, nothing but silence fills the room. The tension in the air is almost suffocating. Jakes eyeing Ralak down whilst Ralaks stare is locked on the way he’s holding you.

You glance over at your brothers. One’s obviously got it figured out, arms crossed, shaking his head with a smug look on his face. And one is completely clueless—poor thing. You look back at your father who is now seething, leer averted back to you as he exerts all his energy into being patient.

“What’s going on? Guys?” Neteyam breaks the silence with a worried tone to his voice. His eyes bounce from person to person, until they land on his brother.

“He knocked her up.” Lo’aks whispers harshly, not even trying to be discreet. Neteyams brows raise and now he is, too, staring at you. You feel all the blood drain from your face and suddenly you’re extremely light in the head.

Mortified is an understatement.

Everyone is clearly waiting for you to confirm it. But you’re having such a difficult time saying the two silly little words. The pressure is on now, you could even see Ralak straining to hold his tongue. You finally muster up a cowardly nod, and immediately your fathers grip intensifies, squeezing your arms firm and tight. He’s looking down at you with eyes of disbelief and somewhat disappointment, frantically searching yours to see if this is really the truth. You let loose a low hiss, wincing when you feel the pinch of his grip.

Not even another second passes when you hear the slap of your husband’s large hands grabbing ahold of your father’s wrists.

“She is pregnant.”

A deep, but low growl rips from Ralaks chest. In other words, ‘never lay your hands on a pregnant woman’. Ralak dwarfs Jake as he inches in a little closer, grasping his wrists just firm enough to send this message.

“Yeah. Got it, bud.” Jake returns a growl through his teeth and tightened lips. He shifts his position slightly, eyes flicking down to acknowledge what his son in law is trying to get across. Nonetheless, Jake stands his ground. “Get your hands off me.”

Ralak tries to regain his composure, but his protective instincts have just about gone haywire. The urge to protect has never been so intense before. It’s like his soul knows that there’s just more to protect.

More at stake.

Ralak looks down at your fathers hands once more, silently making his point clear. He holds eye contact with Toruk makto whilst he remains unmoving.

“Lak…” You squeak a warning to your husband, who only flutters his jaw as a response. Lo’ak and Neteyam are on edge, both concerned that their father has a grip on you, but even more so that Ralak has a grip on their father. They watch intently, trying to decipher if and when they need to intervene.

To everyone’s surprise, Jake exhales harshly through his nose and gently pulls away from you, but wrenches his wrists away from Ralak’s grasp. “Sorry, kid.” Jake spits an apology, readjusting his position to be directly in front of Ralak. “Care to explain how this happened so damn quick?”

“Dad!” You shout in disbelief, wedging yourself back in between the two.

“You know what? Don’t even answer that.” Jake snaps.

“You know you are really no one to talk! Where’s mom? Mom!” You go on the tips of your toes, leaning from side to side to look for her behind both the two male na’vi.

“‘xcuse me?” Jake purposely blocks your view by bobbing his head wherever yours goes. “I am still your father and you will not speak to me that—” Jake steps to the left to avoid Ralak and walk towards you. Ralak quickly adjusts himself to be the wall between you and your father, not allowing Jake the chance to even finish his sentence. Ralak is now looking down at Jake with a stoic expression, trying his best not to come off intimidating or challenging in any way.

All to no avail.

“You got a problem with me, boy?” Jake grumbles through his clenched jaw, getting in Ralaks face now.

“No. Only keeping my word, sir.” Ralak simply responds.

Jakes brought back to the very moment he made Ralak give him his word. His word that he’d never let a thing happen to his baby girl. The night you completed your iknimaya. The night he granted Ralak the permission to mate with you.

The night Ralak took your virginity.

Jake stalls for a few seconds, taken aback by Ralaks behaviour but a little impressed at the same time. Jake's expression softens upon realizing that Ralak is just protecting his mate—just as he does Neytiri, especially during her pregnancies.

But there’s no way in hell that Jake will be the first one to back down here.

“Mom!” You call for her once more, hoping that she’ll swoop in and save the day.

Neytiri rushes in, hand on her hip where she keeps her dagger sheathed—worry and concern etched into her features. She analyses the situation, taking in the scene of her own mate standing face to face with yours. She glances over at you, seeing the panic in your eyes and the hand on your stomach that you didn’t even know you had placed there. Slowly walking up to the two male na’vi, she places a firm hand on her mates chest, pushing him away from Ralak. “Ma’ Jake. What is happening here?”

Jake’s pressing his lips firmly together, not wanting to say the words. He shakes his head a little, huffing through his nostrils before placing a hand on his hip. His other hand extends in your direction, as if he were pointing out the obvious. Yet he remains choked up and speechless, his hand falling to his thigh as he gives up.

Finally, he mumbles, “Go on. Tell her.”

Neytiri looks back at you, eyes trailing back down to your hand that’s mindlessly resting on your stomach as she awaits for your answer. You feel the burn of her eyes, yanking away your hand when it becomes too much. Being the daughter of Mo’at, a tsahik, Neytiri needed nothing more than a quick glance and sniff to know what’s going on. “Is this true?”

“Yes, mom. It is true. I am.” You say in a defeated tone of voice. Ralak shifts himself, settling close beside you now rather than in front of you. He always had an even greater respect for your mother.

Neytiri’s expression only grows softer, until there's no trace of concern left in her face. Her smile is downturned but her eyes are bright, glistening with joy as she pulls you in for a warm embrace.

“It is a blessing from Eywa, my child.”

She pulls away from you, now looking over to Ralak. Neytiri lays a gentle hand on Ralaks upper bicep, “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations] .” Ralak signs ‘I see you’ to his mother in law, exchanging a light hearted smile with her.

It was no secret that Neytiri longed to be a grandmother. Her days of children are over now, although she was expecting her eldest, Neteyam, to give her a grandchild first. But Ralak — Ralak is a remarkable, mighty warrior and hunter. The olo’eyktans right hand man, and undoubtedly the best fisherman in the village.

In fact, Ralak was one of the first people Neytiri took a liking to after she adjusted to the way of water. She always felt that he was a good suitor for her daughter.

“Are you kiddin’ me? It’s barely been two months!” Jake scoffs, shaking his head.

“And a day for us, Jake.” Neytiri tries her best to keep a calm, but firm voice. “They are a mated pair, they are having a family now. It is Eywa’s will.”

Jake quiets himself, reflecting on his harsh ways. He sighs, loudly. His eyes finally glance down to what everyone in the room has been looking at, now staring at your protective hand that mindlessly lay over your womb once again. He grits his teeth, averting his stare to the ground, eyeing the charred wood of the fire pit. His tongue clicks as he parts his lips, muttering—

“I know… I know, alright? She’s just—” He looks up at Neytiri, then Ralak, and then you. “She’s my babygirl.”

It’s his way of saying, ‘I just want to protect my family.’

“Dad. I am but—but I’m not your baby anymore. I’m not a kid.” You croak, finding it hard to hold eye contact with him. “Your grandson is the new baby of this family.”

Jake tries to fight the way his eyebrows scrunch together, it was like hearing about the news of his firstborn son all over again. He exhales slowly, nodding his head and extending his arms to hold you. His warmth envelopes you completely, leaving no room for any cold or harsh thoughts and feelings to linger.

“You keep ‘em safe.” Jake's chin presses into the crown of your head as he mutters the words to Ralak. Ralak had always had a hard time understanding Jake's native slang, but this he understood— loud and clear.

“Always.” Ralak answers firmly.

Your safety has been, is and will always be his number one priority.

Jake nods once, squeezing you a little tighter before letting go fully. “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations], you two.”

“Thank you, dad.” You smile whilst Ralak bows his head. Neteyam and Lo’ak finally come over for their hugs, making a comment of their own as they release you from their grasps.

“I’m gonna teach him everything I know.” Lo’aks grin is unnerving and a little sinister, giving away the trouble that he’s already trying to get your son into.

“Please don’t.” You joke back with your brother, even though you’re being dead serious.

Neteyam jabs an elbow into his brother's rib cage, disciplining him for his mischief. “Agh — do not worry, Uncle TeTe will keep him in check.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” You say softly with a smile on your face, “‘Uncle TeTe’. I like that.”

“Hey, don’t forget about ‘Uncle Lo’Lo’.” Lo’ak chimes in.

“Eh. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know? What do you think, lak?” You jester, looking up at him to be met with a slight smirk.

“Very… hiyìk [strange; funny].” Ralaks smirk pulls at his lips a little more. “But, at least it is not ‘ak’-ak’.”

You swear you hear a little chuckle from everyone in the room. All except Lo’ak, who is staring at Ralak with a deadpan expression, arms crossed defensively over his chest. It feels like an eternity passes until Lo’ak finally booms with laughter, extending his arm out to Ralak, who gaily reciprocates and meets Lo’aks’ with a smack.

“I like this bodyguard of yours, y/n. He actually has a sense of humour.”

You let loose a scoff and roll your eyes, about ready to wrap this whole thing up and lie down in bed. It’s seemingly obvious, seeing that everyone is giving you space as they take note of your restless body language and bowed shoulders.

“If you are tired, you should rest.” Neytiri advises, just as you feel Ralaks hand tuck under your arm to support your weight. “Your body is working hard right now.”

“Yeah, mom. I think I need to lie down for a little.” You mumble, leaning into your mate a little more.

Your family practically ushers you out, encouraging you to get some rest and to get off your feet. Ralak walks close to you on the way home, keeping with the pace you set to the tee — only intervening with a hand to your hip when necessary.

And when you finally slump into bed, your eyelids flutter shut before Ralak can settle himself beside you.

——smut warning——

You rouse to Ralak drawing the curtain of your marui, blocking out the orange hue of the last eclipse. It dawns on you that you’ve slept out most of the day. You didn’t even realise you were so tired to begin with.

“You should have woken me earlier. I slept out the day.” You mumble, sitting up in bed and lightly kicking off the sheets.

Ralak turns around, surprised that you’re awake. He curses himself under his breath; he was hoping to keep you sleeping by drawing the curtains but instead he did the opposite.

“You needed to rest.” He says, making his way over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You have been more tired recently.”

“Yeah?” You snort, “…and what else have I been, sir know-it-all?”

Ralak chuckles, his eyes falling to your stomach. “…a little more hungry.”

You smile a little, remembering his fish wrap comment from earlier.

But then you witness his half-lidded eyes glaze over with something of… wanton. It takes a second to realise that they’re no longer staring at your belly. They’re staring at your tewng [loincloth]. More specifically, the mound imprinting it.

It’s the way your pussy is being so tightly squeezed by the thin cloth covering it. It’s the one thing that Ralak can’t help himself from indulging in admiring. Then his eyes snap away, unexpectedly meeting yours. The stare he’s giving you has your thighs rubbing together and your lower tummy tingling.

“…a little more tempting.” His voice is thick like honey, laced with lust and arousal.

In every way. From the way you fill out your top more, to your scent—you’re becoming more

irresistible the farther along you progress. Your heart beats a little harder between your ribs as you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. His lecherous gaze is fixed, blue eyes piercing into yours. It’s been too long since he’s been inside you that it aches.

But he’s been patient.

Especially since the day he figured out you were pregnant. With the way you smelt he found it hard to keep his distance at times but nonetheless, he did it. But the truth is that you haven’t had penetrative sex since your cycles synced.

To be clear, he took care of you just fine.

Tending to your needs whenever you initiated intimacy with him but he never took it further than his fingers and mouth. After seeing you so battered by his own hands he found it hard to put you in a position that could garner a similar result again.

For a while, he lost trust within himself.

That he no longer had the capacity for self control. Not only did he feel like he didn’t deserve it, but he never expected you to return the pleasure either. He had already taken you on his own terms. Repeatedly.

Ruthlessly.

So when you ate one to many of his payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] — when the new earthiness of your scent wafted past his nose — he knew. He knew it stuck. He knew your womb swelled with his child as each day passed. And the urge to protect only swelled with it.

He became even more gentle with you. Handling you with care when your skin softened and your hips became a little fuller. Ensuring he had excess when he cooked. Weaving an extra thick blanket for you to sleep with when he was off on duty with Tonowari.

It ached most when he’d come home just to see it kicked off onto the floor, with you on your stomach and your leg propped up just right. Your loincloth would always shift to the side, just enough to expose plump folds that innocently peek through the seam of the thin fabric. Fuck, it more than ached. It made him tender. Throbbing in his own tewng.

Just like now.

He dares not to break the steady, intent stare. Or else he may steal another glance at the softness between your thighs. But he can see in your eyes that you feel similarly. You always give him that look before doing something ‘troublesome’. You break eye contact first, your eyes now landing on his tewng.

Fuck.

Your eyes widen a little when you catch sight of the growing, thick bulge in his loincloth. Your gaze locks onto it, taking in every detail. From the thick stripes on his thighs to the way the twine of his loincloth is cutting into his v-lines. You can even see the outline of the crown of his cock.

His stomach rises and falls from his uneven breathing, and his abs pop out one by one as he leans further back—supporting his torso with his arms behind his back. He was never shy about his body, and he certainly isn’t now.

“Then, why do you resist me?” Though it's a question, it doesn’t sound like one when the words drip off your lips. Your voice is soft and feigned with innocence, yet you're shuffling to get on all fours to crawl over to him. You truthfully don’t care for the answer, you knew that it would be the same old song—‘he doesn’t want to hurt you’.

“I hurt you.” He says coldly—simply, glancing at the fading scar on your shoulder as you settle yourself on your knees beside him. He watches as your hand finds purchase on his knee, and slides up his thigh. “And now that you are with child… I—haah”. He’s cut short with a shaky breath and slight jolt when you cup his bulge with a bit of force. He looks down at your hand, dainty and slender, barely grasping half of what’s under his tewng.

“You worry about me too much.” You mumble, more focused on the speed at which his cock pulses at. “Yet still, never yourself.” You feel around, sliding your palm up and down its length, earning a rough exhale from Ralak in return. His lidded eyes dart back over to you, taking in the sight of you almost bent over his lap.

“That so?” His voice is thick and gruff.

“Mhm. ‘m always telling you that, aren’t I?” You hum softly, slowly moving your hand further down between his legs, firmly cupping his balls. They’re heavy in your hand, hot to the touch and—

Eywa.

“They’re swollen.” You whisper breathlessly, your glossy eyes meeting him with concern. They dart back to his crotch, your hand now fumbling with the twine of his tewng, hurriedly trying to unravel the knot to get the suffocating fabric off him.

“‘tis fine.” He winces as he spits out the words, watching you pinch him a little while struggling with the taut material.

Ignoring his words, you continue with your task, a bit more gently now. And when the knot comes undone, the twine falls off his hips and the tewng loosens with it. You tug it off him and see that they’re not only puffed up but also darker in colour. They’re firm and pulled close to his body, perfectly round and stripes well-defined.

Shamefully, it turns you on to see his balls so full.

Just the thought of them being so swollen with his seed that they’re aching and throbbing to empty themselves inside you—fuck, it’s making your teeth grit. You sit back into the dip of your feet and stare as your breathing becomes heavier. The more you look the more you realize that they’re pulling tighter and tighter towards his core. You look up at him, a little surprised. Your arousal is etched into your features and it’s more than obvious in your body language. You want to know how they’d feel in your mouth. How they’d taste.

If they’d even fit.

Without another passing second you bend over his lap, tail high in the air and legs spread—the overpowering scent of your arousal filling the air. You shove your face between his thighs, inhaling deeply his musky scent. You let out a breath of desire, one that sounds nothing short of pleasure and satisfaction. He smells too good. You can’t help yourself but give his firm balls a quick, kitten lick. The giant above you holds back his chuckle, finding your behaviour cute and honestly a little amusing. Feeling like the butt of a joke, you firmly grasp his length and tug it upwards, causing his balls to pull even tighter.

“Y/n.” He hisses your name, adjusting his legs to rid himself of the strained feeling. You wet your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue, and press your cheek against them. They’re hot—heating up a degree higher the more you tease him. Just as you pull your cheek away and manage to fit one of them into your mouth, his hand flies to the back of your head, balling your hair into his fist.

“You need not to—” your tail curls and the tip of it tickles against his chest, “—haah…do this.” Ralak huffs out a sigh of frustration it seems, looking down at you with somewhat of a predatory leer. You pop off with a pwah, catching your breath and turning your head.

You both share an intent stare with one another, one that feels more challenging than anything. He’s insistent that he’s undeserving of this, and you’re insistent that he must be taken care of. His grip loosens on your hair, until he lets you go completely.

“Shh…shh.” You shush him, eyes narrowing as they remain locked onto him. You slowly slide off the bed one leg at a time, sinking to your knees and settling yourself between his legs—now looking up at him with doe-eyes. The sight before you has your heart palpitating, just like the sight of your face so close to his cock has his jaw clenching.

Ralak quiets himself by locking his jaw, waiting patiently to see how this unfolds. It’s the first he’s seen you in this position, on your knees, between his. His cock twitches in excitement as clear, thick beads of precum begin to roll down its length. You swallow thickly at the sight, wrapping your dainty fingers around its girth to pull it close to your flushed lips.

Ralaks ears flutter and his eyelids grow heavy, his chest heaving as he shifts his weight to the palms of his hands—sitting up.

You open your mouth, strings of your saliva connecting your lips together. They break when you lower your head, taking the mushroomy, glistening head of his cock into your mouth. It’s mostly sweet, and a little salty too. The corners of your mouth sting as you accommodate his thickness, and you struggle to open your jaw wide enough to take him further into your mouth.

His head dips forward, eyes slamming shut when he feels your wet, warm tongue press against the underside of his cockhead. His hand flies to your head again, gently cupping the back of your skull as he lets out a strained breath.

Muffled noises vibrate through your nose as you swipe your tongue side to side against his head. It throbs against your tongue each time it hits that sensitive spot right down the middle. You suckle and swipe at the same time, using your hands to pump the rest of his length until you're grunting and snorting for air. You come up, gasping to fill your lungs.

His hand quickly slides from the back of your head to cup the swell of your cheek. His calloused thumb swipes at a bead of saliva rolling down your chin and pops it back into your mouth. “What are you doing, my tanhì?” He whispers the rhetorical question, ensuring his voice is calm and gentle. It sounds as if he’s given up—given in.

Without answering, you take him back into your mouth, locking your jaw once you open it as wide as you possibly can. You stick your tongue out as far as it’ll go and look up at him with eyes that begin to water. He looks down at you with a concerned expression, which morphs into one of astonishment. Your head goes lower and lower, taking inch after inch of his cock down your throat.

The tears in your eyes finally spill over, and your nose begins to burn. Half of his length is down your throat and you can barely breathe, but the more his face grimaces from how good you feel around him, the more of him you urge yourself to take. You hold onto his hips, using them as leverage to shove more of him down your throat.

“Hnng. Easy.” He groans roughly, pushing back against your shoves. “You are pregnaaah—mmn, you will make yourself sick, tanhì.”

Lifting your hand from his hip, you smack away his hand and take him full hilt, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making it bulge. You stop for a second, slowly inhaling through your nose to focus on not gagging. You try moving the back of your tongue, slowly stroking the rest of his length with your hand.

“Ah, shit.” He exhales shakily, his eyes rolling back before squeezing shut. He looks focused, like he’s concentrating on not cumming down your throat right then and there. Lips parted slightly, each breath he takes becomes louder and more raggedy. His thigh muscles tense up and his legs spread a little more, his hand finding its own way to the base of your kuru.

Chest swelling with pride, you begin to bob your head and coat his cock with your sticky spit. The more slippery it gets the harder he has to fight back his choked grunts. The grip he has on your kuru is tightening, as if he were preparing himself to pry you off his cock before he fills your throat.

Suddenly, his head sinks back and his jaw clenches—hard. You could feel it. The way his cock twitches. The way it’s heating up. The way it’s swelling in your mouth. Gurgled noises are escaping past his lips, and he purses them tightly together in attempts to keep himself quiet. His core flexes, and his hips start to stutter. His whole body jolts from how sensitive he’s getting, and finally he thrusts into your mouth, the pointed tip of his cock slamming into the back of your throat.

You silently gag as his hips stammer into you and he’s fucking your throat in frenzied little movements. He’s trying his hardest to be as gentle as he possibly can.m, but your throat is so soft and tight around him. You swallow around his cock as you try to take a breath and suddenly his erratic movements still.

“Y/n.” He lets loose a dying groan as his head slumps forward and his inebriated eyes struggle to open.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His voice is gravelly and thick with restraint. You love to see him like this—hear him like this. You can’t help the wandering hand that’s making its way down to your soaked tewng. You try to touch yourself through the fabric, but have a hard time finding your clit with it covered like this. Exasperated, you shove your hand under the band of your loincloth and use all four fingers to rub sloppy circles into your puffy clit.

Ralak is too immersed into this to even take note of your desperation. He’s too desperate himself. And if you don’t stop now, he really won’t be able to help himself. He begins tugging you by your queue, trying to pry you away from him. With each hasty swipe of your fingers you suck a little harder, as if you were trying to match your pleasure with your mates’. He pulls at your kuru even harder but you’re unbudging, firmly holding the base of his cock as you relentlessly suckle on the most sensitive part of his tip.

“Stop.” He growls out of breath, finally looking down just to be tipped close to the edge by the sight below him. You look dumb and fucked out with his cock stuffed in your mouth, broken moans vibrating against his length as you franticly touch yourself.

Finally, he yanks you off him with one swift, hard tug, his cock slapping his stomach when it pops out of your mouth. You land on your behind, legs spreading wide open as your fingers work away at your now throbbing clit.

“Why? Can’t handle it?” You taunt him between pants and breathy, hoarse moans. Rather than answering he looks down at you with a cocked brow, kuru still in hand. Both of you stare at one another, shoulders and chests violently heaving as you both pant for air. He’s raw and pulsing, twitching from the heartbeat in the crown of his cock.

It's suspended mid air, jumping from how insanely aroused he’s left himself. Sticky beads of precum constantly roll down his shaft, one after the next and his balls are throbbing too. You get back on your knees and lunge for his cock again, tongue darting out to have another taste. He pulls you back, his hand still having a firm grasp of your kuru.

“Is this what you are like when you have been bred?” Ralak huffs, a little taken aback by your lewd behaviour. His gaze shifts to your pathetic attempt to make yourself cum, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “So desperate.” Your silence has his brows scrunching together and him yanking your head back so you’re looking up at him. A growl rumbles in his chest as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you to your knees with him—his hung cock swaying directly in your face.

A smug little smile pulls at your lips when you realise you’re riling him up. You witness his jawbone flutter, his ears laying flat against his skull. He just wants to stuff his cock back down your throat to teach you a lesson. Instead he shoves your face into his crotch, your nose burying itself into the space between his cock and balls. He holds you there for a few seconds, just long enough that when he finally pulls you away you suck in a tiny gasp of air.

Ralak sighs a low, lengthy breath, forcing himself to regain his composure. He can’t understand how such a little thing can be so feisty. To act as if he couldn’t pin you down and take you without a scuffle. Truthfully it only makes him even harder. It only further proves that you are really the woman for him.

Slowly bringing you to your feet, he keeps your face pressed to his body so that your bottom lip drags along his torso as you make your way up. Your hand is still stuffed inside your tewng, slick fingers working hard to find their way back to your clit. With his free hand he grabs a hold of your hip, and steadily backs you up against the wall.

When your back hits the wall, a shaky breath is expelled from your lungs. He lets go of your kuru and rips your hand from your tewng. He then wedges his knee between your legs, putting pressure on your clit, making it flutter uncontrollably. His movements are quick but gentle, filled with purpose and desire. His eyes dart back and forth between yours as he searches them, his face just inches away from yours.

“Answer me, little one.” He whispers into your mouth.

“Yes.” Your answer is breathy and short.

Ralak heaves a heavy sigh.

“I am trying to be gentle…” He speaks the words through gritted teeth, using both hands on your hips to spin you around to face the wall. He lowers his head until his lips graze against the tip of your ear. “…but you make it so hard for me.” He growls, using the perfect amount of force to pin you against the wall with his body. His large hand swiftly moves to your lower stomach, cupping it to act as a protective barrier between the wall and your budding womb.

“No need to be. I can handle you just fine.” Your lips are pressed tight to your teeth, face flush against the smooth surface, making it hard for you to speak clearly. “Pregnant or not.”

Ralak chuckles.

“Is that right?” He speaks in an almost condescending tone, hurriedly tugging down your loincloth just enough to get access to your cunt. Without warning, he bends his knees a little to align your pelvises and then shoves his cock between your slickened, warm folds. “Oh tanhì, you are soaked.” His voice quiets down into a hushed whisper, “All from sucking my cock?”

A mewl splits your lips just as all the blood rushes to your face, staining it a bright pink. Your pussy clenches around nothingness only causing more of your slick to ooze on his cock. Your breath turns shaky, tail swishing wildly behind you. You can’t move even if you wanted to. He’s got you pinned down, quickly reminding you of his strength. And had it not been for his hand on your abdomen you would be completely plastered to the wall and taken on his terms.

“Tsk-tsk…Have you no shame?” Ralak tuts, holding you still. “Or must I give you a lesson on self-restraint?”

Despite his cockiness you can sense the urgency in his body language and in his voice. You can feel it in the way his hips stutter, as his cock slides back and forth between your pussy lips. His own desperation. The desire to be inside you. The need for release.

“Go on then, karyu.” You moan softly, causing his grip on you to loosen for a millisecond. Hearing that name brings a feeling of nostalgia. Of lust. You push back into him, your slippery hole trying to suck him inside with a few quick movements of your pelvis. “But I know you’ve been desperate… desperate to fuck your numeyu.”

“Oh, little one.” His chuckle is dark and depraved, his protective hand stiffening as if he were preparing it for what's to come. “Yet you are trying your hardest to take me inside you.” He licks your ear lobe to tip, whispering, “so cute.”

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You mutter under your breath, steadying your feet to ground yourself.

Ralaks ears flicker and stand tall, then immediately lay flat to his head—his brow cocking in astonishment. His smirk grows wider, the heat in his chest spreading to his extremities. Now that pushes him over the edge.

“Say that again, numeyu.” He challenges you in a growl, angling his hips so his weeping cockhead prods at your entrance. He ensures not to let the buck of his hips win, keeping you empty and yearning.

“Haah… afraid to take what’s yours.” You purr, rising to the tips of your toes to try sink him inside you. “Fnawe’tu—”

Smack.

The sound of his swollen balls making contact with your puffy clit is almost as loud as your broken gasp. You smile open mouthed as he holds his position balls deep inside you, firmly pressing the tip of his cock into your cervix. He’s grinding his back teeth, digging his chin into your shoulder to quell the rumble of his chest from how tight you’re squeezing his cock.

You whine from the fullness of him stuffed inside your cunt, his unmoving hips sending a clear message of dominance. He’s hunched over you, body weight pinning you mercilessly against the wall, hand over your womb to keep your unborn safe—as promised. Still being gentle enough.

But you want him to lose it.

To fuck into you like he were in rut again. To use your pussy like a fucktoy to satiate his own greed and self pleasure. He deserves that much, for being such a competent and loving man to you. Yet it seems the only way to bring that out of him is to play dirty.

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You repeat shakily.

Smack.

Another deep and hard thrust into your sloppy cunt. He lets loose the rumble in his chest this time, bearing his canines and putting most of his weight on you now. Lips pressed tightly together, your whimper is muffled and outright pathetic, pinched brows giving away the pleasure rippling through you. Still, he remains unmoving, undeniably making it clear who has the most leverage here. But that doesn’t really matter to you—you’re getting what you want, one way or another.

Right?

“Voìk si, little one [behave].” Ralak hisses, fighting the inner conflict within him.

“Haa—” Your laugh that follows is a little sinister, open mouthed and smug. Hands pressing into the wall you push off its surface, sinking him deeper inside you. “No.”

“Alright.” His voice is husky, thick with confidence and temperance.

With a rough, quick tug, his cock slips out of you with a squelch, hanging freely between his legs. Your slick mixed with his precum slowly dribbling off his tip and onto the floor between your pointed feet. You fall to the flat of your feet, panting and whining from the sudden emptiness.

“W-Wait.” You squeak, hastily getting back on the tips of your toes to stuff him inside you again. “Please.”

“What was that?” Ralak asks, voiced feigned with innocence. “A little louder.”

“Please.” You barely whisper, backing up on him.

“Come now, tanhì.” His hand slips from your hip to grip his cock. Giving it a few strokes he teases your cunt with his cockhead and you instinctively shimmy down. Hips snapping back to prevent you from taking him inside, he dips his head so his mouth is next to your ear and husks, “You can do better than that.”

“Please!” You moan loudly in desperation, reaching down to your knees to unfetter yourself from your tewng [loincloth].

“Please, what?” Ralak spits the last word through pursed lips, ready to give you exactly what you want if you just ask for it nicely.

“Please put it back inside.” You beg pathetically, finally getting the knot of your tewng undone. “Please, fuck me.”

“Ahh, there’s my good girl.” Ralak praises you with a grin, sinking his cock into your warmth at a leisurely pace. His breathing stutters for every inch that penetrates you. “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck.” You moan in relief, spreading your legs wider. He’s tamed you and he knows it. “No.”

“No…?” Ralak says it like a question, hissing when he bottoms out in your cunt.

“No, karyu.” You answer coyly, voice faltering from the pressure of his cockhead pushing into your cervix.

“Agh—haah” Ralak lets out a gruff grunt in response, his hips now snapping back and forth out of his control. He’s huffing and puffing next to your ear, pumping his cock in and out of you in a frenzy of need. Swollen balls repeatedly slapping against your clit, it’s almost impossible to hold back the gurgled noises escaping your throat.

“Fuck—so—fuckin’—deep—fuck.” The curses are punched out of you as he relentlessly smacks into you again and again.

“Lì’fyaz [language.]” Ralak chides in a growl, hand slipping down to pull back the hood of your clit—taut.

The continuous sting of your clit has your legs shaking and the way his cockhead is repeatedly stimulating your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back into your head. It’s almost too much all at once yet you yearn for more. Your cunt clamps down around him, especially when the tension becomes so tight you feel your stomach double-knot. Ralak hums when you tighten around him, only making him rut harder into you.

Pulling back, he glances down at you sucking him in, your tail curled tight to your back and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy. He can see just how tight you are as your pussy walls grip his girth mercilessly. And with the protective hand on your abdomen, he can feel each thrust against the palm of his hand. It makes his chest swell with pride—

You carry his child yet still take him so well.

“Oeÿa tsantu [my good girl]” Ralak slips into his native tongue, panting in an accent as thick as tree sap. “Oeÿa numeyutsyìp [my little student]”

Ralaks cock heats up inside you, heating your core along with it. It’s the same familiar sensation you feel before he provides you with your release. The feeling that keeps your eyes squeezed shut and breath shallow. He knows your close and slows his thrusts like he usually does, fucking you a little harder rather than faster, angling his pelvis so he’s right in your swelling g-spot.

Your hands fly behind you, grasping at whatever’s available as your orgasm washes through you. You gush all over your thighs, cum dribbling down your legs to your feet, some spattering on Ralak as he fucks and holds you through your high. It’s sudden and uncontrollable, leaving you sputtering out nonsense and your legs shaking violently beneath you.

“There it is. Good muntxate [wife].” Ralak huffs with a smirk, relishing in the quick, feverish flutter of your cunt on his cock. His voice is shaky from his uneven rhythm now that he can finally allow himself to finish too. “Love—hng—when you cum for me, you—ahh, haah—know that?”

He begins grinding to you, shoving you further into the wall as he focuses on his own climax. He uses his feet to kick your legs closed, and pulls out of you, stuffing himself between your thighs. He’s groaning and growling, hunched over you with bent knees and flushed, flattened ears. Skin slapping against skin, he humps at your thighs, thick cock sliding back and forth over your still pulsing clit.

His cockhead continuously pokes out between your folds, tip oozing and oozing with precum. Both his hands fly to your hips, gripping them with force as his thrusts become almost violent. You struggle to keep yourself standing as his hips smack into you repeatedly, your body jolting with each thrust. He gives you one last, harsh thrust, holding you still against him as you feel his cock throb wildly between your thighs. You look down to see his huge load shoot out in thick, white ropes. He’s grumbling behind you, giving your thighs an extra few uncontrollable thrusts as he peaks in his high.

Finally you fall to the flat of your feet, his arms instantly snaking around your waist to support your weight entirely.

“I told you no taunting, tanhì.” He’s referring to the time he opened up about his first rut, “Next time, you ask nicely. Tslam? [Understand?]” Ralak says breathlessly.

“Sran, oeÿa karyu. tslolam. [Yes, my teacher. I understand].” You blubber, fucked out and jaded.

——

2K notes · View notes

sonolynn · 6 months ago

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A Fools Game

request | would love to see your take on Aemond feeling like a fool. Aemond thinks he charmed someone all on his own, only to find out they were pressured into pursuing him by a power-hungry family member, much like Alicent with Viscerys 👀

summary | Aemond thought you loved him.

paring | Aemond x Fem!Reader

tags | swearing, unrequited love, arranged marriage, hurt no comfort, angst, miscommunication kinda, not proof read.

w.c | 1.3k

note(s) | I love angst. I love angst so much.

____________________________________________

Aemond loved you. Whole heartedly he loved you. He never thought himself capable of love or being loved, but somehow you changed that; changed his way of thinking and his way of everyday life. He didn’t like it, at first. He thought at first that this new way of life that was instructed by you was something to feel scared about, or to fear. It wasn’t until he got to know you-truly know you-that he found himself drowning in what it was like to love you.

While he was courting you it felt surreal. He had charmed his way into your heart and your affections with all but simple words and small touches. He thought himself to be a human for once. Not a mindless sword for the crown but a human-perhaps even a boy.

When he asked you to marry him he thought you would say yes immediately, but when you said you needed to think he felt a little bit of his resolve crumble away and fill with anxiety.

____________________________________________

“He asked me if I should marry him.” You told Queen Alicent. The queen nodded at your words, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. Your family had been a vital part of the crown’s court for generations. Your father had gifted the crown lots of gold, and even more weapons and military assistance with what you could spare. More times than you could count your father had saved King Viserys’ ass.

Hence why now, the queen was pressuring you into marrying her son. A marriage between the great Targaryen’s and your house would surely be prosperous for both sides.

“And you said yes?” Alicent asked. You had always felt the pressure to say yes to anything the prince had asked you; You did not find him scary, or intimidating as most did, but you didn’t know if you could love him like how he seemed to love you, at least, not with the pressures of his family.

“I told him that I would think about it, your grace.” At your words Alicent stopped and she turned back to you.

“Think about it?”

“Yes, your grace-”

“You will say yes.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and nodded slowly. You knew that this was coming, you knew that you had no choice in the outcome of your own life. You were born into this, being the firstborn daughter of your family and all. From the minute the maester declared your gender you no longer had a choice in what you would choose to do in your life. Your decisions, your actions and your fate all rested in the hands of powerful men and women.

So, when Alicent told you that you would say yes to the prince, you only nodded softly and went on your way. A pain in your chest that you couldn’t yet seem to pinpoint.

____________________________________________

When the day finally came for the wedding the whole keep was a bustle. Servants ran around, preparing the decorations and the food and almost everything. You, however, sat in your chambers, staring at yourself in the mirror as the servant behind you did your hair.

Aemond found himself excited, marrying the girl-no, women-that he had fallen in love with made his head spin and his heart burn in anticipation to see you in your white dress.

You, however, didn’t recognize yourself, decorated in gold and ivory like a doll for Alicent Hightower to play with. Your hair had adjournments and jewels that you had never seen before, and your dress was starting to feel too tight. You quickly stood from your seat, and you walked to Alicent’s chambers.

The minute you got to Alicent’s room, seeing her sit in her chair as a servant did her hair, you felt a wave of anxiety wash over you. If you backed out now surely your father would hate you for it…But you were done looking out for others.

“I can’t marry the prince.” You spoke quietly, but Alicent heard you. She stood slowly, pushing the servant back a little.

“You are just nervous. You shouldn’t say such things-” “The only thing that I am nervous about is being thrown into a loveless marriage! I cannot marry the prince lest I drive myself insane!” Alicent paused, and she gave you a look; a warning look. But you ignored the look, only to continue talking. “I have never looked out for myself. Not truly. But for once I wish to be able to make my own decision without that of a higher power!”

You watched Alicent’s eyes drift from your eyes to behind you, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Aemond.”

You froze as she spoke the name, and you turned quickly, only to be faced with that of the young prince. Your heart broke, something you didn’t know it could do for the prince. You watched his wide eye, his soft frown as he stared down at you.

“My mother forced you to do this?” He spoke carefully, his voice slightly wavering. You watched, as the last bit of excitement in the prince's eyes drained out into something more; hurt and betrayal.

“M-My prince-” You went to speak, but Aemond quickly turned, his hair falling over his shoulder blades as he rushed out of the room. You sighed heavily and followed him, calling out his name.

As he descended down the stairs, you quickly picked up your dress and ran after him.

“Aemond, wait! Please! You do not understand-”

“I understand enough!” His voice was loud, he was truly yelling, which caused you to stop and stare down at him. His one eye was slightly red, and his jaw was clenched.

“Aemond-”

“I understand. I understand that my mother is a two tongued cunt who forces others to bend at her will. But I did not expect you to be so easily pliable.” Your face hardened at that, and you glared at him.

“How is it that when looking out for myself, I become pliable! I wish to live a life in which I do not have my decisions made for me-”

“You could have had that with me!” Aemond spoke frantically, looking up at you with soft eyes as his voice tore between the lines of hurt and fury. “I would have loved and cherished you with everything I had!”

You scoffed. “Loved? When does love ever come out of a political marriage?”

“Political?” His face softened into confusion and he looked up at you, his eye tracing over your face in disbelief. You looked at him with the same amount of confusion.

“This marriage. It is political.”

“No. No, this marriage is because I find my heart at your feet.” You stopped at his words, staring at him with an expression slowly turning into that of shock.

“You care for me?”

“No, I fucking love you!” He stares for a moment longer, before he speaks again. “But now I see what it truly is. Forgive me, my lady.” He gave you a quick nod of his head before he turned and returned to his descent down the stairs. You stood frozen, looking at his back as tears formed in your eyes. You knew this wedding would go on no matter what happened, but this complicated things, so many things.

As Aemond walked away he felt his heart beating faster. How could he not hate? Why, out of all of this new found hurt did he still feel a connection towards you?

He wished to scream, he wished to punch the walls until his knuckles went raw and bloody. He wanted to do so many things but he seemed paralyzed to action as your words rang through his head. You never wished to marry him, you wished to please his mother. Gods did he feel like a fool.

A mistake he vowed he’d never make again.

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prythianpages · 7 months ago

Text

Just A Girl | Eris x Rhysand's Sister

series masterlist | summary: Your father throws a ball in your honor. When Beron belittles you, you decide to show him what you're capable of, catching the attention of his firstborn.

word count: 2K

a/n: Hi guys! It's been a hot minute since I've written anything and I feel rusty lol (kinda like when you stop riding your bike and have to relearn type of feel.) Anyway, this is entirely based off no doubt's just a girl bc I felt like it gave off Rhys's sister vibes and then I thought why not incorporate this into an au I had planned for an Eris x Rhys's sister one shot??

“When I’m High Lord, I’ll go–”

“I’m sure you’ll go far,” you interrupt, a half smile playing on your lips as you look up at the first born of Spring. With his luscious blond hair, striking green eyes, and well-defined jawline, he's undeniably a sight to behold. Unfortunately, his personality doesn't match his looks—dull yet somehow arrogant and miserably misogynistic.

You don’t have it in you to spare him a moment longer, especially not when his overbearing pride is becoming overwhelming for your senses. You push past the desire to call upon your abilities and manipulate his emotions into something more humbling. He is not worth exposing your powers.

With a pat on his shoulder–too harsh for his liking– you add, “and I really hope you stay there. It was nice speaking with you, Heathen.”

“It’s Heath.”

You give an uninterested hum before making your way to the refreshments table, desperate for something to soothe the tension between your brows. A silent prayer is sent to the Cauldron that no other male approaches you with a lame attempt at conversation. If they are interested in you, they should at least be able to hold a good one. One that doesn’t incorporate any microaggressions toward you.

Fortunately for you, it is your brother who approaches you next. He takes your–what was it? fourth or sixth, you can’t remember– champagne flute from your grasp with an effortless ease. A glare settles upon your features as you watch him chug it before fixing your gaze straight ahead, to the dais where your father and mother sit.

Your father occupies the grand throne, while your mother sits beside him in a smaller, less ornate chair. The Lady of the Night Court—magnificent and burdened with countless responsibilities—receives none of the praise that is lavished upon your father. Despite her contributions to your court, she is not held in the same regard… simply because she is a female.

It leaves you to wonder what your destiny is.

Rhysand looks at you with sympathy, and you realize that in your moment of vulnerability, you've let your mental shields slip. “Please, save your breath,” you mutter.

Sensing Cassian and Azriel approaching, you flash them a small, relieved smile. “And please, stay by my side,” you say, your eyes scanning the room where multiple pairs of eyes are fixed on you. You feel so exposed and though it’s no surprise, it still leaves you unsettled. When your gaze meets that of one of Autumn's sons, you quickly look away and strengthen the shield around you.

“I could use my scary brother privileges right now.”

“Who are we scaring, princess?” Cassian asks, flexing his muscles as he pretends to adjust the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows.

Azriel lets out a snort, but his keen eyes are already scanning the room, easily locating the Autumn male. The red-haired male immediately cowers under his cold, hard stare.

“No one.” Rhysand replies, shooting them both a warning look. He then turns to you and you don’t need his daemati abilities to know what he’s about to say. “y/n–”

“Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand?” You interrupt him with an exhausted sigh.

Tonight was a celebration–a ball to honor you and all you’ve done for the Night Court during the war. When the war started, you were twenty-three and deemed too young to participate. Though, at that age, Rhysand had already completed the bloodrite and was esteemed a formidable warrior. You were fortunate that your father allowed you to train and even more so that he allowed you to join the Night Court council.

You quickly mastered the politics of war and the intricacies of the Prythian courts. Midway through the war, your father entrusted you to visit the war camps and delegate on his behalf. There was no doubt that it was a privilege you were granted due to your powers. Still, you embraced it eagerly and tonight was the night you would officially be recognized as an emissary.

But of course, many–especially the sons of the High Lords–confused tonight as your debutante ball. You were in your third decade, after all. While your brother was recognized as a fierce warrior and heir, you were regarded as a highly sought out bachelorette.

Lucky you.

“I am meant to be pretty and docile,” you continue, gesturing to yourself.

The dress you wore was far from your usual preference. The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and sequins, featured a sweetheart neckline that teased a glimpse of your breast—but not too much. The skirt of the gown was voluminous, made of layers of soft tulle that shimmered with every step as the light caught the scattered sequins. It was a beautiful black ball gown, crafted by your mother's talented hands. Yet, you much preferred dresses that clung to you like a second skin, revealing more of your figure.

To put it frankly, you felt quite suffocated in this gown. And you rather not even get started on your makeup. You were transformed into a perfect painting of a sweet and innocent princess. Not the daring and powerful female you knew yourself to be.

“Desirable but not too attainable.”

“However, that does not mean I need to be consistently tortured by dull conversations and hungry stares from controlling males,” you finish, crossing your arms against your chest with a scowl. “No one has even asked me about my role in this court.”

“Oh, yeah. How is it being an emissary to the Night Court?” Cassian asks, earning a smack to the back of his head from Azriel.

“Just splendid,” you reply with a sarcastic smile.

“You played a significant role in establishing peace between Spring and the rest of the courts after the war. I’m sure your efforts will not go unnoticed,” Rhysand assures you.

“Perhaps I played my role too well. Heathen has seemed to have taken an interest in me.”

It’s as if he heard his name being called, for the blonde male’s gaze meets yours across the ballroom. He winks at you with that stupid, cocky smirk of his. A grimace crosses your face. You had been hoping your conversation from earlier would deter him. It seems it has only spurred him on.

“He’s... pretty,” Rhysand starts, but then trails off, struggling to find a compliment for Heath. “Pretty full of himself,” he finally manages, shooting you an almost apologetic glance.

Both of you erupt into laughter.

“It could be worse,” Azriel comments after a moment, a futile attempt at making you feel better. “It could be the heir to Autumn. As the by-product of growing up under Beron’s cruelty, I hear he’s pretty ruthless. Might even turn out to be crueler than him. At least Heath isn’t as bright…”

“Ouch,” Cassian says with a playful wince, almost feeling bad for the Spring heir.

Your eyes find the male in question. Eris Vanserra. His vibrant red hair makes him and his siblings easy to spot in a crowded room. Surprisingly, Eris hasn't made any attempt to approach you tonight. Unlike his brothers. Instead, he stands by his mother's side. She appears uncomfortable and weary, her arm linked with his as she rubs her swollen, pregnant belly.

As you focus on him, you feel a mix of anger and concern. “Somehow, I doubt that,” you voice your thoughts out loud, following the trail of emotions. Your eyes land on the recipient of his anger. Beron. The High Lord of Autumn stands amongst the other High Lords, engaged in conversation with your father.

Sensing your gaze on him, your father looks up from where you stand. He holds a hand up, summoning you and your brother.

“Time to shine,” Rhysand says, holding his hand out to you.

“Ah, my son,” your father greets with a smile as you and Rhysand come to a stop before him and the other High Lords. He then turns to you, violet eyes alight with pride that has your chest swelling with warmth. At least your father recognizes your worth and you don't dare to wonder if he'd see you the same if you weren't blessed with your power.

“My daughter, the guest of honor," he introduces, reaching for your hand to pull you to his side. You offer a polite smile and curtsy to the High Lords. “Y/n has done a lot for this court and all of Prythian. Tonight is a means to show my immense gratitude and present her with the official title of lead emissary of the Night Court.”

It is the High Lord of the Winter Court who speaks first, offering a slight bow of his head. “I look forward to continuing working with you, Lady y/n.”

“A wise and thoughtful member of the Night Court.” High Lord Thesan says with an amiable smile, the High Lords of Day, Summer and Spring sharing his sentiments.

However, the same cannot be said for the High Lord of Autumn. His lips curl in distaste, the thought of having to interact with a female tasting sour on his tongue. He had tolerated you before but only due to the war.

“You expect me to welcome her to my court to discuss important matter?" Beron huffs. "She’s just a girl.”

You don’t speak. You don’t even make a sound. But the look in your eyes…the look in your eyes was downright murderous.

Memories begin to flood your mind of you being berated and undermined. The box in which you had locked away your emotions can no longer contain them. A wave of anger and frustration begins to surge forth...

Rhysand knew exactly what was about to happen, his hand silently reaching out for yours. To hold you back.

But it was too late. Your mind was like a wall of steel. Impenetrable.

All you saw was red, your wings bursting forth from your glamor, unfurling behind you. They tore through the seams of your dress, provoking gasps. Swiftly, your magic mends the fabric, accommodating your true form.

Tendrils of darkness emanate from your outstretched hands, weaving through the air like sinister ribbons. Your gaze, unwavering and intense, remains fixated on Beron. With each movement of your fingers, the room plunges deeper into shadow. The once-illuminated space is now consumed by a thick veil of darkness. Even Azriel’s shadows, accustomed to the darkness themselves, cling onto him like a second skin.

As the last glimmer of light fades into oblivion, the ballroom becomes a chamber of obsidian night. With a mere thought, you tap into the emotions swirling within the hearts of those present. Careful to be subtle upon the intrusion as you do not want to expose the true extent of your abilities.

You summon only the most negative emotions like a maestro orchestrating a symphony. Screams erupt, drawing your lips upwards. You can feel resistance against your power and whether it is from your father or brother or even one of the other High Lords, you can’t tell.

Gathering all your pent up frustrations, you use it to fuel your strength, wanting to hold onto this moment of mayhem just a bit longer. It is only when you feel Beron’s heart racing, feel the trace of fear threatening to dim the fire in his veins that you let go.

In the blink of an eye, your tendrils of darkness disperse, succumbing to the resistance. The faelights around the ballroom shimmer to life once more and the moon’s light seeps back into the room. It casts an ethereal glow over you, revealing the calm and cool expression on your face. Yet, your eyes remain seething with the fury of a dark, raging storm.

Beron's scowl deepens at your display. He parts his mouth in disbelief, looking towards your father, who says nothing. Beron then looks back at you.

For once in his miserable life, he is at a loss for words. Pride swells in your chest and you push against the talons raking across your mind, wanting to bask in your small victory.

“I’m just a girl,” you finally say and then give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders before turning to leave.

Reveling in the animosity radiating off of him, your smirk deepens as you recognize a faint trace of humiliation somewhere among the fire of his wrath.

The assembled crowd parts before you, their gazes a mixture of disdain, shock, and fear. You keep your head held high and eyes focused straight ahead. Dread begins to settle in, the onset of a headache from overexertion threatening to break your composure.

Still, you carry on, feigning nonchalance. The only sounds echoing through the room are the hushed whispers and the sharp click of your heels against the marble floors.

Yet, amidst the sea of wary onlookers, one figure stands apart.

Eris.

The heir to the Autumn court is leaning casually against the wall near the exit doors, his mother nowhere to be seen. The corner of his lips are upturned into a smirk, amber eyes alight with amusement and curiosity and perhaps, even something more.

Your steps threaten to falter as your eyes meets his. He looks back at you, holding your gaze with a searing intensity, it sends a shiver down your spine. He looks at you in a way no one ever has...as if he can see you for you who you really are.

Because you aren’t just a girl.

You’re the daughter of the Night Court. A shining star. A force to be reckoned with and one he finds himself irresistibly drawn to.

series masterlist

a/n: I honestly don't know how to feel about this one. I guess it's kind of a prequel to my upcoming one shot. Also, you can't tell me Eris wouldn't find anyone besting his dad like reader did in this hot lol

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

#acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar x you #eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris fanfiction #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x rhysand's sister #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #eris vanserra fanfic #eris! his star au #eris vanserra #eris acotar

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tomriddlehyperfixataion · 4 days ago

Text

A fathers love

Summary- The story between one Dark lord and his only son, Mattheo Riddle. And the first time Mattheo calls for his father when he's in trouble.

An idea inspired by a batfam fic and @anawritez-posts :3 is mostly a fic about Voldy and the relationship between him and his first born son Mattheo.

minor Tom/young Voldy x Reader, mostly just in the background-you can make up your own story for them and if they're romantic or not.

warning; Tom Riddle/Voldemort, heart aching fluff and angst, blood, injury.

Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had never exactly expected to be a father, not once as he grew up without one, or when he murdered his father, or even when the world began to know what the name Voldemort meant-and began to fear it.

But a ruler needed an heir, so he convinced an old cohort of his, (y/n) (l/n), to be the mother of his heir. It gave her plenty of benefits, being under his protection, being the mother of his child, and being known as his dark lady because with her becoming the mother of his heir-came certain pureblood expectations, so of course he married her.

After marrying her, came his first-born son Mattheo, who he allowed his last name because Voldemort had never exactly thought of a proper wizarding last name so Riddle would have to do for now.

Birth was…stressful, not just for his wife, but for Voldemort as well-who hadn’t exactly realized that the death of his mother had affected him so badly that he was…scared that (y/n) would die giving birth to Mattheo. But she was fine, and Mattheo was a little red wriggly potato of a newborn.

“Healthy lungs,” (y/n) commented, exhausted and happy, looking down at his firstborn in her arms that was crying as hard as he could with his new functioning lungs. Voldemort nearly cringed if he wasn’t staring in near awe.

He made that, they made that, they made a tiny little human. (y/n) looked up at him, examining the impossibly surprised and soft expression the dark lord was making, he was knelt beside the bed, staring at Mattheo who was cradled in (y/n)’s arms. “Would you like to hold him?” (y/n) asked and Voldemort swallowed, for the first time, scared of hurting somebody.

“Should I?” Voldemort asked, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable and (y/n) nodded, sitting up to place Mattheo in Voldemort's arms, who took him so gently it was almost comical. “Support his head, just like that.” (y/n) murmured, Voldemort slowly leaning back on his heels as he looked down at the tiny being in his arms-who had quieted as soon as Voldemort had taken him.

“He’s so small,” Voldemort murmured, his brown-red eyes staring down at the baby boy in his arms, warmth he never thought could’ve existed blossoming in his chest. The love of being a father.

Except, Voldemort isnt very good at showing love, considering he had never been shown it all his life. He had very few examples of a fatherly figure, he had Slughorn, he supposed, but he didn’t count Slughorn as a good example-considering how he hated Slughorn's coddling of him, though he did enjoy the praise.

So, Mattheo grew up going to his mother for all of his needs, which Voldemort was fine with, he didn’t know how to communicate with the boy, who was quite emotional-his heart on his sleeve unlike Voldemort, who had been emotional when he was young-but he was mean spirited, Mattheo was soft, like his mother.

Voldemort didn’t exactly try to stop the softness that Mattheo had in his heart, because while Mattheo didn’t know it, even the dark lord was weak to Mattheo’s doe eyes he gave when he wanted something from his mother.

Mattheo, however, grew up thinking his father didn’t exactly, care about him. The dark lord was distant and quiet, never showing affection even to his wife, Mattheo’s mom. This made Mattheo believe that he was only an heir to Voldemort, a means to an end, because his friends-or his future followers as the dark lord deemed them-all had relationships with their fathers, while they were stern and maybe a bit mean sometimes, they were still fathers, caring and loving, and when he was young, very very protective.

One time he saw Lucius call out for his dad when he scraped his knee and Abraxas had been next to him quicker than anyone could even say expelliarmus. It had only been a scrape too, and yet Abraxas had scooped up the 7-year-old and carried him into Malfoy manor, away from where he and Mattheo had been playing quidditch.

Mattheo always wondered what would happen if he called out for his father? If he started crying and called out for ‘dad’?

Mattheo, for the longest time, thought he’d never respond, that he had better luck calling for death itself to save him, because Voldemort would never care about anyone that much.

Right?

Mattheo hit the floor with a crack, groaning as his shoulder flared with pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, dripping off his lip and down his chin. He’d been assigned to a mission, either by his father or some other higher-up death eater, like Lestrange or something, but it was a stupidly dangerous mission, trying to convince the trolls of the western mountains to join his father's cause.

They hadn’t exactly reacted well to Mattheo’s offer, be it strained since he hadn’t exactly wanted to be there, so here he was, being thrown like a doll by mountain trolls.

He rolled onto his back, his vision blurry as he looked up at the trolls just a few feet away, one stomping up to him-raising its club high. Mattheo’s wand wasn’t in reach-blending in with the sticks and leaves on the forest floor, his heart seized in his chest.

Was he going to die here? Would he never get to see his mom again?

Would he never finish his Hogwarts education?

Panic bubbled in his throat and tears burned in his eyes-breathing heavily and quickly as he tried to scramble back. It came out by accident, the breathless cry of a scared 15-year-old who needed to be saved.

“D-Daaa-ad!!” The word was interrupted by blood in his throat, choking on it, making his voice quiet and almost pitiful.

The troll close to him didn’t even get the chance to arch down the club-because a swirl of strong black smoke and a blast of green lightning interrupted it. “AVADA KADAVRA!” a familiar voice bellowed, killing another troll-the shock wave from the two mountain trolls hitting the ground blowing Mattheo’s hair back as he sobbed on the ground, his shoulder in flaring pain and his chest hurting as he took shallow breaths between sobs.

He opened his eyes-seeing Voldemort-face twisted in rage-turn away from the mountain trolls that were fleeing. His father’s face went pale-paler than usual-and he rushed towards Mattheo, dropping his wand as he dropped to his knees beside his only son, carefully scooping the young boy into his arms, his head cradled in his elbow.

“Mattheo,” Voldemort breathed out, his eyes wide with worry, his jaw clenched as he looked over Mattheo for any injuries-finding many.

“Dad-“ Mattheo choked out, his hand tight against his father's sleeve-he doesn’t even remember the last time his father held him like this but right now he cant bring himself to try to remember-right now, he’s scared, he’s hurt, he needs his dad.

And his dad is right here, holding him, killed for him, protected him.

Mattheo doesn’t even know where he came from, how he knew Mattheo called for him, how he knew where Mattheo was. Perhaps Voldemort had followed him, perhaps it was fatherly instincts, perhaps magic.

It could’ve been anything, and Mattheo didn’t care, because his dad had come to save him-just like he always wanted.

“i-I’m-sorry,” Mattheo blubbered out as Voldemort found his wand and began enchanting healing spells under his breath, trying to reverse the worst of the damage.

“What?” Voldemort asked, his brow furrowed as he looked at Mattheo’s face. “Mattheo-no-“

“I shouldn’t be crying-I’m not a baby-I should’ve-been able to handle it,” Mattheo stutters out-fat tears rolling down his face-he hadn’t cried in front of his father in many many years.

Voldemort shushes him, it’s awkward and new, a copy of what his mother did when Mattheo got upset, but it’s still there-a gentle coo and a warm hand that brushed away blood and tears on Mattheo’s face. “Do not apologize, never apologize, you’re my child. You weren’t supposed to be on this mission in the first place,” Voldemort murmured, scooping his son completely into his arms, Mattheo clinging to his father’s robes.

Mattheo furrows his brows at his father’s words. He wasn’t meant to be on this mission? “I meant for this to be for Mulciber, who even told you to do this?” Voldemort said, it was a rhetorical question, but Mattheo answered anyway and Voldemort’s jaw clicked in anger. “I shall deal with him later, where is your wand?”

Mattheo sniffed and looked around, still in his father’s arms-which feels so odd-but finds his wand on the floor and his father grabs it, and in a moment he apparated them back to the manor-his mother already rushing down the stairs as Voldemort carried him through the threshold of the main foyer.

“I’ve got him,” Voldemort calmly said to his wife, who nodded, her fingers brushing through Mattheo’s hair as he leaned towards her-his eyes closed as he felt blood drying on his face.

He’s set down in his room on his bed and his father personally sees to his medical needs, wiping up blood and fixing bones that were broken from when he’d been tossed to the ground by one of the mountain trolls.

It’s quiet, awkwardly quiet for a long time, Mattheo watching as his father, Voldemort, patched him up-his brown-red eyes intense as he waved his wand, charming the slice in Mattheo’s hand to heal up and close.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Mattheo admitted softly, too scared, too shy, to look at his father, who froze at Mattheo’s words. His brows furrowed, looking up at his son.

“Why not?” Voldemort asked, putting his wand away and sitting next to his son, their shoulders only a few inches apart.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Mattheo said softly, looking down at his hands. Voldemort swallowed, he knows he’s been a very distant parent, barely interacting with his son over the last 15 years-not since Mattheo was a toddler and needed his father much more than he did now.

Voldemort struggles with his words, but he has to let Mattheo know how much he really cares.

“I never expected to be a father,” Voldemort admits, wringing his hands between his knees. Mattheo looks at him, his eyes wide-realizing what was happening, his father was opening up to him. “But upon making myself the dark lord, a ruler of the wizarding world, I knew I would need an heir. I married your mother because an heir needs a mother-and she was the only one I was comfortable with, making an heir with. I…” Voldemort swallowed, rubbing his brow.

“I never expected you. I watched you be born, I was terrified your mother would pass while giving birth to you, like my mother had, but she didn’t-and you had arrived. You were so small,” his voice becomes quiet, his gaze distant, fond. “I was terrified I would hurt you by holding you, but your mother insisted. Holding you for the first time-i…I never knew what it meant to be a father, I hardly know how to be one still but…when I held you for the first time, you were no longer my heir-you were my son. My very first love. I’m…I’m sorry I’ve failed to show it all these years.”

Mattheo can feel the lump in his throat, and he takes a small breath; he can't help but leaning forward-wrapping his arms around his father, and for the first time since he was a toddler, his father hugs him back.

Mattheo’s mother watches from the doorway, smiling softly before walking away, knowing her husband and son had finally connected once more.

-end-

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #harry potter fanfiction #fluff fic #angst #Mattheo Riddle #OOC voldemort/Tom #idk here have this

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