#so i am a woman and a man and a drag queen

[practically-an-x-man]

god theatre is just so very Gender and i love it

[justdavina]

Plastique Tiara: Is one of the most beautiful transgender woman there is ...anywhere...period! I love her so much!

[shannonsketches]

like why did they change where Vegeta was when Cell announced the cell games in the anime

why did they make this vegeta starting shit with yamcha instead of chillin in the lab with his family? why did they take Bulma out of the lab? Why'd they say she was Out while Dr Brief was repairing 16? Why did they change Bulma working on advanced robotics to running in late with her baby?

it's the same scene except: - Bulma's actively at work being a scientist - Vegeta's not being rude to her (or anyone else!) - Vegeta waits for Trunks instead of leaving the room - Cell interrupted the airwaves, which means Trunks and Vegeta were just hanging out with Bulma and Dr B while they were working

Those are all Great Character Details!! That the anime rails against!!

[whimseee]

ok how do I explain this. I hate being called a girl but I like being called a woman because it makes me feel respected. I don’t feel the need to change my appearance with makeup and whatnot to fit into a standard. I don’t like people affixing feminine stereotypes to me just because of my agab. I do not want to be perceived as any sort of gender if that means it’ll influence my interactions with people. I don’t really have a choice in how I am perceived. I only want to be seen as me. I do not think of myself as a woman, nor nonbinary, nor anything else. I see myself as just me. I like how they/them pronouns force people I don’t know that well to stumble a step before judging me. I like it when friends use varying pronouns for me, even ones they make up, because it makes me feel seen and appreciated. I love women so much, I fall in love a little when I notice the color of somebody’s eyes or wonder at what may have drawn her to the earrings she wears or see someone smile at me. I love being included in that world and because of that, like I am a sponge, I soak up womanhood and glow with it because I am so full of love

[eryanlainfa]

Slowly realising I'm projecting on a character again and I'd like to do drag..

[transmeds]

i dont care about my pronouns that much anymore it really isn't gonna kill me so most of the time when i have to put them somewhere i just say "he/her" cause i don't care other than not liking being called they + people are more likely to take my one off transmed comments as a joke if they think i am One Of Them. anyways the other day one of my well-meaning but 😭😭😭 friend went "i thought you were genderfluid? you know, cause of your pronouns" and i regretted my choice to start saying that for a solid day. i will continue to do it, regardless.

[fettuccin-e]

It's About Power, Baby

Kinktober Day 26: Face Sitting

Tags: Marc Spector x Reader, afab!fem!reader, cunnilingus, face riding, subby!Marc because he needs to be dominated because I said so (w/c: 903)

A/N: A short lil drabble for some of my late Kinktober stuff. I am a firm believer in switch!Marc okay. He likes when a woman takes control because no one marries Layla El-Faouly without being a little bit of a sub okay, I'm right and you know it!! (For Kinktober I've been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

There’s just something about it that drives Marc fucking wild.

It’s something about the way you grind onto his face, gripping hard into his hair as you chase his tongue and dig your clit into his nose.

It’s in the way you taste, warm and musky and so fucking good on his tongue. He aches to have you like this, begs you for it, even though he never really has to beg for anything.

You can't say you understand it, but you certainly can’t complain when he pulls you down to his mouth, licking into you like he wants to drown in your wetness.

The first time you did this, you’d been so nervous, hovering lightly over his face and refusing to let your weight rest on him.

“Marc, I’ll crush you,” you’d said, swaying slightly on your knees as Marc grazed his hands up your thighs.

“You won’t, baby, promise,” he’d murmured. “C’mon, just relax. I’ll make you feel so good.” He’d nipped lightly at your inner thigh, and you’d moaned softly.

“I have no doubts about that, I just don’t want to kill you with my pussy, Marc.”

“But what a way to go,” he’d breathed, almost dreamily,  and you’d wanted to smack him. But you couldn’t, you’d barely had a chance to breathe before he was using his strength to pull you down to his mouth.

And fuck, if you had known how good it would feel, you would have smothered him with your pussy without a second thought. It’s so different like this, the way you just let gravity do the work for you, spearing yourself deep on Marc’s ravenous tongue.

He moans loud when you rest your weight on him, the folds of your cunt spreading apart on his face and making a fucking mess, dripping down his cheeks, down his chin.

His nose digs into your clit so perfect, so right from this angle, and you can’t help it when your hips twitch forward, grinding into it. His thick fingers dig into your thighs hard enough that the tips of them turn white, and you’ll probably find dark bruises later from the strength of his grip.

But it doesn’t matter, not at all. Not when Marc groans into you and sends vibrations reverberating up your spine, and your hips twitch forward again, dragging your slick pussy across his face.

“Fuck, oh my God, Marc,” you whimper, and Marc only answers with a moan, his tongue working against your dripping entrance, drinking you in. A sharp grind of your hips into his face makes you cry out, your hands snapping forward to grip onto the headboard.

There’s a heady sense of control that flows through your blood, making your mind hazy and the feeling of his mouth against your cunt so much more electric.

“It’s so fucking good like this,” you whimper, your hips twitching instinctually to rub Marc’s nose back and forth against your throbbing clit. You should let him breathe, lift off of him so he can suck a substantial breath into his lungs, but you can’t fucking stop. You can hear movement behind you through the rush of blood in your ears, and glance behind you. The sight nearly makes you black out.

Marc’s hips undulate into the air, an obscene tent in his boxers as he humps into nothing. He licks into your pussy as his cock searches for friction, desperate and needy and so fucking hot you could cry.

Marc is a man who doesn’t like to show weakness, but this? This is clear as crystal, the way his eyes flutter shut as he savors the taste of you on his tongue, the way he needs you so badly he fucks into empty air as you sit on his face like a queen. Marc Spector is not a weak man, but God, he is weak to you.

The knowledge that you are the only one who knows him like this, to have this kind of power over him, makes your head spin.

“You’re so fucking hard, Marc,” you whisper, and Marc grips onto your thighs like a fucking lifeline, whining beneath you. You reach a hand down to curl your fingers back into his hair, rocking your hips into his searching tongue. “Make me cum and I’ll ride you so hard you’ll see stars, baby.” You feel him nod between your thighs, moaning softly. 

Marc tilts his head up beneath you to suck your aching clit into his mouth, and you nearly scream as he throws you over that edge, soaking his face as you tremble and clench above him. 

You practically stumble away from his face as he continues to lick at your overstimulated entrance, pulling back to sit on his stomach. You watch with wide eyes at the way his chest heaves, how he licks at his lips and tastes the cum you left behind.

He lifts his head to look at you, a blush high on his face and his mouth shiny with your slick. He looks fucking ruined and oh so gorgeous.

He sits up on his elbows, wordlessly asking for a kiss, which you gladly give him, even though his lips taste like you. 

“My turn,” you murmur, grinning against his mouth, and Marc’s chuckle quickly morphs into a moan as you squeeze his neglected cock. You smile.

He looks pretty damn good at your mercy like this.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 1

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Your therapist warned you about superstitious thinking. You've been working on it. In fact, you've been very good at catching it, challenging yourself to relax, and letting things go. Even before this big work trip, you consciously avoided the "unhelpful" rituals and reminded yourself that the little ones were just to make you feel secure, not to actually influence the future across an ocean.

"I'm very nervous," you had told Señor Snuggly two weeks ago. Your worn out stuffed lizard hadn't said anything back, of course. "That's normal, because it’s an international flight. So I'm going to give you a hug good-bye, and you're gonna stay here to watch the house. I know it's not going to change anything, but I'll feel better knowing you're here."

At the airport, you realized that you had forgotten your toothbrush. It had satisfied the part of your brain that was looking for one (1) thing to go wrong. Superstitious thinking, but the kind that helped you to relax and listen to music until you boarded.

Now, forced to sit on the floor, surrounded by shouting men with guns, your brain is stuck on your lopsided stuffed animal and blue toothbrush. Of all the things that could pop into your head, why those?

You almost let out a nervous giggle at the mental image of Señor Snuggly using your toothbrush as a shiv to save the day. And then the idea of what would happen if you started laughing right now almost startles you into another burst of giggles. You clap your hands over your mouth and curl into yourself a little bit more.

Next to you, your boss throws you a sympathetic look. "You okay?"

"No talking!" The nearest assailant yells in heavily accented English. You're pretty sure the attackers have been speaking Russian, but you could be mistaken. He brandishes his gun. "You want to die?"

"She needs to go to the restroom," your boss answers.

"No, I don't," you protest. You really, really do, and have for the last two hours. But being escorted out of the room alone seems like enough of a Bad Idea that your bladder can wait.

"No, she does not," the man confirms. "Shut up. Do not talk."

You meet your boss's eyes and try to silently convey, Why are you trying to get me killed?

His doughy face says back, I am a white man who goes to the gym once a week, and I really like the John Wick movies. I have delusions of being a hero. If one man takes you to the bathroom I have the mistaken belief that I can overpower two men with guns to save everyone. Also you're a black woman, so don't you have super powers? I believe in you, queen.

You may be projecting.

Ten minutes later, just as you're wondering if you should suggest a group field trip down the hall to the bathrooms, a series of gunshots rings through the building. The energy in the room goes from nervous to frantic in an instant. Your bladder shuts up. The Russian men start shouting and waving their guns, apparently too agitated to speak English. Two hostages start crying because no one else speaks Russian, just English, French and your half-forgotten, informal, Mexican Spanish.

Another three Russians come bursting in the room, snarling something you can’t understand. They grab at a couple of people, force them to stand at gunpoint and gesture to the rest of you. And then everyone is up and kind of moving in the direction of the door. But you can’t get out of the door because they’re blocking it, but they’re really agitated that the room is still full of hostages. And then some people are being pushed back down to the floor. Your boss ends up sitting back down again. A hard hand closes on your arm before you can get down, and you and four others are dragged out.

The leader says, “You all are dignitaries, yes? Your embassies will send money or they will watch you die.”

This is, potentially, the worst possible scenario. None of the five of you are even remotely important, let alone dignitaries. You’re not 100% sure about most of the others, but you’re an aid. An aid to an aid, really. The blonde woman with the remarkably sharp bob is a personal assistant. Today’s conference was about health data management, of all things.

You decide you’re not going to die with a full bladder. You look to the man holding your arm in an iron grip and point to the upcoming door on the right. “Can I please go to the restroom? I’ll be quick.”

He asks the leader something in Russian, and then you’re being shoved through the bathroom door. He doesn’t follow you into the stall, but it’s still so awkward to pee knowing that there’s a man with a gun waiting for you. You’re so glad you aren’t on your period - opening the wrapper on anything right now would feel louder than it has since middle school.

The door to the restroom opens just as the toilet finishes flushing. You hear a scuffle, an aborted shout, and then something heavy hits the floor. You freeze, heart racing. But then there’s no more sound.

You wait for what feels like an hour but must only be a minute before calling, “H-hello?”

You don’t get an answer. Unlocking the door and easing it open, you peek out and stifle a gasp. The man who had escorted you is on the ground, a pool of blood growing around him. His gun is gone.

You’re halfway through washing your hands before you realize you’re on autopilot.

It takes everything in you to fight down the urge to freeze in place and make yourself inch around the body to the door. When you poke your head out, the hall looks so normal that it makes you dizzy for a second. You try to decide what to do through the anxiety fog. You can’t hide in the bathroom with a dead body, and you probably can’t go back to the big room with everyone without getting shot. You have no idea where the other faux-dignitaries were taken. Apparently, there’s at least one person going around killing people in bathrooms.

You try to think of what your therapist would say in this situation. All of the options feel bad, she would say. So you can’t not do anything because it feels bad. Thank the anxiety for trying to keep you safe, then try to pick the least awful course of action.

“Fight, flight, freeze, fawn,” you whisper to yourself. Fighting is right out. “Flight, freeze, fawn.” There’s a body pouring blood right behind you. “Flight, fawn.” No one is around to appease. “Flight.”

Another gunshot and shouting. It sounds like it’s coming from the left, so you head right.

You shuck off your sensible kitten heels and fervently wish your otherwise sensible pantsuit wasn’t pastel purple in this very beige hallway. Not that a thicker-than-European-average black woman mincing around in a Swiss hotel and conference center would be inconspicuous in a black suit, your mind counters itself. You try to force your brain to shut up, with mixed success.

You wander a good five minutes, reminding yourself not to panic at every locked door you try. The halls are so quiet that you half convince yourself that you’ve gotten out of immediate danger. So of course, right as you’re about the round the next corner, one of the Russians appears, reeling backwards. And then he collapses, a knife sticking out of his neck.

You can’t really worry about that, though, because right after him comes one of the largest men you’ve ever seen. He must catch sight of you out of the corner of his eye, because his head snaps to look at you. You barely register the assault rifle in his hands because his eyes bore into you through the top half of a human skull.

Oh, I’m glad I already peed, you think, staring into the eyes of Death.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” the man says, growls really. “What are you doing here?”

“I… bathroom? Please don’t kill me. I’ll cooperate.” you squeak out. Oh, fawning! Cool.

“Price, I’ve got one of the hostages,” he says, nonsensically. “I’ve cleared the east wing.”

You jump when his walkie-talkie - of course it’s a walkie-talkie - squawks back an “Affirmative. Status?”

“She’s up and walking,” the man says, not taking his eyes from yours. “Seems uninjured.”

“Stow her somewhere safe.”

“Negative,” Death says. Before you can panic because what the fuck does that mean? he says, “Bringing her back with me.”

“Copy.”

When he takes a step toward you, you stop breathing. Everything in you is screaming RUN and DON’T MOVE at the same time. His second step in your direction results in a full body twitch. You get the impression that the gun is pointed at the ground, but the only thing you can really see is bone white over a black mask and what might be really pretty brown eyes, but the shadow from the overhead light really makes it hard to tell and your vision is going a bit darkaroundtheedgesandohI’mstillnotbreathingthat’snotgreat.

You’re shocked into gasping when a gloved palm touches the side of your face. The rough material helps you settle into your body, just in time to start hyperventilating.

And that’s when things get weird, because Death says, “Easy, lovie. Settle, f’ me, yeah? Deep breaths, like we’ve practiced.”

Your brain latches on to the familiar command to settle before you can even question why it’s familiar. The way the man makes a long, low shushing noise makes you so suddenly weak in the knees that you stagger where you stand.

And then it clicks. Holy shit. You know this voice. You know these commands. You’ve been listening to and learning them at least once a week for the last six months. He doesn’t even sound that different from over the phone or on a video call.

“There you go, that’s good,” Simon, the dominant you’ve been seeing online, tells you through his skull mask. “Keep breathin’. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

It’s the second time in your life you’ve been surprised out of a panic attack. “W-what the fuck? Si?” you gasp. “What are you doing here? Did you kill that guy?”

“Questions are gonna have to wait,” he says. “Keep breathing. In for four, hold for two. In for two, out for eight. Can you do that?”

“Why are you in Switzerland?”

“Breathe,” he rumbles. “Settle.”

“No,” you hiss, even as your shoulders relax another fraction. The corners of your eyes start prickling with tears.

“This is a double red light situation,” Si says, staring into your eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I’m going to get you out of here. You trust me?”

“You are wearing a skull on your face.”

“And you’re wearing a purple suit,” he answers. “There are people who want to shoot both of us. You get one more outburst, then you’re breathing and following me. Acknowledge.”

What the fuck? “This isn’t a scene!”

His eyes bore into yours. “Might surprise you, but I’m aware. Acknowledge.”

A distant shout makes you flinch. You relent. “Acknowledged. Four in, hold two, two in, out eight. Follow.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your cheek once. “Stay behind me.”

[missswritesalot]

Can I request something with Robb stark x shy reader. She is very quiet and a good wife too rob, but she loves seeing him be a true king to his people so when someone comes along and tries to knock him down a few pegs she speaks up and reminds said person of who they are speaking to leaving Robb speechless and a little turned on. You can end it there or add in a little smut if you want. Thank youuu

A/N requests open! Hope you enjoy, anon! There is just a sprinkle of nsfw at the end, but I tagged it with smut just to be safe ;) i think i used the word shy like a million times. Reblog/Comment if you want more!

You and your husband, Robb, were touring the North and providing supplies to the smallfolk to support them through the Winter. There were many grievances to address and you held court at all the small towns.

You hated the attention, and it was a small mercy that you rarely had to speak. Even when Robb needed your counsel, he asked for it in private so you weren’t embarrassed. The eyes of the people on you were enough to mortify you, yet you bore your discomfort silently and stood by his side.

At one such hearing, Robb ordered the Lords of the lesser Northern houses to visit. You were seated next to him on your throne, Greywind sleeping on the raised floor at your feet.

“The old ways have served the North fruitfully for years. Listen carefully, one war does not make a boy a man and you are yet to know the ways of the world.” Lord Karstark said, wagging a wrinkled finger at Robb.

It was the third time he had questioned your husband in front of his Council. You were furious.

All Robb had suggested was reducing the great burden of supporting lesser houses with tithes from the peasants. Many smallfolks families were missing men and weapons due to the war, and winter was coming. It would be his first Winter as King of the North and he wanted all his subjects to survive, not just the noblemen.

You thought it was admirable. You also knew how hard he worked, spending almost all nights this week pouring over papers and accounts.

“Don’t forget yourself, I am the King,” Robb chided him. Greywind woke up and went to him, a silent threat.

“No man that calls himself King is a true-“ Lord Karstark began in his crotchety old voice. Anger coursed through your veins. How dare this senile old man try to insult your husband.

You cleared your throat. The hall fell silent. Robb frowned and turned to look at you. His wife was a woman of few words but they were all worth hearing.

“My King husband would have no need of repeating his station if you would remember it, my Lord. And if you cannot, then perhaps in the evening of one’s life we must accept our limitations and resign to things we are capable of.” You said calmly, yet sharply. Robb’s jaw dropped in awe.

It took Karstark’s slow mind a moment longer to process.

“Control your tongue, woman,” he said said, eyes wild, pointing to you.

“Disrespect the Queen and you will feel my blade,” Robb yelled, stepping down from the throne and pulling out Ice, just as the direwolf by his side leapt into action.

Karstark did not know when to keep hush. He retorted back sarcastically, and the altercation ended with him being dragged to the dungeons for his impunity. The other lords were also greatly displeased with him, for now they had no chance of changing the King’s mind about restoring their allowances.

You were glad to see the end of the day, and walked into the chambers of your current abode with Robb trailing behind you.

“Lord Karstark demands hot oil for his feet, did you hear it, darling?” Robb said, crushing the piece of correspondence he read. “To send his demands with servants even when imprisoned. The gall of him.” He chuckled.

“I’ve had it up to here with that old bastard,” you said angrily. You let your hair down and started running your fingers through it roughly. The more you thought of it, the more your anger flared.

“How dare he set foot in your court, dine and dwell in our hospitality, and feel entitled to disrespect you like that? I will not stand for it, Robb.” You said, tugging at the lacing and stepping out of your gray court dress.

“Age does not guarantee wisdom, darling. Experience does. And the old fool has none.” Robb said, walking up to you and resting his hands on your shoulders. He pushed your hair to the side and kissed up your neck from your shoulders to your ear.

You tilted your head to give him more access. After a while he turned you around and kissed your mouth. You savored his languid kisses. His hands slowly pushed your chemise over your shoulders till it hung just above your breasts.

You pulled away, and leaned back, his strong arms holding you up.

“I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, love” you said shyly. You were bold in your anger but the shyness was starting to creep in now. “I love you, and I cannot bear to see you insulted after you pour your soul into this Kingdom.”

“Don’t be sorry, you were fantastic,” Robb said, apparently unable to keep his lips off of you. You gasped as he nipped at the bottom of your throat. “I would like to see the wolf in my little wife more often.”

You giggled at his words, and he walked you backwards till your calves hit the bed. Your chemise dropped to your hips and his hands made quick work of finding your breasts.

Your hands came up to cover yourself.

“Robb, the candles,” you said, eyes wide. His own blue ones lit up with mirth.

“I know now that you are not shy, let me see what is mine, darling.” He whispered, pushing your chemise to the floor. You stepped out of it, naked as the day you were born. Your skin felt hot under his hungry gaze.

“Lie back, Y/N,” he said, licking his lips and pushing you down on the bed. “I wish to show you some of my appreciation.” He knelt before you with a wink.

Robbs hands found your knees and he spread them apart. Your hands twisted into his auburn hair in surprise.

And there was nothing shy about the sounds you made that night.

[genderqueerdykes]

i love you so much i love the way u talk abt trans men and our struggles i makes me feel so seen especially bc youre older than me, i want to be understood , keep posting please

THANK YOU !!

i appreciate that. i feel like nobody (aside from some very cool bloggers on here) is advocating for trans men anymore. like unless its a trans man talking about these issues, it just doesn't happen. nobody advocates on our behalf for the most part. everyone just leaves us to the weeds. we have to help each other because most people just don't even understand what trans men and mascs want. like it's absolutely positively insanity inducing

when i was in college, at my pride group, there were just. no conversations about trans men. at all. in fact. at the time i was beginning to realize i was a trans man but i couldn't find support or acknowledgement of transmasculinity anywhere. whenever i would participate in the conferences, and large group meetings for LGBTQ communities in our part of the country... I was forced into queer women's groups. i did not identify as a woman or bigender at that time. i asked them where a female-to-male genderqueer person should go, and they put me in every queer women's group. i was not being considered trans. i was being viewed as a cis butch lesbian.

i was fucking pissed.

i learned the word transgender and what it meant and the example that was given was male to female, which was informative. i heard a lot of things about feminine transition, drag queens, cis gay male culture, bisexuality, pansexuality, and even asexuality. i want you to know that my college's pride group in 2011 - 2012 was more accepting of asexual people than trans men, which is insane for that time frame. i was actually allowed to help with a presentation on asexuality

i had to go online and research trans men, though. there were none to be found in the group that were at least out and able to talk to each other. we were all very stealth and nervous. my long term friends there ended up being gay men, lesbians, and a transfem agender person. i never met a single trans man there. it was heartbreaking.

i am tired of participating in transmasculine silence. i will not participate in self-erasure. trans men are trans. we're men. we're mascs. we NEED support, community, and care. we need to learn how to access transition resources, to comfort each other, to laugh with each other, to help each other find what clothes make us feel like ourselves, to say each other's names and pronouns, to see one's self in the other.

we need people who will protect us from misgendering. we need to be able to talk about our unique issues. we need to be able to talk about how yes, we experience misogyny, but also that transandrophobia is literally a thing. we need people who will stand up for femme trans men and gay trans men. we need people who understand that it's not okay to call every single trans man a confused butch lesbian and assume that they're a queer cis woman. trans men can be butch lesbians and that's okay. but you can't rip away a trans man's manhood for the sake of being a catty asshole. it's misgendering. it's transphobia. care about being transphobic. transphobia hurts all trans people no matter where it's directed. we all lose when you opt to deny trans men and mascs the right to community.

i am transmasculine. i am a trans man. i love being a trans man. i'm not ashamed. i'm not going back in the closet. i love my transmasculine brothers and siblings. i will not silence them. silencing them is a disservice to us all. i refuse to do that to us.

thank you for sending this ask. stay safe, take care of yourself, you're an important part of the LGBTQ community, don't let anyone take that from you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 27

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I missed our delulu king.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Vesemir is stoic as he faces the king. The younger of the man cannot be described as the same. A tick in his jaw tugs as his eyes move between the Lord and yourself. Finally, the wander to the other woman in the room, a maid like yourself; Ezme. 

“I am aware you have little time to spare before your departure, so you do best to let me speak plainly,” Lord Vesemir begins, “and so I will.” 

King Geralt hooks his fingers in his belt. His overcoat is undone and his hair messy in its tie. He looks as worn as you’ve ever seen him. You feel much the same. 

“There are whispers in my halls,” Vesemir continues, “they speak of the king and his queen. They stir with scandal and distaste alike. Summer lords are discontent and discontent is a virulent as a winter ague.” 

“You said you would be plain,” Geralt demands. 

“Ah, yes, but I hear less of king and queen than of king and maid, those whispers threaten to become a chatter,” Vesemir tilts his chin defiantly. 

“Don’t,” the king warns. 

“I must. You will not hear any others, even those speaking so venomously behind your very back,” the elder lord jabs his finger in the air, “you would risk your victory for what--” 

“You have no place to reprimand me on this,” Geralt walks forward, planting his hands on the table as he glares across at the other man. You can only assume by his stance the dark expression on his chiseled features. “You sit here with your mistress and would scold me for the same--” 

“I am no king. I am a forgotten soldier in his hold. No one might notice me. No, my liege, my lord, my king, I do not scold you, I warn you and I offer my assistance, not my defection,” the broad castle lord squares his shoulders as Ezme sidles towards you. You share with the maid an uncertain glance. “Let her stay. Go and settle your kingdom, balance your crown, sit the throne so all can see your right. When all is even, return, then yo might claim your pleasure but you need to attend your duty first.” 

The king is silent. He takes a deep, gritty breath and drags his palms across the wood, standing slowly. He exhales in a winter draught. He dips his head slightly as you wallow in the frigid lull. 

“I have put down a summer king, I have marched the lands from hinter to sunlight, I have overcome more than your fears, old man,” Geralt snarls, “I do not care for gossip on the tongues of foolish ladies and their thin-skinned husbands” 

“Yet, you should,” Vesemir insists. 

“Who are you to tell me what I should do? Lord Vesemir, you have served me well and loyal, I do not doubt you, but in this you have no place,” the king grits. “My wife has an heir in her womb, I have my victory, I have done my duty. I have bled, I have wept, I have given my very being for these people. Why should I be deprived of one sliver of selfishness?” 

“It is treacherous--” 

“My father had three mistresses at once. That was treacherous. He was clumsy and careless. I am not the same--” 

“She wears your cloak. You would flaunt it in the faces of all. How is that not careless?” 

“Your integrity stands by the hearth, watching us, and she will lay in your bed,” Geralt accuses, “why should I care what judgement you put upon me?” 

“I am a lonely old man, not a king with a new bride--” 

“Enough!” Geralt roars and grabs the table. He jerks it to the side, throwing it to the wall so it bounces and rolls onto its side, a split renting down the wood. “Lord Vesemir, we will leave your vulture’s nest and you will be sure that you shall not need to trouble yourself with your king ever again. Your dues are paid, keep your gold and your bedwarmer, and I will keep well my kingdom.” 

You stare stunned from the corner. Ezme winces as the furor of the king’s fury lingers in the air. That horrid bang echoes over and over in your mind. You can’t help but whimper in surprise as suddenly you are seized around your sleeve. The king moves quicker than you can think. 

He hauls you away from the wall and towards the door Vesemir’s sigh fans from his nose, “I tried, dove.” 

The king swings the door inward and urges you without. He does not close it as he marches down the corridor, his grasp tight around your wrist. You scramble to keep up, soles scuffing, fingers throbbing as his grip threatens to crack your bones. 

You whine, “your highness.” 

He carries on as your toes flutter over the stone. You can’t keep up. You will surely fall and your hand should fall off for the swelling of blood. You grab at his sleeve and speak louder 

“Your highness, please, I beg you, it hurts,” you plea. 

He falters and spins back to you. He stares at you with his golden irises and the angles of his face soften. His gaze meets the vice of his hold on you and he releases you all at once, hovering his hand, turning it to examine his own palm. He drops his arm straight. 

“My summer maid,” he breathes, “I apologise, I did not... I would never hurt you. Not with meaning. I was only...” He reaches sheepishly to pet your shoulder, “are you alright?” 

“Your highness,” you rub your wrist, “I understand. I was only afraid--” 

“Yes, yes, the lord does mean to sabotage us,” he growls, “I will not let him. You cannot stray. You will remain with me for the night and in the morning, we shall go.” 

“As you wish, your highness,” you accede and dip your chin. 

He sighs through his nose as he tickles your neck then slowly draws away, “would you stay? If he’d asked you and not me?” 

You keep your eyes down. You cannot let him see your doubt. Truly you do not know the answer but that uncertainty is as wretched as disloyalty. 

“I would go wherever you will have me,” you assure him. 

“Yes, I know, treasure,” he brings both hands to cradle your face, raising it up, “it is fates that prized me with a creature so loyal as you. I would not squander this good fortune which has brought us together. I will not risk it, I will not risk you. I will protect you forever, my treasure.” 

You try to smile but your cheeks tremor and your eyes glisten. Your heart is racing and you shiver for more than the corridor’s chill. You can sense the danger of his words and that very moment. 

“You fear me?” He searches your face. “No, you needn’t. It is those who wish to oppose us, who should ever dare plot against me who should fear me.” 

His thumbs run over your cheek bones as his lip curls and again, he pulls his touch away from you. He reaches for your hand, twining his finger through yours, and clings to you, firm, but much less painfully than before. He leads you onward and you can only follow. That is your only course from there on, to go where he bids. 

He is intent on his path, he does not waver. He takes you to the tower and points you up the twisted stairs ahead of him. You climb up to the chamber that greets you with the same ominous air. It feels a cell even with its blazing hearth. 

The king follows you in. The hinges whine, the hooped handle clangs on the wood, and you’re shut in once more. The winds wail outside the walls loudly. 

“Where is your cloak?” The king asks as he trods the wooden floor. 

“In... the chamber I slept--” 

“I will have it brought in the morn,” he assures, “you won’t need it until then.” 

He pulls his sleeves down his arms and sheds his overcoat. You linger by the door and watch him with dread. He is intent as he tugs the tail of his shirt free of his breeches, half of it is already untucked. He is dishevelled in his own way. You’ve always noted he is rather orderly in his appearance, even amid the dirt of the road. 

He strips his shirt off and piles it in the seat of a chair with his coat. He strides to the table and the basin of clear water atop it. He scrubs his face and hands, then his chest. He is intent in the act as you teeter on your feet. 

“Please, you will retire,” he insists without looking back, washing himself as fervently as he can. The noise of the water plucks in the air, “I will join you short, treasure. I only seek to scrub away the day’s filth.” 

“Yes, your highness,” you acquiesce. 

You sit to unlace your boots and peel off your stockings. Next, you remove your apron and loose the top of your dress. You fold it all neatly on the bench at the bottom of the bed. You approach the towering post in all but your shift and nestle under the blankets. You lay and listen to the king’s activity. 

Despite it all, the bed is warm. You can’t help but bask in the welcome of the layers of wool and linen. You’re startled as the king’s silhouette appears at the bottom of the bed frame and he lifts the end of the heavy covers, slipping a warm shape beneath. The hot brick radiates from the foot of the mattress nicely. 

He retreats and a sharp blow puts out the flame of the lantern. The hearth provides the only light as it flickers around his looming shadow. You stare at the door as you fold into yourself. 

He circles around the other side, behind you, and his weight jostles the mattress as he crawls in behind you. He moves close to you, his hand grazing over your shift, lingering on your hip and creeping up your side. He pulls you onto your back as he slides his arm beneath your head. 

You let him move you as he desires. He commands without words. The thick hair along his torso is still damp. He holds you against him, touching your cheeks, tracing your jaw and throat, admiring you in the dim glow. He purrs and presses his lips to yours. 

When he pulls away, he lets his head rest on the pillow. You feel his gaze still as he plays with the strings of your shift. He moves even closer and nuzzles your hair. 

“This is where you belong, treasure. Near to me,” he rasps, “I shall never let them take you from me.” 

⚔️

Sleep is chased away by the wind. That without keeps you awake, along with the hot gust of the king’s breath. His snug hold on you, his constancy even in his slumber, the heat of his body adds to your restlessness. 

You feel him stir and close your eyes. You feign the sleep you’re so desperate for. His breath rises from his nose like a wolf’s growl. He shifts cautiously, as if not to disturb you, and drags his arm out from around you. He leaves a doleful kiss on your cheek and sits up. 

The bed groans with his weight. You dare to peek through the slits of your eyelids as he turns to sit with his back to you. His flesh is ridged with scars, rippled with the battles fought and won, the years marked into his very body. He hangs his head and holds it in his hands. You languish in his rumination. 

The fire crackles softly. He looks over stiffly and stands with a heave. He is completely naked. You hadn’t realised. He goes to the hearth and feeds it. He groans at the effort and stands straight. 

His figure is lit by the amber glow as he watches the flames. You can see why he has no fear. He is built unlike any man you’ve seen. He is power incarnate. He is the king of legends. 

“I would lay down my crown in this very second for you, treasure,” he says.  

You squeeze your eyes shut. Does he know you are awake? You don’t move for fear that he only speaks to himself. 

“How cursed I am. I’ve won a kingdom I could not care for. Not if it would cost me you,” he murmurs to the fire. His voice is so low that he cannot possibly mean for you to hear. “How I dream of sweeping you away. We should steal a horse from the stables and secret our love away into the wilds.” 

He sniffs, “we would find a place in the hinter. I could build a house, you could mind the hearth, and I would hunt the elk... we could be just husband and wife. Not king and maid. We could be... happy.” 

He heaves as your heartbeat pulses behind your ears. You hear him moving, towards the bed, towards you. The mattress once more shifts and the blankets lift. He slips in next to you and lays back heavily. 

“My treasure, what you cannot know. How deeply I love you. I long for you with my entire being,” he lays flat next to you, rigid and hot as his arm presses to yours. You will yourself to stone; still as a statue. “I ache for you... to hold you, to kiss you...”  

His arm moves and the blanket ripples against you. You focus on your breaths, keeping them slow and deep, hiding beneath the facade of slumber. “...to have you under me...” the subtle brush of the blankets continues, tickling you, threatening to break your defence, “to have you touch me too...” his voice is strained as the bed shakes with the building tempo. 

What is it he does? Why is he so breathless? It is only his long groans that assure you of his elicit act. That he touches himself as he speaks of his desire. 

“I should like... to taste you...” he puts his hand on your thigh. You nearly flinch as he swirls his fingertips against your shift, “I should like to feel you around me. How delicate... how warm... how...” 

He moans and bites down, carrying on as his fingertips curl into your thigh. His words fracture around his grunts and he pumps himself fervently. You shield yourself behind your eyelids. You try not to hear, not to feel, not to be. 

When at last his voice piques and he spasms beside you, your name wafts from his mouth, silty and thick. His hand slips between your thighs and lays over your cunt. He lingers there, pressing down to feel you before he retracts his arm, rolling onto his side. 

“I will wait,” he resigns, “but I shall claim you, my treasure.” 

[ellastone-olsen]

can you write a smut story where reader had to wait the entire ceremony (Golden globes) before she could take the gorgeous dress off of Lizzie. And Lizzie’s been just teasing her so when they get home reader rips the dress and takes Lizzie please 🙏🏻 I love your writing <3

Wicked game | Elizabeth Olsen

★Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x fem!reader

Summary: your girlfriend has gone too far with her teasing. that's what it says in the request

★Warnings: SMUT 18+, teasing, dirty talk, overstimulation, sex toys, strap on usage, praise, aftercare, fluff

★Word count: 1.8k

★AN: I have some kind of creative block, but I'm alive. I spent 5 days on this little thing instead of the usual 1.

The car slowly cut through the road, drifting between streams of the same iron boxes on wheels. The interior of the black SUV was spacious, but you and Elizabeth still sat shoulder to shoulder as the pad of your thumb stroked her knee through the fabric of snow-white dress. "Am I look good?" such a simple question with an obvious answer, but she still needed your confirmation. You cupped her cheek with your hand and turned her head towards you. “You are always beautiful my love” You give her a quick kiss on the lips and then look into her big green eyes. An idea just came into her sweet head, otherwise you can’t explain the sudden change in mood. She takes your hand and places it on her chest. “Then can you show me how much?”

A shiver runs down your spine and you nervously look at the driver's seat, noticing how the man is looking at you through the rearview mirror. As soon as your gazes intersect, he immediately turns his eyes back to the road. “Oh don’t worry dear, he will have to pay dearly if he spills the beans about what he saw.” Elizabeth whispers in your ear, you hope that by pay she means money. She moves your hand further, under her dress so that you touch her bare breasts and moans softly in your ear, making your core begin to pulsate. "Babe." You're warning her not to start something she can't finish. Her teeth bite your earlobe and you want to pull her away by hair, but you remember about styling. "Elizabeth." Your stern tone and the full form of her name still have an effect and she moves away. You don’t respond to her sweet smile, the car is just stopping.

The Golden Globes look spectacular, but boring. You are absolutely not interested in the speeches all these people make when they receive an award. People you don't know say words of gratitude to people you don't know again. The waiters obligingly drift back and forth, serving glasses of champagne and appetizers that are inedible to your taste. You just stand on the side and look around while your girlfriend talks to other celebrities or gives interviews. When you finally sit down in your seats, you cross your legs and lean back, unable to sit up straight. Elizabeth sits in such a way that the Queen of England would envy her if she were alive.

Time passes and you drink your second glass of champagne when it seems to you that something is touching your leg under the table. You don't pay attention to it until the action is repeated. The head turns to your girlfriend, but it looks like Robert Downey Jr.'s award ceremony is the most interesting thing she's ever seen. However, where her hands are says otherwise. Elizabeth's right hand triples on your thigh, red nails lightly scratching through the thin fabric of your pants, sending shivers down your spine. You stare at her, but the older woman doesn’t even think of turning her head. "Stop it." Your irritated, harsh whisper flies past her. As a sign from above, the bell rings, signaling a break, and without wasting any time, you grab Elizabeth’s hand and drag her away towards the toilets.

She sighs when she suddenly finds herself pressed against the wall, of course you can be rude, but first cover the back of her head with your hand so that she doesn’t get hurt from the blow. “What games are you playing today?” A hot whisper near her ear makes the woman hold her breath for a couple of seconds. Her answer doesn't keep you waiting. “But you like it, don’t you?” Elizabeth puts her hands on your waist, touching you through your thin shirt and tilting her head to leave small, light bites on your neck. “If you continue, I’ll push you into the toilet, lock the common door, bend you over the counter and...” You lose your breath from the stronger bite. “And what, dear?” The bell rings again, signaling everyone to return to their seats. You stand pressed against her for a few seconds, then push yourself off the wall with your hands and rub your neck where Elizabeth’s lips were, erasing non-existent traces of lipstick. The two of you go to your seats and no one seems to notice your disheveled state.

The ride home is quick and quiet, for two reasons. The older woman realized that you would ruin her for all her antics as soon as she set foot on the threshold of the house. She was in anticipation and silently looked out the window, imagining all the options for the development of events. The second reason is what you said to the poor driver when you got into the car. “You have 10 minutes to take us back, Elizabeth is terribly tired.” The black car brought you home in exactly 10 minutes. You gave the driver a tip for being in a hurry, even though it was not customary. When the front door closed behind you, what the older woman expected and desired happened. You grabbed her hand and quickly led her to your bedroom. When the door to the room closed, in one motion you threw Elizabeth onto her stomach on the plush blanket of your large bed.

Your hands pushed her hair back, exposing her slender neck so you could kiss and bite it. The woman's hips shot up, but you blocked the movement by straddling her. “If you think that you will get what you want quickly, don’t hope.” The zipper of the white dress was pulled down, almost breaking the zipper. Her dress and panties disappeared from her in record time, and you somehow managed not to tear them.

When you took a few steps back admiring the picture in front of you, your gaze caught on her wet shiny folds. She had definitely been looking forward to this all day. Elizabeth turned her head to the lack of action on your part to check the situation and saw you taking out from the nightstand the black compact vibrator that she loved so much. There were two scenarios in her head: either now she would get the best orgasm of her life, or she would die from overstimulation, but she really hoped for the first.

You returned to your girlfriend and moved her hips closer to the edge of the bed so that she rested her knees on the plush pile of the carpet and exposed her ass to your view. Your hands stroked her soft thighs, you couldn’t resist and leaned towards her dripping center to run your tongue along the entire length, tasting her. A shaky sigh escaped the woman's mouth above you and you repeated the action, gripping her hips even harder (there might be bruises there later). A mixture of pleasure and slight pain made her unconsciously lean back for closer contact. In what seemed like such a simple and innocent action, your palm landed on her ass with a loud slap. "No, no, don't you dare move." There was the first warning, which caused a groan of pain to escape from the older woman.

After you were satisfied with her taste, two fingers slipped inside her so easily, stretching the velvet walls. The second hand pressed the toy’s power button and you set the speed to medium, bringing it to her pulsating clit. "Hold it." Elizabeth reached underneath her and grabbed the silicone object, holding it in place. “If you disobey me, an even worse punishment will follow. You understood?" The older woman's mind was clouded with pleasure, but she hummed in agreement anyway. Her thoughts were confused by the way you moved inside her, pressing on a sensitive spot. Another slap to her ass. "Use your words." Her back arched and she was ready to swear that she would cum from such rough treatment. “Yes, I understand...please Y/N.” With every thrust, you felt her walls squeezing tighter around you. Elizabeth could no longer find words and shouted curses into the emptiness of your house. “Fuck...I'm going to cum...please can I?...” You cut her off. "No. Take it away."

She obediently removed the toy from her throbbing clit, stopping any stimulation. You were still moving inside her, but it wasn't enough to make her fall over the edge. “Oh fuck...fuck...so good...please can I continue?” You were silent for a minute before you gave her permission, making sure she didn't cum instantly. The woman's hips jumped as the stimulation began again. You pounded into her at a fast pace and after a couple of minutes you felt your orgasm approaching again. "Elizabeth stop." Oh how she didn’t like it when you called her by her full name, it never meant anything good. She put the toy away again and you pulled out.

The woman heard the chest of drawers open again behind her, the sounds of the harness, and then the cold tip of the faux cock pressed into her dripping entrance. You spread her natural lub along entire length and pushed the thick toy into her in one motion. Your girlfriend’s mouth opened in a silent scream, her hands grabbed the sheets as if they would tear them. "OH FUCK ." You returned her hand with the vibrator to the right place and pounding at her at a fast pace. “Do you like my cock baby? Mmm? Is this what you wanted all this time? So that I could fuck you like the whore?” Your dirty words turned her on even more. "Yes! Yes! Y/N can...can I cum?” She was ready to cry from overstimulation and you took pity on her. You leaned down to leave a kiss behind her ear and whispered. “Cum for me baby.”

Almost immediately, the woman fell over the edge, screaming your name mixed with curses into the softness of the mattress. You continued to fuck her through her orgasm until a small whine was heard from her. You pulled out and took off the strap, throwing it somewhere deep in the room, thinking that you would take care of it later.

Your arms grabbed Elizabeth and you helped her climb onto the bed, lying on her back. Her knees were red from standing on them for a long time and you gently rubbed the skin in the hope of relieving the pain. "My good girl, Lizzie." The lips began to pass everywhere you could reach, starting from the neck and ending with her cute tummy that you loved so much. When you looked up at her again, you noticed that the woman had begun to fall asleep.

“Baby, don’t sleep, you need to take off your makeup.” A hand covered her cheek and the pad of her thumb gently rubbed her cheekbone. “Mmmmm but I’m so tired, it can wait a couple of hours.” She mumbled sleepily. You gave in and covered her naked body with a plush blanket, setting the alarm for 3 hours. When the light in the room went out, Elizabeth had already fallen asleep and hugged you, breathing steadily into your neck.

Your fingers played with her blonde hair until you fell into the realm of Morpheus after her.

[myladysapphire]

The spoils of war

Being a woman on the loosing side of a war was never a good thing. And when you are the only daughter of the looser it can mean one of two things, either death or marriage, and for lucky for y/n, Aegon was in need of a wife.

word count: 2,665

CW: MDI 18+, incest, angst, smut, forced marriage, unrequited love, jelousy. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), no happy ending

Fem!reader x Aegon ii Targeryen and past fem!reader x Aemond Targereyn

a/n Aegon isn't a r*pist in this fic

Masterlist

Being a woman on the losing side of a war was never a good thing. Death always followed war, but so did marriage. and Marriage was what you now found yourself facing. Though you had begged for death, the greens deemed it fit for Rhaneyras only daughter to marry Aego.

as a means to oppress the remaining black loyalists.

With Heleana having taken her own life after the detah of both her sons, Jaeherys and Maelor. Aegon found himself without a wife. 

And with only a daughter to succeed him, the small council feared another dance should Jaeheara be heir, so they agreed a marriage between you and Aegon would suit the realm.

Though you disagreed, you had been a prisoner in the red keep for longer than you can remember. Having been dragged to the keep by Aemond after Luke's death. Aemond would visit often. You wewre forced to listen and watch as Aegon ruled, as they ridiculed your mothers everymove. You would hear about the death of each of your family through gaurds taunts.

You had seen freedom for half a year when your mother finally achieved her birthright. Had met Cregan, the man who you was supposed to marry. 

And then you heard of Aemonds death. Daemon had killed him and died himself. You and he had once considered yourself inlove. Even planned to run away and marry. But after what he did to Luke, those feelings changed and the love and longing turned to hate and anger. And with his detah came relief. She felt one step closer to her mother being safe on the throne. 

And then Aegon returned and killed your mother. Burned her alive.

You had witnessed it all, as guards held you back.

Then two weeks later your own grandsire, Coryls Veleryon, came and told you of the plans, the plans he agreed with and even proposed. 

He was the only visitor she had had. She had no Aemond to visit her, to eat with ehr even if all she did was spit angry words in his direction.

Then today, after over a moon, you were dragged from your bed and forced before Aegon in the throne room.Your mothers burnt body laid in front of you, wrapped in sheets as if to hide what Aegon had done to her. and your youngest brother, Aegon the younger, in chains.

The green council tood and told you what they demanded, Crolys the main voice among them. It was clear you had no choice but to accept their demands. marry Aegon and become queen, her brother's life will be spared and warded in Oldtown until he was four and ten. If she refused, he would become just like thre dead mother. A burnt body. And she would be dragged down the aisle anyway.

she needed her brother Aegon, he was the only family she had left and it killed her that he would grow up in the hands of the greens, but then again so would her children. The heirs the small council had demanded they have, if not Aegons life would be forfeit. 

The small council had left, leaving her and Aegon alone, bar the few guards that remained. 

Aegon called your name, he seemed nervous, tired even.

He wore the conqueror's crown, it suited him, though it was not his. But it was clear that the weight of it was more than the weight of the rubys. A weight Aegon ahd once told her he feared. 

He coughed, bringing you back from your thoughts. “Your grandsire informed me that he told you of our plans over a moon ago”

You nodded.

“I know this is not what you wanted… that i am not who you wanted, or even - or even the brother you wanted-” he stood up and made his way towards her “but this is for the good of the realm”

You scoffed “of course it is Aegon, no one wants another war.”  Everyone knew why you were marrying, it was to be a front of the greens and blacks uniting, of her bending the knee. “I am the spoils of war, Aegon. And when it comes to victory the victor always keeps his prize. And I am your prize Aegon. Not that i had a choice” you tunrened to leave, done with this, you had time. Time to get a letter to Cregan. Some servants were still loyal, surely?

Aegon once again called your name “we wed on the morrow”

Then again, the greens were smart enough to win a war, of course they were smart enogh to marry her fast. 

Aegon had alwasy hoped to wed her. And he had hope for this marriage, but not hope for a happy marriage. though he had once hoped to wed her instead of Helaena, and now he was forcing her to marry him. But he did hope it’ll end the war. Hoped that Cregan Stark would stop his attacks and surrender, submit to him and not launch the realm into another war.  they had lost too much as it was.

Aegon felt sorry for her. He felt alone but she truley was. Her only family would soon be torn from her and she would be stuck with them, and married to him. 

It had never been him for her, though it had always been her for him. from doing everything to gain her attention, bullying Aemond so she would see him as the better brother, from begging his mother and even his father to marry her and not Helaena. From bedding whores who were her doubles. 

But for you it has always been Aemond, always been him even when he killed your brother, Aemond still spoke as if you two were soon to wed and that you and him were utterly in love. He  had never got your attention, not the way Aemond had.

He called your name again, you were numb, eyes and face void of any emotion. “did you hear me?!” he asked more sternly.

you nodded your head, looking down. “ I understand Aegon.” you said his name so sweetly and yet it was filled with such hate. you had yet to call him King, had yet to fully bend the knee to him.

he sighed “you will have to bend the knee to me before and the lords of the realm… they have all been summoned for the wedding. where we shall pledge our souls together and you shall pledge your allegiance.”

you gritted your teeth, you had never been stubborn, always a people pleaser, but when it came to this you were being… difficult.

he sighed, going to speak again before you snapped your head up. He was close, close enough to reach out and take her hands in his. To hold her close. To-

“Fine! But you must swear to me Aegon.. That my brother will be safe. I - i do not want him in oldtown, send him somewhere anywhere but there. I will only bend the knee if he is safe, and i will make sure he does aswell, and that he sticks to it, if you swear he will not be killed!”

“Of course, i- he is my nephew, and as it stands my heir- it is in the crowns best interest to protect him. Doing otherwise would-”

“Risk war” she finished for him. “I make no promises for the marriage, but is shall do my duty.”

It hurts, duty. Their marriage, the marriage he had hjoped for being just a duty. Being a consolation prize for winning a war his mother and grandsire planned and plotted his whole life. And her turning around and storming through the door straight away hurt even more.

She had been given a dress. It was ivory and It was…beautiful. 

She had expected green. Something obvious. To get the greens point across. But she supposed the wedding got it across enough.

The wedding was packed, lords and ladies from all over westros, lords and ladies from both the blacks and the greens.

Her grandsire walked her down the Asile. 

Aegon stood up there, in ivory, with matching patterns to her gown. He smiled at her. He looked happy as if he had waited for this day. As if she and him were lovers finally getting there wedding day.

The ceremony was fast, a copy and paste of the dozens of weddings she had attend

They had stood before each other, in the eys of the realm and the gods. There hands joined togther, eyes locked. It was intense and fast. Then she was maade to kneel before him, and as she knelt he placed a crown on her hesd, naming her his queen consort.

There was relief throughout the kingdom the night. There wedding celebration turning into toasts and dances of peace. 

And before she knew it, it was time for the bedding ceremony.

She was nervous. She knew it would hurt somewhat. Her mother had always had told her. And told her all she would need to know. Ahd reassured her that on her wedding day she would be there, smiling and dancing as she married her love. And yet her mother was dead. Her brothers dead. Rhanea and Beala were at driftamark, univinted as if them coming would prevent the wedding from happnning. And she was not marrying her love, she was marrying her duty. Marrying for peace. And yet when Aegon looked into her eyes as they stood for the bedding ceremony she flet at peace, calm, as if eveything was snapping into place.

He took her hand in his and kissed it, before moving to step down and leave.

Aegon had ordered for no escorts top there chambers, no servants or maids. It was just them. 

And for the first time in who knows how long she felt like she could breath. 

Aegon looked towards you, cupping your face with his hands, caressing your cheeks. he was nervou, his eyes gave that away. “i’m sorry if this is not the wedding you wanted, or the husband, but i want you to know that you are the wife i have always wanted. i understand why you could never love me back. i have done terrible things to your family and i-“

“not tonight Aegon” you begged, “for tonight let us be husband and wife, tommorow you can be King Aegon, the Aegon who did all of those things, but tonight we forget. you will make me forget” you begged.

Aegon responsed ,not with words but by surging forward with a kiss. Unlike the one in the sept, were it was quick chaste. this was filled with passion, filled with Aegons love for you. There  mouths moulded together, his tounge teasing your  lip until you finally got the hint and opens for him. she was inexperienced, it was obvious, but you caught on quick. even quicker when his kisses started trailing from your mouth, to your  jaw and then to your  neck, moving further down until they reached your shoulders. he looked up then, his hand moving to the back of your dress, reaching for the corset. reaching for his laces he gave a soft kiss to your  shoulder, before removing the laces to her gown., your dress slowly dropped to the floor, pooling around your ankles. leaving your in your shear underclothes.

“gods”Aegon moaned, before diving back down to kiss your neck and working his way back up to your mouth. you moved your ah do to his shoulders, relaxing more into the kisses, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Aegon moved down one more, this time he didn’t stop at your shoulder, but moved down your your breast. taking your nipple into his mouth, and moaning at the taste. you yourself moaned in pleasure, you had done some stuff with Aemond, mainly kissing, some touching, even had his head between your thighs. but tonight felt differ t, it was not a differ t lind of pleasure, but a feeling. with Ameond it was forbidden, but with Aegon, he was your husband and deep down it felt right.

moving away from your breasts aemond pressed another kiss to your lips, before taking a step back. you watched as he did, removing his jacket and then his tunic, leaving him topless before you. he was not toned or leaned as Aemond was, but a bit chubby. And yet she found even hotter than the toned body you  had once knew so well.

Aegon continued stepping back, but not before taking your hand in his and pulling you with him, towards the bed.

He turned you around, allowing your back of your beds to hit the bed. sitting in the bed Aegon thought you a vision, even more so whn you shyly reached  for your small clothes and pulled them off over your head. you were perfect.

he moaned at the sight, before reaching down and pressing his mouth to yours, his hands reaching down to caress your body, the feeling filled with care.

“Aegon?” you spoke up, causing Aegon to lean back and stop.

“what? are you ok?” he asked

you nodded, reaching forward to his breeches, searching for the laces. Aegon let out a laugh, before moving back to take them off. “better?” he asked. you nodded.

he leant down and gave you a kiss before getting in his knees and spreading your legs. he looked up at you a gleam o his eyes, before moving forward, and devouring you. his tounge circling your clit. his hands moved up your legs, leaving goosebumps in there wake. his fingers moved up towards your heat, his fingers teasing your opening. slowly he entered his finger, gods you were right, unexplored. 

pumping in and out of you, you let out moans of pleasure, your peak etching closer and closer, before taking you over whole.

Aegon moved back, wiping his face in the bed sheets, before standing up. 

you looked at him, dazed.

“we don’t have to go any further-“ you interrupted him.

“i want too” you spoke, almost begging.

he nodded, moving you back, further into the bed. 

Moving between your thighs, he pushed in slowly and carefully. 

you felt so full, uncomfortable, before it turned quickly into pleasure. Aegon moved slowly, pumping you full, his body pressed against yours, kissing you deeply. before moving faster, harder. moans filled the room, the pleasure over taking them you both as you once again reached your peak, and Aegon let go, filling you with his seed.

Aegon collapsed further into you, both your breath heavy.

“gods” you sighed. and Aegon nodded in agreement.

As the years passed since your wedding to Aegon. 

you knew you would never forgive him for what he had down, never love him, not like he loved you. 

but you were civil, appeasing. paining the picture of the perfect wife. And Wegon grew more in love.

but deep down you knew that you would never love him, or forgive him, and some part of you would always long for Cregan or mother black loyalist to rise up and name your brother king.

But as you grew older, and had five children, all the image of Aegon, that that day would never come. not as your children grew older. As Jaheara and Aegon wed, and had children of there own. 

And when aegon died at the age of 56, from a summer fever, believing you had forgiven him and loved him, you realised that the greens had won. Even as you watched your son be crowned king, and his son after him.

You never got your happy ending, but the history books would right that you did. That all along you were a green. Switching form one brother to the other.

when in reality you still felt alone, and though you died surrounded by your grandchildren and great grandchildren, you died feeling alone, still feeling like the spoils of war.

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[genderkoolaid]

Examples of transandrophobia: i've seen sections of Leslie Feinberg's piece "Sisterhood: Make it Real" passed around this site for literally years, and TODAY was the first time that I saw the whole thing and learned that ze called out cisfeminists in it for getting rid of trans men the second they started transitioning. Like I always thought it was a good piece but I had literally NO IDEA that it talked about trans men because that part was never included in posts about it, even when those posts were calling out cisfeminism for being transphobic. I'm just gobsmacked tbh

This is a great point!

Honestly more people need to read that full chapter. There's a lot of really good points.

Amongst other things, Leslie talks about how "women good men bad" is poor feminism:

Of course, as a result of the oppression women face growing up in such a violently anti-woman environment, some women draw a line between women as allies and men as enemies. While it’s understandable that an individual might do so out of fear, this approach fails as theory. It lumps John Brown and John D. Rockefeller together as enemies and Sojourner Truth and Margaret Thatcher together as allies. This view of who to trust and who to dread will not keep women safe or keep the movement on course.

How feminine men are victims of gender oppression:

The oppression of feminine men is an important one to me, since I consider drag queens to be my sisters. I’ve heard women criticize drag queens for “mocking women’s oppression” by imitating femininity to an extreme, just as I’ve been told that I am imitating men. Feminists are justifiably angry at women’s oppression - so am I! I believe, however, that those who denounce drag queens aim their criticism at the wrong people. This misunderstanding doesn’t take gender oppression into account. For instance, to criticize male-to-female drag performers, but leave out a discussion of gender oppression, lumps drag queen RuPaul together with men like actor John Wayne! RuPaul is a victim of gender oppression, as well as of racism.

How masculine women are assumed to know less about gender oppression:

But I grew up very masculine, so the complex and powerful set of skills that feminine girls developed to walk safely through the world were useless to me. I had to learn a very different set of skills, many of them martial. While we both grew up as girls, our experiences were dissimilar because our gender expressions were very different. Masculine girls and women face terrible condemnation and brutality including sexual violence - for crossing the boundary of what is “acceptable” female expression. But masculine women are not assumed to have a very high consciousness about fighting women’s oppression, since we are thought to be imitating men.

And as you said, how trans men deserve access to women's and lesbian's spaces without having their transmasculinity ignored or seen as being butch-in-denial:

And our female-to-male transsexual brothers have a right to feel welcome at women’s movement events or lesbian bars. However, that shouldn’t feed into to misconception that all female-to-male transsexuals were butches who just couldn’t deal with their oppression as lesbians. If that were true, then why does a large percentage of post-transition transsexual men identify as gay and bisexual, which may have placed them in a heterosexual or bisexual status before their transition? There are transsexual men who did help build the women’s and lesbian communities, and still have a large base of friends there. They should enjoy the support of women on their journey. Doesn’t everyone want their friends around them at a time of great change? And women could learn a great deal about what it means to be a man or a woman from sharing the lessons of transition.

Not that "trans women belong in feminism" wouldn't be a good point on its own, but people's selectivity with which parts of that chapter they share definitely warrant scrutiny.

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 11

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, yelling, plot

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: 1.2K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

The tree behind you is identical to the heart tree in the keep. But as you look out, you and Daemon are clearly standing in the middle of a city park. The street and cars are visible from your position. 

“We’re in my world now.”

You walk around, trying to get your bearings. 

“Where are you going? We need to get back!” Daemon caught up to you. 

“No, Daemon, I spent months letting you and Rhaenyra try to convince me that my life wasn’t real.” You continue walking until you hit a road. Looking at the name, you sigh in relief. That witch outdid herself. Not only are you back in your world, you’re in the same city and just a few blocks from your apartment. 

“What do you want me to say, y/n? That I’m sorry?”

You scoffed, “actually that would be a lovely start.” Speedwalking down the sidewalk, you try not to think about all the weird stares you’re both getting. 

“Y/n,” Daemon grabs your arm to stop you. 

“Hey man, leave her alone!” A passerby stops, grabbing Daemon’s arm in an attempt to pull him away.

“If you wish to keep that hand, you will remove it at once,” Daemon growls.

“It’s okay! No one is going to hurt anyone!” you jump in. “Thank you for stopping, but I promise everything is fine. My husband is just in the dog house at the moment.” The stranger’s brows furrow, but he releases Daemon’s arm. He’s openly staring at Dark Sister on Daemon’s hip. “Oh Jesus H. Christ,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “We are….uh…cosplayers. Yeah, my husband and I cosplay, and this was for a photo shoot.”

“No we-”

“Yep, we are just big fans of that medieval times shit!” 

The stranger nods slowly, clearly regretting his choice to stop. “Well, um, have fun with that? Sorry, I just saw this dude manhandling-”

“No worries,” you say, pulling Daemon to walk away with you. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Daemon is seething as you walk away, his hand drifting down towards Dark Sister’s hilt. “Why did you interfere? I had that handled!”

You don’t even try to bite back the laugh. “Really? You had it handled? What were you going to do, cut off his hand?”

“Yes!”

“Welcome to 2024,” you snort. “Even if you did, someone would have called the cops on the lunatic running around with a sword.”

“I am the Prince Consort-”

“I promise you no one here cares,” you groan. “We don’t really do all that here.”

You drag Daemon into your apartment building’s entry, running into one of your downstairs neighbors. “Hey Dani!” you say, “Going for a beach day?”

“You know it girl,” she grins, hoisting her tote bag up. “Gotta get some use out of the bikini and find myself a sugar daddy.”

“Where are we, and why is that woman in her small clothes?” Daemon asks, not bothering to lower his voice. 

Dani glares, pulling her coverup closed. You’re shocked, but you elbow Daemon. “I am so sorry for him,” you stumble over yourself. “He’s….he’s amish. They don’t have bikinis….or apartments?”

She nods and leaves, clearly upset. 

“Daemon what the fuck? You can’t just say tha-”

He doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic, merely looking down at you with a grin. “Do you have a bikini as well?”

You groan, hitting the button for the elevator. “You’re something else, you know that? I have half a mind to leave you alone so I can sulk in peace.” You hop on the elevator, and Daemon follows warily. He looks very unsure of the device. “You’re lucky I love you,” you sigh.

“What’s stopping you from abandoning me in this world?” Daemon asks. “You were clearly ready to cut all ties to us.”

“It’s complicated,” you say. “I was upset and needed space. But I could never just abandon you here, you wouldn’t last a day and I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“Does this mean you’re coming home?” 

You step off the elevator, ignoring his question in favor of rummaging under your front door’s welcome mat for a spare key. 

“My love, I’m sorry for not believing you,” Daemon begins. “Nyra is going to be worried sick, please just come back with me.”

“Daemon, I love you but I need time.” You sigh, looking around your apartment for your phone. It was still plugged in next to your bed. Picking it up, you saw the date. “That’s weird,” you murmur, “no time has passed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Today is the same day I woke up as her.”

“You’ve been with us for months though,” Daemon whispered. 

“I guess time works differently when you’re traveling worlds.” You shuck off your dress and rummage through your drawers to find a bra. “I never thought I’d say it, but damn I miss bras.” You slip into a tshirt and jeans before trying to find something for Daemon to wear. 

“My love, are you sure that is appropriate to be outside in?”

You groan, finding a pair of your ex’s jeans and a baggy shirt. “These should fit, just put them on and try to keep your opinions to yourself.”

“But y/-”

“No buts, do you want food or not?”

Daemon nodded, changing in silence as his eyes flickered around the room. “What is this?” he asked, gesturing towards your phone.

“It’s a cellphone. Think of it like a raven, I guess,” you say. “I can use it to write or talk to anyone in the world right now.”

“That’s impossible,” Daemon snorted. “Not even the fastest raven cou-”

You roll your eyes, dialing up your favorite pizza joint and putting them on speakerphone. “Hey, can I order pickup? A  large pepperoni pizza and garlic knots for y/n.”

“20 minutes.”

Daemon stood, mouth agape as he heard the voice come through the other side of the line. You smirked, hanging up the phone. “Just wait until you find out about TV.”

“What is pizza?” 

“The greatest thing since sliced bread.”

“What’s sliced bre-”

NOTE: It's me againnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Not gonna bore ya'll with the life drama, but damn life is crazy. Anyway, here's a chapter PLUS no spoilers but later today I'm dropping the first chapter to a new fic and the main love interest is *drum roll* WOLVERINE BB. As always - some ppl I can’t tag, so if you’re listed on the tag list and not receiving notifications, please check that your settings are on “allow this blog to appear in search results” or message me if I messed up the spelling! ~ Lacie <3

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[arabellasleopardcoat]

Last word (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond instructs you on the importance of protecting your virtue. Featuring bratty reader and the good old enemies to lovers.

Warnings: Smut. Titty sucking. Degradation. PWP.

A/N: I have the most dreadful cold because I can’t dress for the season. I did as I often do and reread one of my comfort books, Seducing Mr Bridgerton. Here you go. I needed to get this out of my head.

“What were you thinking?” Aemond drags you towards the carriage, barely allowing your feet to touch the ground. He gestures angrily at the coachman, but you are too furious to care.

“What was I thinking? You are the one sneaking around the Street of Silk when your father just died. I thought you…”

“What?” Aemond snarls, roughly pushing you inside the carriage. “You thought I needed your help? You thought I was as weak willed and pathetic as Aegon, coming to drown my sorrows?”

You gape at him. It’s exactly what you were thinking, although in much harsher words than you would have used. When you saw him and Cole leave the palace, you had a rented carriage to follow them, worried about Aemond.

He was not the easiest man to be around. But he was your betrothed, and you worried about him. And you guessed he cared about you, in his own twisted way. He was not the most affectionate of men, but he tolerated your incessant questioning and chatter, as he called it.

It is to be noted that Aemond didn’t make the task of caring for him easy. Yet, you worried either way. Not only because it was your duty to do so, but because you were friendless in the Red Keep and had nothing better to do.

To Queen Alicent, you were the perfect daughter-in-law. She often mistook your interest in Aemond’s whereabouts for devotion, when at best, you two tolerated each other.

Perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest choice, to follow him on a borrowed carriage. You had promised the merchant a few silver dragons for it, leaving him stranded on the Red Keep. Your curiosity had been picked when you saw Aemond and Ser Criston go out of the Red Keep’s walls dressed as commoners. Not wanting to lose them, you had not bothered to change, and showed up in Fleabottom in a gown much too pretty for it.

You were certain you were about to get mugged when Aemond showed up and dragged you back to safety. There had been a couple of men eyeing you in funny ways, and two women you were pretty sure were whores had offered you company.

“I don’t need your compassion, you fool.” Aemond sat down next to you, scowling. It was not the first time you angered him, but it was the first time you saw him this pent-up. He looked like he was about to strangle you. “You should not have ventured outside. It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh, too dangerous? What were you doing out without guards, then?” Thinking yourself so discrete, you sniffed at him. He smelt like usual. No traces of cheap perfume, nor alcohol. No whores, no ale houses.

“Cole and I split up to search for Aegon. I was not drinking, you silly woman.” Aemond leaned in, to let you smell his breath. He smelled strongly of tea. Nothing more. Still, you scowled back in principle. “Besides, it’s different. I am a man. You are a woman.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You crossed your arms over your chest. Aemond politely averted his eye from you, looking flustered.

“I can defend myself. You can’t.” His eye was firmly on his boots. You were so not letting this go, not when you had the upper hand. Perhaps you were a petty person, but no one liked being told they were defenseless, even when it was technically true.

“I can!”

“Oh? What if instead of me, it was another man dragging you out of that alley? You don’t even carry a dagger, for the Seven’s sake!” Aemond looked at you. He might have a point about that. Not even a few minutes ago, you had shrieked in terror at what you thought was a stranger trying to drag you away. A dagger could have come in use, and in fact, you owned one. A small silver one, that Aemond had gifted you, and you had not thought to bring along.

“Not that I would know how to use it.” You mutter, weakly. You are starting to lose the argument and don’t like it.

“I told you I would teach you when we had time.” And it wasn’t like he truly wanted to teach you. The dagger had been gifted to you only after a pointed comment from his mother, reminding him loudly that young ladies expected gifts when courted. By the horrified look on Queen Alicent’s face when you had opened the carved box, this was not what she had had in mind.

It had been clear then, with Aemond making half serious promises to teach you how to use it, that the dagger was meant to annoy his mother and not as a gift. Weaponized incompetence, never more aptly named. Alicent had not asked him again to put any more effort in wooing you.

“But you never have time! You are always running after Aegon.” It came out more bratty than you intended, and it only served to rile him up further. Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose, before turning to face you once more.

“Because that’s my duty, you hare brained…” His tone was full of venom, and you wouldn’t let the slight pass. You hated when he made remarks about your intelligence, always thinking himself the smartest in the room. Perhaps you had not had the chance to receive the same education as him, but you thought yourself moderately clever. Aemond, instead, thought you were empty-headed and only concerned with pink ribbons and silks.

“Don’t! I am not…”

“Oh, but you are.” Aemond grunted, before roughly grabbing your face. The sudden motion surprised you, and so, you only gaped at him. He looked like he was about to murder you. Idly, you wondered if you had finally pushed him to his breaking point.

But instead of murdering you, Aemond leaned in and kissed you. It was not the first time it happened, really. He had kissed you before. Once, at Alicent’s prompting, on the forehead. Another time, your cheek, icy, during your name day. Never on the mouth before. And never in anger.

After a few more seconds of absolute and utter shock, just as Aemond was starting to pull away and apologize, you were kissing him. Furiously. You compensated your lack of experience with rage, pushing at his mouth, biting at his lips, until he budged.

As you parted, both of your chest heaving up and down in strangled breaths, Aemond still took the time to chastise you.

“No concerns for your honor… No concerns for your safety…” Aemond kissed your cheek, almost feverishly. His lips traced the contours of your jaw, and like a man starved, he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

It was hard to take him seriously, though. Whatever anger his face held, it could not be seen by you. He was too busy kissing imaginary paths down your neck for it.

Unexpectedly, it felt good. There was a pleasurable heat forming right on your stomach. You wanted so badly to melt against it, turn into butter in his arms, but you knew Aemond would never let you hear the end of it if you did.

With a mighty pull on his hair, that made him yelp like a kitten, you got him off you, and shifted to straddle his lap.

“I am concerned.” You grumbled, biting at his jaw. He was actually quite handsome, you realized. How had you not noticed sooner? “I would fight you, if it wasn’t you.”

You kissed him, a lot more brutal. Aemond hissed. Apparently, he took issue with his hair being pulled so roughly, or perhaps your lips on his felt good.

“You are not. I bet you would have let any man jump you in that alley.” His tone was angry, but his hands told another story. They were cupping greedily at your hips, squeezing your ass.

“By the Seven!” You groan, unable to be angry any longer. His hands feel warm and big against your hips, too good to complain. There is something hard poking at your stomach, and you try to bring a hand towards it, but Aemond rolls you over and pins you down before you have the chance.

With your wrists pinned down above your head, laying on the borrowed carriage’s seat, there is not much you can do. You look up at him, helplessly.

Aemond leans in, and presses a kiss right above your pulse point. He follows it with another, slightly lower this time. And another, and another. Until his lips are bumping against your collarbones, and he looks up at you with a desperate eye.

He looks wrecked. Hair in disarray, flushed cheeks, swollen mouth. He still wears the angry scowl.

“I don’t think I can control myself any longer.” Aemond whispers, as if telling you a secret. He rubs his thumb over one of your breasts, making you arch under him. It’s unlike anything else you have ever felt. You feel as if that simple touch has set you on fire. As if you are burning up in need.

“Aemond.” You plead, desperate for anything that he is willing to give you.

“I despise you. You are the most infuriating, nagging woman I know.” He tugs the bodice of your dress a little lower, kissing the start of the path between your breasts.

“And you are a pompous, terrible man.” You answer, almost in reflex. Then, because you are furious he is having such an effect on you, you go the extra mile and add. “I rue the day I have to marry you.”

“Sure.” Aemond mocks, sucking a bruise at the top of your breast. He pinches your buds, almost cruelly. You gasp, not knowing if you should pull away or closer.

Giving you a little respite, his hands come to undo the first buttons of your gown. That allows him to pull it a little lower, baring your breasts to him. But instead of going straight for the prize, Aemond takes his time exploring the curves of your shoulder and neck.

You are so desperate for him, you think you might beg him to kiss your breasts. Your poor, ignored nubs ache.

“I despise you.” You mutter, hoping it does the trick. To your surprise, Aemond laughs. Laughs. Him. Before, on the days you were most lucky, you have gotten him to smile.

“I know you don’t.” He says, as he finally, finally, starts sucking at your breast. You moan, tangling a hand in his hair.

Aemond is many things. Determined is one of them. He keeps at it, until you are moaning so unashamedly you think the coachman must be hearing you. You are building towards something, wetness gathering between your thighs, back sweaty, Aemond’s skillful mouth wrapped around you.

You risk a glance at his expression. The vision is almost obscene. His eye is closed in bliss, cheeks flushed, seemingly unaware of the effect his actions are causing on you. His hips are doing small aborted motions against your leg.

You feel as if you are on the edge of something. You scratch his scalp with your nails, needing just a little more. But at the exact moment he opens his eye to look at you, the carriage jerks to a stop.

Hurriedly, you nearly throw him off you. Any second now, the coachman will open the door, and he cannot see you partially naked under a man, no matter if it’s your betrothed.

Aemond, not even needing to be told what the issue is, quickly rightens himself. As the coachman opens the door and goes to help you out of the carriage, Aemond dismisses him with a wave of a hand.

He gets off the carriage in an agile little jump, and offers you a hand.

“I think, betrothed, you don’t rue the day you will have to marry me.” Aemond whispers, as he helps you down. He kisses your cheek, making you squirm. The memory of those same lips in other parts of you is too fresh not to. “I think you are awaiting the wedding night so impatiently, you must be gushing.”

Your cheeks heat up at the double entendre. It’s true, you are beyond wet. If Aemond was not so stuck to his own moral code, if he didn’t think himself superior to you, you would tell him. But you know if you do, he wouldn’t help, but deny you. So instead, you lean in, hand grasping at his thigh for support.

“I think, my Prince, you should look into a mirror. Because that…” You point between his legs. “Looks painful.” And with a kiss on his cheek, you leave him there, standing next to a borrowed carriage and having to endure the humiliation of paying for the ride.

You cackle all the way to your rooms. He will probably have his revenge later, embarrassing you in some way, but you are too high in your triumph to care.