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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 4 months ago

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𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝙼𝚎 𝙰 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x F!reader | WC : 2.1k | Proof read : NO

Summary : The night before a battle, General Acacius has something to tell the blacksmith's daughter.

Warnings: SMUT, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), masturbation F and M, implied age gap, scars, breeding kink

A/n : I wrote this in like an hour so...enjoy my horny Roman general smut with a touch of lovely dovey bc ovulation, Also I'm very dyslexic lol

The needs of any general are important, and yet your father handles the most critical element of all: crafting the armor and swords meant for battle. Among all your father's customers, General Acacius was your favorite. Alluring and tempting, he was a force of nature, and he knew it. He almost never lost a fight. If your father knew about your infatuation, he might just muster the strength to overpower the general himself.

But that didn't stop the glances. You dreamed and prayed to the goddess Venus that he would take you as his wife or even a whore.

You helped your father polish the swords and armor for the men. This week, another battle of the gladiators loomed on the horizon. It was late, the night sky high above as you rubbed polish along a chest plate. The sound of an approaching horse made you stand tall. It was a single horse, a white steed adorned with armor you knew all too well. It galloped up to where you were, at the part of the blacksmith's forge that was outside. The firelight illuminated his face as he spoke.

"Evening, fair one," General Acacius said, his voice as smooth and commanding as ever. He dismounted, his gaze never leaving you. "Is your father about?"

You shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest. "He has retired for the night, General."

Acacius stepped closer, the flickering flames casting shadows on his chiseled features. "Then it is fortunate that I find you here. I have something important to discuss."

You swallowed hard, the anticipation building within you. "What is it, General?"

He looked down, his expression softening. "Tomorrow, I march into battle. A battle that carries great risk. And I cannot go without first telling you what is in my heart."

Your breath caught in your throat. "General, I—"

He raised a hand, silencing you gently. "No titles now, please. Call me Marcus."

"Marcus," you whispered, the name feeling strange and intimate on your lips.

He stepped even closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint scent of leather and steel. "For too long, I have admired you from afar. Your beauty, your spirit, your kindness. You have captured my heart, and I can no longer keep it hidden."

You felt your cheeks flush, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion flooding through you. "Marcus, I... I never thought..."

"I know," he interrupted softly. "And I do not ask for an answer now. I only ask that you know the truth. Should I fall in battle tomorrow, I want you to know that I love you. With all that I am, I love you."

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached out to touch his hand. "Marcus, please come back to me."

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. "I will fight with all my strength, for you give me reason to survive. But if fate decrees otherwise, remember my words and hold them close."

As he turned to leave, you called out to him, your voice trembling. "Marcus, I love you too."

He paused, looking back at you with a fierce determination in his eyes. "Then I shall return. For nothing, not even the gods themselves, can keep me from you."

Marcus closed the distance between you, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made your heart race. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek before pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. His lips were firm and demanding, yet tender as if savoring every moment. You melted into his embrace, the world around you fading into nothingness.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were ablaze with desire. "Come with me," he whispered, his voice husky and commanding. "We do not have much time."

Without waiting for a response, he took your hand and led you away from the forge, his grip strong and unwavering. You followed him through the shadows, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on the path ahead. The air was thick with anticipation and the promise of what was to come.

He guided you to the far side of the property, where the cattle were kept. The soft sounds of the animals settling for the night filled the air, creating a backdrop of calm amid the storm of your emotions. Marcus led you into a small, secluded barn, the scent of hay and earth surrounding you.

Inside, the dim light revealed a space both intimate and hidden from prying eyes. Marcus turned to you, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. "I have waited too long for this moment," he said, his voice low and fervent. "I need you, here and now."

You nodded, your own desire mirroring his. "Then take me, Marcus. I am yours."

He pulled you into a passionate kiss, his lips firm and demanding. His hands slipped under the shoulders of your gown, letting the fabric dip. You gasped, the cool night air grazing your exposed skin. He looked at you intently, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Have you been taken?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"I'm no stranger to my own touch," you admitted, feeling small and vulnerable under his gaze, "but to a man?" You shook your head, your heart pounding.

A flicker of something dark and primal flashed in his eyes. He pulled your dress down the rest of the way, letting it fall into the hay scattered across the barn floor. You instinctively moved to cover yourself, but he was quicker. His hands were on your sides, warm and possessive. He kissed you once more, his hands moving upwards, palming your breasts as he began to kiss your neck. You gasped, planting your hands against his armor.

"Marcus," you breathed.

He stopped kissing you and gently patted your shoulder, a silent command to lie down in the hay. The loud clang of his armor hitting the ground sent a jolt of excitement through you. He stripped off his underclothes, revealing himself to you. Immediately, you jumped to your knees, meeting him on the ground. You looked at his body in shock and awe, the scars scattered across his muscular frame telling stories of battles fought and won.

Worry etched your brow as you reached out to trace the outline of his muscles and scars, getting lost in the feeling of his skin under your fingertips. He lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"They're healed," he murmured, his voice tender. "I feel no pain."

He caressed your cheek with his thumb before pulling you in for another kiss, cradling your head as he laid you back down. “Touch yourself,” he commanded softly, his eyes dark and hungry.

Your eyes widened at his request, but the slight smile on his lips and the warmth in his eyes gave you the courage to comply. You brought one hand to your clit, using slow circles to work yourself up, while the other hand roamed your body, seeking out the places that felt the best. You closed your eyes, small moans escaping your lips.

You frowned slightly, still concerned, but he caressed your cheek with his thumb before pulling you in for another kiss. He cradled your head as he laid you back down. "Touch yourself," he whispered, his voice a seductive command.

Your eyes widened at the suggestion. "Go on," he almost chuckled at the slight shyness you showed.

With trembling hands, you took one to your clit, using slow circles to work yourself up. Your other hand grasped your breast before roaming your body, seeking out whatever felt good in the moment. You closed your eyes, letting small moans escape your lips. You brought your hand that had been circling your clit to your mouth, opening your eyes to see what Marcus was doing.

He watched you with a hunger that made your pulse quicken. As you started sucking on two of your fingers, he stroked his length at the same speed, thick and overwhelming. Precum lined his cock, glistening in the dim light. You let your fingers out of your mouth with a pop, and he growled a low, primal sound. You spread your legs further, looking him dead in the eyes as you inserted two fingers into your wet cunt, thrusting them slowly while maintaining eye contact. Soft moans spilled from your lips, your back arching.

Marcus cracked, stopping your hand with a firm grip. You whined at the sudden stop of pleasure, but he pulled your hand from your cunt and sucked at the slick-covered fingers, savoring every bit. He released your hand with a pop, then spit into his own before rubbing it onto his cock. He leaned down, kissing your neck to distract you from any discomfort.

He rubbed his dick along your folds before pushing into you slowly. The action made you claw at his back and let out a yelp. You'd managed to put three fingers in your cunt at one point, but nothing compared to the size and mass of Marcus Acacius.

"Shh, shh, the pain will end soon," he whispered, kissing your forehead. He began to thrust into you slowly, being careful not to cause more pain. Eventually, the discomfort faded, replaced by a growing pleasure. You began to moan, and Marcus groaned, planting a hand on your hip while the other wandered up and down your body.

He bit his lip, a bead of sweat forming along his forehead, his curls sticking to his skin. His strokes became more forceful, and you started to moan louder, feeling yourself nearing the edge.

"M-more, General," you gasped for air before continuing, "more."

He growled in response, speeding up. His free hand moved to rub your clit, his thrusts harder and faster. The hay scratched at your skin, but you didn't care. Your hands gripped his forearms as you felt your pussy start to clench down on his cock. Your orgasm crashed over you with a loud moan, and Marcus continued thrusting, fucking you through your climax with sloppy, erratic movements.

With a deep moan, he spilled his hot seed inside you, filling you completely. He kissed you passionately before pulling out and collapsing beside you in the hay. You lay there together, bodies entwined, the afterglow of your shared pleasure enveloping you. The cool night air mixed with the warmth of your bodies, creating a cocoon of intimacy that made the world outside seem distant and unimportant.

Marcus turned to you, his breath still heavy, his eyes softening as they met yours. "I will return," he said, his voice a blend of steel and tenderness. "I will win this battle, and when I do, I will make you my bride."

You felt a surge of emotions, hope, and love intertwining with the remnants of your passion. "Marcus, you must be careful," you whispered, your fingers tracing the lines of his strong jaw. "I couldn't bear to lose you."

He took your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, before bringing it to rest over his heart. "With you in my thoughts, I am invincible," he declared. "Every sword I raise, every enemy I face, it will be for you. The gods themselves could not keep me from your side."

You gazed into his eyes, feeling the weight of his promise settle deep within your soul. "And I will be here, waiting for you," you vowed, your voice trembling with emotion. "My heart, my body, they are yours."

He smiled a rare and beautiful thing that made your heart skip a beat. "Then it is settled," he said, his tone resolute. "I will fight with all my might, knowing that my bride awaits me."

He shifted, rising from the hay with the grace and power of the warrior he was. You watched as he dressed, every movement deliberate and filled with purpose. The sight of his scars, his muscles, the very essence of his strength, only made you more certain of the love you felt for him.

Once fully dressed, he turned back to you, offering a hand to help you rise. You took it, feeling the roughness of his skin, the strength of his grip. He pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both a promise and a farewell.

"I will return to you," he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and reassuring.

"And I will be waiting," you replied, your voice filled with a mixture of longing and certainty.

With one final, lingering kiss, he stepped away, mounting his white steed with the same grace and power that had always captivated you. As he rode off into the night, you watched him go, your heart swelling with pride and love.

The barn seemed empty without him, the silence heavy with the weight of his absence. But as you gathered your gown and dressed, you felt a new sense of purpose. You would prepare for his return, ready to welcome him back as your victor and your husband.

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eratosmusings · 8 months ago

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Loyalty (I)

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!reader

summary: the king decides it's time for his brother to produce more targaryen heirs. who better than another hightower daughter to carry them?

warnings: adults only, all characters over 18, dubcon smut in later chapters, arranged marriage, abortion allusion (moon tea), coercion, terrible parenting

word count: 2.3k

dividers

“I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?” Viserys asks with an air of frigid humor. “Who are you to deny your king what he has commanded?”

Otto seethes, decades of practiced court manners faltering under the demand. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but she is my daughter. I will not have her married off to a man whose love of violence and debauchery trails him like a shadow. She is a pious child. To marry her to Daemon is—“

“A blessing. She will marry a prince and a valiant knight.”

The other men at the table are silent. They'd expected talks of reinforcing the kingdom's claim on the Stepstones or of quelling rumors that had cropped up of Daemon corrupting his young niece in a brothel a year prior. The king commanding a marriage between Otto Hightower's youngest daughter—his only child from a tragically short second marriage—is an unpleasant surprise.

"He is already married."

Viserys gives a taut smile. "Daemon's marriage to Lady Royce has been annulled. By royal decree and with the blessing of the High Septon. It is in the best interest of Westeros that the Targaryen line remains vast and strong and it has been decided your daughter will do what Lady Royce did not."

Otto's face falls in disbelief. He's heard nothing of it. This had been set up to corner him. "She is a child."

"She is nearly four years older than Alicent was when we wed. The queen has proven your daughters are strong vessels for Targaryen children."

"It is different. She is different. She is not as strong as Alicent."

The king shakes his head. "I will hear no more discussion of this. She will wed Daemon and this feud between the two of you shall end once and for all.”

Alicent’s touch is feather-light as she takes hold of your hands. Her eyes wander across your form, taking in the exquisite ivory gown. Its crimson embroidered dragon along the skirt a special request from your soon-to-be husband. “You look beautiful, sister.”

You can say nothing to your half-sister, barely able to retain the tears brimming in silence. A fortnight was all you’d been given to prepare to wed the vilest creature in Westeros. Daemon Targaryen was all you could have ever hoped against in a husband.

Your father stands tall behind Alicent, head held high. "The image of the Maiden herself."

A choked sob escapes you at his words. This marriage was punishment by the Seven for every sin you'd ever committed. For the impure thoughts you'd had of knights. The white lies you'd spoken to save yourself the wrath of Septa Agerrea. The gambling you'd participated in when you’d bet your favorite embroidery needle in a game of cards with Lysa Tyrell. Had you only followed the Faith more faithfully, this torture would not be yours to endure.

“I believe it is time to take your place with the king, Your Grace,” your father says.

Alicent hesitates with glossy eyes. She draws you into a tight hug and whispers an apology and how much she loves you. You have the faintest memory of her wedding to the king a few years before. The happy sister who’d spent hours braiding your hair when the handmaidens failed to do it properly disappeared into a hardened queen round with child seemingly overnight. The smiles and giggles you’d shared daily turned to fond, distant memories. She withdraws a moment later, wiping at her face.

When the door shuts your father moves behind you. You watch in the ornate mirror as he drapes the green maidencloak of House Hightower across your shoulders. The new burden's weight feels uncomfortable.

He returns to stand before you, his expression sorrowful. "I am sorry, my sweet child, for this atrocity. You deserve far better.”

“I could have saved myself this fate had I been less worldly and become a Septa.” Your palm wipes at the tear that had fallen.

He cups your cheek. “Perhaps. But we cannot lament on what we could have done. Indeed we must focus instead on your duty to the realm.”

“To be a good wife,” you state. It was what he had raised you to be.

“No, sweet child,” he says softly, “I fear that I must ask something far more difficult of you. For your duty to the realm must supplant your duty in marriage.”

The wedding takes place in a haze. You tremble, stumble over words, and can not meet the eyes of your now husband nor the Septon. Soon you would betray them both.

For the good of the realm.

You do not eat or drink through the feast. You barely speak. You think you might have danced, though all you remember of it is a blurring background and an embroidered dragon that matches your own. It had stared at you accusingly.

“Shall I call for the bedding ceremony to begin, brother?” the king slurs loudly. If there had been anything in your stomach, it surely would have come out now. It was one vile thought to have him touch you. But to have other men undress you as well?

Your hand is pulled from your lap, enclosed in another twice its size, callous and rough against your skin. For the first time that day you look at your husband. You’d never seen him this close. The lavender gaze cannot have been of this world. It’s too vibrant, too knowing. “Too many of the men here have wandering hands. I’d hate to spill blood on such a blessed day.” His lips brush against your hand. “My sweet wife should not have to endure such tragedy.”

The king responds dismissively. Something of disappointing guests, but to do as he pleases. Daemon takes it as a dismissal and pulls you from your seat. The last thing you hear is the call from many about bloody sheets.

Perhaps the Mother has decided to take mercy on you. For you cannot breathe as the doors to the prince’s chambers close behind you. Death can take you before he can.

He stands in front of the fire, pouring some drink into a goblet. The flickering orange light suits him. Like he was born for flames. “You must relax. There is nothing for you to fear from me.” A lie. There was much to fear from him.

A booming knock echoes through the room.

“Enter.”

Two servants carrying trays of bread and fruit enter. Then they are gone just as swiftly. The door closes once more.

“You must eat,” he says, taking your hand once more and leading you to a small table. You sit and a piece of bread is offered. You take it and, after an expectant nod, take a bite. It’s still warm and soft. You take another bite. And another.

It’s gone quickly. Too quickly for a lady. A bowl of berries clatters softly in front of you. You pick at it slower, though not as slowly as you’d like. They are sweet. Perfectly ripe.

“Would you like some wine?”

Despite the juice of berries coating your tongue, your mouth is dry as you speak for the first time since you’d said your vows. “Yes, please.”

“So well mannered.” A smug smile spreads across his face as he raises his goblet and sips. He reaches over and sets it down beside the half-empty bowl. “I forgot to have them retrieve another cup.”

The crimson red liquid ripples. A challenge.

“You are very gracious, my Prince. Thank you.” You lift it by the stem and drink. It was stronger than you’ve ever had before. The taste takes you aback, coughing as it soaks your tongue. Hastily you set the cup back down.

"I take it you don't often indulge in Dornish Reds."

"No, never."

His head cocks to the side appraisingly. "I suppose such a thing has never been offered to you before. Not within the confines of your father's authority. He has given you a rather sheltered life."

A prickly heat seeps up your neck. "My father did not confine or shelter me. He has only ever guided me to live as virtuously as the Seven wished for all their children to live.”

“How very kind of him to not let you endure the same vices as himself.”

You blink, his words sinking in. The implication that your father is a drunkard stings. He isn't, but you don’t fight his accusation. Selfishly, you do not wish to defend your father. Instead, you pluck a berry from the bowl, hoping to end the conversation entirely.

"Are the berries quite good?"

You nod, not wanting to speak again.

"Might I have one?" When you go to pick up the bowl, he stops you. "Pick me out the best one."

The best one? The bowl is still half full. Which berry was the best? Would he be disappointed if you picked one he did not like? Or one that was not ripe enough? Not sweet enough? What would he do to you if he disliked the one you chose?

It was the largest blackberry that you finally settle on, prepared to hear how terrible the choice had been as you hold it out to him. He doesn't simply take it. He leans over the table, taking the berry and your fingers into his mouth.

The act is heinously intimate. It leaves you frozen and breathless as he pulls away, his eyes alight in devious amusement. "I'm not sure which taste I prefer. The berry's or your's."

Fire spreads across your cheeks. You flinch away, embarrassed. In the escape effort your arm knocks against the goblet. To your horror, it clatters against the table. The liquid sloshes across your front, staining the white gown.

The crimson seems to seep from your womb, condemning you for something you had yet to do. You paw at the stain as the chair clatters on the ground from the force with which you'd stood.

Tears brim in your eyes as it continues to spread.

“There's no need to fret. It is only wine.”

“I have desecrated it.” The tears have not stopped falling and your hands have not stopped scrubbing at it with your fingers. “The stain will never come out.”

“It is only a dress.” He cups your face, encouraging you to meet his gaze. It searches for some understanding.

He would never understand.

“I am so sorry, my Prince.”

He shushes you softly and places a kiss against your forehead. This was the monster? The vile, unholy beast whose every action was an affront to the Seven? This man who had shown you nothing but kindness?

You cry harder.

He is not the monster.

You are.

You aren’t sure how long you cry. But he holds you through it all. He speaks little more than a few consoling phrases, but it is more than you deserve. His presence, arms around you, kisses on your hair. All of it more than you deserve.

You’re finally calm, only left with sniffles, when he says, “We should get the dress to the washwomen before the stain sets.” What good would it do? The stain can never be removed from your soul. Still you agree and turn for him.

His fingers are swift as they loosen the strings of your bodice. Practiced. He is practiced. Behind closed doors you assume, but there were numerous tales of his public debauchery. It has been gossiped that he prefers the thrill of open affairs and touches of multiple women.

“Why did you refuse the bedding ceremony?”

He pauses. “Did you wish to have one?”

“No,” you say quickly. “But given your…tendencies I…I thought…” A quiet hum has your words trailing off.

His work continues, though slower. “You are not a whore in a brothel.”

“Neither is your niece and yet...”

Air blows across your neck as he chuckles. “Has my pious little wife been gossiping about the chastity of the Crowned Princess?”

Your lungs seize at the realization of what you’d just said. It’s treason. Questioning her virtue is treason.

“Relax, jaesa.” His hands slip between the shoulders of your shift and the loose gown, pushing the sleeves down your arms. “I took you under my protection today. You may speak freely to me.”

“I,” you hesitate, freeing your hands of the garment, “I had heard that a year ago you snuck the princess from the castle and—“

He bunches the fabric at your waist and tugs. “Had my way with her in some brothel?”

“Yes.”

The gown struggles for a moment, snagging on the curve of your behind. Another tug and it is a pile around your feet. “My niece wished to see King’s Landing. I showed her and returned her to the castle, still a fair maiden like yourself.”

“Of course.”

“You doubt me?”

“No, my Prince.”

"It would do a great disservice to our union to begin it with lies." He prompts you to turn and hesitantly you do. He is shorter than your father, yet his presence is as commanding. More so. It makes you aware of how thin the fabrics of your shifts were when his gaze drifts down. "My niece's heart belongs elsewhere. As do my desires."

His touch is gentle as he cups your cheek, but the feeling's it stirred are rough and uncertain. Bordering on traitorous.

“Shall I call a servant to fetch the dress?” The words waver. You wonder if they’re comprehensible at all.

They are, it seems as he rejects the offer and slips out the door himself with the dress. The reprieve from his watchful, astute eye is welcome. You fall to your knees at the edge of the bed and recite the prayer your father had taught you minutes before you’d been led down the aisle.

Warrior, give me strength for what I must do. It is for the good of the realm.

Mother, forgive me for what I must do. It is for the good of your faithful servants.

Stranger, lead my children to peace. It is for the good of their innocent souls.

a/n: all your thoughts and reblogs are appreciated 🌺

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plutoswritingplanet · 8 months ago

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: i had a "no bald men" rule before he licked a knife... so y'all know my priorities are in order. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (as per usual), Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atreides (it's just such a good prompt i couldn't help myself),

Summary: A month-long engagement to the na-Baron Harkonnen makes you question, whether a marriage can bloom on the grounds of hate. Loosely based on "Special Death" by Mirah.

Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.4 (finale)

The message comes from the Emperor himself. An indisputable order that renders your Father speechless. You've never seen him quite as distraught, as when he has visited you in your chambers to deliver the news. Hands fidgeting, eyes refusing to meet yours, heavy shadows falling across his face. He seems to expect your reaction, not giving you as much as a flinch, when you scream your protests at him. And he should've expected as much, you were always the more impulsive of Duke Leto's children.

- But the Harkonnens are beasts - you argue, voice breaking - You've said it yourself, many times.

- Actually, I think that was Gurney...

- You've never denied it!

And he doesn't deny it now, head hung low. Never, not once in your life, have you seen your Father give up. Until today.

Your Mother enters just a few seconds after him, her dress flowing around her ankles as if she had floated in on a cloud. She stands to the side of your bed, hands folded, and an impassive expression embedded onto her features. And the more she speaks of the centuries of breeding, the importance of an union and the powers beyond your understanding, the less you see of your mother. What stands before you, instead, is a Bene Gesserit sister, veiled in schemes and dark plans, which were in the making before you were even born. You curse yourself for not noticing this stranger sooner, and storm off, out of your room, your shawl blowing out behind you like bat wings.

Paul doesn't visit you, but you can hear him, even through the effort of swallowing down your tears. He fights for you against your Father. He would fight for you against the whole Empire if he had to, and your heart swells, as he throws a particularly nasty curse into the air of your Father's study. It doesn't change anything. According to the decree of the Emperror, the oldest daughter of the Duke Leto Atreides will marry Feyd Rautha, an heir to the Baron Harkonnen. A centuries long dispute is about to be put to an end, and all thanks to the small sacrifice, which is your life. All would be well in the galaxy. Really, you should be honored, to be tasked with such a monumental peace treaty.

Everyone in the court seems to know about your situation. Mournful looks follow you, as you walk into the training barracks, ridding yourself of layers upon layers of flowing fabrics, leaving you in a rather tight costume, light enough to beat your frustrations out on someone.

Duncan Idaho meets your searching eyes, and you know he is aware as well. All it takes is one inclination of your chin, and he's up on his feet, sword in hand. Loyal as ever, he stands in front of you, watches with mixed feelings as you enable your shield, no questions asked. None needed.

He barely has time to put his defenses up, when you charge at him, fury and despair pushing your movements into stances which are clumsy and ill though out. Still, there's power within your strikes, a strength of someone who needs to move, unless they break. So he lets you, for a couple of minutes. He dodges your attacks, pairing some of them, never moving quite into the offense.

The rest of the soldiers scurry off somewhere, for which you will be thankful in the future. They might hear your cries of anger, but they will not see you break. They will not see the way your blade smashes into Duncan's shield over and over again, with no regard for the slow attacks, which would penetrate it. Likewise, they don't see your sparring partner fall to his knees and swipe you off your feet in a split-second movement, making you hit the floor with a frustrated snarl. And they don't see you finally give up, and cry, hugging your blade to your chest, the severity of your circumstance falling onto you, crushing you down.

- Never fight in anger, Princess - Duncan reminds you, voice cautious, and you growl at him like a wild animal - It dulls your instincts, makes you distracted.

- Did you know? - you demand, your sharp voice cutting through his half-assed lecture.

For a moment he looks truly remorseful. His eyes float around the room, and your heart sinks when he sighs deeply.

- I found out not long ago - he confesses - Your Father told me.

Your blade slides against the floor as you throw it, a raw scream tearing through your throat. Duncan takes a step towards you, hand extended towards your shaking form. But, before he can attempt to touch you, you're up, rolling your shoulders forcefully. Tears stain your cheeks, and you wipe them roughly with the back of your hand, skin becoming irritated almost instantly. There are swords laid out on a small table, just beside you, your fingers grip the cold handle so hard, your knuckles seem to creak under the pressure. Duncan readies himself as well, dusting off his trousers.

He's not good at comforting, but he's the best at fighting, and if that's what you need in this cold morning, he'll oblige.

- You'll make it through, you know - he says, his voice genuine, and you laugh without any mirth.

Your blades clash, faces coming closer as you absentmindedly notice small scars adorning his cheeks.

- You can adapt to anything - you strike against his shoulder, the shield pushes your blade away - We could send you to Arrakis right now, and a week later you'd be riding a damned Sandworm into battle.

To that, you laugh, this time your smile reaching your eyes. The idea is preposterous, but it renders your footsteps lighter, and you twist to dodge a nasty blow to the right arm. Duncan huffs a laugh as well, as you slip through his fingers. He points his blade in your direction, a smirk playing across his lips, and you bare your teeth in a playful display of wildness.

- Careful, Princess, you might scare your betrothed away - Duncan teases, as you roll your dagger in your hand.

- Scare a damned Harkonnen? Do you find me that intimidating? - the idea thrills you just a little bit, you're woman enough to admit it.

- I think you're fucking terrifying.

- Duncan Idaho, you better not be swearing at my Daughter.

Your face falls immediately, as your Father approaches the two of you, shooting Duncan a stern gaze which holds no real threat. Still, your sparring partner raises his hands, his blade tucked away safely into his belt. There's sweat clinging to your skin from all the training, mingling with drying tears on your cheeks, and Duke Leto tries very hard not to comment on your choice of processing recent events. Still, he nods at you, and like a good daughter, you put your blade away, walking from the barracks after him.

***

The Emperor has called for a traditional, Atreides engagement. A mercy, which you're eternally grateful for. You're not too aware of Harkonnen customs regarding marriage, but given the House's reputation, it couldn't have been pleasant. House Atreides however, took to such matters much more ceremonially, old-fashioned to some.

Soon, a ship is arriving, with your betrothed onboard, and a month-long courting period willcommence. After that, official engagement and soon after, a wedding. Then, you will be transported back on Geidis Prime, where a life of misery awaits. That's all the time you have. A month.

The dress, which was picked out for you, is uncomfortable and shows both too much and too little skin at the same time. While your legs are bare and exposed to an almost scandalous degree, a high, stiff collar nearly chokes the life out of you. This whole getup was the idea of your mother, as an attempt to highlight your best features and hide all that might be considered less desirable.

You have no idea what's wrong with your neck. Perhaps, by cutting off your airflow, your mother aimed to keep you docile.

She frowns deeply as you tug on the fabric, nerves climbing up your spine, growing more desperate every second. She swats at your hand, and you throw her a look. Out of the corner of your eye Paul smiles at your antics, your only consolation in this hopeless place.

- Stop fidgeting, you'll tear the dress - Lady Jessica scolds you, and you can sense actual worry underlining her stern voice.

The Harkonnen ship slowly glides into the atmosphere of your home planet, a black, awful thing. Like all things on Geidis Prime, dark and miserable. Soon, you'll join them, adorned in equally black and lifeless clothing, never to see your family again. Never to see the Ocean. Your nails bite into the collar of the dress, you can hear a stitch tear.

- Stop that.

Your hands fall uselessly against your body, as your mother uses the Voice on you. Wouldn't be the first time, you were quite the unruly daughter and Lady Jessica was determined to make a Lady out of you no matter the means. Still, this time, the unnatural tone feels more like a panicked plea, than a light-hearted scolding.

- Relax Mother - your voice is sharp, despite the slight tremble - In a months time I'll be gone from here forever, stuck in some blackened cell, wistfully sighing "ooh" "aah".

You place your hand on your forehead in a dramatic display of doubtful acting abilities. When you were younger, your mother would laugh at you, as you enacted scenes from romance books. You would throw yourself at a nearby piece of furniture, pretending to be some wronged lover, or an unhappy bride waiting for someone to liberate her. And your mother would clap her hands, thoroughly entertained.

Today however, she doesn't even crack a smile.

- I don't expect you to be happy about all this - she whispers - But I do expect you to wear your grief with some grace.

A slap would've been kinder, you think, and stare ahead, as the Harkonnen ship opens, and a group of people dressed in black spill out of it like ants from a drowning anthill. Your heart is thrumming hard in your chest, and your hand reaches out, despite all your apprehension, towards your mother. A force of habit, to search consolation within her disregarding the fact, that it was her meddling that put you here.

Her fingers lace with yours, thumb stroking your palm in an attempt to soothe you.

Immediately, you know which one of the bald headed Harkonnen is your betrothed.

He's much taller than you, an imposing figure even despite his rather lean built. His skin is almost completely white, as expected, his teeth are blackened out, as expected as well, and his eyes are bearing into you with an intensity so oppressing, you almost look away. Almost.

- I present to you, Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

The pale man steps forward, releasing you from his gaze for only just a moment, to trade pleasantries with your Father, who looks beyond miserable as he fixes your soon-to-be husband with a tired look. Then, Feyd Rautha is brought before you.

There's grace to his movements you did not expect, as he pushes his black cloak aside, and kneels in front of you. Harkonnen were known for their bulky ruthlessness, but this one... This one reminded you of a panther, the way his eyes travelled the length of your body, full lips pulling upward into a barely noticable smirk.

Customs, you remind yourself, as your mother's hand squeezes your fingers. You don't want to let her go, but you do, slowly, with so many mixed thoughts rattling around your brain, it makes your head swim.

Feyd Rautha grabs your extended hand in such a gentle manner, you're almost convinced the Harkonnens have shaved some poor bastard and dropped him off instead of the real na-Baron. Then, he lifts your palm up, until his lips press against your fingertips, a gesture so tender, your heart does a flip in your chest. And then, it stops all together, when his grip on your palm tightens, and he pulls your hand closer, to kiss it properly. As if he can't help himself, he looks up at you, and you realize.

You almost got yourself caught, but reading people's intentions have been taught to you as fervently as reading texts, and you can see right through this facade of chivalry. There's darkness in this man, a swirling void, which brings a wave of cold fear upon you. This cunning, depraved creature will soon enough become your husband, and you'll be stuck with him forever. How long will he keep up this impeccable appearence? Was this performence for you, your Father, his own twisted fun, or all the things combined?

With a furrowed brow, you tear your hand out of his grasp, a full body shiver running up your spine at the sight of his self-satisfied smirk. He drinks up your reactions like a man parched, and you fight hard to put on a mask of indifference, as he rises from his knees to stand before you in all his imposing glory.

***

You can feel his eyes follow you, as the welcome committee retreats into the Palace. He doesn't let you out of his sight throughout the feast, which takes place immediately after his arrival, and even now, as he gets ready to "entertain" the court by indulging in some barbaric ceremony of his, his eyes are trained only on you.

It's uncomfortable, to say the least, having him stare at you, while you sit surrounded by your family, who, for the most part, say nothing. Except Paul. Your dear baby brother, your protector in all this madness. As Feyd Rautha throws his coat to the side, showing off his (admittedly impressive) muscles, Paul leans towards you.

- He looks like a hard boiled egg, don't you think sister? - he whispers and subsequently ends your vow of silence.

The giggle you let out is caught quickly by everyone around, your betrothed included, before you press an open palm against your lips.

- Behave - your mother warns, and you try, you really do.

But in the serene light of the fading sun, your soon-to-be husband's head does look frighteningly egg-ish. God, you'll get yourself killed, before the wedding ceremony is even resolved if you keep this up.

You're seated high in an outdoor theater. One of your grandfather's favorite places, where he used to dance with bulls for sport. Where he met his demise.

Feyd Rautha presents his knives to you and your family, their blades glint ominously in the setting sun. Again, you are struck with the sheer grace this man exudes. His movements, despite being forceful and wild, have a beauty to them, as if he was rehearsing ancient dance moves, rather than killing blows.

And, despite your brother's earlier comment, there is something enticing in the way his pale skin catches the rays of bleeding sunshine, slowly creeping towards the horizon. He's almost beautiful, almost handsome enough to consider.

The thought leaves your head almost immediately, as the Harkonnen servants bring in his apparent opponent. Your heart drops to your stomach at the sight of a beaten, dark skinned warrior. Immediately you recognize a Fremen, you've read so much about them in your free time. You know how they filter water, what they eat, how they move through the sands, and despite your knowledge you can't fathom, why this poor man has been brought here.

At your side, Paul shifts in his seat, all jokes leaving him in a hurry. The both of you watch, as the man you're promised to toys with a clearly drugged victim. Slashes bloom on the prisoners skin, blood sprays in the air. You refuse to look away, to show such weakness, even as Feyd Rautha grabs the poor man by his hair and with a forceful push impales his throat on the blade. Blood pours down onto the sand, paints the Harkonnen's face and chest a deep shade of red.

It's a brutal display of power, of cruelty and wildness the Harkonnens are known for. Suddenly, everything Gurney has warned you about, while training your fighting skills, rings like a thousand of bells in your ears. This is who you will marry, who you will spend your entire life with.

You swallow down an urge to throw up, and stand up from your seat.

The show must go on, you think, throwing your Mother one, venomous look, trying to force her to understand your pain. Then, you lock eyes with your betrothed, who watches you from below with a cruel smile, blackened teeth on full display. You meant to congratulate him, to play the part as instructed, but you can do nothing of the sort. Instead, you stare back at him, disgust flowing from your features like a broken faucet.

Lady Jessica opens her mouth, but before she can, without a doubt, scold you again, you're out of the seating area, your footsteps echoing in the halls.

Once you're sufficiently tucked away from prying eyes, your back hits the wall, and you allow yourself feel the luxury of unbridled panic. Your breathing comes out in fast, shallow pants, as cold sweat forms on your forehead. Thoughts racing, your fingers tangle into your hair, tugging at the roots. This is your future, the only future waiting for you, and it's filled wth pain and blood.

- Have you enjoyed the fight, my Lady? - you immediately know it's him, despite not hearing him speak before.

A gasp of surprise leaves you before you can catch it, and your back straightens almost painfully fast.

There he stands, tall and lean, and terrifying. Blood still decorates his torso creating a contrast that is both terrifying and hypnotizing. He watches you, curiosity and humor swirling behind his eyes. You can't decide whether they are completely blackened out, or if they hold a blue, almost serene hue.

- No - you answer, finding your voice entirely too shaky for your liking - I did not enjoy it.

He laughs, a guttural, low sound that makes the hair stand at the back of your neck. You know he wouldn't dare try anything here, right under your Father's nose while the engagement is still in the making. Yet, as you stand frozen, just you, him and the marble walls around you, dread finds home in the pit of your stomach.

- Was that man Fremen? - you ask, partially to fill the silence, partially because you're genuinely curious.

The man shrugs, you can see muscles moving under his white skin. He takes a step towards you and you will yourself not to run.

- Sometimes we bring a couple of captured desert rats home - he explains with a nonchalant tone - Mostly for entertainment.

The almost bored intonation he uses to describe this barbaric ritual makes something boil deep inside you.

- That's cruel - you counter, emotions flowing freely onto your face, much to the man's delight - To deny those men the honor of dying on their home planet. To drag them into a completely foreign place, just to kill them for sport, like some animals... It's...

- Some of them live - he cuts you off, taking another couple of steps towards you, but in your growing outrage, you barely notice - Our brothels are filled with Fremen whores.

Your face twist into an expression of utter repulsion, and Feyd Rautha raises his eyebrows in a pathetic mask of confusion, almost childlike giddiness lighting up his eyes as he looks down at you.

- Oh, don't give me that look, my Lady. - he cooes, and you've never felt a stronger urge to slap the daylights out of someone - I know for a fact there are brothels on your planet filled with hungry soldiers.

- Yes - you bark back at him - but the people there are working prostitutes, not slaves!

He shrugs, looking somewhere to the side of your face.

- A waste of money, if you'd ask me.

- Good thing no one has - there's venom in your voice, and your betrothed sucks a breath through his teeth.

You curse yourself for leaving your dagger, for not concealing it somewhere in this ridiculous dress, because the way the Harkonnen's expression shifts freezes blood right in your veins.

He looks at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, while something much darker lurks in his eyes. His bloodied hand comes up, finger making contact with the exposed skin of your shoulder. You can feel the thick liquid stick to your flesh, as he drags his hand down, painting you, marking you.

- You're quite the little viper, my Lady.

Watching him silently, you don't respond. Don't know how to, when he closes the distance between your bodies enough to make you feel the heat radiating off of his chest, while the smell of blood and sweat completely assaults your senses. It's sickening, the way he looks at you, like you're a new toy, just waiting to be unpacked and destroyed by too eager hands.

- My Uncle, the Baron, has instructed me, to be the utmost gentleman to you. To woo you completely - his voice is low, barely above a whisper, as he grins down at you - But I just can't lie to my future wife like that, can I?

He leans closer and finally, you take a step back, sliding out of his space, assessing a cautious stance. His hand almost follows you, the skin of your shoulder feels conflictingly cold without him.

- Once we're wed, I will possess you completely - this time you stand your ground, as he approaches, circling you like a lion stalking it's prey - And then...

He leans down beside you, shoulder to your shoulder, close enough for you to feel his hot breath graze your ear.

- Like the bull that took your grandfather's life, I shall pierce you.

The violent innuendo doesn't slip past you, and with hatred brewing behind your eyes, you look straight at him, forcing your fear to lay dormant.

- You're disgusting.

- And you're blushing like a lovely, virgin bride should - he concludes, sending an awful wink your way, before withdrawing from you completely.

Your veins burn hot, as you watch him leave, a selfish confidence painting his steps, and you beg every God in existence to grant you a sword in your hand. Or a dagger. A kitchen knife would do as well. Anything, that would help you cut this unbeatable, patronizing, infuriatingly handsome smirk from Feyd Rauthas face.

Alas, you're left with nothing, only a small glimmer of hope dangling in front of you, after your damned betrothed's words fully register in your brain.

A bride you might be, but certainly not a virgin one. Duncan Idaho made sure of that many years ago. The thought makes you smile, despite nerves wreaking havoc in your body. At least that's the one thing Feyd Rautha won't be able to take from you.

#my writing #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune 2024 #dune movie #dune part 2 #feyd rautha smut #dune smut #dune x reader #he looks insane what the hell am i writing

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Note

hello luv

what about aegon x twin sister

they were always very very closed, like you can always see them together, but she had a very strong character and she let no one decide for her.

And because of that Otto is afraid to married her to aegon so he choose Helena to married him. But Aegon still had an affair with her, he can stop thinking about her.

And when he became king he decided to take her as his second wife, they have a child together and he was with the twins during the night of the attack and aegon is really scared for him (he loved more their child coz he was made with love)

The Fires We Make

- Summary: When they decreed to marry Aegon to Helaena, he decided to do what his namesake had done. Aegon takes you as his second wife.

- Paring: twin!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are now closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 400+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I had to bend your plot in the end a little, to make Aegon's reaction more believable.

You sit beside your brother Aegon, your twin, your other half. The bond you share is a rare and precious thing, a connection forged in the cradle, strengthened over the years by whispers in the dark, stolen moments, and a fierce loyalty that burns brighter than any dragon's flame. It’s a bond that only the two of you truly understand, one that could lead to either great strength or devastating ruin. You’ve always known that, and so has Aegon.

But now, that bond is threatened.

The candlelight flickers across the faces of your mother, Queen Alicent, and your grandsire, Otto Hightower, their expressions shadowed and grim. The air in the room is thick with dread, almost visible force that presses against your chest, making it difficult to breathe. You can feel Aegon’s anger radiating beside you, a barely contained storm.

“Aegon,” Otto begins, his voice calm and measured, the tone of a man who is used to being obeyed. “You must understand that our family’s future is at stake. The stability of the realm depends on it.”

Aegon’s jaw tightens, his hands clenching into fists on the arms of his chair. He doesn’t respond immediately, and when he does, his voice is low, dangerous. “What I understand, Grandsire, is that you think I should be controlled. You think we should be controlled.”

Otto’s gaze is steely, unyielding. “You are the future King, Aegon. Your duty is to the realm, not to your… whims.”

“Whims?” Aegon spits the word out like it’s poison. “Is that what you call it? Whims? You’re speaking about her, about my sister—your granddaughter.”

Alicent shifts in her seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looks at Aegon with a mixture of sorrow and concern, her voice soft but firm when she finally speaks. “Aegon, this is not just about what you want. It’s about what’s best for the realm. Your match with your sister—” she hesitates, glancing at Otto, then continues, “it could be… dangerous. You both have strong wills, too strong perhaps. It could lead to conflict, to instability.”

You feel a flare of anger at her words, but you remain silent, watching as Aegon struggles to keep his emotions in check. He’s always been quick to anger, but this is different. This is deeper, more personal. You can see it in his eyes, in the way his body tenses as if ready to spring into action, to defend you, to defend both of you against this assault on your bond.

“And what do you propose instead?” Aegon’s voice is cold now, icy. “That I marry Helaena? Is that it?”

Otto nods, as if this is the most reasonable suggestion in the world. “Helaena is gentle, pliable. She will be a good queen, one who will support you, not challenge you. The realm needs a steady hand, not… not the fire that the two of you could unleash.”

Aegon laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Steady? You mean obedient, don’t you, Grandsire? You want someone who will nod and smile and do as they’re told. Someone who won’t question you.”

“Aegon—” Alicent starts, but Aegon cuts her off.

“No, Mother, don’t. You know as well as I do that this isn’t about what’s best for the realm. It’s about control. He’s afraid of us, of what we could be together.” He turns to Otto, his eyes blazing. “You’re afraid that we’ll be too strong, that we’ll burn too brightly for you to handle. But you should remember, Grandsire, that dragons are not meant to be tamed.”

Otto’s face hardens, his eyes narrowing. “This is not a matter of fear, Aegon. It’s a matter of duty. You have a responsibility to the realm, to the Targaryen line. Your sister—” his gaze flicks to you, and you feel the weight of it, the judgment, “—is too much like you. The two of you together could bring about more chaos than order. You must think beyond yourself, beyond your desires.”

Aegon stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. His fists are trembling, his entire body vibrating with barely suppressed rage. “My desires? My desires have always been for the good of our House, of our family. And she—” he points to you, his voice shaking with emotion, “—she is my family. My twin. My other half. I will not abandon her for some twisted idea of duty.”

Alicent rises, reaching out to him, but he steps back, shaking his head. “Aegon, please, listen to reason.”

“Reason?” he scoffs. “Reason has nothing to do with this. This is about power. You want me to be a puppet, to marry Helaena and play the part of the obedient son. But I am not a puppet, and I will not be controlled.”

For a moment, the room is silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of your brother as he struggles to regain control of his emotions. You know him well enough to see the storm within him, the fierce protectiveness, the rage at being cornered.

Finally, Otto speaks, his voice cold and authoritative. “You are the heir to the Iron Throne, Aegon. You will do what is necessary for the good of the realm. You will marry Helaena.”

Aegon looks at him, and for a moment, you think he might lash out, might do something reckless. But instead, he turns to you, his eyes softening, filled with a deep, unspoken promise. “This isn’t over,” he says quietly, and you know he means it. Whatever comes next, he will not let you be cast aside so easily.

Without another word, Aegon strides out of the room, leaving you alone with the weight of what has just transpired. Otto and Alicent exchange a glance, and you can see the concern in your mother’s eyes, the worry for what this decision will mean for her son, for you, for the future of the realm.

But in your heart, you know that this is only the beginning. The bond you share with Aegon is not something that can be easily broken, not by Otto’s machinations or anyone else’s. It is a bond forged in fire, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s that fire cannot be so easily extinguished.

The heavy curtains are drawn tightly around the grand bed, casting the room in a shadowed twilight, the only light a flickering candle that dances with the whispers of a secret not meant for the world beyond these walls. The bedchamber is filled with the scent of smoldering incense and the unmistakable, intoxicating warmth of shared passion. Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps, mingling with the ragged exhalations of the man above you, his silver hair brushing against your face as he moves, each movement a promise, a vow sealed with a thousand unspoken words.

Aegon’s hands are on your hips, strong and possessive, as though he’s terrified you might slip away from him if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. His touch burns with a desperate need, a fire that refuses to be extinguished, no matter how many years or how many vows have tried to snuff it out. His eyes, fierce and wild, bore into yours, and in them, you see the same desire, the same hunger that has haunted both of you since childhood.

“Aegon,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your shared history, with the love and pain and longing that have only grown stronger with time.

He leans down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “You are mine,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve always been mine. And I swear by the gods, by the dragons, by our blood, that I will make you my wife as is my right, as Aegon the Conqueror did before me.”

The intensity in his gaze leaves no room for doubt. He is not making an idle promise, nor is he indulging in a lover’s fantasy. This is Aegon’s truth, the truth of a man who has been denied the one thing he’s always desired above all else. His marriage to Helaena, while dutiful and necessary, has never filled the void that you alone could fill. You are his other half, his twin flame, the only one who truly understands the depths of his soul.

But the world outside this room is not so easily swayed by passion or promises made in the dark. You know this, and so does he. The weight of your shared secret presses down on you, even in this moment of intimacy, but you cannot deny the longing in your heart, the yearning for a life where you can stand by his side, not as a hidden lover, but as his equal, his queen.

“Aegon,” you say softly, your hand reaching up to caress his face, your fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness of his lips. “What you’re speaking of… it could bring the realm to its knees.”

He closes his eyes briefly, as if pained by your words, but when he opens them again, they are filled with a fierce determination. “The realm has always been at war with itself, with its rulers, with its desires. We were born to the blood of the dragon, to forge our own path, to take what is ours. You are mine, and I will not let anyone take you from me, not Grandsire, not Mother, not even the gods.”

His words, spoken with such conviction, send a shiver down your spine. Aegon has always been passionate, but there is something different in him now, something that has hardened over the years, a resolve that has been tempered by the constant battles he’s fought—not just against his enemies, but against his own heart.

“And what of Helaena?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. It’s a question that has lingered between you for years, a question that neither of you has dared to voice until now.

Aegon’s expression softens, a brief flicker of guilt passing through his eyes. “Helaena is… kind, gentle. She does not deserve this. But she also knows, deep down, that my heart has never truly belonged to her. She knows that I am bound to you in a way that cannot be undone.”

There’s a sadness in his voice, a recognition of the pain that his actions have caused, but also an acceptance that this is the way things were always meant to be. The Targaryen blood runs strong in both of you, and with it comes a fierce, unyielding love that will not be denied, no matter the cost.

“And what will you do?” you ask, your voice steady, even as your heart pounds in your chest.

Aegon’s gaze locks onto yours, his hand sliding up your body to cradle your face. “I will take you as my second wife, as Aegon the Conqueror did with Rhaenys and Visenya. One wife for love another for duty. It is my right, our right. The realm will have to accept it, or they will face the wrath of the dragons.”

His words are a declaration, a promise forged in the heat of passion and the blood of the dragon. There is no turning back now, no more hiding in the shadows. The path before you is fraught with danger, but it is also the only path that feels true, that feels right.

“And you, my love?” he asks, his voice softening as he searches your eyes for the answer that only you can give. “Will you stand by my side, as my wife, my queen? Will you help me claim what is ours?”

For a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. There is only Aegon, the man you’ve loved your entire life, the man who would move heaven and earth to be with you. You see the same fierce love in his eyes that you feel in your own heart, and you know that there is only one answer you can give.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice steady, filled with the same fire that burns in him. “Yes, Aegon. I will stand by your side. I will be your wife, your queen.”

Aegon’s lips crash down onto yours in a kiss filled with all the passion, all the longing, all the love that you’ve shared over the years. It is a kiss that seals your fate, that binds you to him in a way that no one can break.

The night had fallen thick and oppressive over King’s Landing, a dark shroud that seemed to suffocate the very air in the Red Keep. The corridors were eerily silent, save for the distant echoes of footsteps and the murmurs of a court forever on edge. You had been in your chambers, cradling little Maelor in your arms, his soft breaths a balm to your weary soul. It was a rare moment of peace, a fleeting respite from the storm that raged outside these walls and within your hearts.

But peace is always short-lived in the house of the dragon.

The sound of rushed footsteps reached your ears first, followed by the unmistakable clang of armor and the urgent whispers of the guards. Your heart skipped a beat, dread curling in your stomach as you clutched Maelor closer, his tiny body warm against you. Aegon burst into the room, his face pale and eyes wild with fear. He was breathing heavily, the effort of his desperate sprint evident, but it was the terror in his eyes that froze the blood in your veins.

"Aegon," you whispered, your voice trembling as you rose to meet him, Maelor still safely in your arms. "What has happened?"

Aegon barely seemed to hear you as he crossed the room in three long strides, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch frantic and trembling. "Are you hurt? Is he—?" His voice cracked, the fear so palpable it was like a living thing between you.

"We are safe," you assured him, though your own voice shook as you said it. "But, Aegon, what—?"

Before you could finish, the door to the nursery burst open, and Alicent’s voice cut through the air, a raw, broken sound that sent chills down your spine. “No… no… gods, no!”

Aegon’s head snapped towards the sound, his grip on you tightening as if he needed the contact to anchor himself, to remind himself that you and Maelor were still here, still alive. But you could see the fear, the terrible fear in his eyes as he pulled away from you and rushed towards the door that led to the twins' nursery.

You followed closely behind, Maelor held tightly against your chest as you entered the adjoining room, the sight that greeted you nearly making your legs give out beneath you.

The nursery was in chaos. The once serene room, filled with soft linens and gentle colors, was now a scene from a nightmare. Helaena was on the floor, her wails of grief piercing the air as she cradled the lifeless body of little Jaehaerys in her arms. Blood stained the floor, dark and stark against the pale stone, and beside her, Jaehaera was huddled, her small body shaking with silent sobs.

Aegon’s breath caught in his throat as he stumbled forward, falling to his knees beside Helaena. His hand trembled as he reached out to touch Jaehaerys, as if hoping—praying—that he would wake, that this was some horrid dream from which he could rouse.

But Jaehaerys was gone.

Your heart shattered as you watched Aegon, his face contorting in anguish, a guttural cry ripping from his chest as he gathered Jaehaerys’s small body into his arms. “No… no… my son…” His voice broke, the words choked and hoarse as he rocked back and forth, tears streaming down his face.

Helaena’s sobs only grew louder, more desperate, as she clung to Aegon, her grief a mirror of his. “They made me choose,” she gasped, her voice barely audible through her sobs. “They made me choose, Aegon… I couldn’t— I didn’t—”

Aegon’s head whipped up, his eyes wild as he looked at Helaena. “Who?” he demanded, though his voice was little more than a ragged whisper. “Who did this?”

“The butcher and the rat catcher,” she whispered, the names falling from her lips like a curse. “They came for us… they wanted revenge… they… they wanted a son for a son.”

The horror of her words washed over you like a wave, leaving you cold and numb. Revenge for Lucerys. The brutal cost of this war that now claimed the innocent, who had no part in the sins of their fathers.

Aegon’s gaze shifted from Helaena to you, and you could see the mixture of guilt and relief in his eyes as they landed on Maelor, safe and unharmed in your arms. He didn’t need to speak for you to understand the war raging within him. His son, his firstborn with Helaena, had been taken from him, and yet, Maelor, your son, was still here, untouched by the horror that had unfolded in the next room.

“Aegon,” you whispered, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you moved closer, your free hand reaching out to him. “I’m so sorry… so, so sorry…”

But what comfort could you possibly offer? There were no words to mend a heart so shattered, no solace to ease the pain of a father mourning his child.

Aegon’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw the broken man beneath the crown, the weight of his grief threatening to crush him. But there was also that flicker of relief, of guilt, that he could not shake—that while one son had been lost, another still lived.

He rose slowly, still cradling Jaehaerys’s body, his movements careful, reverent. He looked down at Helaena, who was still on the floor, her arms wrapped around herself as if to hold together the pieces of her shattered soul. “Helaena,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I swear to you, I will avenge him. I will find those responsible, and they will pay. This… this I swear on his memory.”

Helaena only nodded, her eyes distant, as if she were somewhere far away, a place where her pain couldn’t reach her.

Aegon turned to you, his gaze falling on Maelor. His eyes softened, though the sorrow did not leave them, and he reached out to touch his son’s cheek, his hand trembling as he did. “He is safe,” Aegon murmured, almost to himself, as if trying to convince himself that it was true. “He is safe because of you.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as you looked at the man you loved, the father of your child. “It should not have been this way,” you whispered. “None of this should have happened.”

“No,” Aegon agreed, his voice filled with a quiet, simmering rage. “It should not have. But it has, and now we will have to live with it.” He looked down at Jaehaerys once more, a fresh wave of grief washing over him. “But I will not let this go unanswered. They will pay for this, every single one of them.”

His words were filled with a dark promise, a vow that you knew he would keep. The realm would bleed for this, just as you had bled, just as he now bled, with his son’s blood on his hands.

Aegon turned back to you, his eyes hollow, his face etched with a pain so deep you could scarcely bear to look at it. “Keep him safe,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if the very act of speaking was too much to bear. “Keep Maelor safe, no matter what happens. I cannot lose him, too.”

“I will,” you promised, your voice firm, though your heart ached with the weight of it. “I will keep him safe, Aegon. No matter what.”

He nodded, though it was a hollow gesture, and then he turned back to Helaena, who was still on the floor, lost in her grief. He knelt beside her, his free hand reaching out to touch her arm, and you saw in his eyes the same determination that had driven him through every battle, every hardship.

But this battle was different. This was a war of the heart, and it was a war that had already claimed too much.

You stood there, holding Maelor close, as Aegon mourned his son, and in that moment, you knew that nothing would ever be the same. The dragons had awakened, and the fires of vengeance would burn until the realm was ash.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x you #aegon ii targaryen

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littlefireball · 5 months ago

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can you do a fic with Ateez Seonghwa x virgin reader? Where she never even touched herself, never orgasmed or squirted so Seognwha does all that and they go the full way but she bleeds when he goes in but mother seognwha knows what to say to push her through and get her to the pleasure. From their she squirts on him while he goes rough?

🐈‍⬛

I add some settings on it (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠) hope you like it

ꜱʜ|ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜱ (ᴀ/ᴍ)

ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɢᴏᴅ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ x ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄɪᴀʟ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.2ᴋ

In a secluded and desolate village, an inexplicable prosperity has taken root, defying all logic and expectations. The villagers attribute this miraculous transformation to the blessing of a mysterious deity, whose influence has brought life back to the barren land.

However, this prosperity comes at a grim cost - the sacrifice of an 18-year-old virgin every hundred years. The purity and sincerity of the sacrifice are believed to prolong the village's prosperity, as decreed by the deity worshipped by the villagers.

For unmarried women like you, reaching the age of eighteen brings a looming nightmare rather than the promise of adulthood. From a young age, you've witnessed your younger brother bask in the favor and attention of your family, while you remained in the shadows, neglected and unappreciated.

To your parents, you are merely a pawn in their pursuit of wealth. If you marry into a prosperous family before turning eighteen, it's deemed a success; but if you remain unmarried, you are destined to be the sacrificial offering.

Growing up devoid of love, surrounded by loneliness and ignorance, you've struggled against the unfair expectations placed upon you. Despite your efforts to resist, you were met with scolding and mistreatment, leaving you isolated and unheard.

One day, as your entitled brother demanded your servitude, you felt a surge of resentment at his audacity. Reluctantly complying with his demands, you couldn't shake the bitterness that had taken root within you.

Confronting him about his reckless behavior with the family's money, you were met with denial and deflection. Your parents, quick to defend your brother, silenced your attempts to speak up, leaving you feeling betrayed and abandoned.

As you were confined to the cabin, awaiting the inevitable sacrifice on your eighteenth birthday, the weight of injustice and abandonment pressed heavily upon you. The darkness surrounding you mirrored the bitterness that had seeped into your soul, a stark contrast to the prosperity that had come at such a high price.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, laughter still echoed through the halls of your home. They looked forward to the moment you die as it meant they could live a new, prosperous life.

Their words only served to fuel the fire of resentment burning within you but you could do nothing.

You often wondered what your fate would be, knowing that the day of sacrifice loomed closer with each passing sunrise. The thought of being offered up to appease the deity, to maintain the facade of prosperity, filled you with a mix of fear and defiance.

—--

Night fell, casting a cloak of shadows over the altar as the ritual neared its zenith.

"Let us offer our gratitude to the Y/L/N family for their generous contribution!" The priest's voice boomed, the family members standing by, basking in the adulation of others, oblivious to their true nature.

Their affections lay with money and their son, not with you.

"Their daughter shall shape our destiny!" The air was heavy with incense and the eerie chants of the priests, their ominous words sending shivers down your spine.

You knelt at the heart of the altar, adorned in lavish garments but devoid of any semblance of joy. Seeing them pretending vaguely, a surge of resentment welled up in your heart. The unvented anger transformed into tears, cascading down your cheeks and saturating the eye mask, yet no one took notice. Memories of the past raced through your mind as the priest drew near; jealousy, anger, sadness, all negative emotions flooding your thoughts.

You felt yourself unraveling, the echoing laughter pushing you towards the brink of collapse. Desperate to block out the sound, you reached for your ears, only to find yourself restrained; yearning to break free, yet bound by invisible chains.

The priest's approach felt ominous, a foreboding presence signaling impending doom. You shook your head in denial, attempting to resist his advance, but the relentless footsteps shattered your resolve. You didn't want to die, there were still so many unfinished tasks; you didn't want them to prosper, to lead a life of luxury… What you craved was vengeance.

“Offer yourself to our God!”

“No! I refuse to meet my end like this!”

“There is no escape, child! Your destiny is to be a sacrifice! It is your duty!”

“NO! Even in death, I will not let you win! I will not make it easy for you!”

“What nonsense is this?!” “Just end her life!!”

With a swift motion, he thrust a sword towards your heart, invoking the deity's power.

But instead of searing pain and spilled blood, darkness enveloped you, wrapping you in an eerie silence.

Panting heavily, you realized you were not hurt. Unable to see anything as you were blindfolded, you could only follow the sound.

"Let me see this year's sacrifice," a voice echoed through the church, accompanied by the slow approach of footsteps, causing your heartbeat to speed up because of nervousness.

As the figure drew closer, Seonghwa knelt before you, lifting your chin to gaze upon your graceful form draped in black sheer fabric.

"It seems good, huh? But your resentment is the strongest among all the sacrifices I've seen," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip and cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. Nervously, you swallowed saliva and made a barely audible sound.

“Don’t want to be mine? That’s nice, you know?” His gaze shifted from your trembling throat to your chest, where the metal bra accentuated your ample bosom. The sheer fabric did little to quell his burning desire. He leaned in and planted a kiss on your chest. This sudden act made you recoil slightly, unable to find a word.

“You hate me, huh?” Again, you swallowed nervously but did not dare to answer. Hate him? Maybe? Were it not for his presence, you would not have been chosen as a sacrifice. But, it was your so-called family members who did evil things. This was a simple question but you didn’t know how to answer it.

"Speak, girl. I hate it when others don’t answer my questions," he demanded in displeasure. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could still feel his anger.

"I… I apologize," you stuttered, fear gripping you and preventing you from relaxing. Seonghwa smirked, relishing in the feeling of others obeying his commands.

“So, what’s your answer?”

“I…hate…I hate them all.” He raised his eyebrows and said provocatively, “So, it's because of me that you hate them. Am I right, girl?”

“I…” You found yourself momentarily struck silent by fear. But upon reflection, you realized there was nothing left to fear - you were already deceased, after all.

“Yes.” After a deep breath, you found the courage to speak. “If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been chosen as a sacrifice, and I wouldn't be… disliked.” Your unexpected response caught him off guard, as he had never encountered someone who didn't desire his attention.

Determined to sway your opinion, he sought to engage you further.

“What is your name, my dear?” His tone softened, coaxing you to reveal yourself. Surprisingly, he did not react with anger.

“Y…Y/N…”

"Y/N, a beautiful name," His voice, deep and alluring, stirred something within you.

"Relax, Y/N. Why the tension? Tonight, we shall indulge in my desires. But fret not, for it promises to be an enjoyable experience.”

His touch traced a path from your face, down your neck, shoulders, and arms. The cool sensation sent shivers down your spine, igniting a tingling warmth that spread through your body, eliciting a soft, hesitant sigh from you.

“And I’ll change your mind."

His gaze fell upon the handcuffs on your wrists, your delicate wrists trembling slightly, arousing his perverse desire for dominance. He whispered in your ear, his voice extremely seductive, licking and gently biting your earlobe, teasingly grazing your ear.

"Umm…" A shiver ran down your spine as an electric current coursed through your ear, and your body temperature raised, causing your cheeks to redden.

"You're really sensitive, aren't you?" He licked the back of your ear, the sound of his tongue against your skin stimulating your nerves, making you tremble; his lips gradually moved downwards, pecking at your collarbone, sucking on your fine skin, leaving faint red marks.

“Did you touch yourself before?”

“What is touch…?” Smiling, he held your hand while trailing down to your lower core, and slowly got closer to your clit.

“It feels good.” He guided your hand, his slender fingers stroking your clit with a gentle touch, slowly sunk down to your lower core. As both of your fingers entered your cunt, a tingling sensation spread through your body, eliciting soft moans of pleasure. Seonghwa's satisfied smile encouraged you to explore further.

"Come, fuck with me," he whispered. You felt a mix of excitement and curiosity as you pleasured yourself under his guidance. The sensation of his touch, combined with your own exploration, sent waves of pleasure through you.

His hands enveloped your back, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric, soothing your nerves. Your breath quickened, heart racing as he increased the intensity of his movements, his lips trailing kisses along your neck, drawing out soft whimpers of delight.

His velvety lips teased and tantalized your skin, his breath hot against your ear, igniting a fire within you. Your body instinctively responded, allowing him closer as his hands held you close, pulling you into his embrace.

A soft moan escaped your lips, spurring him on, his desire growing with each sound you made. Your body responded eagerly, the climax building within you, your walls tightening around your fingers, urging them deeper. It was so weird but exciting. You could tell there was something inside your body, as you touched it, a numb feeling surged throughout your body.

"You're doing so well, my dear," he praised, a blush rising to your cheeks at his words. “I’m gonna…oh gosh!” You shut your eyes tightly as the climax was about to take over you. “Cum, girl.”With a final, shy moan, you reached your peak, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek before withdrawing. A pang of emptiness lingered, but his question brought a spark of anticipation to your eyes.

"More?" he asked, lifting your chin and drawing you closer. With a nod and a shy smile, you whispered, "Yes, I want more."

"Good. All I can think about is how good you're going to taste." Before the words even finished, he pounced on you, the cold touch of the ground sending shivers down your spine. He reached for the buttons on the back of your neck, undressing you from the waist up, leaving your chest fully exposed.

He buried his head between your breasts, continuously sucking and licking. You keenly felt his tongue swirling around your nipple, causing a tingling sensation. The wet and warm feeling enveloped your left breast, while his hand gently squeezed and massaged your right breast, occasionally flicking the nipple with his thumb.

"Ah…" The stimulation on your body made you shyly moan, igniting his desire even more. He lifted his head and kissed your collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave marks on the skin that were no longer pale red but slightly darkened purple.

He admired his love bites while appreciating your beauty. "You're so fucking gorgeous." He growled like a wild animal against your chest, now it's time to unleash the beast inside him.

"Put your hands on your head. You can't put them down without my permission, understand?" You obeyed his command and raised your hands.

He removed all his clothing, kneeling completely naked in front of you, and pressed against your outer lips, occasionally grazing your hole. His erect member has been uncomfortably constrained by his tight pants for far too long.

“It may hurt a little bit. But it's gonna be fun, don’t worry.” He entered your cunt in one go, making you throw your head against the ground. His huge cock was much different from his fingers and tongue─that’s harder, longer, and thicker.

The intense pain was almost unbearable, as if your lower core was being torn apart. Blood flowed, wetting his thick cock and even dripping onto the floor. Your body burned like a flame, sweating all over your body.

"You're bleeding, babe. Does it hurt?" His voice was soft as silk, gently tugging at your heartstrings in a way no one ever had before.

"Yes… it hurts," you managed to reply through the discomfort. "Don't cry, just try to relax." He leaned in to place a tender kiss on your forehead, his simple gesture of concern bringing tears to your eyes. Despite the pain in your lower body, it felt like nothing compared to the past beatings you had endured.

He kissed you gently, offering comfort without any aggression. There were no bites, no invasion of tongues, just sweet and tender kisses. Your lips met softly, filled with warmth and affection. The pain slowly faded, replaced by a growing desire. You wanted him to move, to pleasure you with his gentleness.

"Please, my god," you whispered between kisses, causing him to pause. "I think I'm okay now."

"Tell me what you want, darling. Just say it," he encouraged.

"I want you to move, please," you requested, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

"Don't hate me now?" He chuckled at your reaction, finding you utterly adorable.

"Kidding," Before his lips met yours again and he began to thrust rhythmically. The pace was perfect, neither too rough nor too gentle.

"Ah, my god!" Every thrust hit the right spot inside you, eliciting a cascade of sensations. Your body responded by producing more moisture, adjusting to the feeling of his cock sliding in and out.

The warmth and wetness enveloped his cock, driving him to the edge of sanity. Combined with the sucking sensation, it was impossible for him to hold back.

"You're so tight, I can't handle fucking it." He wanted to fuck you as hard as possible, but not now. He needed you adjust first. He could see your past─what you have endured, how your so-called family treated you. Horrible memories invaded his mind, and although he wasn't frightened by them, he felt pity for you.

“oh my pretty.” He moved faster but not rough at all. His wet chest pressed against yours, letting you feel his strong muscles and physique. Oh shit, you loved this feeling so much, you felt so tiny under his frame. The pain you felt before has already disappeared far away and replaced by endless pleasure and lust.

Settling your legs around his waist, he entered deeper and you bent even more. He first pulled out a bit, and then pushed in fully, repeated over and over again. Every time he thrust deep, he couldn’t help but whimper as he saw how your chest shook from his movement.

“Moan for me, my doll.” You obeyed his words and moaned loudly, accompanied by the sound of skin slapping, forming a beautiful melody in Seonghwa 's ears. He pulled you up, making you sit on his thighs. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he thrust upward that made you throw your head.

Following his movement, you bounced in a slow pace. He trailed down to cup your ass cheeks to pull you closer. Your lips met again as he leaned down to kiss you. This kiss was like the breeze blowing through the petals, full of tenderness, giving you a numbness.

Seonghwa placed you back to the ground gently before turning you over. "Want me to be rough?" "Be rough with me, my god." In the momentary withdrawal, he turned you over directly, and once again entered from behind. His hands pressed against your waist, controlling the movement of your body back and forth, causing your breasts to violently shake.

“Ahh, please, keep going.” “Of course, my little whore.” He cupped your breast while squeezing your nipples and showered your nape with kisses. The scent of you fills his nostrils, very tempting.

He gradually lost control and snapped into your ass with only raw emotion. Sat up straight again to push himself even closer to your limit. He could feel his cock twitch every time he went deep and you moaned loudly. He was going to cum but he wanted you cum first. He needed it, needed to feel your warmth once again wrapped up his cock.

“Baby, I want you cum, cum for my cock. I need you.” His words and thrusting made you dizzy. Everything was overwhelming. You totally lost in the pleasure as he kept sinking down to hit your g spot.

“Hmmmm…Ahhh…please.” There was one more step to reach your climax. Seonghwa knew it as he slid down his hand to your clit. He continued to thrust while stroking, pushing you to climax.

The stimulation all over your body was like an electric current, which not only sent shivers down your spine, but also made the flame of desire in your body bursted out.

You found that the more you press down on your waist, the deeper his cock could go. Desire had already replaced your thinking. You lowered your body as much as possible and spread your legs so that you could reach climax as his arching member deep inside you.

“Your pussy feels amazing, you do that so well. Cum for me, babe.” ”Ah~my god~” You squirted with a high-pitched groan and Seonghwa came after a few thrusts. Your legs were shaking like a leaf and knees went weak. You fell to the ground, out of breath, your body having been drained of all your strength by lust.

“Are you okay, babe?” Seonghwa gently turned you over and took off your blindfold. The sudden light hitting your eyes made you very uncomfortable, but you quickly adapted. A handsome face came into view, and you could finally see Seonghwa 's appearance.

“I’m fine, my god.” He brushed your hair, gave you a loving smile and slowly picked you up before withdrawing from you. His hand trailed down to caress your lower core, full of his seeds. “Not hurt at all, hm?” You shook your head and replied to him with a smile. He chuckled at your smile, pulling you closer to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re mine now. No one will hurt you.” Seonghwa patted your head and pecked on it, making your tears welled up your eyes. Oh, maybe he was truly a god that loved his people…no, or I should say, his sacrifice. Who tells him love having sex so much?

But there was one thing he couldn't lie about. He was a little heartbroken when he found out about your past. At the very beginning, he thought that was only an illusion but his feelings toward you gradually changed. You seemed to be different from those girls he met.

-----

“Darling?" He called you darling every time because he found you liked this name.

“Yes, hwa?" You turned around to give him a peck.

“I killed all the people you hated. Did I do well?” He wrapped his arms around your waist while inhaling your scent. Your eyes widened a bit as you never expected that he would slaughter the whole village.

"You killed them...?"

"Yes, darling. I can do anything you want because I am your God."

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa smut

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madamabelladonna · 3 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: House Dayne of Starfall, bearing the sigil of a white falling star and a sword on a field of lavender. Though sparse in men and coin, House Dayne is renowned as one of the oldest in Westeros. Sworn to House Martell, under the decree of their liege lord, Lord Julius Dayne dispatched the Sword of the Morning, his second son, Ser Merek Dayne, along with his only daughter, to King’s Landing as emissaries of Dorne. Little did they know, the twinkle of a star could ignite the passions of men, dragons, and wolves alike. 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Romance, Angst, Love Triangle, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Drama, Coming-of-Age, Explicit Content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Violence, Gore, War, Reader eating cheerios with Luke and Helaena while Jace, Cregan, and Aemond duke it out 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞 Young Lady Dayne never truly grasped what it meant to be a high-born lady; her mother and father had sheltered her from the vipers lurking in the shadows. Yet, as fate would have it, their protection could only shield her for so long before she was cast into a den brimming with treachery. Green or Black? The choice is hers, but she finds herself drawn to the hue of violet…

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 Young Lady Dayne, finds herself adjusting to her new life at the capital. A gift from Starfall, a steed with a mane like freshly fallen snow. As she immerses herself in the pages of her books, a small figure unexpectedly scampers into her chamber—a boy lost in the game of hide and seek. She finds herself teaching the boy how to read. Only to be seated in the company of Princess Rhaenyra and her small family, sharing a quiet tea.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫 Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕: 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 Young Lady Dayne captivated the feast held by King Viserys in honor of his grandson, her presence and dance stirring much interest among the court. The murmurs of a possible union between the Seven Kingdoms and The Principality of Dorne swirled in the air, though beneath the revelry, rumors threatened to unravel such hopes.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕: 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧 𝐈𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 Young Lady Dayne knew survival in the Red Keep required more than caution—it demanded influence. After keeping her distance from Jacaerys, she finally accepted his apology, truly forgiving him. But as he left, she realized it might be long before she saw him again. In his place, a prince in green awaited.

[More in pending...]

This is my first post so I hope you like it, personally, House Dayne is my favorite and I hope it gets more recognition in the next book.

Taglist: (If you want to be added, please click here)

@yohanseyebrowmole @radiantdanvers @accidentpronedork @marvel-mistress-padawan @tabathastan @deltamoon666 @hotdhoe @cosmosnkaz @dragonamongwolves @r-3dlips @ghizlana @boiolay @gardenfaeries @ilymoonie @mellylla @omgsuperstarg @idohknow @beskardroids @buckystevelove @plainxlazy @gwaynehightower @beebeechaos @milksde @saintkittykat @cornbreadwithcheese @pinkb00bsocks @agoldenwoe @moonliightbabes @day2dream @geminizmoonz

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sorceresssundries · 7 months ago

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Downpour

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

Summary: After so long trapped in the shadow-cursed lands, Tav basks in the delight of feeling the rain on her skin. One-shot.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Smut.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Ok, so I wanted to have a go a a romantic, Austen-esque, fluffy, soggy, sexy love-scene. I am a Pride and Prejudice girlie, and this was definitely inspired by the artwork i've seen floating around of Gale as Mr.Darcy. I STILL BLUSH WHEN I POST SMUT.

In the forest, away from camp, the rain fell heavy, warm, and welcome. After enduring the stagnant shadows of the curse for so long, Tav reveled in the sensation of the heavy droplets drenching her. She longed to feel the rain soak all the way to her bones, washing away the blood and shadow clinging to her skin. She craved cleanliness, yearning to return to the warm embrace of nature before being pulled back onto the road to Baldur’s Gate, where fresh burdens would undoubtedly litter the streets of her city.

Baldur’s Gate... The Upper City... Her home. Where her expectant fiancé no-doubt awaited her return, eager for her to forsake her studies of magic and join him as agreed in their betrothal. It was a future that demanded sacrifice—her independence, her magic, her heart—all in exchange for providing for her family. This was the destiny that loomed if they completed their quest, and time was slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

So, she lingered in the rain a while longer, relishing the freedom of being a fearless adventurer, a woman unbound, her soul still wild and untamed. She would postpone the inevitable, if only for a few rain-soaked hours.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Gale. His anger still lingered like a storm cloud after their battle against Ketheric. She had urged him to resist the call of his Goddess, to spare himself from becoming the sacrificial weapon to slay the absolute. In doing so, he had shed his mantle of martyrdom, stepping away from the edge of his perceived heroism. And in the aftermath, when the adrenaline faded and victory cries hushed, she sensed his resentment.

At the height of his struggle, she had hoped he wouldn't need convincing. She had hoped his own worth would shine brightly enough to dispel the dark intent of Mystra's decree, and that he would have enough faith in their companions, in her, to find another path. She had believed their bond ran deep enough for him to steadfastly choose to remain by her side, but she had been mistaken. He required persuasion, and it had nearly shattered her.

She understood he owed her nothing, that no formal declarations had been made. There were moments heavy with unspoken desire, where the air crackled with anticipation. She had savoured each lingering glance and flirtatious exchange. Yet now, she wondered if it had all been a fanciful illusion. How could he desire her when his heart yearned for a Goddess? When the sigil of his devotion was literally branded over his heart? She resigned herself to accepting that he would stay by her side a while longer, and would bask in his warmth for as long as she could.

“Tav!” A distant voice called through the trees, barely audible over the rain storm's fury.

She turned to see him striding purposefully towards her, embers of anger flickering in his deep eyes. Both of them were drenched, the rain pouring down so relentlessly that it only took moments to become completely soaked. His white camp shirt clung to his chest and abdomen, accentuating the contours of his muscles. The emblem of the orb was unmistakable through the fabric, as was the dark hair which spattered his chest, trailing down into the snug, rain-soaked leather trousers tucked into his boots. Heavy droplets cascaded down his nose and fell from his long lashes like tears, and he had pushed his hair back away from his face, so now only a couple of tendrils stuck to his forehead and his cheek. The shimmer of the water cast him in ethereal beauty, and his silver earring gleamed like a lone star in the night sky. He might as well have been naked, and Tav felt a rush of heat at the sight of him. He was divine, and he was furious.

“What are you doing?” His voice was coloured with fresh anger. “You will catch your death!”

“Death has tried to catch me once today, wizard,” she said in defiance, turning her face upwards to the burst sky and running her hands through her hair. “I would like to see him try again.”

“You are stubborn and infuriating to your core! You would not allow me to sacrifice myself, and yet here you stand in the middle of a storm, taunting death as though he is a pawn in your game of heroics.”

She had never seen him this inflamed; the cool bindings of his tightly-wrapped feelings had come loose to reveal a man smouldering with desperate intent. The fact he still saw himself as a sacrifice shot fury through Tav’s veins equal to that of the Wizard before her.

“Do not blame me for what happened today! Your derision is wasted on me. I regret nothing. You were not weak; you were courageous. Vilify me if you will; resent me and cast me aside. It is a price I will pay to know your light still shines in the world. But I take no credit for your act of bravery. That was all you.”

She felt tears spill their way out of her eyes, and she belligerently let them fall alongside the welcome rain, now angry that she was letting herself fall apart in front of him. She could see him subside; he had calmed from raging ocean to a still pond. He said nothing, just waited.

“Baldur’s Gate lies ahead, and so does the end of our journey. Soon I will be home. I will marry a man I do not love, to support a family who does not care for my happiness, and I will take my courage from you, from what you did today. Please grant me the blessing of knowing it was because you wanted to stay here, with me. Just let me have that, even for a moment, even if it isn't real.”

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back, as though it was the first move in a practiced dance. She knew he meant to comfort her; she was unsure how, but it did not matter. She could not bear it.

“No, please,” she pleaded, needing to be alone. Completely soaked by the rain, despite the warmth in the air, her skin was speckled with gooseflesh, her clothing clinging to her in soaked desperation. She felt ashamed and exposed in front of him. He was everything she wanted but could never have. Jealousy, anger, and longing burned within her. If he touched her, she feared she would flame to ash in his arms. “Please, leave.”

He gazed at her face, her damp skin flushed, her dark eyes deeper than he had ever seen them, the usual mischievous sparkle replaced with swirling fear and helplessness. He longed to comfort her, to hold her.

“You should not marry him,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain. The silence that followed was heavy with tension. She held his gaze, her tears halting along with her breath.

“I am acutely aware of the shackles that will bind you upon your return. The thought of it has seared my soul. I have seen people marry for all the wrong reasons—wealth, security, anything but love. Some found it suited them, others were torn apart. That fate is for the faint-hearted, and you are not one of them.”

This time when he stepped forward, she did not move.

“They are early spring, and you are blazing summer. They are dappled moonlight, and you are blinding sun. They are house cats and cart horses, and you are a wild thing. You should not marry him,” he continued, his sadness palpable in his eyes and voice. “You will wither.” The space between them felt heavy and charged, the air warm and heady in the humid rain shower. “You talked me down from my precipice; let me help you down from yours.”

She could bear it no longer. Meeting his eyes, she began to move with purpose. That was all he needed. Rushing forward, he pushed her back against the nearest tree. She mewled in surprise before his lips captured hers, soft yet determined.

“Gale..” His name fell like dropped silk from her parted lips. As soon as he heard it exhaled in breathlessness, all soft intent was washed away with the rain. His hands were everywhere, grasping at her soaked clothing, tangling themselves in her dripping hair, pulling her hips against him. The kiss was wet - rain heavy and so so desperate. His tongue danced with hers, in ways he had fantasised about alone in his tent. He had brought himself to ecstasy thinking about the touch of her tongue against his, about all the lust induced pleasure she could summon with it. He was desperately hard, unashamedly and wantonly pressed against her. He wanted her to feel the effect she had on him, how much he desired her in all her vexing, complicated, exquisite glory.

He had been angry, yes. He had been ashamed and guilt-ridden - but for reasons he did not expect. He did not feel as though he had let down Mystra, but that he had let down Tav. He had the opportunity to rid her of her burden, to strike down the threat which loomed over her head. She would be safe from the absolute, he could have given that to her, and she had talked him out of it. He felt like a coward, a meek ember undeserving of the vivid bonfire of a woman who had blazed her way into his heart.

He realised now, entangled with her in the wild rain, that he loved her. The simplicity of it was overwhelming. She was exceptional, and he loved her.

She had thought his feelings for her were wistful imaginings, but the truth was - he burned for her, he always had. Over the course of their journey, he had caught each glance with gentle hope and clutched them to him in times of darkness. He had saved every kind word and pressed them together into the pages of a book, to be taken out and skimmed through when he needed comfort. Her name was carved into his heart, and each beat belonged to her.

They broke apart, both panting and breathless from the force of their embrace and she laughed. The most beautiful, clear chime of a laugh which stirred his blood and flooded his veins with joy. He smiled at the sight of her, and with a wave of his hand created an invisible shelter above them to shield them from the rain.

“You couldn’t have done that before?” her pupils were so lust-blown the rich brown of her eyes were thin bands around black pools of desire, and her voice sparkled and danced through him.

He peppered light kisses along her jaw and down her neck, “And spoil your fun? I wouldn’t dare.” Her hands tangled in his hair in response, and she moaned as he licked away the rainwater which had gathered in the hollow of her throat.

“Lay down for me.” The grass beneath them was dry from his magic, and a soft purple blanket had been conjured out of nowhere.

She did as he was told, and the ease of her submission did something to him. She was wild, unpredictable and stubborn, and the way in which she melted and bowed at his touch, at his command, stirred him in a way he had not felt before. He was a man undone.

He spent time slowly undressing her, lifting the hem of her soaking wet shirt and kissing the plane of her stomach, working his mouth along the sensitive ridges of her ribcage, pushing her arms upwards so he could pull the sopping wet clothing over her head. As he lifted her arms he licked the curve of her breast, her collarbone, even her armpit. He wanted all of her, and she arched her back so beautifully under his touch that he could not bear to remove his mouth for even an instant.

“Gale, please.” He had never heard her voice so low before, so wanton and dripping with unfiltered lust.

“It is unlike you to be so well-mannered.” He teased between tonguing her damp skin “Where is the wild creature who has enraptured me so?”

Her response came in a moan so primal it could have been mistaken for a growl. She was an altar he couldn’t decide whether to worship at, or desecrate. He decided there would be time for both.

He peeled the rest of her clothes from her like the rind from a sweet fruit. Putting his mouth to every inch of flesh he uncovered. The rain mixed with the salt-sweet taste of her skin was fresh and heady, and he thought that no ambrosia could taste sweeter.

He proved himself wrong when he eventually pressed his tongue where she wanted it most, where her desire gathered like a fresh-filled rockpool. She was heavenly. Every moan he pulled from her was a claimed bounty, a treasure he would hoard till the end of his days. He dipped his tongue inside her, savouring her, coating his tongue with her and then swiping upwards to run over the small bundle of nerves which could undo her completely. Her hips bucked in response.

“Exquisite.” He said in between heated kisses.

“I want all of you inside me, please.” Her cry was more breath than words. Her fingers raked through his hair and the shocks of her touch ran all the way down his spine. “You shall have me, my love. Body and soul, heart and mind. All of me, eternally.”

“Enough poetry.” She whined “Gale..”

“I want you to come against my tongue first, sweet girl. I want to taste your undoing.” He re-focused his attention back between her legs, completely devoted in his worship, intent on receiving the holy blessing of her exalted cries as she lost herself beneath him. It did not take long. His tongue was firm, his dexterous fingers stroked into her and curled to find the hidden place of her rapture. His face was lust-soaked, head spun with desire, he was drunk on her pleasure and he ground himself into the earth beneath him as she unravelled with a reckless cry. He did not stop, he coaxed her through it, tongue softening and fingers slowing their pace as her wave broke and the relentless tide retreated. Even when she was spent, he continued to kiss her intimately, revelling in the soft pulse of her muscles.

She drew him close, kissing him slowly and wantonly, savouring the taste of her own salt on his tongue. Pulling back, she gazed into his eyes, tracing the rough shadow of his beard with the pads of her fingers, fulfilling every longing touch she had yearned for. Returning the favour, she undressed him, their laughter mingling as they wrestled with his soaked leather trousers, finally leaving him as bare as she. With him above her, their bodies pressed together, anticipation sweetening the air between them.

“You are a marvel.” She whispered, tracing the vein-like mark that swirled under his eye, “I will spend each second proving to you that you made the right choice today. That the world is a brighter place for having you in it.”

“I am completely in love with you.” was his simple response, and the smile it earned him rivalled the night sky with its radiance.

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” was her teasing reply. He offered her a single soft, chaste kiss, before running his hands once again up her arms. This time to pin her hands above her head. She gasped at the sudden change in pace, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. He kept her small hands grasped in one of his, and slowly stroked the other down her body. Tracing a path to where she was still wet from desire and the focus of his tongue. Her eyelashes fluttered beautifully as his finger lightly brushed over her, and her sharp intake of breath told him she was still desperately needy. “I’m going to need to hear you say it properly, Tav.” Briefly, his strokes became firmer, purposeful, stacking a pleasurable build back from the ruins of her last orgasm. And then, he withdrew his touch from her completely, leaving her bucking and helpless.

He kissed her throat and moaned against her skin, as he shifted his position to meet her heat. The tip of him pressed against her, and he had to dredge up every drop of restraint to stop himself pushing into her in one, hard stroke.

“Be a good girl, and say it.” Between the two of them, it was unclear who was more desperate, who was winning their little game. It didn’t matter in the end, the result was always going to be the same.

“I love you.” She met his eyes and poured every ounce of love-drenched sincerity she could into her words. She meant it. She would always mean it. And with her confession, Gale finally pushed himself into her, not breaking contact with the sparkle of her eyes as he moved himself inside her.

"Let me touch you, let me show you, please," she begged, her voice aching with desire. At her plea, he released her hands, and immediately her fingers roamed his body. Her pleasure soared as she finally explored him in ways she had only dreamed of, tracing faded scars and kissing each sun-browned freckle.

His pace remained deliberate, slow at first, savouring every moment as he pulled almost completely out of her before burying himself deep inside, revelling in her tight warmth. The pouring rain and distant rumble of thunder drowned out most of their passion's noise, but Tav seemed to take it as a challenge.

She matched his intensity, moving with abandon, grinding her hips against each dedicated thrust, enticing him to unravel, daring him to let go. And he did. His kisses turned into soft bites, caresses into bruising grips on her waist, her hips, the soft flesh of her backside.

Lovemaking turned to fucking, to pure desperation and relief. He rutted into her, primal and hot - the ability to speak a distant memory as all he could do was moan into her mouth as he approached his crescendo. He flipped her over, and placed one of his arms under her leg to move it upwards, and he fucked her into the ground. They were still soaked, and they didn’t know if it was from the rain, their sweat or their pleasure, neither of them cared.

He had angled her hips so he could move more deeply into her, and still wrap his arm around her to stroke her where she needed. It was exquisite. It did not last long. Tav threw her head back against his shoulder, and gasped out a choked cry as she clenched around him - wild and lost. The sensation of her was too perfect, and Gale followed her breathlessly and completely. All rhythm lost in the chaos of her unravelling orgasm.

As they descended from their high together, he gently turned her to face him, and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, the pads of each fingertip.

“I love you” her voice was soft hope, he gaze a bright future. They would keep each other safe, and face each challenge with hearts and hands entwined.

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” He replied breathlessly, and her laugh mingled with the sound of rain and thunder to create the most beautiful music he had ever heard.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale smut

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idkyetxoxo · 2 months ago

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Daemon Targaryen - Him and I

Summary - Bound by a passion that thrives on violence and chaos, they eliminate anyone who dares to cross them. Their love becomes both their greatest strength and their most dangerous weapon, a perfect match in their shared madness.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x Arryn reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), violence (mentions)

Word count - 2044

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

He's out his head, I'm out my mind we got that love, the crazy kind.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon declared, his voice laced with smug satisfaction.

The expression settled on his face as he rested his hands on the hilt of his sword, slick with blood, which seemed to meld with his hand as though it were an extension of his very being, a dark instrument of his will.

The man's life had drained away at his feet, but Daemon seemed untroubled, as if violence was as natural to him as breathing. A crimson pool spread slowly beneath his boots, the thick blood glistening under the flickering torchlight like a river of molten rubies, each drop a silent witness to the carnage.

I flinched, a fleeting reaction to the brutality that had just unfolded before me but then, a slow smile crept across my lips. My gaze found Daemon's, his eyes already locked onto mine.

There was no need for words between us. We understood each other in ways that transcended language, our bond forged in the crucible of blood and sharpened by the steel we wielded.

I licked my lips, savouring the metallic tang of blood, his blood. The fool had dared to speak ill of me, and now his life was nothing more than a bitter taste on my tongue, a reminder of the sweet vengeance.

I raised my thumb to wipe away a crimson smear, aware that the rest of my face was likely speckled with droplets, but I found I couldn't care less.

This was the price of our love, a love that thrived in the shadows of violence, a love as dangerous as it was intoxicating.

The King had decreed that anyone who questioned me, the sister of his late wife, regarding the mysterious death of one of Alicent's ladies-in-waiting would lose their tongue. Daemon, ever the enforcer of our twisted justice, decided that wasn't enough.

He wanted blood, and he had taken it without hesitation.

"Your Grace," Otto Hightower's voice cut through the tension, thick with anger as he turned to face the King.

The man's indignation was palpable, his eyes flickering between the lifeless body on the floor and the King who had allowed this to happen but even Otto, with all his political manoeuvring and cold calculation, knew better than to challenge Daemon directly.

Not when the bond between us was so absolute, so terrifyingly complete.

He saw the madness in our eyes, a madness that could not be swayed by reason or threats, and I could sense his hesitation, a fear born not of cowardice, but of knowing he was outmatched by a love that defied logic and thrived on chaos.

Daemon kills for me, I kill for him. We're both out of our minds, lost in a love so consuming it leaves no room for fear, no space for mercy.

We've got the kind of love people whisper about in dark corners, the kind that burns too brightly, too fiercely, and leaves only ashes in its wake.

"This matter cannot be ignored," Otto declared, his voice edged with disgust as he turned his gaze toward me. His eyes bore into mine, seething with contempt, but I simply bit my lip to keep from laughing.

He was so predictable in his self-righteous indignation, so easy to provoke.

"What would you have me do?" Viserys snapped, his frustration bleeding through every word.

The burden of the crown weighed heavily on him, and Otto's relentless prying was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

"It is common knowledge that Prince Daemon's wife was present when the body of Lady Elia was discovered," Otto pressed on, his tone growing more insistent. "Merely a day after the lady had slandered Prince Daemon's name."

Viserys ran a weary hand over his face, his patience thinning, frayed by the constant tension between loyalty and fear, between the brother he loved and the monster that Daemon had become.

I clenched my teeth to keep from lashing out. The accusations were nothing new, just more whispers and rumours in a court that thrived on such poison.

"Prince Daemon's wife has a name," I spat, crossing my arms over my chest.

Otto turned to me, throwing his hands up in exasperation, clearly irked that this was the only part of his condemnation I had chosen to acknowledge.

"There is no proof that my sister-in-law killed Lady Elia. These are merely rumours," Viserys said, his voice calm but resolute as he met my gaze. I offered him a small, knowing smile, and he continued, "She would do no such thing."

"You say this only because she is your late wife's sister," Otto retorted, his voice sharp with accusation.

"Precisely," Viserys replied, his tone softening as he spoke of my sister. "Aemma would never have let it get this far... my Aemma."

Otto turned back to me, his eyes narrowing in disdain, but this time I didn't hold back. I allowed a proud smirk to spread across my face, mouthing a single word "Oops." His jaw clenched in response, but he had nothing left to say.

"Your Grace, I do not wish to continue this conversation," I said, feigning an upset tone as I glanced at Viserys with wide, innocent eyes.

"Of course, my dear," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. His affection for me, the last living reminder of his beloved Aemma, was a powerful shield against Otto's accusations.

"There will be no further discussions regarding Lady Elia's death," Viserys declared, his voice carrying a finality that brooked no argument. His gaze shifted to the lifeless body at Daemon's feet, the head severed cleanly from the shoulders. "Let Lord Tarly be an example."

With those words, the matter was settled. Daemon, with a flicker of something dark and satisfied in his eyes, turned to me.

Without a word, he took my hand, pulling me from the throne room and through the winding corridors of the Keep. His grip was firm, and possessive, as if he needed to feel my presence.

We moved in silence until we reached our chambers. The door closed with a solid thud, sealing us in our private world, away from the prying eyes and judgmental stares of others.

The moment the latch clicked, Daemon pulled me to him, our bodies colliding with a desperate intensity. My chest pressed against his, the heat of his skin seeping through his clothes as he held me close.

"The blood of my enemies looks absolutely beautiful on you," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, smearing a trace of dried blood.

The touch was possessive, reverent as if he were admiring a work of art.

"Your enemies?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

"Any man who speaks ill of my wife is my enemy," he replied, his tone firm and unwavering. His fingers threaded through my hair, pulling gently as he rested his hand on the nape of my neck, holding me in place.

"That's exactly what I like to hear," I whispered, my fingers slipping beneath his tunic, desperate to feel the heat of his skin.

I began tracing the contours of his muscles with a feather-light touch. Feeling him shudder beneath my fingertips, the tension in his body turning to something darker, more primal.

In truth, those words were my lifeline, the assurance that no matter how deep we descended into darkness, he would always be there with me.

"Lady Elia?" he questioned, his voice a low rumble. There was no fear in his eyes, only a dark curiosity.

I smirked, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Rising onto my tiptoes, I leaned in close to his ear, my breath hot against his skin.

"She insinuated that you were aggressive and unpredictable," I whispered, biting gently on his earlobe before pulling back to my given height. "I don't like it when people talk ill of my husband, so I killed her."

The admission hung in the air between us, heavy with the weight of our shared madness. Daemon's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a wicked smile.

Without another word, he crushed his lips against mine in a kiss that was hungry, fierce, and unyielding. It wasn't a kiss of tenderness but one of raw passion, a fire that consumed us both.

We stumbled backwards, our bodies entwined as we lost ourselves in the moment, in the shared understanding that we were unstoppable together.

"Tell me what you want, darling," I murmured against his lips, already knowing the answer but craving the sound of his voice.

His hands were impatient, already tugging at the fabric between us, desperate to feel skin against skin.

"You," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. His lips moved to my neck, trailing sloppy, heated kisses down my body, each one sending shivers of anticipation through me.

"Then have me," I whispered, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as I surrendered to the inevitable. "Take me."

His hands parted my legs, spreading them wide as he positioned himself. When he began to push inside me, the sudden intrusion made me gasp, my body reacting instinctively. My walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper, as that familiar, aching need built in my core.

He moved with a rhythm that was both demanding and intoxicating, each thrust driving me closer to the edge. I arched against him, meeting his movements with my own, our hips colliding in a primal dance that spoke of love, possession, and the insatiable hunger we had for one another.

"Yes, just like that," I murmured, my voice breathy with pleasure as he adjusted his angle, the tip of his length grazing a spot deep within me that made my entire body shudder.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense.

"You feel so perfect," he growled, his voice thick with the kind of desire that bordered on obsession. "I could stay buried inside you forever."

It wasn't just lust, it was a desperate need, a hunger that could only be sated by knowing that in this moment, I was his and his alone.

A shiver ran through me at his words, my heart pounding in sync with the fierce rhythm of our bodies.

"Then don't stop," I breathed, my nails raking across his back, leaving red marks in their wake. "I need you, all of you."

Each movement was precise, as though he were playing me like an instrument, drawing out the sweetest music with every thrust, every deep connection between us.

"You have all of me," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of prolonging the pleasure for both of us. "I'm yours, always."

I could feel the climax building, an unstoppable wave that threatened to crash over me, to pull me under and drown me in its depths. My grip on him tightened, nails biting into his flesh as I rode the edge of oblivion, his name spilling from my lips in a fervent chant.

"Let go," he urged, his voice rough, his breath hot against my ear. "Let me feel you come apart for me."

His words were my undoing. With one final, deep thrust, he pushed me over the brink, and I shattered. Pleasure exploded within me, a white-hot blaze that consumed every inch of my being.

My body convulsed around him, my voice breaking into a cry of ecstasy as the world shattered into a million dazzling pieces. He followed me into that abyss, his own release crashing over him as he buried himself deep inside me, our bodies locked together in the throes of passion.

As the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed, we clung to each other, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison. He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, a contrast to the wild passion that had consumed us just moments before.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice a vow in the quiet aftermath.

"And you're mine," I replied, my voice full of contentment as I nestled closer to him, our bodies still intimately connected.

In that moment, we knew that this was where we belonged—in each other's arms, bound by a love that was as dangerous as it was beautiful.

I am his, and he is mine. In the end, it's him and I.

A/n - Is somebody gonna match my freak (listen to Him and I by Halsey and G-eazy)

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #team black #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd daemon #prince daemon targaryen #the rouge prince #daemon targeryan

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monster-disaster · 1 month ago

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[monsters] for your hand

monster!suitor x human!princess!Reader Good to know: no warning

A/N: Here is a prologue for my idea of giving you, dear readers, some power to shape your story as a princess on my Patreon. I’ll create a poll for you to decide which three monsters you want to read about (each will get their own one-shot). And after their stories, there will be another poll where you can choose which one should win you.

Messengers race across the lands, spreading the news far and wide.

Your father, the king, sends out a word that shakes the kingdom to its core: only the bravest and most powerful may seek your hand in marriage. He announces a grand tournament, where kings, warriors, and champions can prove themselves worthy of you and the title you carry.

The lands are loud with anticipation. Knights shine their armor, kings dispatch their envoys, and lords ready their finest champions. Flags whip in the wind, trumpets echo through the hills, and every court is alive with excitement.

But your father, in his confidence, has forgotten one crucial detail: the world no longer belongs solely to humans. From the deep forests, towering mountains, and wild, untamed lands, the monsters have emerged. Creatures of legend and myth, once content to linger in the shadows, now step into the light, demanding their share of the world.

And they, too, have heard the king's decree. They, too, seek power, and more shockingly, they seek you.

Giants come out from their mountain homes, trolls leave their dark caves, and the nagas rise from distant swamps. Winged beasts glide over the castles of men, and hulking minotaurs stomp through the city gates. The warriors that arrive are not just men in gleaming armor but creatures of legend, each more fearsome than the last. The boundary between the familiar and the unknown begins to blur, and as the suitors gather, man and monster stand against each other. Knights in gleaming armor, chieftains draped in furs, and monstrous beings all come to stake their claim. The air is thick with dust, the ground marred by the struggle and fight.

One by one, the weak fall. The ground is stained with blood, and only the strongest remain, battered and breathless. The chaos of the early battles fades into a more intense struggle as the final competitors emerge. And as the week draws to a close, only four suitors remain: three fearsome monsters and a single human, your father's greatest warrior. But even he, the pride of your father's court, begins to falter. In the final moments of his battle, he is outmatched. Bruised and bloodied, he is forced to kneel before a monstrous opponent, his once-glorious armor cracked and dull.

A hush falls over the crowd as the kingdom's last human warrior falls.

Now, only the monsters remain.

And while your people are speechless with shock, you can't help but feel a thrill of excitement for what comes next.

The monsters you can choose from on my Patreon: - orc - werewolf - minotaur - naga - gnoll - cerberus - lion rakshasa - barbarians (two males) - golem - frost beast

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #teratophillia #monster smut #monster fucker #terat0philliac #monster thoughts #monsterfucker #monster lover #monster kink #monster

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poisonioushearts · 2 years ago

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Self-aware Leon(being the players favorite)

Inspired by @dislifeismid self-aware tang yun

Gender neutral reader

Warnings: Might be a little ooc?, otherwise none

He blinked and suddenly he was fully leveled

Um...okay

He was a bit surprised, like, don't you have the shiny legendaries?

You don't care? Okay then

His old relics were stripped away and replaced by the highest level, all of them already leveled up

The others in the team are already weary of him and once they see him oneshot the enemy? Oh boy...

I feel like he wouldn't care very much for you, you're just basically telling him what to do without a choice

Leon thinks that maybe he can rid of Ollie with this newfound power-

Wait

Is that Ollie working beside him??

Touche

After some time he thinks that maybe you'd take away his relics or something to level that new legendary esper you got

Is surprised (part 2) when he sees that you don't even touch the other person

Now he has some respect for you

Tries not to show to the others that he is mildly excited that someone else cares for him and that you obviously show it

If you start to pay attention to other espers he's gone cold, the others don't know why-*cough* jealously *cough*

Freddy is sitting at level 20 kinda jealous watching his friend be sent out for constant missions lmao

In the AU where the player is a esper that has all the powers of the player(ie. giving them strength, powerful items, taking them out on missions,etc.)he won't say it but he's basically your bodyguard now

You helped him and he isn't the hugest fan of debt even though this situation wouldn't really be considered debt in your eyes

Congratulations, the possibility of death for you has greatly decreased

Thank you for reading, reblog/like if you enjoyed it!

#x reader #fanfic writers #dislyte #leon #dislyte leon #headcannon format?#bullet points #oneshot-ish not really though #gender neutral reader #esper reader for the last half #shadow decree #self aware au

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aphroditelovesu · 10 months ago

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What about a Yandad! Poseidon with his mortal/ demigod daughter??

❝ 🌊 — lady l: I got carried away and ended up writing a mini imagine. This is not canon and is based on the voices in my head lol, but I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 💙

❝tw: threats and a slight yandere!Poseidon, but other than that, nothing else.

❝🌊pairing: platonic yandere!poseidon x daughter!reader.

❝word count: 683.

You grew up at Camp Half-Blood, surrounded by other demigods and learning to control your divine powers. Your relationship with Poseidon was complex; on the one hand, you benefited from his protection, but on the other, the shadow of prohibition hung over you. The sea god, your father, had a clear interest in your fate, and the other demigods couldn't help but feel the aura of power that surrounded you.

Your relationship with Percy Jackson, the already known hero and son of Poseidon, was a highlight. The two half-sibilings trained together, shared experiences, and supported each other in battles against monsters and other threats. The bond between them grew, consolidating a formidable partnership, feared by many enemies. Poseidon was more than pleased to see his two favorite children get along so well.

In the years that followed, Poseidon's presence in his daughter's life was constant. He guided you in training, sharing secrets of the seas and teaching you how to control your aquatic powers. As time passed, your abilities stood out among the rest. Poseidon's influence ensured that the instructors at camp also paid special attention to you, preparing you for even greater challenges. However, the constant gaze of the god of the sea also generated distrust among your fellow demigods, fueling rumors and jealousy.

Life at Camp Half-Blood wasn't easy. Monsters constantly threatened the perimeter, and quests were often assigned to the most skilled demigods. Poseidon, in turn, began to discreetly intervene in your life, providing help at crucial moments and ensuring you were one step ahead of impending dangers.

However, your relationship with the sea god was not just one of benefits. In dreams and visions, you began to receive cryptic messages and warnings from other gods and titans, warning you of the implications of being so close to Poseidon. A god can never be involved in his children's lives, well, the demigods children at least.

Tension between the gods grew as your bond with Poseidon deepened. Zeus, in particular, viewed the increasing influence his brother had over you with suspicion. The warnings from the other gods increased, and the shadows of destiny began to manifest themselves more clearly.

One night, during a vivid dream, Triton, the son of Poseidon with his wife and your half-brother, appeared before you. His eyes expressed concern as he warned of the consequences of ignoring divine warnings.

"Proximity to our father can bring blessings, but also curses," Triton said, his voice echoing like the waves of the sea.

Quests abroad became more dangerous, with more powerful monsters and mythological creatures challenging the demigods. Poseidon continued to intervene subtly, but now his help was under the scrutiny of the Olympian gods. Zeus, in his wrath, explicitly prohibited any divine intervention in your quests.

Once, during a battle against a colossal sea beast, you found yourself on the brink of defeat, your companions also injured. Desperate, you silently cried out for Poseidon's help. He responded, sending a furious wave to defeat the monster, but the price of this intervention was high. On Olympus, Zeus' anger became uncontrollable.

The situation reached a critical point when an oracle prophesied that the proximity between Poseidon and you would trigger a catastrophe that would affect not only the demigods, but the entire balance of the mythological world. The gods' prohibition on interfering in the lives of their children became an unbreakable decree.

Poseidon, however, didn't care one bit. You were his daughter and he would help you if he wanted.

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #yandere percy jackson #yandere pjo #platonic poseidon x reader #yandere poseidon #platonic yandere #platonic yandere poseidon x reader

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simp4eshal · 7 months ago

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Ballroom

Count Vronsky x poc!reader/OC(Arabella Von Jaga) (but she's mostly reader i just felt more comfortable giving her a name)

warnings: obsessive behavior, angst ??, smut, yearning, fluff, lemme know if i forgot something

In the dimly lit study of his opulent manor, Count Vronsky paced restlessly. His eyes burned with an intensity that betrayed his turmoil of emotions. It had been months since he had last laid eyes on her, months of sleepless nights and restless days spent yearning for the touch of her skin, the taste of her lips. His heart ached with a longing so powerful it threatened to consume him whole. She was his obsession, his raison d'être, and he would stop at nothing to make her his. Her name was Arabella, and she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

He paused before a large mirror, running his fingers through his unruly hair, trying to tame the wild beast that had taken over his appearance. His once-handsome face now bore the telltale signs of his all-consuming passion: dark circles ringed his eyes, his skin was pale and sallow, and his muscles were taut with unspent energy. Even his once-elegant attire seemed to reflect his inner turmoil, wrinkled and askew.

He could no longer deny it; he was losing his grip on reality. His thoughts were consumed with her, and his actions had become increasingly desperate. He had tried to fill the void with other women, but it was futile. They were but pale imitations of the one he truly loved. Arabella was his sun, his moon, his stars, and without her, he was nothing but a shadow of his former self.

Determined to take matters into his own hands, Vronsky gathered his most trusted servants and issued a decree. He would hold a grand ball in her honor, an extravaganza the likes of which the kingdom had never seen. The invitations were to be sent out far and wide, to every corner of the land, inviting everyone who was anyone to attend. The catch was that the ball would be by invitation only, and the only invitation that truly mattered would be in Arabella's hands.

For weeks, Vronsky's servants worked tirelessly to prepare the manor for the event, transforming it into a veritable wonderland of opulence and excess. Intricate tapestries hung from the ceilings, gleaming chandeliers cast their warm light across polished marble floors, and towering floral arrangements adorned every available surface. A full orchestra was hired to play throughout the night, their haunting melodies weaving in and out of the revelry.

As the appointed day finally dawned, Vronsky paced anxiously before the grand entrance, his heart hammering in his chest. He had spared no expense, had left no stone unturned, and yet he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't enough. He longed for her to be there, to see the depth of his devotion, to feel the weight of his obsession.

Dusk fell, and the first guests began to arrive, their opulent attire casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the ballroom. Ladies in shimmering gowns and gentlemen in finely tailored suits mingled amidst the fountains of champagne, their laughter and conversation filling the air. The orchestra played on, the music swirling around them like a living thing, weaving a seductive spell that enraptured everyone within earshot.

Vrronsky paced restlessly, his gaze darting about the room, searching for any sign of her. His heart felt as though it were being squeezed in a vise, the anticipation almost unbearable. He had invited every eligible bachelor and bachelorette in the kingdom, hoping that one of them might know where she was, might have heard a rumor or seen her somewhere. But so far, there was no sign of her.

Hours passed, and the ball reached its zenith. The guests, their appetites whetted by the endless feast and flowing champagne, had begun to let loose, dancing wildly to the orchestra's stirring melodies. Vrronsky, however, could not join in their revelry. His focus remained fixed on the grand entrance, willing it to swing open and reveal her.

As midnight approached, he grew desperate. He had to know if she would come, if she would accept his invitation. He spotted a servant hurrying across the ballroom and beckoned him over. The servant, out of breath from running, bowed low. "My lord, a messenger has arrived with a note for you." Vronsky snatched the envelope from the servant's trembling hand, his heart racing. With shaking fingers, he tore it open.

The note was brief, but it was all he needed to hear. In her delicate script, she had accepted his invitation, promising to attend the ball. He read it over and over again, the words losing their meaning as tears of relief and joy streamed down his face. He could feel the weight of his obsession lifting from his shoulders, a lightness in his chest that he hadn't experienced in years.

With renewed vigor, he rejoined the revelry, laughing and dancing with the other guests. He scarcely noticed the envious glances that were directed his way, for he was no longer concerned with the opinions of others. All that mattered was that she was coming, and soon she would be in his arms once more.

As the night wore on, the ball reached its climax. The orchestra struck up a new, haunting melody, and Vronsky could feel a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. He glanced at the grand entrance, willing it to swing open and reveal her. Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes turned towards the entrance. There, framed by the doorway, stood Arabella, resplendent in a gown of shimmering emerald silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, revealing the long, dainty column of her neck. She held a single red rose in one hand, its thorns glinting in the candlelight.

Vronsky's heart skipped a beat as he saw her, and he felt a surge of relief wash over him. She had come. She had accepted his invitation. With a graceful smile, she glided across the ballroom, her eyes never leaving his. As she drew closer, he could see the love and devotion reflected in her gaze, and he knew that she felt it too. They met in the center of the room, and without a word, they began to dance.

The music seemed to fade into the background as they moved together, their bodies in perfect sync. Their hands entwined, their fingers interlaced, and Vronsky felt as though he had found his anchor in the world once more. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, and the sensation was intoxicating. She leaned into him, her cheek resting against his shoulder, and he could feel her breath hot against his skin.

The other dancers seemed to fade away, leaving them alone in their own private universe. Time itself seemed to lose all meaning as they moved together, lost in the music and in each other. Their every touch was electric, every movement full of promise and passion. They danced until the orchestra had finished its final song, until the ballroom was empty and the candles had all burned down to stubs.

Finally, with a deep sigh, Vronsky lowered Arabella back onto the parquet floor and stepped back, his heart racing. She looked up at him with a mixture of exhaustion and contentment, her cheeks flushed from the exertion and the heat of their embrace. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice barely audible above the sound of their labored breathing. "That was... that was perfect."

He smiled down at her, his eyes taking in every detail of her face. Her lips were still slightly parted, her eyes shining with a mix of passion and desire. "I love you," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. "You are my world, my reason for living."

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, they stood there, lost in each other. Then, slowly, Vronsky bent down and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tender at first, a gentle exploration of each other's mouths, before growing more passionate. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and he could feel her respond to his touch, her hips grinding against his.

With a groan, he swept her up into his arms, carrying her across the ballroom and into his private chambers. The candles flickered against the walls, casting soft shadows as he laid her down on the bed. She arched her back as he trailed his fingers down her neck and over her breasts, helpless and full of desire at the same time.

Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as they tore off each other's clothes. Vronsky kicked off his shoes and shucked out of his trousers, revealing his aroused length. He positioned himself between her legs, feeling her hot, wet folds against his skin. With a growl, he pushed forward, burying himself inside her. She cried out in pleasure, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, driving deep inside her with each thrust.

Her body arched off the bed, meeting his each stroke with a grinding of their hips. Their sweat-slick skin slapped together in a rhythm that grew faster and more frenzied. The air was thick with the scent of their arousal, and the candlelight flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced across their entwined forms.

As they moved together, lost in the intensity of their passion, Vronsky felt a building pressure deep within him. His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, as he struggled to find release. He felt her body tense beneath him, her muscles clenching tight around him, and with a hoarse cry, she shuddered violently in his arms. Her inner walls gripped him tight, and he felt himself spill inside her, his climax overwhelming him in a wave of pleasure.

He collapsed on top of her, their sweat-slick bodies sticking together, his weight pinning her down. For a moment, they lay there, catching their breath, their hearts racing. Then, slowly, Vronsky rolled off of her, their entwined limbs separating with reluctance. He looked down at Arabella, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving, and felt a surge of love and possession course through him.

"You are my everything," he murmured, trailing his fingers down her stomach and over her hip. "My reason for living, my reason for breathing. No matter what happens, I will always be yours."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled up at him. "And I will always be yours," she whispered, her voice still husky from their passion. "Forever."

Vronsky felt a shiver of possessiveness run down his spine at her words. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, and breathed in the sweet, feminine scent that clung to her skin. "You are mine, and I will never let you go," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "No one else will ever have you."

Their eyes locked, and he could see the heat of desire burning in her gaze. She reached up, tracing a finger down the line of his jaw, her touch sending shivers through his body. "I belong to you, Alexei" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I always have, and I always will."

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arcielee · 4 months ago

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the salver & the sword

paring: Suguru Geto x reader summary: Prince Satoru Gojo sends his trusted general, and friend, across the kingdom to retrieve the girl who saved him when he was a boy. You loathe the idea of having your life uprooted on the whim of some faraway prince, and General Suguru Geto is determined to see through his prince's command, by whatever means. word count: 2.8k+ warnings: AFAB reader, the threat of marriage, mostly just the beginning seeds of slow burn! author's note: This has been thrumming inside of my head since I finished jjk. Thank you for much @thenameswinter99 for reading this over and allowing me to ramble on and on about this au. 💜

Chapter I ~ The Beginning

“My lady, you have been chosen. You have been summoned by the crowned prince, Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked and looked up from where you were kneeling, your brow furrowing at the fairytale being spoken. The news of the broken engagement between the crowned prince and Princess Iori Utahime was something that seared throughout the kingdom, spreading to the outer borders to where even your village was tittering away with their speculation on what had happened.

What followed was the royal decree from the queen, stating her only son must find a wife. It was also said she was furious of the spectacle he made it to be–but again, these were just the rumors shared amongst the commonfolk.

It was not anything you bothered to dwell on, but that was before your garden was shadowed by the two men now standing before you.

You focused on the one who was closer and he shifted under your scrutiny, an almost orchestra of the Queensguard armor that he wore, polished and glinting in the sunlight. He held onto his helmet, sweat beading at his hairline and his cheeks rosy. His eyes were wide and he looked towards the other man who accompanied him, waiting.

The other man watching you was the renowned General Suguru Geto, friend of the crowned prince and his personal guard. He was as captivating as the stories; tall and lithe, unadorned by armor but wearing the queen’s sigil embossed on a leather cuirass across his broad chest, over his tunic. His black hair fell past his shoulders, some falling in his eyes that burned through you.

Any other woman would have an array of emotions to pull for such a moment as this: perhaps an initial coy surprise followed by acceptance, the fantasy of becoming a princess staining their cheeks as their practiced bashfulness surfaced.

Instead, you frowned. “Why,” you asked them, your tone flat.

“Why?” The first man echoed but an octave higher. His eyes darted back to the general, bright with his disbelief at your question.

You also looked back to the general and saw the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. You held your gaze, contemplating him. You were almost certain it had to be the general, seeing the two distinct features always mentioned with his lore.

The first was the broadsword that was strapped to his backside, its gleaming handle peering over his shoulder. A stone was embedded into the pommel, and its ever-changing iridescent coloring was said to be an enchantment, a sentience to this weapon. It was legend crafted–the tale of a sword capable of cutting through anyone or anything, as long as it was wielded by someone deemed worthy.

And Geto was said to be just that: worthy.

It was the sword you first recalled, followed by his eyes that bore through you, heating your blood beneath; the murmured moniker of the purple-eyed demon, as given by his enemies.

The very same who now was smirking at your skepticism.

You chose to break the silence. “Yes,” you pressed your palms into the soft earth, pushing yourself to stand and face them both, “I am aware, as anyone, of the mess that followed a very public…” you took a moment to settle on a word, “...dissolvement between the prince and the princess. But what I fail to understand is why he would then decide to marry me?”

Geto continued to watch you with a quiet contemplation while the other man was quick to answer you, beaming. “The prince said that you saved his life!”

Your kindness was your curse; you closed your eyes with an inward groan. “But that was a lifetime ago,” you argued.

In fact it had happened almost eighteen years prior. This had been when you and your father lived more centrally to the capital, in a humble cottage by the river winding throughout the city. You had been outside when you heard someone fall in, his wail and frantic splash had you rushing to pull him from the water.

You remembered the matted mess of his white hair, the celestial blue of his eyes that was a known trait in the royal family–Prince Satoru Gojo. He shivered through his wet clothes, confessing to running away, with his plea pitiful: please don’t tell my mother.

This memory evaporated and instead, you said: “Who would even remember that?”

“Prince Satoru does!” He was still grinning.

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “But what if I do not wish to go and marry Prince Satoru?”

He looked incredulous, wilting back towards Geto, desperate for any guidance on how to handle this woman he clearly thought mad. The general remained quiet.

The knight looked back to you, past you, and nodded his head towards your home, a different decorum this time. “He said he only wished to reward the woman who saved him,” his words tactfully chosen, “and that he wished to liberate you from your life of poverty.”

You recoiled, fury alight in your eyes. The poverty he was referring to was the bit of land that had been left by your father. It had been purchased with the reward given when the queen came to retrieve her son; it was enough to start anew, to find a home that was not so haunted.

It was why you returned to the north, closer to the border of the Ryomen Kingdom, with enough leftover to build your home.

It was here that your father rebuilt his reputation as an esteemed salver. He spent his days helping any ailment, and his evenings spent notating his accumulated knowledge of remedies in a leather bound book embossed: Atsumeru.

You shadowed him and he was happy to show you everything he knew, proud of your keen eye that could decipher the differences in herbs. He bought you a mortar and pestle, a smoky agate, teaching you healing concoctions that he used. He taught you to read, to write, and he brought you along to every house call, praising your aptitude to help instill your own repute.

But despite all this, there was still a hesitation after your father passed away, a rough transition when you stepped into the void he left behind.

You had your maternal determinations seeded in your bones, and it allowed you to recarve your niche back within the village. They, inevitably, learned to show you the same respect reserved for your father.

It was not a rich life, not anything you could expect someone of a higher social status could comprehend, but you found comfort with its simplicity, a satisfaction when you were able to help those in need. There was a warmth that coiled in your chest as you continued the work your father devoted himself to; he felt alive whenever your cursive writing knitted into his detailed notes, forever bonded.

Your father gifted your independence and you would be damned before you allowed yourself

to be ripped away because some prince almost drowned.

And this is exactly what you said to them.

The knight was pained with your declaration. “My lady,” he licked his lips, nervous, “I am afraid that I have been commanded to bring you back with me…”

Your boldness would not hear him. “You may inform your prince that I am pleased he never fell victim to another body of water.” You were already in motion, scooping up the half-filled wicker basket to balance on your hips, honeysuckle and lavender curling in the autumn air. “And you tell him that I am declining his offer, that I am choosing to remain in my poverty.”

You meant to storm back into your home, to shut and bar the door, but you forgot about the general until he reached to catch your elbow. Your fury brimmed as you turned to face him and his amethyst eyes glowed.

“My lady,” his voice was soft, low, but resolute, “I apologize, but I will see my prince’s command to the very end, even if this means I must throw you over my shoulder and carry you back.”

You hated the heat that licked your stomach with his threat, something that spawned from his strong but careful touch. You forced yourself to glare back at him. “I…” but whatever venom that was poised on your tongue stopped.

One of them heavily armed was an issue, but facing both was impossible. And even if you somehow succeeded, where could you even run to? Your entire life was ingrained into the very earth you were standing on, and they had been commanded to uproot you, to return you back to Prince Satoru as if you were a prize and not a person.

What choice did you truly have?

Your shoulders slumped and you swallowed thickly. “Would he force me?” You wished your voice did not sound so small.

His face softened with your words, a dawning revelation that relaxed his hold on you. “My lady, the prince is a proud man, but I swear he would never force himself on anyone. He only wishes for an answer.” Geto paused, a grimace flickering across his sharp features. “But in person.”

You sighed, pulling at his fingers until his hand dropped back to his side. “Very well, I will come with you but only so I may tell Prince Gojo that I have no intention of marrying him. However,” you looked back over your garden, the molds you placed in the shade of the banyan trees, your hard work half done, “I request that I at least sell my stock at the charter market. It is my only source of income and it is how I am able to stock up to prepare for winter illnesses.”

They both stared at you. Geto and his curiosity that knitted his brows together, his careful consideration to what you just shared, while the knight looked as confused as ever; he opened his mouth first. “Winter illnesses…?”

You grit your teeth, caging you irritation, and explained, “I am a healer in this region. I help those who need it.” You paused, a smirk. “Like your prince, for example.”

“You cannot expect to make him wait–”

“You and the general are welcomed to help me, if you wish to leave sooner. But you know the market visits each region annually and I will not abandon my stock to traipse across the kingdom on a fool’s errand.”

He imploded. “He is a decorated general of the Queensguard! How can you expect–!”

“Haibara,” Geto cut through, not by raising his voice but still commanding nonetheless; Haibara straightened his spine. The general looked you over, deciding to test your resolve. “And if we choose to see through what I just said?”

You blinked. His tone was teasing you, his amusement returning with an upwards tick of his lips. “If you decide to drag me away,” you faced him, daring him, “I vow that I will not make the journey easy, by any means necessary.”

Geto chuckled, unbothered. “Very well then. Haibara,” his focus returned to the knight while yours fell rapt to watch as the general began to unbuckle his harness to set his blade aside; his long and slender fingers were quick to unlace his chest piece, lifting it over his head before he began to roll up his sleeves, “you will return and tell Satoru that we found her and I will be bringing her back myself.”

Haibara was flustered pink. “But what will you…?”

“I will remain at her side, helping with the harvest or the market or whatever chores are needed to be done in order for her to willingly come with me.”

He was incredulous. “You are truly going to help her?”

You were equally surprised, still watching as Geto knotted his dark hair at the base of his neck, pulling it away from his face. “This is what I just said,” he looked back at you and you swore his eyes glittered. “If this is the only way I can see through to what my prince commanded–”

“Otherwise, I will be kicking and biting the whole way.” You could not stop your tongue.

Geto grinned. “Then what choice do I have?”

+ + + +

It was a myth: a sword said to be forged by the immortals, an impenetrable steel that could cut down the gods themselves. It could not be controlled, but you could hope to be worthy to wield the blade. Over time many tried, many undeserving souls that were cursed by its touch before it would disappear again, waiting, waiting.

At the time Suguru Geto was a young man unknown, with only his loyalty to the crown and to his friend, Prince Satoru Gojo. He was a strong and fearsome fighter, with piercing amethyst eyes always watching, which was how he spotted the pommel and its chromatic glint of purples and blues.

At the time war was rampant with the neighboring kingdom. Its new, brash king, Sukuna of the Ryomen Kingdom, rallied to expand past the borders that had been respected the last century, guided by his bloodlust and his greed.

It was said that Geto claimed the sword and the purple-eyed demon became legend embodied, worthy to wield this great power and halt the invasion.

And now, this same sword and its iridescent stone was glittering in the sunlight.

You were quick to realize several things about the notorious General Suguru Geto. The first was the palpable respect he commanded. It was not bold, but his veritable demeanor that thrummed deep within, his careful composure with every action that had you enthralled.

You saw it with how the knight Haibara did leave as he was told. His hesitation was set aside and he climbed aback one of the horses they rode it on. He left just as the general instructed.

You watched as the horse climbed back up the slope that led down to your home, leaving you alone with the general. “So then, where should I begin?” Geto asked.

The second was how you learned the genuineness behind every question, that the general was not a man for idle conversation. At first, you were almost uneasy with how his eyes settled onto you, the amethyst that shone bright as he listened to you explain the method to the chaos that surrounded you both.

It was his sincerity with his question that followed that made you smile. “But what is it called?”

Bars of soap was an endeavor your father poured himself into. He believed that hygiene was a vital aspect for maintaining good health and overall well-being. You remembered watching as he carved the molds into the thick, wooden planks, the outside decorated with jars and pots to collect the rainwater, the constant smolder of hardwood to collect its ashes.

He allowed you to choose the scents, honeysuckle and rosemary and lavender planted in the garden outside. He showed you how to spud the cassia bark, claiming the pungent sweet and spicy favorite to add.

You smiled from these. “It is cheap to make them,” you finished, gesturing around, “but it can also tedious.”

The banyan leaves had been cut and were soaking, which would have them more malleable to allow you to wrap the bars individually and tie them with twine. Sprigs of its scent were slipped under the knot to decipher the smells easier. You showed this to the general and your curious eyes watched his slender fingers recreated, wrapping and knotting the string, tucking a lavender stem with care.

You burned with the intrusive thought of how many lives were taken by these same hands.

But as the day waned away, you could admit that you found his company endearing. You enjoyed his soft cadence of questions, asking in detail about your life. In return, you pittered and pulled at his practiced stoicism, a sense of satisfaction to be rewarded with his small smile instead of another damn smirk.

“Where is the charter market held in this region?”

It was less than half a day’s walk on foot, but that had been before, considering the wicker basket you filled to the brim and carried. His brow raised. “By yourself?”

You scoffed. “I am stronger than I look.”

“I believe that.”

You burned, quick to look away from the teasing curl of his mouth, and you mentioned the old buggy you had despite no longer having a horse for it. Geto offered his own and helped you load multiple wicker baskets, preparing to leave first thing the next morning.

The supper prepared was modest but savory, with a quieter tension settling over, the thought as to where you would have the general sleep. He suggested first that he would post to watch over the cart and stock.

“Outside?” You could not help but ask.

Another smirk. “I am stronger than I look.”

And as you laid in bed, processing your day, your mind eventually wandered back to the general outside and his perpetual smirk, to the purple that shone bright in his eyes.

arcie's navi | jjk masterlist the salver & the sword masterlist

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urdnotstxrm · 4 months ago

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Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen & Reader

AU: The Targaryen family dynamics are a blend of political intrigue and personal emotions. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the strong-willed and fiery daughter of King Viserys, is caught in a dilemma. Her father has decreed that for her to secure the Iron Throne, she must marry your brother, a match designed to solidify alliances and secure her claim. Despite this, Rhaenyra's heart belongs to you.

Continuation from here

In the guest chamber provided by your family, Rhaenyra paces restlessly. The room, though opulent, feels like a gilded cage. She can still feel the warmth of your embrace, the comfort of your presence, and it contrasts sharply with the cold reality of her situation. Her father’s decree rings in her ears, a constant reminder of the price she must pay for the throne.Rhaenyra sits by the fireplace, staring into the flames, her thoughts consumed by you. She grapples with the unfairness of it all—the love she feels for you versus the duty imposed upon her. She contemplates her options, the rebellious spark within her urging her to defy her father, to claim her own destiny. But the repercussions of such defiance weigh heavily on her mind. She fears the chaos and bloodshed that might ensue if she were to follow her heart. She thinks of you, your noble sacrifice, and it fills her with both admiration and sorrow. She knows the burden you carry, the conflict between your honor and your love for her. She wonders if there is a way to change her father’s mind, to make him see that her happiness lies not in a strategic marriage but in a union of love. As the days pass, Rhaenyra’s resolve hardens. She is a dragon, after all, and dragons are not meant to be caged. She vows to find a way to be with you, no matter the cost. For now, she clings to the hope that love will prevail, even in the face of insurmountable odds.

In the solitude of your chamber, the nights seem longer and the days, more burdensome. You sit by the window, staring out at the moonlit landscape, replaying every moment with Rhaenyra in the stables. Her words, her touch, her desperation—they haunt you. The weight of your responsibilities presses down heavily. You recall your decision to yield your right to leadership, a choice made out of duty and honor, and now it feels like a chain binding you, preventing you from following your heart. You think of your younger brother, his strengths, and the trust you placed in him. You hope he can understand the depth of your sacrifice, even if he never learns the true reason behind it. Your mind drifts to Rhaenyra’s plea, her tear-filled eyes begging for a future you cannot promise. You wonder if there could ever be a way to reconcile duty with desire, a way to find happiness without shattering the delicate balance of your world. The sound of the festivities from the great hall below echoes faintly in your chamber, a reminder of the life you are expected to lead. But your heart remains in the stables, with Rhaenyra, in that fleeting moment of shared love and sorrow.

The night was quiet and cool, the moon casting a soft, silvery light over the landscape. Unable to sleep, you stared out of your window, thoughts of Rhaenyra filling your mind. Suddenly, you noticed a solitary figure slipping out of the house and making their way towards the river. It was Rhaenyra. Curiosity and concern took hold of you, and you quickly decided to follow her at a safe distance. You moved silently, making sure not to alert her of your presence. Rhaenyra walked with purpose, her cloak billowing slightly in the gentle breeze. She reached the riverbank and paused, glancing around to ensure she was alone. Satisfied, she stepped into the water, the moonlight reflecting off the rippling surface. You remained hidden, watching her from the shadows. She waded deeper into the lake, the water lapping around her, a serene look on her face as she sought solace in the cool embrace of the water. Your heart ached with longing, knowing she was so close yet unreachable.

As you watched from the shadows, the night air seemed to grow thicker, more charged. The sight of Rhaenyra's clothes being shed before she stepped into the lake played over and over in your mind, each piece of fabric falling away revealing her form. Your heart pounded harder, the quiet stillness of the night doing nothing to quiet the thoughts invading your mind. You tried to focus on her safety, on the purity of your concern for her well-being, but it was impossible to ignore the stirring of desire within you. The moonlight accentuated her every movement, casting a soft glow on her bare skin as she moved through the water. You imagined the feel of that skin, smooth and warm under your fingertips, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine. The ache of longing mixed with a deeper, more primal desire. You found yourself gripping the edge of the tree you were hiding behind, trying to ground yourself, but your mind was filled with images of her—her body, her touch, her breathless whispers in the dark.

As you watched Rhaenyra in the moonlit water, your thoughts shifted from longing to a burning sense of injustice. The idea of your brother, destined to have her, filled you with a rage that was difficult to contain. He would be the one to hold her, to be by her side, to share her life in ways you could only dream of. The thought of him touching her, loving her, and claiming her as his own made your blood boil. Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you struggled to maintain your composure. It felt profoundly unfair that duty and circumstance had placed your brother in a position to be with the woman you loved. Every fiber of your being rebelled against the idea, and the jealousy and anger gnawed at your resolve. Rhaenyra, oblivious to your inner turmoil, continued to move gracefully in the water, a picture of serenity that only intensified your anguish. You wanted to be the one beside her, to be the one she turned to, the one she loved openly and freely. The knowledge that you could not change your fate or hers filled you with a helpless fury.

As you watched Rhaenyra, the vision of her in the moonlit water became too much to bear. Despite your efforts to stay composed, your body betrayed you. You felt the growing hardness in your trousers, a physical manifestation of the desire that had been gnawing at you. You glanced around once more to ensure you were alone, and your hand drifted down almost of its own accord, coming to rest on your erection. The sensation was immediate and intense, and you rubbed slowly, your mind flooded with sinful thoughts of what it would be like to touch her, to feel her skin against yours. Every movement of her body in the water fueled your fantasies. You imagined her turning towards you, inviting you to join her, her lips whispering your name with desire. The thought of her hands on you, her body pressed against yours, drove you to rub yourself harder, the pleasure and the torment of it mingling in an almost unbearable way.

Each stroke brought you closer to the edge, and you had to bite your lip to stifle a groan. The need for her was overwhelming, a burning ache that seemed to consume every part of you. You knew it was wrong, that your thoughts were a betrayal of your duty and your honor, but in that moment, all you could think about was Rhaenyra and the forbidden desire that she ignited within you. Your hand moved faster, driven by the images in your mind, the sight of her bare skin, the imagined feel of her under your touch. The tension built and built, your breathing growing ragged as you approached the brink. Finally, with a stifled gasp, you reached your climax, your body shuddering with the release. As the waves of pleasure subsided, you were left with a profound sense of guilt and longing. The night air felt colder against your skin, and the reality of your situation came crashing back. Rhaenyra was still there, just out of reach, and you were once again left with nothing but your unfulfilled desire and the painful knowledge that she could never truly be yours.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #whispers of the dragon: a forbidden love #*

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