#shield sharing husbands
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fatoam232 · 21 days ago
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A Plea from the Heart: I Am Fatima, and This Is My Story
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My name is Fatima, a teacher from Gaza. I used to work in a small school I loved dearly, planting hope in the hearts of children and teaching them that tomorrow could be better. But the war took everything away. My school was bombed, I lost my job, and our home was reduced to rubble. Yet, I refused to give up. I set up a small tent amid the destruction and continued teaching children, showing them that knowledge is a light that cannot be extinguished, even in the darkest times.
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My husband, Akram, was my partner and pillar of support. But he was severely injured in an attack targeting civilians. His abdominal injuries are so severe that he can no longer work or even lift basic items. Every day, I see the pain in his eyes and feel the weight of helplessness, but I try to stay strong for him and for our children.
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Our eldest, Manar, is four years old, and she’s missing out on her childhood amidst this devastation. Our youngest, Ibrahim, was born under bombardment just a year ago. He has suffered greatly due to the lack of milk and proper medical care. Yet, sometimes, he smiles, and in those brief moments, I find the strength to keep going.
We now live in a fragile tent that doesn’t shield us from the cold or rain. Every day is a new battle for survival. I write these words while holding my children’s hands, with nothing left but my faith in God and the hope that your kind hearts will hear our plea.
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Please help us provide milk and food for our children, ease Akram’s pain, and rebuild even a small part of the life the war has destroyed. Every donation, no matter how small, makes a big difference in our lives.
I ask you to share our story and be our support during this harsh and unforgiving time.
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maskedbyghost · 3 months ago
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simon reciting his vows between your thighs. i had to write this, i'm not sorry guys. i mentioned it briefly here. enjoy! MDNI, SMUT
simon kneels between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips possessively. his eyes glimmer with mischief as he leans in, teasingly brushing his lips against your skin, igniting a fire within you.
“I kneel before you not just as your husband by arrangement, but as a man who can’t help but be mesmerized by everything you are,” he begins, his voice barely a whisper. his warm breath sends shivers racing along your body, heightening your desire as he places soft kisses along your inner thighs.
“I vow to cherish every moment we share, to honor the bond we’ve created, even if it started as part of a mission,” he continues, tracing his tongue over your skin, the sensation making your breath hitch in your throat. he glances up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“I promise to be your shield, love, to guard you against any harm that might come your way, even if that means stepping into the line of fire—figuratively and literally,” he says, interrupting his speech with a teasing lick, his mouth just barely grazing your most sensitive spots.
“and I vow to always listen to your needs,” he adds, his tone playful. “even when you insist you want to sleep in separate rooms.” simon smirks, his lips brushing against your thighs as he leans in closer, teasing you with tantalizing kisses that leave you gasping for more.
“I’ll support your dreams, no matter how wild they may seem,” he murmurs, trailing soft kisses up your inner thigh. “whether it’s cooking that meal you love or taking on the world together, I’ll be right by your side.” his breath is hot against your skin, each word wrapped in a promise.
“and I vow to always make you laugh, to chase away your worries, and to be the man who brings a smile to your face at the end of every day,” he vows, his mouth moving closer, teasing you with his warmth as he licks a slow stripe down your thigh, drawing a soft gasp from your lips.
“and when the night falls, I’ll remind you that you’re not alone,” he whispers, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot, the sensation sending shockwaves through you. “I’ll hold you close because that’s where you belong—right here with me.”
his gaze locks onto yours, determination shining through. “you’re not just my wife by necessity; you’re my partner in every sense of the word. I may not have chosen this path willingly at first, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything now.”
with that, he leans in, his mouth capturing your most intimate parts, devouring you completely, his tongue working expertly to drive you wild with pleasure. every lick and kiss sends you spiraling deeper into ecstasy.
you lose yourself in the sensations, every teasing kiss and hungry lick pulling you closer to the edge, and as he continues to worship you, the world around you fades away. all that matters is simon, his devotion to you, and the bliss he brings.
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s(creaming)
@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving
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bunnis-monsters · 5 months ago
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NSFW
You met your incubus!husband late one night during a thunderstorm. Usually he wouldn't be out feeding in a time like this, but he was hungry... and once he caught a whiff of your scent, it was all over for him.
He entered through your window, ready to go into your dreams...
That's when he spotted you curled up on your bed, hands over your ears as you tried to stifle your terrified sobs.
His first reaction was... intrigue. Why was this human crying in the middle of the night? Why was she curled up with a stuffed animal, wasn't that a thing only children did when they were afraid?
The incubus felt something strange while observing your trembling form... but he pushed those feelings away. You were too panicked and scared to feed from, so he'd have to find a meal somewhere else...
But he paused when you looked up at him. Not because he was afraid he had been caught, no, he froze because of the look you gave him.
Your lip was trembling, hair messy and cheeks covered in tears. When you looked at him, he almost felt compelled to rush forward and pull you into his arms, to comfort you with soft kisses and gently rocking.
But why did he feel this way? Why was he beginning to walk towards your bed and reach out to place a hand on your hair to soothe your fear?
The way you instantly began to relax, leaning into his touch made him... feel something. Something other than lust.
"Thank you.."
His eyes lit up at the soft gratitude you showed him.
Had anyone ever thanked him before?
Before he could even think, his arms were wrapped around your body, pulling you in closer so he could shield you from the thunder and lightening. The loud sounds and bright flashes of light became blurry and muffled... and you finally found yourself able to sleep peacefully.
His visits became nightly after that. There was something about you that drew him in. He couldn't feed on anyone anymore, his heart wouldn't allow him.
You became friends quickly, though it was obvious to most that he was pining after you terribly. Every waking moment was spent thinking of you and the next night he'd be able to visit...
You noticed he was getting pale one late evening, his eyes a bit dull.
“Are you feeling okay, Lulu?”
His name was Lucian, something you learned after his second visit.
“Ahh… I’m alright. I just… haven’t fed in a while.”
Lucian settled down next to you, his tail gently caressing your thigh. It wasn’t on purpose, his tail was moving on its own due to how hungry he was. To anyone other demon it would be clear how much Lucian wanted to mate with you…
“Fed? You haven’t… um…”
Your cheeks felt warm against his shoulder. He sighed softly, nuzzling against your hair. No other person he had bedded with had a scent like yours. It was intoxicating…
“I haven’t had sex since we met.”
This made you feel kind of… flattered. The way he gently reached for your hand and held it, the soft smile he had when looking at you…
Oh.
“Is it… because of me?”
His cheeks flushed a light pink, and she looked away. “… perhaps.”
His tail swayed before beginning to move up the skirt of your nightgown. He immediately looked embarrassed, trying to pull it away.
“I’m sorry, it’s just… it moves on its own when I’m…”
You shook your head, opening your legs a little to give his tail access.
“Don’t be sorry. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Well…”
You smiled shyly, squeezing his hand back. “I… wouldn’t mind providing you with a meal.”
He was gentle, his tail slipping under your panty line to play with your clit as the two of you shared your first kiss.
Lucian tasted like strawberries and honey, you couldn’t get enough. When he reached a clawed hand to hold onto your soft cheek, you instantly leaned into his touch.
He had never kissed someone like this before. Usually they were quick, heated with tongue and gnashing teeth…
But you slowly licked his bottom lip, and he felt his cock twitch in his pants as he explored your mouth. It was so sensual and tender that he could almost cry.
‘I… think I love her…’
With that revelation, his slit pupils expanded and he pinned you down, his tail rubbing your own slick against your pretty hole before plunging in.
“L-Lucian!”
You whines out in a mix of pleasure and discomfort, getting used to the feeling of his tail fucking in and it of your as his lips moved to your neck. His tail pumped aphrodisiacs into your body, making your head get fuzzy and your pussy throb with need.
It wasn’t long before he couldn’t take it anymore. Your cum was intoxicating, he was starving!
Lucian sank his cock into your, watching as you writhed and bucked your hips, your pussy gushing and clenching around him.
The two of you were a heated mess of needy kisses and cum, both unable to pull away. He had already had his fill, but continued to fuck into your fat cunt, watching as his cum spurted out of you with each thrust.
By the end of the night the two of you were clinging to each other, exhausted but happy. He had never been so worn out in his life… or as satisfied. As Lucian gazed down at your sleepy face, he knew then that you would be his wife soon enough.
He kissed your head and fell asleep too, leaving his life of being an incubus that slept with whoever he could behind.
Lucian would be your devoted husband now, until you died, and even beyond that. A demon’s love could last lifetimes…
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NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog
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marwanasla · 10 days ago
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🚨Take a moment to imagine your child or loved one. What would you do for them? How far would you go to protect them and shield them from pain, loss and despair🚨
I am Marwa, a mother of three girls, Belasan, Joan and Nada, ages 7 to 14. 🔊🔉🔈I will take a moment to share my story.📢📣
My children and I lived under bombardment and aggression. We had a safe home full of dreams and a bright future for my daughters.
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But everything changed when the war on Gaza began. Our house, which we built with strength and effort before the war, was destroyed.
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We lost our job, which was our only source of income. The journey of displacement and moving from one place to another began without the minimum necessities of life. We faced difficulties in providing healthy food and clean water. We lived in fear and terror. My daughters could no longer sleep from the intensity of fear.
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My mother-in-law suffers from serious lung infections and chronic diseases, and we find it difficult to provide appropriate treatment for her, especially in the winter and the bitter cold. She is part of our family after losing her husband. We are now without shelter, moving from one place to another, and struggling to survive. Today we have no income, no life, and no work. We are determined to rebuild our dreams, secure our future, and rebuild our home. We cannot do this alone and we need your help in building our lives. Your support, no matter how small, can make a big difference. Thank you for helping us find hope on our journey.
Vatted by
@bilal-salah0
@negaspaces @ipod-shuffle @beatrixie12 @wingedalpacacupcake @ilovethetalkingclock @canvas-madness-txc
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sigh-tofm · 2 months ago
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when the power goes out one cold and rainy november evening…
… price
- goes full dad. pulls the grill up to the back veranda door and cooks up some mean steaks for you two. gets a fire going in the fireplace to keep the house heated. has half a mind to call the power company and tell them that they don’t need to hurry, he’s got everything covered here. actually, they don’t need to come at all, not for a few days. tells you his thoughts as he pulls the mattress off your bed and deposits it in the living room in front of the fireplace, so you both can keep warm tonight. you let him know in no uncertain terms that he will do no such thing. you’ll let him have is fun tonight, but you will need a hot shower and a working oven in 36 hours, no matter how much he wants to play boyscout. but as you sit in front of the roaring fireplace and your admittedly very rugged and handsome husband feeds you bits of grilled steak and holds a glass of red wine to your lips, a thick, warm blanket covering you both, you must admit that this isn’t bad either.
… kyle
- excitedly improvises. you know, it’s like this every day when we’re in the field, he beams as he brushes the dust off the firepit in the woodshed. doesn’t mean it has to be like this now though, does it, kyle. you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and watch as he finds the least rotten firewood in the shed and uses up eight matches before he can get a light. you almost tell him to leave it and come inside, that you’ll order in tonight, but he’s so engulfed in fanning the little flame to life that you can’t help but play along. you get an umbrella when the rain comes down harder and use it to shield both your boyfriend and his firepit from the weather. when you gently ask how he’s going to cook up the pizza you two were in the middle of preparing when the power went out, he wilts a little, but somehow manages to macgyver a cooking system for it that only leaves it slightly burnt. you know, he says while you two are standing under the awning, admiring your fire baby and nibbling on damp, blackened pizza, in the field we sometimes need to share sleeping bags too.
… johnny
- immediately relents. moans and groans about being off duty and that he shouldn’t be expected to fend for himself like this when he isn’t in an active war zone. you pull up the local takeaway menu on your phone and hand it to him. go get us some warm food, soldier, you prompt him and gather up some supplies while he’s away. the old scottish farmhouse you live in has a fireplace, of course, so you light a fire there and with some effort pull the couch up in front of it. blankets and pillows from the living room, old fair isle knit jumpers from the hallway closet, a sheepskin rug to warm your feet on. when he comes back with his arms full of steaming indian (best to get some extra, mo chridhe), his mood seems to have lightened a little too. especially when he sees you in thigh high knit stockings, wearing his jumper and laying on the sheepskin rug. okay, maybe this isn’t so bad. at least he’s not being shot at.
… simon
- is prepared. goes down to the basement and carries up box after box of emergency equipment. hands you a round little paraffin stove (which you have no idea how to work) and a matching aluminium pan, as well as a large variety of ready-made freeze dried stews and soups. just add water, he says unhelpfully, and continues pulling out equipment from his kit. amongst the various bags of tools and gadgets you can spot tent poles and emergency flares, and it’s obvious he’s been itching to use all this stuff for a while. you decide to entertain him and google your way around the stove, finally getting a light on it. you light candles and pull out your winter coats while the water boils, making it an overall cozy time. hav’ta be prepared, he mutters as he comes to sit with you when the food’s ready, the living room full of his unpacked catastrophe preparations. next time we’ll just go to a hotel, you gently request and serve him year-old mushroom stew, brought back to life with some warm water. he looks longingly at all his equipment. you yield. or camping.
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lizzyiii · 1 month ago
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Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.
you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag
Sevenmas
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pairing | aemond x wife!reader
word count | 9.2k words
summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.
determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond
a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
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My Dearest Babe,
It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.
I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.
Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.
Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.
One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.
But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.
Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.
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The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.
The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.
The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.
Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?
Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.
Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.
You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.
This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.
Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.
You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.
And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.
There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.
Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.
In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.
The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.
Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.
They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.
The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.
You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.
There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.
Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.
But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.
The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.
You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.
The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.
You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.
You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.
In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.
It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.
Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.
His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.
But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.
He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.
And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.
Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.
Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.
Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.
The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.
Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.
Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.
You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.
Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.
“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”
Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.
“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.
A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.
The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.
Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.
You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.
Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.
As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.
You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.
Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.
Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.
The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.
Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.
The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.
The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.
Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.
Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.
You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.
Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.
You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.
Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.
“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.
The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.
Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.
With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”
Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.
“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.
You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.
There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.
Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”
Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.
“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”
With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.
The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.
The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.
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A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.
“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.
You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.
It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.
“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.
The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.
His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.
“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.
Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.
“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.
You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.
“The babe is crowning, my lady.”
But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.
There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.
“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”
With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.
Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”
A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.
Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”
Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.
“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.
Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.
The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.
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You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.
Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.
The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.
Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.
The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.
The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.
Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.
The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.
Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.
Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.
The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.
Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.
The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.
At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.
It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.
The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.
On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.
You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.
The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.
You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.
With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.
If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.
With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.
The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.
Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.
The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.
Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.
The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.
It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.
When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.
The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.
As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.
Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.
Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.
Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.
Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.
The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.
By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.
With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.
Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.
With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.
But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.
Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.
Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.
The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.
As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.
You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.
“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.
He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.
“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.
Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.
Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.
You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”
A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”
Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.
“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.
“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.
Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.
You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.
“I needed fresh air.”
His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.
You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.
For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.
“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”
The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.
Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”
Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.
One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.
With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.
Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.
Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.
“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.
Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.
“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.
“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.
“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.
With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.
Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.
“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”
You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.
For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.
A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.
In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.
Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”
Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.
A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.
Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.
Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.
Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.
Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.
“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”
Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.
The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.
“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.
His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.
Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”
His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.
“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.
His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”
His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.
“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”
Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”
“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”
The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.
With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.
Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.
His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.
As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.
Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.
The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.
When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.
“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”
Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”
You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”
A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.
“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”
With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.
His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.
“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.
A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.
“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.
Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.
You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.
As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.
“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”
Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.
He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.
Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.
His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.
“You're so wet for me already.”
You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”
As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.
You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.
Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.
Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.
The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.
“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”
You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.
Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.
“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.
The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.
Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.
Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.
He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.
The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.
His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.
Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.
Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.
You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.
His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.
But the peace did not last.
You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.
His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.
Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.
Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.
Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.
Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.
Lavender oil.
You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.
Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.
With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.
The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.
His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.
“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”
You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.
You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.
Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.
A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.
You were being watched.
Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.
Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.
But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.
You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.
With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.
“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”
For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.
Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.
As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.
For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.
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Hope You Enjoyed!
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misswynters · 5 months ago
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A Stark’s Fury
Cregan Stark x targ!wife! reader
[warning: blood, you getting cut in the arm
[synopsis: You are the wife of Cregan and younger sister of rhaenyra. You get cut in the arm and your son, Eddard, also gets hurt. Which makes cregan furious.
[note | here’s a lil something while i write the final chapter for winters embrace, just a short drabble :) also instead of rhae getting cut it’s you.
[requested: by anon
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The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting an amber glow across Driftmark. Laena Velaryon’s funeral was a somber affair, filled with the mournful silence of the assembled nobles and the soft lapping of waves against the shore. Among the gathered were you, the younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, your husband Cregan Stark, and your son Eddard, who clung to your skirts, his wide eyes taking in the solemnity of the occasion.
Your silver hair flowed down your back, and your violet eyes glistened with unshed tears as you stood beside Cregan. His strong arm encircled your waist, offering silent support. Despite the warmth of the setting sun, a chill hung in the air, a reflection of the grief that weighed heavily on your hearts.
As the ceremony proceeded, you noticed the tension simmering among the children. Your son, Eddard, stood with Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, trying to comfort them in their shared sorrow. Your heart ached for them, especially for Rhaena, who had just lost her mother.
When the time came for the family to pay their final respects, you and Cregan approached the bier. You whispered a prayer for Laena’s soul, your voice barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. Cregan squeezed your hand gently, his presence a solid rock amidst the turbulent sea of emotions.
After the funeral, you found yourself in the grand hall, where the tension between the Blacks and the Greens was palpable. You kept a watchful eye on Eddard, who was playing with the other children. However, the peace was shattered when a scuffle broke out between Aemond and Jace. The sight of Aemond taunting Jace, and the resulting fight, sent a shockwave through the hall.
Eddard tried to intervene, but in the chaos, he was struck and fell to the ground, crying out in pain. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding with fear and anger. Cregan was by your side in an instant, his protective instincts flaring as he assessed the situation.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.
“Aemond taunted Jace, and then the fight started,” you explained, your voice trembling with emotion as you cradled Eddard.
Cregan’s eyes darkened with anger. “This has gone too far.”
The confrontation escalated when Alicent Hightower, her face twisted with rage, advanced on Rhaenyra, who was defending her sons. You stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation, but Alicent’s fury was uncontrollable. She drew a knife, lunging at Rhaenyra, but you intercepted the blow.
The blade sliced across your arm, and you cried out in pain, clutching the wound. Cregan’s roar of fury echoed through the hall as he moved to shield you. He grabbed the knife from Alicent’s hand, his face a mask of rage.
“Enough!” he bellowed. “This madness ends now!”
King Viserys, looking frail and distressed, tried to intervene. “Peace! There must be peace!”
Cregan turned on the king, his eyes blazing. “Peace? Look at what your family has done! My wife is injured, my son is hurt, and for what? Petty squabbles and insults?”
Rhaenyra, tears streaming down her face, reached for you. “Sister, I’m so sorry.”
You managed a weak smile, despite the pain. “It’s not your fault, Rhaenyra. But something must change.”
As the maesters attended to your wound, Cregan kept a protective arm around you. He glared at the Greens, making it clear that any further aggression would not be tolerated. The hall was filled with a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken threats and unresolved grievances.
In the aftermath, Cregan insisted on returning to Winterfell with you and Eddard. “We’ll be safer there,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I won’t risk your lives any longer.”
You nodded, grateful for his unwavering support. “Thank you, Cregan.”
He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your cool skin. “I love you. I will always protect you.”
As you prepared to leave Driftmark, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for the family you were leaving behind. You took a moment to say your farewells to Rhaenyra and her children.
“Please, take care of yourselves,” you whispered to Rhaenyra, holding her hands tightly. “We’ll be in touch, I promise.”
Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Be safe, sister.”
With a final embrace, you and Cregan gathered Eddard and boarded your ship, setting sail for Winterfell. The journey was long, but Cregan’s presence and Eddard’s innocent chatter kept your spirits high.
Winterfell welcomed you with open arms. The cold, crisp air and the familiar sights brought a sense of comfort. As you settled back into your home, the events at Driftmark seemed like a distant nightmare.
Cregan, ever the doting husband, ensured you had everything you needed to recover from your injury. He personally oversaw the maesters’ treatments, and his protective nature brought you solace.
A few hours later, as you sat by the fire, Cregan wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders and handed you a cup of hot tea. “How are you feeling?” he asked, concern etched on his face.
“Better,” you replied, taking a sip. “Thanks to you.”
He smiled, sitting beside you. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
You leaned against him, finding comfort in his strength. “I know. And I’m grateful.”
Life in Winterfell slowly returned to normal. Eddard resumed his lessons and playtime with the other children, while you and Cregan focused on the responsibilities of ruling the North. Despite the distance from Driftmark, the shadow of that day lingered.
Later that night, as you lay in bed, you turned to Cregan. “Do you think things will ever be right again between the Blacks and the Greens?”
Cregan sighed, his brow furrowing in thought. “It’s hard to say. The wounds run deep. But we must try, for the sake of our family.”
You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “I want Eddard to grow up in a world where he doesn’t have to choose sides.”
Cregan’s grip on your hand tightened. “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen.”
Many moons have passed, and your wound healed, leaving only a faint scar as a reminder of the confrontation. The bond between you and Cregan grew stronger, forged in the fires of adversity. Winterfell thrived under your joint leadership, a beacon of stability and strength. In the morning, as the first snow of the season blanketed the ground, you stood on the battlements with Cregan, watching Eddard play with the other children.
“He’s so happy here,” you remarked, smiling at the sight of your son’s laughter.
Cregan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Of course he is, this is our home. He’s meant to be here.”
You nodded silently, feeling a deep sense of peace. Your eyes went to the scar on your arm, being reminded of what happened. You looked at your husband, with sadness in your eyes.
“I hope my family will stop this infighting, i wish for all of this today end” Your thoughts began to wonder of all the possible outcomes this conflict can end with. This could very well mean that death will linger in your family. Something no one will ever be prepared for, war costs everything.
The quietness of Winterfell enveloped you as you drifted into a fitful sleep beside Cregan. The room was cold, and the memory of the somber events—the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, the sharp sting of your wound—still weighed heavily on you.
In your dream, the landscape was bleak and foreboding. A storm raged over a desolate battlefield, its fury tearing at the very fabric of the sky. You wandered through the chaos, a spectral figure in the storm’s heart. Amidst the destruction, you saw a vision of a great dragon, its scales a dim and faded silver, bound by chains of ice that slowly constricted around its body. The dragon’s eyes were filled with a profound sorrow, as if it sensed the end drawing near.
A shadowy figure emerged from the storm—a man cloaked in shadows, his face obscured but his presence undeniably menacing. His voice cut through the tempest, speaking directly to your mind, “The chains of fate are not easily broken. A great loss is coming to your house.”
As you reached out to free the dragon, a dark prophecy formed in your mind, clear as day. “Cregan will face a treacherous choice,” you heard yourself say in the dream. “A betrayal will come from within. Death will follow.”
You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering like a cold shiver down your spine. Your breathing was rapid and uneven, and a profound fear gripped you. You turned to Cregan, who was lying beside you, his face furrowed in concern.
The sudden movement and your distressed state had startled him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep as he reached out to steady you. His hand found yours, his grip warm and reassuring against your icy fingers.
“My dream,” you managed to stammer, your voice trembling. “I saw... I saw something terrible. A dragon in chains, and a warning about you—”
Cregan’s eyes narrowed with concern, but he quickly sat up, his arm wrapping protectively around you. “What did you see? Tell me everything,” he urged, his voice steady despite the worry etched on his face.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I don’t know all the details, but it felt so real. I fear that something dark is coming, and it will bring pain to us and our house.”
Cregan nodded, his expression resolute despite the alarm in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly, pulling you closer to his body. “For now, try to rest. You need it” He cradled your body as you leaned towards him, the warmth of his body bringing you comfort.
As you lay back down, you could feel the storm of fear inside you slowly ebbing, but the weight of the dream’s prophecy remained heavy in your heart.
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banners: @cafekitsune
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entitled-fangirl · 5 months ago
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When it matters most.
Cregan Stark x Targaryen!wife!reader
Summary: Aemond goes to Winterfell to recruit his sister and her dragon for the Greens. Cregan will not allow that.
A/n: based on an ask!
Masterlist
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"DRAGON!"
Y/n and Cregan make eye contact, immediately standing from their seats at the table. 
Y/n runs to the window, while Cregan makes quick work of tying his cloak and moving to the door. 
Vhagar. 
She rushes after her husband, not caring for the proper clothing to shield the cold. 
She makes quick work of falling in step with him, grabbing his arm. 
Cregan's jaw clenched, a fear evident in his eyes. "Stay indoors."
"No."
Cregan's eyes close and he stops walking. "I said. Stay. Here."
"It is my brother. I will not let you go alone."
He takes a long and steady breath as he turns to her. His hands cup her face, "My beautiful wife, I do not care if it is our fiercest enemy or our greatest ally, you will stay indoors until I deem it safe for you."
A defeated look came to her eyes as Cregan released her. He gave her a final look before continuing on his path.
She watched him go, her gut wrenching with each step that he took.
Cregan had declared the North an ally of the Blacks only two moons ago. It made no sense for Aemond to suddenly appear in enemy territory.
She moved back to the dining hall, watching with bated breath from the window. Though she could see nothing now, she hoped that perhaps she'd gain a glimpse of what was to happen.
Soon, a servant entered the room, "Princess, Prince Aemond is within the castle walls."
Her blood ran cold. She turned her head to the servant. "In… Indoors?"
"Yes, Princess."
"Where?"
"I do not know." "And Cregan?"
"I am unsure."
She rested a hand on her forehead. "Very well, thank you."
The servant left, shutting the large doors behind her. 
If something had happened to the Queen, Jace would have written to her. She was sure of it. Someone would have.
But to ride straight to Winterfell was bold of Aemond regardless.
Riding into any enemy territory was bold. 
"Where is she?" Aemond's voice echoed down the corridor. 
A shudder ran down her spine at the sound of him so near. 
She abandoned the window, moving to the door. 
Does she dare try to leave? Or would that place her right into his hands?
In the skies, she would never run. Even against Vhagar, Silverwing was quicker. More agile. She'd have a fighting chance. 
But in the halls of Winterfell? She had nothing. 
She moved away from the door, looking around in panic. 
Without thinking, she ducked under the table, pulling her legs to her chest in hopes that she'd go unseen.
Sure enough, Aemond threw open the doors to the dining hall. 
She could tell it was him by the pace of his stride alone. 
The clicking of his boots neared, and she found herself holding her breath. 
The boots came into her line of sight, pausing in front of her. 
She wanted to scream when his knee hit the floor and his eye was suddenly trained on her. 
"Sister," he hummed lightly.
"Aemond," she whispered.
"You must get better servants," he mused. "Yours sing like canaries."
"Where is my husband?" 
His brows shot up, "Dunno. I haven't seen him."
Where was Cregan?
"Come out from there, dear sister."
"No."
A hummed resonated in his throat before he spoke, "Still stubborn as before. I had thought the North would drive that out of you. C'mon."
She shook her head, anger rising her her. "Leave, Aemond."
He sighed, "Be difficult then."
His hand encased her ankle, dragging her out with ease. 
She let out a scream as she sat up and began to pry his hands from her. 
Aemond was used to combat and seemed completely unfazed by her fighting. "Listen to me, sister."
She continued to fight until he straddled her, holding her arms above her head.
"Why must you always fight me?" He seethed.
She stilled, a fire lit behind her eyes, "The North has only hardened my heart to you, brother."
"īlon share ānogar, mandia," he growled. (We share blood, sister.)
"Nyke northern." She whispered. (I am Northern.)
He grunted in frustration, pushing himself off of her and standing. He pinched the bridge of his nose in anger, "You fight against your family. Against me."
She sits up, brushing off her dress, "I fight for the true heir. You and I both know we were not made out of love. Father did not care for us. Rhaenyra is to be Queen. Not Aegon."
"Watch yourself-"
"Aegon did not wish for this!" She yelled. She then used the table to help her stand as a thought came to her. "You are only here for my dragon. I thought you'd come to fight for Aegon, but no." She neared him, daring him to do something. "You only fight for yourself."
A hand shot out, gripping her throat tightly as the other rested over the handle of his dagger. He spoke through gritted teeth, "Do not speak of what you do not know."
"Might I remind you of the same?" Cregan's voice suddenly chimed in. 
Behind Aemond stood Lord Stark, Ice poking into the Prince's back.
"Tell me why I should not spear this sword into you now and end this war entirely?" Cregan threatened.
Aemond's jaw clenched as he stared at his sister who remained motionless. 
Finally, he let her go, cursing himself lightly when she dropped to the ground and coughed. 
"Turn yourself around and face me properly," Stark commanded.
Aemond did so with a look in his eye that could kill. "You command your prince-"
"I command the Green traitor scum that dared invade my home and threaten my wife."
"I still hold the fiercest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms," Aemond taunted. "What will stop me from burning all of the North down?"
"Then your war will be lost before it even begins," Cregan said lowly. "For I will hunt you down. And where a Stark leads, the North follows."
When Aemond stepped forward towards the Northernman, the tip of Ice rested against his stomach, the threat still there. "I am only here to return my sister to King's Landing."
"You touch her, and you die by my hands, Prince."
Aemond's head tilted, "So scared you'll lose the war?"
"Hardly," Cregan reasoned. "You're just not touching my wife."
"She," the prince pointed, "Is a Princess and a dragon rider first. Not your little northern wife."
"And yet she didn't choose you, did she?" Cregan mocked softly, enjoying the anger radiating from the man. "She chose to stay."
"She has no choice," Aemond gritted his teeth.
"And still she didn't choose you," He smiled. He looked past the prince, "Alright, pretty girl?"
Y/n looked up at the two, her fingers massaging her neck where bruising had already begun to show, "'m fine."
Cregan took that for an answer enough before turning his attention back to Aemond, "Leave before I change my mind."
Though filled with hatred, Aemond had no defense. He stepped away, his eye not leaving the Lord. "You'll regret this." He turned to his sister, "You'll wish you'd chosen differently."
She spoke up, her voice hoarse, "I shall see for myself."
Trying to force a unbothered tone, Aemond hummed, "Very well."
He then turned back on his heel, retreating from the hall.
The moment he was gone, Cregan abandoned Ice, kneeling in front of his wife, "Gods, what did he do to you?"
She held his hands, keeping them from wandering over her is panic, "Just some bruises. I promise. I'm alright."
"Forgive me. He had snuck past us men entirely and through the doors before any of us had even spotted him."
She shrugged, "You came when it mattered most."
"Aye," he smiled. "I always will, my girl."
She leaned forward, connecting their lips gently.
He groaned against her. "I always will."
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Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog
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etfrin · 1 year ago
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⤷❝ The Quiet Gift | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-
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⇢☾Warning: NSFW | squirting, Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, possessiveness, fingering (f. receiving), bathroom sex, mirror sex, semi-public sex (there was a gala), pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), dumbfication if you squint, dom sub undertones, degradation, ownership kink, breath play with a twist | lmk if I forgot anything!
⇢☾Pairing: young president Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader
⇢☾Summary: continuation of the arranged marriage au, this is your one year anniversary with him with a gala held in place to celebrate, you get insecure because of some bitches and Coryo fucks you in the bathroom with sprinkles of your daily life with him.
⇢☾Request: this is a request (idk if i’m writing it in the write place im new to tumblr i usually use wattpad) young coriolanus snow bathroom mirror sex like him making u watch ur self come undone in the mirror
⇢☾A/N: enjoy everyone! And to one who requested, hope you like this! :) this might be my last post of this theme btw, i am getting sick of the blue :/
arranged marriage au: the study, mine to love
< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >
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A year had passed of your marriage, a bond between two souls which wasn't much of a lie as before. Things with Coryo were better than you could ever expect. You thought he would isolate himself from you after your confession but so much had changed. He had gotten softer but more possessive. His edges are sharp yet he makes sure it's a shield for you, not something that would make you bleed.
Among his actions include changing your entire wardrobe (not without your opinion first), a library that connects to his office (his office is something you have access to at all times now), his room was now yours both (your favorite change), and last but not least a poison taster was included so that no attempts of assassination at the First Lady could be taken.
At first, you thought it to be extra, but knowing that it would put his paranoid mind at peace you allow it without much to say. He picked out your outfit every day, and sometimes you did the same for Coriolanus. He would frown as you decide what to wear or not for him for the day, knowing that some of the pieces don't match his style but when he sees your smile as you pick out the clothes. He smooths his frown and takes whatever horrible fashion statement you created for him and wears it with pride.
If anyone dared to speak up about it, he proudly said that his wife picked it out and everyone knew better than to speak a single ill word of the unspoken Queen of Panem.
Today was one of those days when you decided to pick his outfit. Today was something special after all. One year had passed since you had become Mrs. Snow, and a gala was to be held tonight to celebrate the union.
So yes, you were going to pick his outfit. You had even woken up early because of it. You giggled as you opened your eyes, your arm around Coryo whose hair looked impossibly messy, sticking out everywhere. It made him look years younger than he was. You chuckled at the sight, your heart clenching with the love you have for this man. You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead and then his cheek. You whispered, not expecting him to wake up until his alarm rang, “Good morning, Coryo”
You quietly slipped away from the bed and tiptoeed to the closet. The closet you both shared now. One side carrying every single piece of your clothing and the other side his. You wanted to pick out something different for your husband once, sick of seeing him in his white shirts and black vest. That's how you picked out a black suit with a white vest and a red silk shirt. You could imagine unbuttoning this off of him tonight and the thought made your body heat up and a giggle escaped your lips.
“What are you laughing about, doll?” A voice, his deep sleepy voice startling you. “Nothing!” You quickly said, turning to look at Snow, your breath hitching as his eyes were half closed and his hair turned into a mess of curls. Sometimes you wonder if this was all a fever dream and if you truly have the privilege of seeing him like this. You placed the clothes into a corner and went to him.
You pulled him down, your hand on his nape and another on his cheek as you guided him to your lips. Morning breath be damned. His actions were reflexive with how his arms pulled you in closer as his lips pressed into yours. He smiles against your lips and soon both of your tongues tangle in an uncoordinated sleepy manner and you whimper into his mouth.
This was real. This was your reality and you would do everything to keep it as it is. You pulled back and he whispered, “What was that for, doll?”
“Just needed to make sure this was real,” you answered him. Your words make him crack a real smile, something even you saw rarely and it would only be possible in moments like this. Moments when you have shocked the man with your actions and words and made him fall harder for you.
“Well it is,” he grins. Before his expression clears up he focuses on the clothes you have set aside. “Outfit for today?” He asked. You nod and smile at him, gesturing at the clothes. “You would look handsome in them,” you said. “Don't I always look handsome?” He smirks, you laugh, “I am not falling for that trap, dear husband. I'll be in the shower, choose something for me.” You press a kiss on his cheek before leaving the closet.
After showering and wearing the red dress he had decided, both of you go on for your respective duties. The gala would start early in the day and there were a few hours left before it formally started as guests were already coming in.
The mansion was set up beautifully, no words could have possibly explained the amount of work and dedication to make this the event of the year, valued higher than the Hunger Games itself. In another universe, it may not have been possible, in this one however you somehow managed to crack into his heart and made yourself a higher priority.
You were doing finishing touches of your makeup when Corio came in, his hair slicked back but his body tense, his eyes unable to hide the shakiness in them. You don't say anything, letting the man have his moment of vulnerability. You knew you would mess him up even more if you pointed it out, so you continued your task.
You didn't pay him any attention despite the itch to turn to him. You force yourself to stare straight into the mirror, applying your lipstick for the night. That was until he came behind you, his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest, his head propped on your shoulder as you felt him take deep breaths.
You don't ask if anything is wrong, accepting the rare form of intimacy he initiated. Usually, you're the ones for the hugs, the genuine ones anyway. You knew despite everything you were like a math equation to Snow. His mind figured out the formulas to keep you to him forever, you doubted if he saw anyone as his equal but you were perhaps the closest thing to it.
You had accepted it long before, but moments like this when Coriolanus allowed himself to be a human meant everything to you. You fell for every version of him, the one that is an untouchable deity who could kill you without guilt, and the human he was, obsession filling in veins making you the sole objective of his mind as he already achieved Panem.
You close your eyes, taking deep breaths with him. In the end, you were human too and you broke. “What's wrong?” You asked, as softly as possible yet breaking the bubble that had formed.
He smirks through the mirror, his eyes meeting yours, a sense of superiority in the blue hues. “Nothing’s wrong, my doll,” he whispered to you, pressing a ghost-like kiss to your bare shoulder. His arms cage you tighter, making a small gasp on your lips. “Okay,” you smile at him.
“Ready to start the gala then?” You asked, “Snows are born ready,” he replied, his tone smug.
One of his arms was kept wrapped around his waist while the other opened a drawer to take out a small box. “For you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your neck. You opened the box, and in it was a gold necklace with the initial ‘S’. You blush, and leave it to Corio to give you a necklace with his initials for an anniversary gift. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your head turning back and you gave him the brightest smile. “Help me wear it?” You mumbled as you handed him the box.
And so he did, and now a necklace was on your neck, the letter ‘S’ sitting perfectly on your skin. It scratched an innate itch for Snow to see you wear this. A part of him had expected you to fight, and be disgusted by this action, his mind thinking of several ways to make (force) you to wear the necklace. But as always you surprised him with your acceptance, as if you knew that wearing this would help him with his possessiveness. You were truly the right woman for him.
With his arm around your waist, you walk into the celebration. Countless people, the top elites of the Capitol were attending the gala. Everything had to be perfect.
Alas, fate is nothing but fickle.
The rumors didn't catch your ears at first before slowly the whispers caught up to you. Too busy with your life in the mansion and with Coriolanus, you rarely were social. You never had many friends from the capitols' elites. And those who knew were merely allies for the future. So the gossip never reached your ears.
Gossip you knew better to believe. Words change when they travel mouth to mouth. It can be easily manipulated too, your husband was a living proof of that. The snake tongue of all of Panem. But when the words seemed to get louder and louder, you couldn't help but feel maybe it's tinged with truth.
Snow was busy talking to diplomats while you were politely having a conversation with the ladies. That's when the questions began about some things they had heard about Snow. Each worse than the other but nothing you didn't already know. You make sure to change their perspective whenever something new comes up. Coriolanus was still new at this position, anything could snatch the power away if either of you weren't careful.
Feeling like you have finished the job, you begin to move away, only to stop when you hear, “...even wearing a pendant with his initial, she's nothing more than a whore who was pushed up to play the role of the First Lady. A woman of her standing would never deserve such a title.”
It was true, when Snow asked you to marry you, it was sudden and he gained nothing from it. Nothing, no money, power, and just a few connections you had but he had already impressed them all beforehand so there was no need for you. Your history in the academy wasn't all that great either, you were never the best but wholly average. A man like Snow deserved the best.
Insecurity claws at your heart and even so with recent events you knew their words were wrong. Tears burned your eyes. Your hand goes to the necklace you had on, your fingers twirling the pendant. Meanwhile, despite Coriolanus' focus being mainly on talking sweet to the guests and gathering sponsors, his eyes were on you, your every moment, and each person you spoke to. He notices you walking away from the gala and into the hallways. He followed you.
You were in one of the many bathrooms the manor had to offer. You stared at the mirror, the necklace you were wearing, and your hands traveled to the back ready to take it off. That's when Coriolanus enters the bathroom, his footsteps stopping midtrack as you freeze too.
“Coryo,” you begin to speak, your hand at your side now. “I was just-” “Why were you going to take it off?” He interrupted you, his face twisted in a glare you never thought would be directed at you. You shrugged, trying to play casual, “It doesn't feel appropriate.” “Why?” He questioned his tone icy calm, spreading chills down your spine. “Because-” because you didn't feel worthy of it. “Because you're ashamed of me,” he scoffs, walking closer to you. His eyes now fully glaring at you.
You frown, “What? Coryo, no-” He tilts your chin up, as he leans in, his expression twisted in fury, “Then what? There's no other appropriate reason for you to take it off then.” In truth, something was getting lost in translation, the women you were talking to earlier were going to be accused of treason in a few days. The cause? The rumors (some truth mixed in as well) they had spread about Snow. They were invited out of courtesy and after this, they had signed their death certificate.
“It's nothing like-” “Then what?” He hissed, “Did you finally come to your senses? Did they tell you how much of a horrible monster I am? And a horrible president?” You knew some sort of major miscommunication had happened but you had no idea how to deal with it. Not when Snow pressed a harsh, hard kiss to your lips, teeth clashing and his tongue seemingly fighting with yours for dominance that you easily gave over.
“You can't escape me, doll. No matter how horrible you realize I am. Think about running away and it's your dead body that will be leaving this mansion.” he whispered against your lips, his hands on your waist, your body flushed against his as your back hit the counter.
You chuckled at his words, knowing that would never be your end. His eyebrows furrow in confusion and it makes you giggle even further. “Dove, I am not joking,” he said, looking straight in your eyes. “I know,” you smile at him, “You…” you shake your head, smiling, you were surely crazier than him. You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Those women said something… mean and it made me realize I may not be worthy of this necklace…” you begin to explain, hoping the explanation would calm him down.
You thought wrong. “You don't think I can decide who deserves to be my property, pet. Whom I let to be my queen,” he said, his tone deeper than before. He whispered, “I decided it's you. It's been a year since that decision and I haven't regretted it once.”
He manovaroued you so you were facing the mirror. He was right behind you, his eyes hard. “The woman you're looking at right now is mine. My pet. My wife. How dare you try to take off a mark of my ownership, doll?” You opened your mouth to apologize, but a moan escaped instead as he bit into your shoulder. He begins to press you against the counter, your body bending over as he continues to press wet kisses on your nape.
“You need a reminder about whom you belong to,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin making you shiver, heat spreading to your body as his hands unzipped your dress from behind, letting the fabric fall on the floor. “I am yours,” you moan to him as his palms knead your breasts through the bra. “Then you should have known better, my stupid bird.”
“You look away from the mirror even once…,” he said, his hands squeezing your breasts roughly, his head propped up to your shoulder, his face set in a smirk, “and that group of women dies.” They were going to die either way but you didn't know that.
You gasp, “Snow- '' His hands squeeze your breasts harder, bordering on pain. “It’s Coryo for you, dove,” he said, slowly yet firmly as if talking to a child. His hands move downwards, one moves to your hip, and for the other, his fingers slip inside your panties. You whimper when his fingertip touches your clit. At any other time, he would have been slow, and gentle when he was rubbing the bud but now? His touch was fast and unconcerned, his sole goal was to inflict punishment with pleasure.
He rubbed at your clit relentlessly, making you soak your panties with your juices. His other hand squeezes your hips. You whine, your eyes closing and he pinches your clit making you moan louder than you should, your eyes opening immediately to meet his gaze.
“Only warning, pet,” he whispered, his finger now playing with the clit even more relentlessly. Back and forth, up and down with no mercy, making the bud swollen and your pussy clench around nothing. “Yes, Coryo,” you gasp.
“My dumb pet can learn after all,” he whispered to your ear and then his lips kissed the clasp of your necklace. His fingers abandon your clit to swipe at your folds to gather your wetness. He chuckles as he continues to tease you like this, his hard cock pressing against your ass.
“Coryo,” you whispered and your eyes connected with his and you knew his fingers could feel the flex of your cunt around nothing. “That's it. Look at me, doll.”
He slipped his fingers one by one into your slit, the stretch making you gasp. “It's too much,” you managed to get out, your voice shaky. “You can take it,” he tuts. His fingers begin to message your wall, hitting every crook and canny you never knew existed. He twisted his fingers thrusting right at your g-spot making you moan loudly, your body was now completely bent over in front of the mirror and your hands gripped the counter for life. Snow continues to playfully stretch you out, scissoring your pussy with his long fingers.
When he finally deemed you loose enough, he pulled his fingers out without a warning making you whimper. He pulls down your panties around your knees, and then his hand unzipped his pant to take his cock out. Something in you liked how he was composed and fully clothed while having you like this, primal and debauched. It showcased Coriolanus perfectly, no matter how prim and proper the man was outside in the end he was as much of a mess.
His impatient was clear with his clenched jaw, one of his hands traveling upwards your body to grip your breast like a handle as his free hand guides his leaking, hard cock into your entrance. “I was going to fuck you good tonight, on a bed properly like a wife deserves,” he begins to say as he pushed in with a single stroke. Your mouth lets out a small scream as your pussy adjusts to his dick. “Instead I have to treat you like a whore, bending your ass over a counter and fuck you while there are people all over the mansion.” He shakes his head disappointed, he meets your gaze, “I expected better, doll.”
“Then why keep a disappointment around,” you snapped at him, making him raise his eyebrows at your tone, his cock twitching inside your walls. “I wonder that myself too,” he grunts, his face buried in your shoulder, his tongue licking your salty skin. “You’re my everything,” he whispered, “Don't you forget that, dove.”
It was a confession that made you turn your back and made you catch his lips. He groans into your mouth as both of your tongues play with each other, expressing words the others cannot say. His free hand went to grip your necklace chain, making you gasp as he fisted the chain and pulled at it, knocking at your breath in one go.
His hips had begun to pound into you, short, hard thrusts that made his cockhead press against your g-spot while his remaining length messaged your walls perfectly. “You don't have to think, doll. I am here to think for you. You don't have to think about deserving me, or Panem. You don't have to think at all, just be my bird. My bird only,” he grunts.
Your eyes had begun to see spots from the lack of air, he hadn't seemed to care as your pussy keeps squeezing around him because of it. He lets go of the chain, making you gasp and you take the air you desperately need as his thrusts begin to get sloppier. Coryo was too impatient, too worked up, too mad at you to care about your pleasure. You were a pet getting used and you loved every second of it.
“I love you,” you whispered to him, and he groaned in response, as his thrusts got slower. He was edging himself to last longer, for this not to end. He bites your nape, not hard as he does usually to make sure the mark fades in a few seconds. His hips continue to rock into you, both of his hands now kneading at your clothed breast. He makes your round flesh spill from the bra and cups them with a groan escaping his lips.
“You’re mine,” he said as he pressed wet kisses all over your neck and shoulders, “Mine.” Your pussy clenched around him, making his pace get even slower, frustration begins to claw your mind as your body tethers to the edge. “Yours,” you agreed. “Fuck me faster,” you plead.
He lets out a laugh, “No. You'll take what I'll give.” “Coryo, my love please!” You begged. His hips stutter, making you feel confused, before realizing why he had stopped. You hadn't called him that since that night and you realized you had leverage on the man.
“My love, please! Fuck me harder,” you spill, “Baby, please!” He clenched his jaw trying so hard not to give in to the instinct of rutting into you like an animal. Knowing that he was near the edge, you continue, “Cum in me and make me walk around the gala with your cum inside, please. Please, mark me!”
That did the trick rather perfectly. His hand wraps around your throat, not choking you but staying there as a comforting presence that shouldn't have been comforting at all. “My dumb pet has ways with words. Gotta fuck that out of you, my dove,” he smirked.
His hips begin to roll into you again, making you gasp and squeeze his dick with your slick walls. The start of it was slow and cautious before Coriolanus decided to throw it all in the wind. He takes half of his length out before slamming it back to you. The sound of hips snapping echoed into the air along with his grunts and your moans. He kept fucking into you, with no care about anything.
Both of your sights were obscene in the mirror and it turned you not to end. Your body had begun to heat, your pussy aching to cum after being played with for so long. The tension in your body was close to snapping, and he knew it too. Knew it the way your cunt kept sucking his cock in so well. His head was on your shoulder, his mouth breathing out hot air onto your skin.
“Look at me,” you whispered, and his eyes snap at you and not even a second later he spills into your cunt, fucking his cum into you as he lets out a whine for the first time. You gasp, feeling your build-up fading without snapping but Snow was never to disappoint. He pulled his cock out, just to stuff you with his fingers. You whimper, your sensitive walls twitching around his fingers, so close to breaking.
Coriolanus doesn't waste a second to thrust into your sopping cunt, your folds covered in his cum, and fucking that into you with his fingers. He crooks his fingers perfectly, hitting your g-spot and making you black out for a second as his fingers keep assaulting your insides without a care.
You gasp, your body starting to give up. Snow has to wrap an arm around you to help you stay balanced. “That's it, doll. Cum on my fingers. I will make you cum on my cock later,” he promised to you. You cry out as his fingers continue their fast pace of thrusting. And finally, finally, your orgasm builds up again. A single graze from his fingertip onto your spongy spot has you not only cumming but squirting too.
Even Coriolanus eyes widen in surprise as you spill your juices onto the floor, ruining your dress and everything. You begin to feel ashamed of losing control in such a manner, but Coryo curses, “Fuck, doll. Fuck, that was…” He couldn't even finish the sentence.
You close your eyes, feeling yourself close to losing balance, only for Snow to swipe your legs from the floor and carry you to the bathtub.
“I’ll take care of you, doll,” he said, “I’ll bring in a new set of clothes, wait.” “What about the gala?” You asked. He kissed your temple before he replied, “I told everyone to leave the moment you walked away. Told everyone you were sick and as your husband, I shall be taking care of you.”
You let out a raspy chuckle, it was rather amazing how Coriolanus Snow always turned everything in his favor. Even this would help his image of being a president who took such good care of his wife and would surely take the country to great lengths.
“Snow lands on top,” you whispered to him with a smile.
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Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy
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samerpal · 2 months ago
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Are you tired 😴 of our news? 🗞️ Has our suffering become just another passing story? For us, this is our life.
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We are a family living under the harsh reality of war. My children—Qusai, who is 7 years old; Eileen, who is 5; and Hisham, who is nearly 2—and my husband all share a small tent ⛺️ with me, a space no larger than a single room. In this modest shelter, everything—our kitchen, bathroom, and sleeping area—has to fit, holding our entire lives in just a few square meters.
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Sometimes, I wonder if our story has become just another story, another part of the background. But for us, it’s real. My children 🧒 lack clean clothes, enough food, 🥘 and fresh water, 💧 basic needs they deserve like every child. And now, with the biting cold 🥶 of winter ❄️ fast approaching, I find myself fearing for my two-year-old, who has no way to stay warm, no way to shield himself from the coming chill.
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For the second year in a row, my children 👧 have not been able to attend school 🏫 . No education, no clear future. As a father, I feel helpless, unable to give them the hope they deserve.
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We don’t ask for much. A small gesture, a simple question 🙋 about our well-being, can mean the world to us. Even a little attention🚨 to our story might help us find a way forward. For my children, for our family, we hold out hope that we’re not alone in this struggle.
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@dlxxv-vetted-donations @a-shade-of-blue @aces-and-angels @jezior0 @nabulsi🌹 @90-ghost @buzzy-bee-13 @soft-sunbird @radicalgraff @tamamita @turtletoria @myceliacrochet @mysharona1987 @determinate-negation @buttercuparry @akajustmerry @pcktknife @ot3 @appsa
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em-omer · 3 months ago
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A Desperate Plea as Winter Approaches
Hi Everyone. Again my family is facing a crisis more severe than ever before. The brutal summer sun has worn down the flimsy tent that once served as our only shelter, and now, as winter approaches, we are left exposed to the elements. There is no place for us to turn. With no means to afford proper housing, we have no choice but to share a car garage with two other families. It’s not a home, but it’s the only roof we can find to protect us from the bitter cold that is closing in on us.
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My husband’s condition has taken a grave turn. After a long, painful hospital stay, he was released, but his chest wound, caused by a piece of shrapnel that pierced him when a bomb struck our home while we slept, has become dangerously inflamed. His blood pressure has dropped to 90/60, and he’s been rushed back to the hospital. The sight of him weak and struggling for every breath breaks my heart, but the pain doesn't end there.
With my husband back in the hospital, I face an unbearable choice. The hospital does not allow children, so I am torn between staying by his side, or leaving my three children alone in this unsafe city. Every night, I fear for their safety and for the life of my husband. I cannot be with both, and it is tearing me apart.
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To make matters worse, hospitals in Gaza have run out of many essential medicines due to the blockade. We are forced to buy medication from external pharmacies at prices we can barely afford. The war has stripped us of everything, and now, the siege makes survival an even greater struggle.
We are also in dire need of food. My children’s immune systems are weak from malnutrition, and they fall sick often, leaving me helpless. We lack even the simplest comforts—medicine to heal their illnesses, warm clothes to shield them from the winter chill, and basic nutrition to keep them alive.
Winter is not just a season here; it’s a looming threat that may take what little we have left. I am begging for your help. Please, any donation, no matter how small, will go directly to giving us warmth, food, and the chance to survive this nightmare. My family is on the edge of survival, and we need you now more than ever.
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dmitriene · 1 month ago
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cw: pregnancy, rushed plot writing.
being simon's riley high school sweetheart, you just stuck to each other, somehow, there was something in him that pulled you easily, as if a treat shown in front of the grabby child, the way he kept himself aside from all the commotions and class gangs, his stoic, brooding facade, his eyes, usually so heavy and dark, gleaming tawny under the morning sun, never looking at you with hatred, something addictive.
a silly, simple crush, but it's transcended years, always close to each other, a brief exchange of greetings, sharing a book, helping with homework, sitting together because it's more comfortable this way, quieter, and then exchanging clumsy kisses on the back of the school building, where nowhere can see, find out about your little secret, a weakness of simon.
when you both graduate, simon suddenly dissappears, not a single word uttered, as if you never knew each other, as if you didn't mattered, and perhaps, that was it in the reality, just a childish mess of love, a complex thing you lose interest in, making you move on forward, looking over small, cheap polaroids where you two are hugging, making faces to each other through laughter and little kisses, something now forgotten.
years later, you meet an attractive, sweet man in the towns pub, when deciding to travel in scotland, clean your head a little bit, look at mesmerizing, incredible landscapes and get close to other's people culture, that's how a first taste of whisky suddenly ends in a bed of an cheesy, charismatic scott, johnny, not just a stranger with deep ceruleans that stole your breath, but your husband, the father of your baby.
johnny is military, you know well, deciding to step away of all this business as much as you can, and also because of him, he wants to shield you, not burden your and the baby with fear of wars, terrorism and endless missions, when he comes home, there's never soap, it's just johnny, always back to you with wide, lopsided grins and arms spread wide, scooping your precious baby in his beary hold, while peppering your scrunching from giggles face with kisses.
your new, perfect life that's snaps so easily, when your calendar starts missing days of johnny's comeback, the red circled date is far away from the current day by now, and there's not a single message from him, planting a gnawing, chilling feel that makes you walk back and forth all over the house, bouncing the baby in your hands, cooing worried, but suppressed to soothing lullabies, until you hear a knock to the door.
but instead of your husband, there's a masked, beefy man, an envelope in his gloved hand, a situation too forbidden, and a voice too familiar to you, apologizing for the death of his friend, simon riley, a man you remember by his eyes alone, even through painted with sorrow.
main masterlist. quidelines.
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queen-of-nightmare-16 · 1 month ago
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PEACE | Vander/Warwick X Reader
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CONTENT WARNINGS - Fluff • Threat • Injury • Mention of death • Brief mention of blood • Season 2 Spoilers! • Cuddling (BECAUSE THIS MAN DESERVES ONE!!)
PAIRING: Vander/Warwick X Fem Reader
SUMMARY: you were once Vander’s wife but believed he was dead after the cannery exploded. Now you’re staying at Viktor’s utopia hoping the machine herald can bring him back to you
WORD COUNT: 1.9K
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The commune had been like a fever dream. That something so peaceful could exist in Zaun. Where everyone pulled their weight and shared resources and supplies without ulterior motives. It seemed like a paradise. It seemed too good to be true.
It was almost too much.
In just a couple of days — or was it even hours — your world had been turned upside down.
When Vi and Pow-- Jinx found you, you were both thrilled and sceptical. To see your adopted daughters together again. It certainly confusing to see that they somehow came back together again and with a little girl in tow but they had some information that nearly made your heart stop.
Vander … was alive!
A rasped pained laugh had been your response. It wasn’t possible. You heard the tale: Vander, your husband, died saving Vi. That was it, end of story. It broke you. So much so that you went searching for his body but found nothing. No doubt Silco had it thrown in the Pilt out of spite.
But Jinx was adamant. She claimed she fought some “version” of him in Stillwater, a beast, but it was still him. There was still something inside that recognised her. It was ludicrous. You had half a mind to tell them to leave and let you wallow in your loneliness. But your motherly urge clenched your heart; there was no way you could let them attempt to track this beast alone. Especially with a young child.
So you followed them, deep into the mines with spear in hand. Vi claimed they’d be safe thanks to her gauntlets but it provided you comfort. It had always been your weapon of choice.
After Vi and Jinx had their rather childish fight, the young girl who you had learnt was called Isha, received a bloody nose thanks to Vi’s elbow. You had wiped it clean with your sleeve, offering her a sweet smile as she sniffed but you all continued further in. Until your heart sunk completely when the ground rumbled. A distant roar surged fear through all your hearts, Jinx pushing Isha behind herself and Vi took a firm stance. Your knuckles became white clutching your spear; breath becoming staggered and fearful.
That when you saw it. A glimmer of red in the darkness, growing closer and brighter with every second; the ground trembling from its pounding fists. Jinx attempted to talk to it but nothing stopped its pursuit.
The sound of Vi’s gauntlet grabbing the beasts body before it could reach you caused the bioluminescent plants to light up and that when you became face to face with it. It’s blood red eyes were raging, a clawed paw stretched out desperately reaching out for Isha. It felt as if your heart was breaking all over again. There was an unrecognisable fury. This thing wanted to kill you all. How stupid it was to believe that this was him.
Vi became bloodied and bruised as she fought the beast, Jinx shielding Isha behind her with her gun raised. In a desperate attempt to save your daughter, you joined her in the fight; slashing and stabbing at its body. Yet it did little to nothing to halter it’s anger. It’s body healed at lightening speed.
This wasn’t a fight you could win.
It reared is large paw back, attempting to smite Vi in one swipe. Until you shoved her out of the way towards Jinx and took the hit yourself. It’s large arm smacked you away, your body surging through the air to slam into the wall. A yell rattled past your lips at impact, body feeling like it had just been shattered. You struggled to raise up to your feet until you realised the beasts attention had turned to your daughters. A glob of bloody spit from your mouth regained it, its crimson eyes glaring at your in a furious wrath. As your grip tightened on your snapped spear, you wielded it like you would a knife. You were ready to die here if it meant your girls could take the opportunity to escape. But Jinx halted your determination. She pleaded — no — begged for you to believe her. That this thing in front of you was the man you loved. Your eyes had shut, breathing slow as it leapt; its teeth bared ready to tear you apart.
But when you were face to face with it, so close that you could feel its breath on your cheeks, a sudden glimmer of familiarity befell you. A flicker of hope. Either way, it wasn’t stopping. So you took that chance. You tossed the broken weapon to the side and screamed his name.
Before you knew it, you were wrapped in its large arms. Eyes wide and breath shuddering, your hands slowly crept up to rest on its chest still unsure. But it wasn’t tearing you apart. Wasn’t disembowelling you with its claws. One of its pawed hands rested almost gently to the back of your head, pulling you tight to its body like it would be the last time. You almost wanted to free yourself from its grip out of fear. Until a low grumble from his jaws uttered a single word; causing a wave of tears to flow from your eyes like a waterfall. Your name.
It was him. It was your Vander.
And here you were. In Viktor’s small utopia; praying that this “herald” could heal your husband. Or return his mind to him fully. You cautiously watched Viktor exited from the greenhouse Vander had been designated to; the mechanical man slowly walking away in exhaustion.
“How long do you think this is gonna take?” Vi asked, staring at him in suspicion.
A deep breath heaved from your nose at her question. “I don’t know. In all my years I’ve never dealt with a ‘herald’ before,” you sighed tiredly. “I’ve never dealt with someone coming back from death either”.
“There’s a lot of things we haven’t dealt with,” Vi replied sadly.
She was right about that. It had been a small comfort to you, knowing that if Vander was gone his soul was finally at peace. But now here he was, back from the dead and twisted in his own body for whatever sick maniacal reason. Your brows furrowed in anger as a certain person invaded your mind. “I’ll kill Singed if I ever see him,” you swore, teeth coming close to grinding at the mere thought of that so called ‘scientist’.
“You’ll have to get in line,” Vi quipped, her soft small smile falling as quickly as it formed. “I’m gonna head to bed. You coming?”.
“I’m … I’m actually gonna go visit him. See how he’s doing,” you informed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. With a soft nod, Vi watched as you walked away towards the greenhouse.
There was still a wave of nervousness as you reached the door but it faded away when your gaze fell upon him. A few soft grunts huffed from his curled form, lying on the ground with a sorrowful look on face only for his head to perk up at the sight of you.
“Hey,” you greeted, shutting the door behind you. Vander rose up slightly, watching you with his new mismatched eyes as you sat down next to his hulking figure. You offered him a honeyed smile, stretching your legs out and leaning back against a pillar. “Any … any change today?”.
Vander snorted sadly in response and glanced down to his paws. Your hand quickly stretched up to cup his jaw, turning him back to look at you; your thumb gently stroking against his cheek to sooth him. “It’s ok. There’s always tomorrow,” you hushed, blinking back a set of tears as he nuzzled into your hand.
You couldn’t help but take in his features, from the sharp fangs to the large ears that twitched at the slightest sound. It made your heart clenched; that sometimes in a certain light or a quick glance you could just see a glimmer of the man you loved.
Almost as if he could sense your change in mood, Vander’s eyes opened; staring at you with a tilt of his head that must’ve said ‘what’s wrong?’.
“I’m ok,” you sniffed. “I’m just glad to have you back”.
He seemed to think to himself, contemplating something before shuffling closer to your body. You waited with bated breath, curiously watching as he fell to his side and laid his head to rest on your lap, his back to you and gaze directed to your boots.
Though it brought a smile to your face. Your heart fluttering at the recreation of a moment you and Vander would often share before things went to hell. Whenever Vander was stressed after a long day he would rest his head in your lap, sighing in relief as your fingers would cascade through his brown locks. The two of you would talk for hours, about your day or whatever your were worried about. It was a quiet intimate experience between you two.
“Heh, just like old times. Ey, Vander,” you teased, raising your hand to comb through the fur on his head. Vander groaned out softly, immediately relaxing against you. “Remember when we used to do this when we were younger? You denied it from hell to high water … then Benzo walked in and wouldn’t shut up about it”.
There was a chuff like laugh from Vander as his paw rested itself against your knee, his breath coming out steadier. The both of you fell silent as you thought of your fallen friend. Of all your fallen friends. Benzo. Connol. Felicia.
Silco.
You didn’t have a clue if Vander even knew his brother had passed. You hadn’t found it in you to ask or tell him either. There was so much going on already you didn’t want to bring him more heartbreak. No matter what had happened between them, Silco would always be his brother. He knew Vander long before you did. They played together as kids, worked together as teens, planned a revolution together as men. You knew in some way Vander would be devastated.
With a sigh, you continued massaging his scalp. No point in telling him now. One thing at a time.
“When we’re done here, how about we go away? Leave the Lanes, leave the Undercity. Find somewhere peaceful, somewhere safe,” you suggested. “Tell only the girls where we are so they can visit”.
Vander awkwardly glanced over his shoulder, staring at you in confusion.
“You didn’t think I was just gonna leave ya, did you?” You playfully quipped.
“However many tries, however long it takes; I am gonna stay right by you side,” you promised, leaning down to place a kiss against his brow, his eyes fluttering shut in content. “Like I’ve always said: it’s me and you till the end, big guy”.
When the sun rose in the morning, Vi had woken to discover you were missing. Both Jinx and Isha were still sleeping together in a pile of blankets whilst your bed appeared neat and unslept in. She rose to her feet and made her way over to the greenhouse, carefully opening the door as quietly as she could. Only for her shocked face to fall into a slight smile.
Somehow in the night the two of you had shifted. You were now laid out on your side, sleeping the most peacefully you had in years. Vander’s large arm had placed itself over your waist, keeping you trapped against his large body; his breath tussling your hair every time he exhaled. His massive paw was clutched in both your hands, pulled tightly to your chest. There wasn’t a care in the world to the two of you.
Just peace.
Vi smiled and decided to leave you be, allowing you both to enjoy your own personal paradise for a little longer.
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First time returning to Imagines/One Shots but what they did to this man broke my heart and I felt like writing something for the first time in ages. Riot, I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Vander!!!
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remnantglow · 3 months ago
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and now that you're here, why not take a moment to share and donate to Dina's GoFundMe below? Dina's asked me to boost her fundraiser - her, her husband Ahmed and their 4 young kids desperately need funds for daily survival and eventual evacuation.
As winter approaches with its cold and heavy rains, Dina and her children, including her five-month-old baby, find themselves in a tent that neither shields them from the cold nor protects them from rain and insects. The conditions are harsh, and your support is their only hope for warmth and safety.
They are currently at €69,647 / €75,000 - so, so, so close to their goal!
@zinaanqar / #264 on the Vetted Fundraisers List
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zephyrrr101 · 10 months ago
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Not like her
Pairing: Daemon x niece reader
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Warning: Targcest/incest, DUBCON?, size kink and breeding kink light, mention of somnophilia, slight manipulation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, first intercourse, sweet Daemon, Daemon being a soft uncle hubby.(Because I simp) All ASOIAF warnings. MINOR DNI (but do with hungry bitches care?) also not proof read. High Valyrian translation might or not be wrong.
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You looked around the Throne Room which had now was filled with hoards of people, All the nobles have made there way to King’s Landing to attend your sider sister, Rhaenyra’s wedding to your cousin Ser Laenor Velaryon. It was a match made out of convenience, you had known that.
Father had not told you much, nor had your maids and lady companions, all having been sworn to silence by your father. But it didn’t take much for news to not get to your ears. Red Keep was never able to keep gossips.
Apparently, Rhaenyra had been seen beyond the walls of Rad Keep during hour of wolf with someone in unseemly situations. There were no proofs that anyone had, but it had been enough for your father to set this betrothal to push the rumours away.
They weren’t rumours.
It was your sister’s sworn shield who had been the man who Rheernyra had shared her bad with that night. She had spoke to you of this a week after, since you broth were always close, your mother’s death bringing you even closer. You did not mind. Several lords went around having bastards, women too laid with men before marriages, you knew of it, why must Rhaenyra be kept from something she wanted But your sombre mood was not for your sister’s situation. Rhaenyra was strong and she welcomed things in her life with courage, even this marriage. Your issue was that your father, after he had talked with Rhaenyra, had a conversation with you too. You will be wed by the next year to a man of your father’s choosing. He did not seem to want another one of his daughters going and finding trouble.
You had hoped your father would give you the same liberty of choosing your husband that was given to Rhaenyra. You would not had minded choosing, you weren’t picky. You were a second daughter, getting many in a good family was always supposed to be your job. But you would have rather preferred if you could have a little bit of choice in it.
Thank you, Rhaenyra, I love you. But you fucked it up for me, Fuck you.
“Something on your mind, sweet niece?” You turned to Daemon who sat on your right. You were given the seat beside the Queen Alicent, not your preferable place, things between you and Alicent were awkward. She was your sister’s friend turned step-mother. You didn’t talk much, it was weird.
You sighed, turning to your uncle, who had come back from his trip to Stepstones a few days back. He had proven is determination when it came to the barren land. He had won it and now with your father’s blessings looked after the protection of Westros from there, visiting the place some times. “Father is setting up my betrothal.”
Daemon frowned, you could tell he was not happy, Daemon had been a constant in your and Rhaenyra’s life even of he was banished half of the time, more to you. While Rhaenyra had your father, you had your uncle. “Who?”
“I cannot say,” You fiddled with your cup of wine, you had lost your focus, drifting off in solace of solitude. “Father has not told me. But he says I will be wed by this time next year.”
Daemon did not reply. And you turned your attention to middle of room, Rhaenyra and Laenor had started to dance. You tipped your cup up, finishing your wine in one go you did not notice anything after that.
You did not notice how Daemon’s hand clenched around his cup as he glared at anything he could see, how his lilac eyes would fall over you, locking at your distressed race, how he counted each line that marred your forehead, how your tongue had slipped out of your mouth to catch the stray drop of wine and how licked it, your red tinged tongue moving over your lips wetting them. And you certainly did not notice the way he gripped Dark Sister’s pommel when Ser Harwin had come to ask you for a dance and you had agreed, leaving with the large dark haired knight.
No you did not.
You danced with other lords but again found Your way to Ser Harwin, or he did to you.
He spoke something to you, learned down so only you could hear him, Daemon could only imagine how he would be taking in your scent of jasmines, such a calming fragrance.
You nod.
He could not hear you from the distance but he had been around you for a lot longer to imagine how sweet your laughter must be in Strong knight’s ears.
This was it.
Daemon slammed his cup on the table, gathering attention of a few people around him and walked away, his brother’s cautioned words, blurred in his ears.
Ser Harwin was telling you about his tales of City Watch, how he sometimes sees the most hilarious things. Your favourite being the one where a certain lord was hit and thrown out of a pleasure house by one the workers and Ser Harwin had found him crying drunk with a bruised cheek. You had not noticed Daemon’s presence until he asked Ser Harwin if he could have a dance with you.
Who was he to say no to a seasoned warrior and dragon rider who could burn him to ashes if declined what he wanted.
“Ziry issa?” Is it him? Daemon asked you, you had well spotted the frown on his face and anger that was flowing in his lilac eyes. Something you could not comprehend.
“Skoros?” What?
Daemon takes your hand his, you let him guide to where ever he wants to, which happens to the farthest part of the dancing area, lesser people are here and you understand that whatever it must be that he wants to speak of he doesn’t want other to hear.
“Harwin,” He looks away from you and you follow his eyes, finding them on your father. It takes a moment for you to realise what he is asking.
“gimin daor,” I don’t know. You sighed. “It doesn’t matter does it, kepus? I must trust Father in his choice.”
“Your father’s choice?” He whispered, you could feel his breath tickling on your neck. “Look at this choice of his. Laenor is a good man but he will bore your sister senseless. And let us not forget his tastes.”
“It’s not that I don’t wish to marry, kepus,” You mutter, you suddenly found his doublet more interesting than the music or the dance. “But...”
Daemon hummed, his hand softly drew circles on the small of you back, you felt a shiver going through you.
“I understand politics but... I’d rather not be used as a pawn for gain without my say. At least without me knowing who I will be tied to for my whole life. I love my father, I really do,” you sighed, your eyes fell on your father and Alicent sitting beside him in a green dress. This wedding looked more like a disaster. “Look how miserable Alicent is. I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.”
Daemon listened to every word that left your mouth keenly. He embedded all of them in his very soul. His niece, his sweet and young niece who had been nothing but kind to him despite everything he might have one that could have hurt her. Even when his brother had sent him away for giving a moniker to his dead nephew all those years before. She had come to say good bye to him. Told him how she did not care for a boy who she didn’t even knew and wished him a safe journey, His little doll who always came to him when she didn’t like the braids her maid would put in her hair and have him redo everything.
I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.
And he imagined you, sitting beside some very aged lord, with life span of no long than a few years, who didn’t seem to be caring about anything but the cup of wine in his hands, children standing beside you and one in your hands, all while you looked sullen.
No. He couldn’t let it happen, Not when he knew how marriages like that ended up being.
He smiled at you, one his hand grabbing yours and other one caressing the soft skin of your cheeks, He looked at you with such intensity, with such fondness that you couldn’t help but feet the heat crawling up your neck.
“You won’t end up like her.” He told you and you knew better than anyone that his words were not hollow. It was an unsaid promise.
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The wedding did turn out to be a disaster. Rhaenyra’s sworn shield had murdered Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, an event which had led to a rushed marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor. As soon as the chaos erupted, your uncle had pulled you away towards the doors of the hall since you both were closer to it than the royal table.
The stress had caused your father to collapse and another thing had come to light some disease was eating him alive and now he had lost his arm.
In all, the day had been a like riding a wild dragon.
From what you could tell it was past midnight. And you could think of nothing better than trying to put yourself to sleep. It hadn’t taken much too. As your head hit the pillow and darkness engulfed you.
You had been sleeping deeply and peacefully. The tiring and stressed moments of the wedding had lulled you like an infant after having drunk a tummy full of milk.
You could not understand what it was that had woken you up. You felt hot. Surely it wasn’t winter and days in King’s Landing were hot sometimes but not so much to cause her such bother. Though it was not enough to cause you to get out of your sleepy reverie.
You let out a whine when you felt something moving over you leg and your shoulder, making you pull your leg away and shake your shoulder to put whatever was causing you discomfort away. The point between your legs felt wet, making you a bit worried about your moon blood but you were too far gone in sleep to care.
It was the wine you had drank like water before going to sleep. Curse the fucking thing.
It was a sound, something like a chimes that hit each other when wind flowed, that made you snap out of our daze a little bit. You forced you eyes your to open as much as they could which wasn’t a lot. You were drunk and sleepy. But you could recognise that voice and figure even in your blurred sight.
“Kepus?”
Daemon smiles at you. There were very few people who had seen him really smile genuinely. You were one of them. But this smile was different. There was something different about it. You couldn’t comprehend it.
Daemon hushed you, his hand softly laying you back again, It was then when you slowly started to come to sense. He was hovering over you and you felt his other hand between your legs, right on your...
“Kepus, what are you doing?” You almost shrieked, understanding what was going on, “Kepus, what—"
“Be quiet, sweet girl,” Daemon whispered, and leaned down, his lips falling on your cheeks, so, so close to your lips. His fingers circling your cunny, a place that was not supposed to be bare to anyone but your husband. “You didn’t want to be a pawn, right?”
“But-but Daemon—” whatever you were thinking of saying was long forgotten when you felt his his finger entering you, your breath hitched at the foreign sensation. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered, you weren’t sure if you had spoken it or if it was in your mind only.
“And why?” His voice low, you felt as if you were speaking of some centuries old secret with him. “I promised you that I wouldn’t let you be married just like this. I will keep my promise, sweet niece.”
“Daemon,” you whispered, your denial was dying on your lips with him adding another finger in you, his thumb rolling around your nub and his lips on your neck. He hummed and those were the sweetest vibration you had ever felt on your skin, a shiver passing from the junction of your neck and shoulder to your core. Some cold wind had not caused this. This you know. It was him, your kepus who did this.
Your hands went to his shoulders, bare shoulders, he did not have his tunic on. Your skin touching his warm one. He was always warm. Like a dragon. “Please,” you gasped feeling his fingers go deep in you and you squeezed his shoulders.
His fingers moved faster in you, his teeth biting at your ear, “Is this what you are asking, sweetling?”
If only you knew what you wanted. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to let go of this feeling. “Yes-fuck-kepus!” You moaned feeling his fingers curl in you. And then another on being added.
“Don’t worry,” Daemon kissed your forehead, and you realised how really small you were in front of his tall stature. Even laying he could easily reach you forehead when his fingers were far down. “Kepus will take care of. Always.”
You knew he would. Mayhap, it was that fact that you had not called out for someone.
You felt your lower abdomen clenched, you weren’t sure it was. It felt as if someone was pulling at it but from inside. And somehow it felt good too. “Kepus, Kepus, there...”
“I know, sweet girl,” his fingers moved in you even more faster, and that was all you could feel. “Let go. Just let go.”
His thumb softly pressed on your nub and you gasped.
Something washed over you, something ecstatic. You felt free. Just like when you were on dragon back.
You panted, feeling as if you were knocked out of breath. Maybe you were. You look at Daemon, as he softly pulls his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth, you couldn’t help the heat on your face when you remembered that it was your arousal that he was happily sucking off his fingers.
You looked at him in daze, everything seemed hazy for a few moments. Daemon leaned over you, his knuckles brushing your cheeks before his lips dropped on yours.
They were surprisingly soft, you had always imagined him having a hard touch but here he was, touching you as if you were made of glass, that you would break at the slight wrong caress. You felt his tongue on your lips, and you opened, letting his soft muscle of his mouth melt into yours.
You let him do what he wished to for some moments, unaware of what you were supposed to do but it didn’t take you long to catch up and you moved your tongue against his, you felt losing breath by every moment though nothing seemed to matter. It was heaven where Daemon was taking you. And you did not want to fall down from there.
“Fuck!” You heard Daemon curse as he parted from you, and his lips fell on your jaw and something hard rubbing your core. Your hips bucked up, unconsciously and you moaned. “Stop doing that, sweet girl,” Daemon spoke, his lips were moving down and down from your jaw to your neck, his hands pushing the sleeves of your slip down, his mouth leaving wet trails between your breast.
“kepus,” you were too lost. Your uncle looked like one of those Gods of Old Valyria. So beautiful, his burnt skin like stars on the dark sky. Your hands wrapped around his arms, feeling his full strong muscles, your finger traced the healed wounds, you felt your inside twist and turn. “kepus,”
Daemon pulled away, his eyes were dark, almost pitch black, he was sat between your legs. When did that happen you weren’t aware. You chest heaved as you took each breath greedily and watched his hands moving to his breeches’ laces, pulling them and he shed off them off. You eyes were on him, whole of him and your breath hitched.
So lost in the sight of him you didn’t know when he came back and kissed you, until his cock rubbed into you and you moaned. “Kepus,”
“Shh. It’s alright.” He whispered, his hips moved, you could feel him even when he wasn’t inside you. “Fucking hells, you are wet. You want this just much, don’t you?”
You didn’t get to answer him, feeling his head on your entrance, at this moment.
“This will hurt, sweetling.” Daemon kissed your forehead, his hands brushed your cheeks and hair just like when he wanted to comfort you at any peril of your. “but it will become better. I will make it all better.” And with that he pushed inside you, slowly, and you felt yourself stretching around him as he moved in slow, sucking in breath sharply and curses leaving his mouth, all faded to you.
He wasn’t lying when he said to would hurt. “kepus,” Your nails dug into his shoulders and he kissed your cheek with caressing your head all the while.
“Good girl, such a sweet girl, taking my cock so nicely.” You could hear his groans loud and clear even when he was speaking softly and slowly. “so tight, so firm. But you will take it, won’t you?”
You didn’t answer but hid your face in his neck, tightening your hold on him. You felt tore apart, yet you didn’t want to let go. “so big, kepus,” you whispered as he continued to bottom himself inside you and he kissed your neck saying words of praises.
It felt like hours when he stopped, Daemon by then had bit on your neck several times, you felt as if you’d had bled, but there was no worry about it. He won’t hurt you. You knew.
“Open your eyes, love,” He whispered and you did, he was just a hair width away from you and you could look at his eyes so clearly, his pools of lilac, light than that was your. You wished to have his eyes in your childhood.
He kissed you again and you kissed back. You couldn’t have enough of his mouth on yours, the taste of yourself and the wine mixed in both of your mouth was so sweet to you.
“Come to Dragonstone with me,” His forehead touched yours. Both of you were breathing each other in, “Take me to husband and I will take to you wife, in tradition of our house. You won’t be like her. Ever.”
You won’t be like her, he said. And you knew he was true to his words. He will be. He will not. Not like Alicent.
Not like her.
“Avy jorraelan, Kepus.” I love you, uncle.
Daemon smiled. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen in your life. “Avy jorraelan, donus rinus.” I love you, sweet girl.
Daemon moved in you, slow at first, so deep, you moaned at each stroke, every time his hips met yours, you couldn’t help but cry out first in discomfort and then in pleasure.
His lips descended upon your breast, taking your nubs in his mouth, he suckled at one like a babe hungry for their mother’s milk, his other hand playing with your other and his hips pushing into yours. You couldn’t hear anything but his grunt and groans and your moans and whimper.
Daemon held your legs, putting them around his waist. If you thought he was deep before, he was reaching way inside you.
“This cunt, your cunt was made for me, sweet girl. Look how good it take me. Even when you were asleep. Getting wet for me. It knows it’s mine. You know that too, don’t you?” you ought to feel humiliated and offended at such words. Being owned by some was not something you liked. But the way Daemon said it only made you clench harder around him making him groan, “fuck, yes. Yes, you do.”
“Yes. Yes, Kepus.” You whimpered at his fast pace inside you. Lost in the world of pleasure you were, you couldn’t hold your noises anymore. But of course you uncle would remedy it for you, putting his lips on yours, drinking every single sound in which left your mouth.
You clenched, your hands in his hair, pulling at them, feeling the tugging feeling as before in you. Daemon knew it all well.
“Going to give you my seed and you will swell with our child, sweet,” Daemon muttered in your ear. You felt yourself liking the prospect. Even imagining it in your head as your uncle rutted in you.
Our child.
“Yes”, you nodded, kissing his neck, “a babe, Kepus. With your eyes. I love your eyes.”
“Whatever, my sweet girl wants.” He grunted and you clenched on him again.
“Fuck, kepus.” You moaned, you were sure by now you had scratched his back bloody. “I... I feel it. It hurts.”
“I know, sweetling,” he muttered, “Let go. Just like before. Let it go.”
It wasn’t long you felt the same bliss wash over you and you felt warmth fill you in. Daemon’s seed, you knew it was as you both panted. Daemon stopped moving inside you after a few more strokes, but he did not pull out. He lowered himself to your bed and pulled you on him.
You rested your head on his chest, some silver hair, rubbing against your cheek, you took in the scent of his sweat, his skin glistening under the moonlight that fell in your room.
You felt him pull the sheet over the both of you, his hand running over your hair and exhaustion began to take over you. Your eyes drooped but you kept blinking the sleep away.
“Sleep,” Daemon kissed your head and you fell asleep just as quick as you had woken up, you hands wounded around his neck.
You prayed it not to be a dream.
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novaursa · 4 months ago
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Hello! So grateful you have opened up your requests 🥰
Could I get one of cregan showing his wife, targ!reader, the wall for the first time?
The Wall
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- Summary: Cregan takes you to see the Wall, and Silverwing comes with you.
- Pairing: (wife) targ!reader/Cregan Stark
- Note: The reader is bonded with Silverwing.
- Rating: Mild 13+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess
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You feel the northern chill in your bones the moment you step foot beyond Winterfell. The air grows heavier, colder, as if the very breath of the Old Gods wraps around you, sinking its icy tendrils into your flesh. It is a different kind of cold—more relentless, more biting than you have ever known in the southern lands of your birth. But then again, you expected nothing less when you agreed to accompany Cregan Stark to the Wall.
Your husband rides at your side, his fur cloak draped over broad shoulders, a sight that fills you with warmth. His face is set with the solemnity that marks his heritage, but there’s a softness there for you—a softening of his eyes whenever they meet yours, a gentle squeeze of his hand on your arm when the wind howls too sharply. His presence beside you feels like a shelter, a warmth against the harshness of the North.
“I’ve waited long to show you this,” Cregan murmurs, his voice low but carrying over the wind. There’s a rare lightness to his words, a pride that makes you smile, despite the cold biting at your cheeks.
“You speak of it as if it’s something magical,” you reply, teasing him gently, though you feel a hint of excitement bubbling beneath your words. The Wall is something that has lingered in stories and songs, a place you’ve only heard about. Yet now, you are about to see it with your own eyes.
“Some might say it is.” He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, sending warmth down your spine. “It’s a sight unlike any other. Even your dragons have their limits when it comes to the Wall.”
Your heart gives a little tug at his words, reminding you of Silverwing, the great she-dragon bonded to you since your youth. You’ve heard the stories too—of how Silverwing, despite her strength and size, refused to cross the Wall during the reign of Queen Alysanne. The tales had puzzled you, and a part of you wondered whether the creature you shared a bond with would behave the same when you reached the ancient barrier.
As the hours stretch on and you grow closer to your destination, the Wall finally emerges on the horizon—a towering monument of ice and stone, glowing eerily under the weak northern sun. The sheer size of it takes your breath away. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, as though it will shield you from the awe that grips your chest.
“There it is,” Cregan says softly, his hand brushing against yours. His voice holds a note of reverence, as if the Wall itself is something holy. “The edge of the world.”
You stare up at it, the enormity of it humbling you in a way nothing ever has. The Wall stretches impossibly high, a barrier that seems to separate not only land but realms themselves—the living and the dead, the known and the unknown.
But what captures your attention more is the sound of wings cutting through the cold air. You turn your gaze upward just in time to see the massive shadow of Silverwing circling above. Her pale, silvery scales shimmer in the dull light, a contrast against the grim, grey sky. Yet, even as she soars closer to the Wall, you see the familiar hesitation in her flight. She slows, wings beating in slower arcs, her great head turning toward the ice as if sensing some invisible barrier.
“She remembers,” you whisper, half to yourself, half to Cregan.
“Aye,” he agrees, watching with you. “The Wall holds a power older than all of us.”
You urge Silverwing with a thought, your connection with her as strong as ever. She flaps her wings harder, drawing closer to the Wall’s towering height, but just as before—just as the tales told—she stops short. Her massive body hovers in the air for a few moments, and despite your urging, she will not go any farther. The invisible force seems to push back, a resistance neither of you can break.
A quiet frustration stirs within you. “She won’t cross it,” you murmur, though you already knew this might happen. You watch her large, majestic form retreat just enough to hover out of reach.
Cregan, who has been observing quietly, steps closer to you. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his warmth. “Perhaps she knows something we don’t,” he says softly, his breath warm against your ear. “The dragons have their wisdom, even if we don’t understand it.”
You nod, leaning into him. His presence calms you, as it always does, and you relax into his embrace. But then, something shifts.
A low, rumbling growl echoes through the air, and you turn your attention back to Silverwing. The dragon’s wings beat harder, her growl growing into a roar that vibrates through your chest. She lowers her body, as if preparing to charge, and you feel her agitation through your bond—a new determination, a will that wasn’t there before.
“What is she—” Cregan begins, but you hold up a hand, silencing him.
Silverwing surges forward, her massive wings flaring as she approaches the Wall once more. This time, there is no hesitation. The invisible force that once stopped her seems to buckle under her will, and you watch in astonishment as Silverwing pushes through the barrier. The cold air whips around you, stinging your face, as her great form crosses over the Wall, her wings carrying her higher into the northern sky.
“She did it,” you breathe, hardly able to believe what you’re seeing. You can feel her triumph, her exhilaration, as she soars over the frozen wasteland beyond. It is as if the Wall’s ancient magic has finally yielded to her strength—or perhaps to something deeper, something connected to you.
Cregan’s hand tightens on your waist, and when you look up at him, you see the awe in his eyes. “You’re the first Targaryen to make it past the Wall,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Silverwing wouldn’t have done that for anyone else.”
Your heart swells at his words, at the pride you feel through your bond with Silverwing and the warmth of Cregan’s affection. You turn in his arms, your fingers brushing against his cold cheek before you kiss him. His lips are warm, soft, a contrast to the sharp cold around you.
“Perhaps she knew it was time,” you whisper against his lips.
“Or perhaps she follows her rider,” Cregan replies, his voice low and tender as he pulls you closer.
You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped in his embrace, as the Wall looms behind you. Silverwing’s triumphant roars echo in the distance, and for the first time, you feel as though the North has truly welcomed you.
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