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novaursa · 3 months ago

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A Lion's Leap (runaway)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous chapter: child's play

- Next part: runaway

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

Tyland Lannister was quite possibly the only man in the Red Keep who didn’t want to be summoned in the middle of the night. After all, he had just returned to the warmth of his chambers, finally slipping beneath the covers next to you, his beloved wife. He had barely managed to put the chaotic events of the day behind him: Lucerys’s petition for Driftmark, Vaemond’s gruesome death (he could still hear the sound of Daemon’s sword), and the tense family dinner where one poorly aimed insult had nearly turned the entire affair into an all-out brawl.

But just as he began to doze off, allowing himself a moment of peace, there came a knock at the door. A servant entered quietly, his face pale in the candlelight. "Lord Tyland, you’re summoned to the small council meeting. Immediately."

Tyland groaned, sinking deeper into the blankets. "Surely it can wait until morning," he muttered, wishing to stay in the comfort of bed with you beside him.

The servant shifted awkwardly. "It’s from the Hand of the King, my lord."

That snapped him awake.

Reluctantly, Tyland kissed your cheek before slipping out of bed, hoping not to wake you as he hurriedly dressed. Couldn’t the small council meet at a reasonable hour? He was muttering curses under his breath the entire walk to the council chambers, escorted by none other than Ser Criston Cole, who looked far too awake for this ungodly hour.

By the time he arrived, the small council chamber was already filled with familiar faces: Otto Hightower, Queen Alicent, Lord Beesbury, Grand Maester Orwyle, Ser Barristan, and Lord Jasper Wylde. All of them sat in stony silence, the air thick with tension.

"Gods," Tyland muttered as he entered, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. "Can someone explain why we’re meeting in the middle of the bloody night? I was rather hoping to get a few hours of rest, seeing as how it’s been a rather eventful day."

Otto’s cold voice cut through the room like a blade. "Viserys is dead."

Tyland blinked, suddenly wide awake. "I—what?" His voice faltered as he took in Otto’s words. "The king is... dead?"

Otto’s expression remained hard, not a flicker of grief visible on his face. "Yes. He passed in the night."

For a brief moment, Tyland stood there, the shock settling over him like a heavy cloak. But just as quickly as the realization hit him, his first instinct was to stand up, his mind immediately shifting to you. "I need to inform Y/N," he said, his voice firm. "She needs to know about her father—"

Cole stepped in front of him before he could move toward the door, blocking his way with unsettling efficiency.

Tyland froze, alarmed. "What is this?" he asked, looking between Cole and Otto, his heart beginning to pound. "Why are you stopping me?"

Otto raised a hand, a silent command for Cole to remain where he was. "Ser Criston," he said calmly, "see to it that Lady Y/N stays in her chambers. She is not to leave until further notice."

Tyland’s stomach dropped. "What? You can’t—she’s her father’s daughter! She deserves to know!" His voice rose in protest, panic starting to bubble up inside him. "You can’t keep her locked up like a prisoner!"

Otto’s gaze didn’t waver, and his voice remained cold and controlled. "Your wife will remain in her chambers for her own safety. She will be informed when the time is right."

Tyland’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. "For her safety?" He glanced around the room, desperate for someone to speak up. "She’s done nothing wrong. What is this about, Otto?"

Otto stepped closer, his expression darkening. "Do you remember who arranged your marriage, Lord Tyland?" His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "It was me who ensured you wed the daughter of the king, securing your future and your place at this very table. And now, it is time for you to return the favor."

Tyland felt the weight of Otto’s words settle heavily on his shoulders, but he couldn’t ignore the growing sense of unease. "What are you asking of me?" he asked, his voice strained. "I won’t allow my wife to be treated like a prisoner."

Otto’s gaze was steely. "Your wife will be free the moment she publicly denounces her sister’s claim to the throne. And declares Aegon as the one true king."

Tyland stood frozen, his mind spinning. Denounce her sister? The very idea of it sent a chill down his spine. He could already imagine the look on your face if he brought this to you. There was no way you would stand against Rhaenyra, not after everything that had happened. And what would happen to him, to both of you, if you refused?

Tyland’s mouth went dry. "And what about our children?" he asked, his voice quieter now, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "What happens to them?"

Otto’s lips twitched into a thin smile, though there was no warmth behind it. "That depends entirely on you, Lord Tyland. Ensure your wife makes the right choice, and your family will have a secure place in the new order. Defy us..." He let the threat hang in the air.

Tyland swallowed hard, feeling the walls closing in around him. He had known that his marriage to you came with political ties, but this—this was something far darker than he had ever anticipated. And yet, what choice did he have? Could he really risk everything, risk you, by standing against Otto’s plans?

For a moment, he considered the absurdity of it all. Here he was, a Lannister, entangled in Targaryen politics, with dragons on one side and conspirators on the other. A lion, trapped between fire and intrigue, in a situation so precarious he could barely think straight.

"Do I have a choice?" Tyland asked, his voice quieter now, though laced with bitter humor. He already knew the answer.

Otto’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "We always have choices, Lord Tyland. Some are just... less pleasant than others."

Tyland stared at the table, his mind spinning with the weight of the impossible decision before him. But one thing was clear: whatever came next, his world had just shifted in a way he could never have predicted.

And somehow, he had to find a way to navigate it without losing everything.

Tyland Lannister felt as though he was walking through a fog as Ser Criston Cole escorted him back to his chambers. The events of the night were still a blur—Beesbury’s death, the tense small council meeting, Otto’s chilling ultimatum. He could still hear the sound of Cole’s hand slamming poor Lord Beesbury’s head against the table, the crack echoing in the chamber like a bell tolling the end of reason.

And now he had to face you. The very thought made his stomach churn. He could already imagine the look on your face when he told you what had happened. But how could he explain it? How could he tell you that your father, King Viserys, was dead—and that Otto expected you to betray your sister?

As Cole opened the door to your chambers and allowed him to enter, Tyland braced himself. The soft glow of the candlelight illuminated the room, casting long shadows over the familiar space. The moment he stepped inside, he spotted you immediately. You were pacing near the window, your brow furrowed in worry, and the moment you saw him, you rushed forward, concern etched across your features.

“Tyland!” you exclaimed, your voice filled with relief but also confusion. “What is going on? They won’t let me leave the chambers, and the children were brought here suddenly—what is happening?”

Tyland’s gaze drifted to the two figures seated on the cushioned bench near the fireplace. Your children, Daemon and Alyssa, were wide awake despite the late hour. Daemon, the elder of the two, was sitting quietly, his eyes filled with worry. Alyssa was fidgeting restlessly, her silver-gold hair falling in soft waves as she leaned against her brother, clearly trying to understand the confusion.

Tyland sighed, his heart heavy as he turned back to you. He wanted to protect you from all of this, to shield you from the storm that was brewing, but there was no easy way to do this.

He gently took your hands in his, guiding you to the bench where your children sat. “My love,” he began softly, choosing his words carefully, “there’s... something I need to tell you.”

You sat down beside him, your eyes wide with concern. “What is it? Please, just tell me.”

Tyland swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “Your father, King Viserys... he passed in the night.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Your eyes flickered with confusion, as if the meaning hadn’t quite reached you yet. But then, slowly, the weight of his words settled over you, and your expression crumpled.

“My father...?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “No, it can’t be...”

Tyland squeezed your hands gently, his heart aching as he watched the tears well up in your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly. “It’s true.”

The first tear slipped down your cheek, and then another. Soon, you were crying softly, your shoulders trembling as the reality of it all sank in. Tyland wished he could offer you some comfort, but the truth was, he was barely holding it together himself. His mind was still reeling from the night’s events.

Daemon, sensing his mother’s distress, stood up from his seat and moved closer, his hand resting on your arm. “Mother?” he asked quietly, his young voice filled with uncertainty. “Is Grandsire really... gone?”

You nodded through your tears, pulling Daemon into a tight embrace. “Yes, my love. He’s... gone.”

Alyssa, her face scrunched in confusion, came closer to you and wrapped her arms around your arm. Giving her silent support.

Your sobs grew quieter as you held your children close, but Tyland could see the devastation in your eyes. He knew he had to tell you the rest, but how could he bring it up now, when you were already so heartbroken?

After a few moments, you wiped at your tears and looked at Tyland with a trembling smile, though the pain was still fresh. “Why... why won’t they let me leave?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Why is the castle locked down?”

Tyland took a deep breath, his heart sinking as he prepared himself for the next part. “There’s more,” he said quietly, his voice soft but urgent. “Otto... he has plans. He intends to crown Aegon as king.”

Your eyes widened, the fresh wave of shock cutting through your grief. “But... but my sister—Rhaenyra—she’s the heir!”

“I know,” Tyland said, his voice filled with frustration. “But Otto is moving quickly. He wants Aegon on the throne, and he’s locking down the castle to make sure no one can challenge it.”

You shook your head, disbelief and anger mixing in your expression. “No... that’s not right. My father—he wanted Rhaenyra to rule.”

“I know,” Tyland said again, his voice lowering. “But Otto... he expects you to denounce Rhaenyra. Publicly.”

The words hung in the air like a sword over your head. You stared at him in stunned silence, your face pale as the implications of Otto’s demand hit you. “He wants me to betray my sister?”

Tyland nodded grimly. “He thinks it’s the only way to secure Aegon’s claim. And he expects me to make sure you do it.”

You stood there, frozen, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on you all at once. Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were mixed with anger. “How could they ask this of me? How could they expect me to choose?”

Tyland’s heart ached as he watched you struggle with the impossible decision. “I know, my love. It’s unfair. But Otto is determined... and he’s not giving us much of a choice.”

You shook your head, looking lost and heartbroken. “I... I can’t.”

Tyland reached out and gently wiped away your tears, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured softly, though even he wasn’t sure how. “We’ll figure this out together. I won’t let them harm you or the children. I promise.”

But even as he said the words, he knew that the storm was already upon them. The question was how they would survive it.

The small council chamber was filled with animosity as you sat there, Tyland by your side, your face set in a defiant expression as you faced down Dowager Queen Alicent and her father, Otto Hightower. You had barely had time to process the news of your father’s death—a mere few hours had passed since he’d drawn his last breath—and now, here you were, expected to make a decision that would betray your family.

Across the table, Alicent sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, her gaze steely yet pleading. Otto, on the other hand, looked more like a hawk ready to swoop down, his eyes flickering between you and Tyland with barely concealed impatience.

“We understand you’re grieving,” Alicent began, her tone almost gentle, as if she truly sympathized. “But the realm must be protected. King Viserys would want peace, and peace can only be assured if Aegon takes the throne.”

You clenched your fists under the table, willing yourself to remain calm. “Peace?” you echoed, a bitter edge to your voice. “How can you possibly speak of peace? My father hasn’t even been gone for a day, and you’re already talking about crowning a new king. This is nothing but ambition wrapped in feigned concern for the realm.”

Tyland shifted uneasily beside you, his hand resting on yours in an attempt to offer comfort—or perhaps to remind you not to leap across the table. He glanced at Otto, his expression wary, knowing that the Hand of the King would take any resistance as a personal affront of what he asked of him.

“Your father would have wanted this,” Otto said smoothly, ignoring the look you were giving him that could have melted iron. “King Viserys was a man of practicality. He knew what was best for the realm. Rhaenyra... well, she does not have the temperament to rule. Aegon is the answer.”

You scoffed, unable to contain yourself. “Aegon?” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “My father would have laughed at the very thought of that. Aegon is a boy—a spoiled, reckless boy who doesn’t care for duty or responsibility.”

Alicent’s face tightened, though she maintained her carefully measured tone. “He has grown, Y/N. He is more than capable of ruling, with the right guidance.”

“Which is exactly what your father is so eager to offer, I imagine,” you replied sharply, shooting a pointed look at Otto, who didn’t even bother to hide his irritation. “It’s clear this has nothing to do with my father’s wishes and everything to do with your own ambitions.”

Otto leaned forward, his gaze hardening as he locked eyes with you. “You tread on dangerous ground, my lady. I have been loyal to House Targaryen for years, and I am advising you to make the decision that will ensure stability for the realm.”

You felt Tyland’s hand tighten on yours, a silent reminder to keep your composure. But you could feel your anger boiling within, and it took every ounce of restraint to keep yourself from rising to your feet.

“I refuse,” you said, each word dripping with finality. “I refuse to denounce my sister. And I will not support this sham of a coronation. My father deserves better than this disrespect, and my sister deserves the throne that he promised her.”

The room fell silent, a thick, tense quiet that settled over the table like a dark cloud. Alicent’s face remained impassive, but her fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair, a flicker of frustration breaking through her composure. Otto, meanwhile, fixed Tyland with a glare that could have curdled milk.

“Lord Tyland,” Otto said slowly, his tone icy, “perhaps you can speak sense to your wife. Remind her of her position and the... responsibilities that come with it.”

Tyland gave a forced, strained smile, his gaze darting between you and Otto. “My lord Hand,” he said carefully, “it is not my place to impose my will upon my wife’s loyalties. She has made her position quite clear, and I... support her in this matter.” His voice wavered slightly, though he managed to keep it steady enough.

Otto’s eyes narrowed, and Tyland could feel the weight of the warning hidden behind them. “I would suggest, Lord Tyland,” Otto said, his voice dangerously low, “that you consider carefully the implications of... loyalty to the wrong side. This decision may affect more than just your own fortunes as I've already warned you an hour ago.”

Tyland forced a tight smile, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned toward Otto. “Are you... threatening me again, Lord Hand?”

Otto’s gaze didn’t waver. “Only reminding you of your obligations,” he replied with a thin, almost polite smile. “You and your family are deeply... valued in the realm. But that value can shift, depending on... certain allegiances.”

Alicent cleared her throat, her tone sharp with impatience. “We do not wish for conflict, Lady Y/N. We only ask that you show understanding, for the sake of the realm—and for your children.”

You clenched your jaw, fury bubbling within you as they tried to use your children as leverage. “How dare you?” you hissed, your voice trembling with anger. “You speak of peace, yet here you are, tearing apart a family and betraying my father’s wishes before his body has even grown cold.”

Tyland, sensing you were moments from throwing something—or worse—gave you a gentle squeeze, an attempt to steady you. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “this conversation would be best continued once the... emotions of the day have settled.”

Alicent looked ready to protest, but Otto waved a dismissive hand. “Fine,” he said, his gaze steely. “But I advise you both to consider carefully. The people have already gathered in the Dragonpit to see their new king crowned. And I don’t believe they’ll take kindly to... dissent from those who should be showing unity.”

The statement hung in the air, and Tyland felt a shiver run down his spine. He glanced at you, feeling the full weight of Otto’s threat, but his expression remained defiant.

Otto and Alicent rose, signaling the end of the meeting. But as they moved to leave, Otto shot one final, pointed look in Tyland’s direction.

“Think carefully, Lord Tyland,” he said softly. “The crown has a long memory.”

And with that, they swept out of the chamber, leaving the two of you alone in the thick, oppressive silence. Tyland let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he said finally, his voice laced with strained humor, “at least we know where we stand.”

You shook your head, feeling the sting of tears you refused to let fall. “They think they can scare us into submission.”

Tyland sighed, giving you a rueful smile. “I suppose they don’t know us very well, do they?” He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Whatever happens, I’m with you.”

The morning was cold as you, Tyland, and your two young children, Daemon and Alyssa, were being escorted through the corridors by Ser Criston Cole and his men. Tyland’s hand was firmly clasped around yours, his mind already whirling with worry as he glanced between his young family and the steely expression on Cole’s face.

Cole had made it quite clear that he was under strict orders to take you to the Dragonpit. Despite your refusal to support Aegon’s coronation, you were expected to make an appearance—or at least, that’s what Otto Hightower insisted on.

But just as they neared the Dragonpit, a small commotion erupted ahead. The doors were flung open, and a cluster of Dragonkeepers rushed toward them, their faces a mix of fear and urgency.

“Princess Y/N!” one of the Dragonkeepers called, out of breath as he reached your side. “Silverwing, Viseron, and Grey Ghost are attempting to break free of their chains. They sense your distress—they’re... they’re about to make a scene.”

Tyland’s eyes widened, casting a wary glance at Criston Cole, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Wonderful,” Cole muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. “As if we needed more disruption.”

You turned to Cole, managing a calm smile that Tyland could only admire in such an unpredictable situation. “Ser Criston, unless you want our dragons to interrupt this crowning ceremony by burning half of King’s Landing, I suggest you allow me and my family to calm them down.”

Cole’s jaw tightened, clearly torn between his orders and the potential disaster of unleashed dragons. Finally, with a grudging sigh, he waved a hand. “Fine, but make it quick.”

Without missing a beat, you took Tyland’s hand again, pulling him forward. “Thank you, Ser Criston. I promise we’ll handle it.”

Tyland, his nerves already fraying, leaned in close as they walked. “I’m not entirely sure I like where this is going.”

You flashed him a mischievous smile, one he knew all too well. “Trust me.”

When you arrived at the Dragonpit, the sight was nothing short of breathtaking. Silverwing, your mighty dragon, stood proudly, pulling against her chains with a deep rumble of impatience. Nearby, Viseron, Daemon’s dragon, let out an annoyed screech, his wings half-spread in anticipation. And young Grey Ghost, Alyssa’s dragon, was already clawing at the ground, his silvery scales glinting in the early light.

A Dragonkeeper rushed over, his eyes wide. “My lady, the dragons are ready. They’re awaiting your command for flight.”

Tyland blinked, taking a step back as he processed the scene. “Ready... for flight?” He turned to you, his brow furrowing. “Wait a moment... did you plan this?”

You only gave him an innocent smile, though there was a glint in your eye that told him everything he needed to know. “The Dragonkeepers were kind enough to help. Besides, Tyland, you and the children deserve to be safe—away from this... situation.”

Tyland’s jaw dropped. “You... you mean to tell me we’re leaving?” He glanced back at the Dragonpit’s entrance, realizing Criston and his men were still too far to hear. “And you planned this with them?”

You shrugged, guiding Alyssa to Grey Ghost as Daemon climbed confidently onto Viseron’s back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Our dragons don’t wait for anyone’s approval, Tyland. And neither do we.”

A Dragonkeeper approached Tyland, gesturing to Silverwing. “Lord Tyland, your place is with your lady.”

Tyland felt his stomach twist. He’d managed to avoid any sort of flight with the dragons since your wedding, when Daemon had suggested a “new tradition” of strapping Tyland to the saddle to be “carried off” by Silverwing as a replacement for the bedding ceremony. It had taken him weeks to shake that mental image, and now here he was, faced with the very prospect he’d been dreading.

You held out a hand, smiling encouragingly. “Come on, love. Silverwing’s waiting.”

Tyland’s face paled, and he tried to find an excuse, any excuse, to remain firmly on the ground. “Are you... are you sure it’s necessary that I join you in the sky?”

You tilted your head, giving him that look he could never resist. “Tyland, are you really going to make me take off without you?”

With a reluctant sigh, Tyland took your hand, allowing you to help him onto Silverwing’s back. The dragon shifted slightly, as if acknowledging his presence, and he swallowed hard, clutching the saddle for dear life.

As you took your place in front of him, Tyland muttered under his breath, “I have to admit, I preferred the idea of hiding in the Red Keep over flying.”

You only laughed, giving Silverwing the signal to take flight. With a powerful push, Silverwing’s wings unfurled, and Tyland’s stomach dropped as the dragon launched into the air, the ground quickly disappearing beneath them.

Tyland’s hands were practically glued to your waist as Silverwing soared higher, and he shut his eyes tight, muttering a mix of prayers and curses. “How... how do you people do this regularly?”

You glanced back with a grin. “It’s in our blood, Tyland. And look, the children are loving it.”

Tyland dared to crack one eye open, and sure enough, Daemon was laughing with pure delight as Viseron flew beside them, and Alyssa was nestled contentedly against Grey Ghost. Both children looked as if they’d been born for the sky. Meanwhile, Tyland was clinging on for dear life, wondering if it was possible to faint while in flight.

After what felt like an eternity, he noticed the familiar coastline of the Westerlands coming into view, and a chill went through him as he realized they were nowhere near Dragonstone. “Hold on,” he called, trying to make himself heard over the wind. “Where are we going?”

You looked back with a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “Casterly Rock, of course. It’s safer there. And,” you added with a teasing smile, “your family deserves to see their very own dragonriders in flight.”

Tyland felt a mixture of dread and resignation. “Casterly Rock? My brother Jason is going to have a field day with this.”

You laughed, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Well, at least he’ll get the chance to see his niece and nephew properly this time—dragons and all.”

As Silverwing descended toward Casterly Rock, Tyland couldn’t shake the feeling that life was only going to get more chaotic.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #hotd tyland #tyland lannister #tyland x reader #tyland x you #tyland x y/n #a lion's leap #house lannister #house targaryen #silverwing #grey ghost

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magicalbats · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 18: Spanking

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7590

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, over the knee spanking (my favorite cmdmdmd), paddling with a hairbrush

A/N: I really hope this one isn't too messy, I haven't been feeling super great and I am posting this at *checks clock* 4:26 in the morning skdnfksnf so please be gentle with me! 🙈

⭐

The Duke of Meropide was a truly infuriating scoundrel!

You’d been arguing with him in his office for almost an hour now and it felt like all you’d done is go around in endless circles. One moment he would in all seriousness shoot down a suggestion or a point you’ve made, and the next he would abruptly ask you about tea or cookies with equal sincerity. You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and you were quickly reaching the end of your patience with him. Had the topic of reform and rehabilitation of ex inmates not been so very important to you, you’re sure you would have stormed out of his office a long time ago.

“For the final time, my lord, I care for neither your white tea nor your black tea.” You intone as mildly as you can manage given the state of your nerves. “Please, just listen to me for a moment. That is all I ask.”

Perfectly casual, Wriothesley reclines back into his tall chair and brings his hands together over the bend of a propped up knee. “I have been listening. Quite attentively too. However, I just don’t see how your proposal is going to work and I think you might be barking up the wrong tree, miss. My apologies for saying so.”

“No offense taken.” You clench your jaw so tight it hurts. “But why do you think it isn’t going to work? Have I not explained the steps to successful rehabilitation enough for your liking?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly thorough. Excessive, even.”

Spine snapping straight at that, you pin him with a furious look you don’t even try to conceal but he just waves it off without missing a beat.

“The problem is, I don’t think you understand how the Fortress of Meropide functions. It is you who hasn’t been listening to me, I’m afraid.” He continues on, as stony and impassive as ever. “As I already said, the inmates are free to leave once their sentences are served in full. It’s just that the vast majority of them do not wish to return to the surface world and choose to stay here of their own volition. There’s nothing I nor you can do to change that.”

“But — but that’s because there weren’t any systems in place to help them!” You stammer, desperately rifling through your stacks of paperwork and statistics in search of the findings collected on job and housing placement welfare. Finally locating it with a triumphant puff of air, you jump to your feet and shove it at him over the desk even when he tries to once again wave it off. “The proof is right here, your grace. It should take only a moment of your time to read and understand the data presented in this report for someone as no doubt well informed as you are.”

Stilling, Wriothesley steadily meets your look of challenge with a cool stare of his own. A beat passes and then, heaving a rather terse sigh, he reaches out to reluctantly accept the sheet from you. “I’ll look at it but I’m telling you, miss. These graphs and numbers don’t mean anything in the real world.”

“We’ll see about that.” You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, impertinently standing over him while he reads even when you know you’re really pushing your luck here. He was a duke, a by all accounts certificate wielding lord in the flesh and blood, and you, a lowly commoner, had no right to try and force his hand like this. Still, you hold your ground though, confident that you knew what you were talking about when you had the data to back it up. It was he who didn’t understand how the real world worked after spending so much time underneath the ocean in this rust bucket of bolts he called a fortress.

His eyes steadily move over the page, taking in everything at an agreeable enough pace to placate you into silence, and Wriothesley eventually gives his head a curt nod when he reaches the bottom. “I see. It’s just as I thought.”

You have but the blink of an eye to feel the first dawnings of hope start to crest over your heart and then, unceremonious as can be, he reaches over to neatly deposit the paper into the trash bin.

“It’s garbage.”

“Wh - wait just a minute - what do you mean it’s garbage?” You stammer, spit and sputter in white-hot affront so potent you start to feel your cheeks becoming warm. It takes every single ounce of self control you possess not to round on the desk and throttle the life right out of him! “If you didn’t understand the information all you had to do was ask, your grace and I would have gladly taken the time to - -“

“I understood it perfectly, miss, and I am once again telling you that it is your understanding of the situation that is inherently flawed, not mine. You simply can’t make the prisoners do something they don’t want. I trust that you do understand that much, at least?”

“It is not a matter of making them!” You seethe, hands clenching into tight fists at your sides. “It’s giving them a viable option between spending the rest of their lives trapped under the sea or being able to rejoin their friends and family on the surface. I expected you to have at least a little bit of sympathy for the people under your care!”

Heaving another soft sigh, Wriothesley unfolds his legs and sits forward to brace his elbows on the desk in the most impolite slouch you’ve ever seen from someone who was supposedly a part of the aristocracy. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I think I care about them a shade more than you do. We’re talking about people who have made a new place for themselves down here and it would be remiss of me to start kicking them out just so you can get your brownie points. This is their home.”

You jerk as if he’d physically struck you. “Now you listen here - -“

“No. I have listened to you enough for one afternoon, miss.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip without either raising his voice nor sharpening his tone, but the low rumble in it is still enough to stop you in your tracks.

Eyes widening slightly, you watch him stand from his chair and sedately step around the desk to come loom over you with his imposingly massive frame that leaves you pitifully craning your neck back when he stops in front of you.

“It’s time for you to listen to me now. I’m sure you had good intentions in coming here with this little scheme you cooked up but I’m telling you it isn’t going to work. The inmates who choose to stay here like the simplicity of life in Meropide and the stability it provides them. So long as they work hard and stay out of trouble they’ll have no problems earning a living for themselves but can the same be said about the overworld? What’s going to happen when they get fired from the jobs you place them in after running late one too many times? Or what about when they fall asleep during their shift from exhaustion? Do you know what happens when either of those things occur down here? They simply don’t get their regular number of coupons for the day but they can always come back and do better the next. Will they have that same security up on the surface?”

“T - that’s why rehabilitation is so important.” You rush to say. “We can teach them to reintegrate into society so that they won’t have to worry about things like that - -“

“Everyone worries about things like that, little miss. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Your eyes flash at him dangerously. “Do not call me that! In fact, I believe I’ve had quite enough of you at this point! I want to speak to someone else! Preferably a person with something more substantial than rocks for brains!”

Wriothesley scowls at that, narrowing his own eyes back at you in warning. “You can want it all you like but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. I’m the only person you need to speak to right now … and I would suggest you reconsider how you’re speaking to me.”

“Hah! Or what?” Riding high on adrenaline and jittery nerves, you impulsively reach out to jab a finger at the center of his big, beefy chest. “You can’t throw me into a cell just because you don’t like the tone of my voice! Is that the kind of operation you're running down here? Maybe when I get back up to the surface I should contact The Steambird about the tyrannical power trip his grace is on!”

He snorts a brief laugh as if the very notion was a ludicrous one, though you couldn’t tell if it was your assertion or the thought that you might go to the papers that he found humorous. “That’s funny, but I don’t need to throw you in prison just to put you in your place, miss. I’m giving you one final warning to knock it off and calm down.”

You take an aggressive step closer to him, head tilted all the way back now so you could see his face past the bulky mass across his pectorals. “Enlighten me then, my lord. What are you going to do to me if I don’t bend the knee?”

“I think I might start by taking you over my knee first.”

Giving a startled jerk, you go stock still and just stare at him for the span of a single heartbeat. The ice suddenly gripping your veins is instantly replaced by a hot, raging inferno that seems to make your blood boil and, seeing red, you viciously bring your heel down on the top of his boot, grinding it in for good measure. “I’d like to see you try it, you ba - -“

His hand shoots up and, much to your squawking surprise, he grabs around the meat of your upper arm to tug you into him, making you stumble and half fall against the bend of his elbow. Before you even have a chance to draw a full breath to berate him with his other hand cracks across the meat of your ass with a deafening whap! The sharp pain is immediate and splintering, rocking you against him with the abrupt impact as your mouth warbles open in equal parts hurt and shock. He gives your arm a tight yank to keep you pressed in against his side when you try to scuttle away, nudging you insistently until you realize you have no choice but to look up at him except … except you’re not sure if you do so with impotent rage darkening your face or if it’s a tearfully remorseful expression he sees looking back at him.

Perhaps it was a frustrating combination of the two?

Wriothesley regards you in contemplative silence for a long moment, his own facial expression not giving much of anything away while the blinding sting across your backside gradually settles into a constant burning throb, but you don’t know what else to do other than stand there and wait for him to say something. You couldn’t believe he’d struck you like that — like a child! You’d only just met the duke today so for him to be putting his hands on you like that was beyond ridiculous, and completely inappropriate. But for as mad as you were, even for as much as your body trembles with frantic, clawing anger, you didn’t quite trust yourself to speak just yet … he would hear about it soon enough. In great detail and at even greater length, once you’d recovered enough to not need to worry your voice would crack and waver over your words. Very soon indeed.

“I told you what was going to happen,” He says at last, perfectly calm and even toned as ever considering he’d just hit you. “Didn’t I, little miss?”

Glaring daggers at him, you give your body a furious wrench against his hold but he keeps you in place easily enough. His hand was just so big it seemed to nearly encompass the total width of your bicep, allotting him the perfect hold on you that would only cause pain and discomfort if you were to truly struggle which left you with very little in the way of options. Grudgingly, you go still again and petulantly turn your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him any longer. You needed to focus on calming yourself before anything else. Acting rash now was only going to get you hurt.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” You finally manage to hiss. “But you've got a lot of nerve to put your hands on me like this.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” He volleys right back, not missing a beat, and you irritably twitch when you realize he’s thrown your own words back at you. He’d be in for a rude awakening soon enough, if you had any say in the matter.

“Enjoy your fun while you can, your grace. I was only bluffing earlier but now I think I really will go to The Steambird and tell them everything that’s transpired here today! What do you think about that, hm?” Impulsively, you whip your head back around to pin him with a biting look of challenge, but he just lifts his brows up at you as if in surprise.

“I think you are indeed a mouthy little brat in need of a good spanking to correct that attitude of yours. What are you going to do at The Steambird then? Take your pants down to show them your red bottom and let them take pictures for the morning paper?” Clicking his tongue, Wriothesley shakes his head as if in disappointment. “You’re not thinking this through all the way, but I suspect that’s a problem you regularly struggle with. Come, let’s get you sorted out.”

You suck in a horrified, raking breath when he shifts as if to move back towards his chair and quickly dig your heels into the ground to stop it. “W - wait! You can’t do this!” You wail, and a foolish pitter patter of hope skips across your chest when he actually pauses to look at you again. Maybe you could still talk your way out of this. It might cost you some of your pride, but that seemed a reasonable sacrifice given the situation. “Ah, what I meant to say is … I’m sorry?”

A sudden, clipped bark of laughter bursts out of him. “No you’re not.”

“I am, really! I’m very sorry for, um, stepping on your boot like that. I’ll have it cleaned and polished if you’d like. Just please let me go. Please?”

“I don’t think so.”

Wriothesley starts to pull you into motion again and you reel back against his hold even when it makes his thick, blocky fingers sink into the meat of your arm. “Wait! I promise I’m sorry, I really, really am! I didn’t mean it! I swear!”

Breathing out a patient sigh through his nose, he gently (surprisingly so) tugs you around to stand in front of him even when you stumble and drag your feet in a blithe attempt to avoid compliance. “You’re only sorry right now because you’re in trouble. I’m going to give you something to think about and a chance to reflect on your actions, and then you’ll really be sorry. Is that clear enough for you, miss?”

“You can’t do this …”

“Oh, but I can. Take a look around you and tell me where you’re standing. This is my fortress which means I get to make the rules here. If I decide bratty girls who like to run their mouths even after being told to calm down — repeatedly, might I add — need a spanking to get them in order then that is exactly what’s going to happen. And do let me remind you that I gave you plenty of chances to heed my warnings but you didn’t. You can thank your own attitude for getting you into this predicament.”

You try very hard to keep your expression in check but you’re pretty sure you fail rather miserably at it, and a flash of that vulnerable fear still manages to creep into your face. “I am not a child!” You insist, shuddering violently. “You can’t treat me like one! That’s not fair!”

“Oh, I’d say what’s not fair is barging in here like you own the place and not listening to a word I say. You’ve certainly acted like a child so I think I’m perfectly in my right to treat you like one now.”

Not giving you a chance to think of something else to say and further stall, Wriothesley suddenly swoops down and curls his arm around your thighs so he can yank you right up off your feet. You choke in surprise as much as at the sudden rush of movement, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he straightens up with you clutched across his front. Stinging hot tears flood your eyes all at once and you seethe, kicking and flailing, as he effortlessly carries you back around to the desk. It’s like you barely weigh anything in his arms which neither shudder or strain to hold you no matter how wildly you try to fight him. Even when he takes his seat again he still manages to much too easily manhandle you into place across his lap like you weren’t even struggling with every single ounce of strength you possessed.

In shockingly quick order you find yourself spread across his legs, on your tummy, but still you hiss and twist until his hand abruptly strikes across your upturned ass again. You jump so hard you nearly collapse right then and there but the thick, burly arm now curled over your trembling body keeps you firmly in place when you lurch. Wheezing frantically, you try to push yourself upright but it’s no use, and his palm swats you over your pants again, rapidly draining you of the energy to keep up the effort any longer when it hurt so bad it seemed to rob you of the ability to even think straight. Mewling at the deep hurt, you jerk forward at the next strike and let out a pitiful, broken little sob.

“I warned you to stop.” He reminds you again, falling into an easy steady rhythm. Whap, whap, whap, whap. One cheek and then the next, each hit somehow worse than the last as the burning sting grows and spreads across your defenseless backside. Even your desperate squirming was not enough to dissuade him from finding his mark as he peppers your sit spots in quick, agonizing succession. “I gave you so many chances too, but you just wouldn’t listen. Why is that, huh? Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?”

“Please stop — oww! T - that hurts, you damn brute — oww!”

“Keep it up and I’m just going to keep adding more. When you can’t sit right for the next week you’ll think back on this, I promise you that.”

Clenching your teeth, you fiercely try to keep the tears at bay so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you cry but the intense, constant crack of his hand on your ass soon wins out and they start to track wet lines down your burning face. You sniffle sadly and weakly kick your legs out behind you, making an attempt to curl them up and shield your already sore behind, but he just roughly tugs you further across his lap. Abruptly finding yourself slipping forward to half dangle over the side of the chair, you gasp and mindlessly stiffen up across his lap to stop your balance from tipping. That quickly proves to be a mistake though when the tense way you’re now holding your body just seems to make it hurt even worse, and you plaintively shake your head with a wordless shriek.

“Please stop it, your — ah! Your grace! I’m begging, I can’t — oww!”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you kept acting up.”

Whap, whap, whap, whap

“Ow, ow, owowow, ow! You’re … you’re doing it too hard! Stop it!”

Wriothesley chuckles somewhere far above you, the low timber of his voice blanketing over your muddied senses to make you shiver. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going hard enough yet. Not for the way you were behaving. Not to worry though, all in due time. This is just the warm up, after all.”

You go stock still across his legs, your heart skipping a long, harrowing beat. A warm up - -

“Yeow! Sto - ah - ahhhp! Please!”

Whap, whap, whap, whap

Hanging your head low, you openly sob and kick at the air now, clutching his thick boot with one hand while the other hangs onto the chair leg in a death grip to somewhat steady yourself. The sharp stabs of pain seem to chip away at your consciousness bit by bit, each slap of his massive hand taking with it a little piece of you each time it recedes. You’re so dazed by the constant onslaught that you almost don’t notice when he abruptly pauses and grabs under your arms.

Then you’re suddenly being hauled up and forced to stand on legs that immediately threaten to give out under you but Wriothesley just guides you around to stand between his legs. Furiously trying to wipe the evidence of tears from your face with a sleeve, you blearily watch as he brings his hands up to unbutton the front of your pants which he unceremoniously tugs down your legs to leave them bunched around your ankles. You can’t help but gasp, your cheeks burning even hotter at having your panties suddenly exposed to him, but you don’t get the chance to so much as suck in a shuddering breath let alone actually voice your protests.

Just like that, he’s dragging you back down over his lap and you twist against his hold with renewed fervor, clawing viciously at any part of him you can reach. His palm mercilessly swatting you across the back of your underwear freezes you in place though, and you let out a high pitched, keening sound at this new level of hell he’s introduced you to. It’s so much worse without your slacks in the way and just the thin layer of cotton to protect you from the full brunt of his punishing slaps. You’re so caught up in trying to process the extent of it when he shifts over top of you that you don’t even think to shriek at him to stop — but then his unoccupied hand fists the material of your panties and yanks them up to pull firm against your screaming backside. You outright squawk and choke at the sensation only to realize what he’s doing a split second later when he swats your ass again and the hurt suddenly feels like it’s skin to skin.

Howling in distress, you jerk and writhe against his legs but Wriothesley’s hold on your underwear effectively stops you from crawling away. You simply can’t escape it and the space between your ears is soon once again filled with the sharp swat! of his hand lighting you up. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever experienced, even putting aside the inherent humiliation of being spanked over his knee with your pants around your ankles.

“Waaa - aahhaaaaaa! Your grace, I - I’m sorry … owwww!”

“Are you now?” He murmurs, punctuating the soft tone of his voice with two blistering slaps, one to each cheek to leave you withering in his hold. “And what are you sorry for, little miss? Come on, speak up.”

That was incredibly difficult to do when he wasn’t letting up on your ass for even a moment but, hoping against hope that placating him might make this end quicker, you suck in a haggard, gasping breath to steady yourself. “I’m sorry for - eek! I’m sorry for all the rude things I said to you earlier! Oww! I - I shouldn’t have come in here and - ahh! Ahh! I shouldn’t have disrespected you in your fortress, your grace! I promise I’m sorry!”

“And what else?”

What else? What else even was there!

You desperately try to think, to figure it out, but your head is swimming so fast you start to think you might pass out. Loosing a broken moan, you agonizingly kick back and try to find purchase on the floor, only succeeding in half sliding off his knee. He easily readjusts his hold and rather meanly pulls harder on your panties though, making you squeal when they dig into your cunt and it essentially forces you to straighten your legs instead of slouching away from the continuous barrage of his hand. You choke on some kind of mindless animal sound and try to shove yourself forward in your desperation but he just spanks you even harder for the trouble.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

“I don’t know!” You cry out, dancing on the tips of your toes as if that would somehow alleviate some of the deep, throbbing ache encompassing your rear end. “I don’t know your grace, I don’t know but I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

You just barely manage to catch the sound of him clicking his tongue over your wailing. “How can you be sorry for something if you don’t even know what it is? You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?”

“I am!”

He stops so abruptly you lurch, gasping, as if he’d followed through on delivering the next blow. Shuddering uncontrollably, you warily twist to look over your shoulder with big, wet eyes to watch him fold your panties down over your ass to join your slacks around your ankles. Realizing what he’s doing your fight or flight instincts seem to kick in like never before, and you hysterically wrench against his hold. To your stumbling surprise you actually manage to slip free for a split second, for the span of but a single heartbeat, and then he’s reaching up before you can get your trembling legs to cooperate and he roughly tucks you down across his thigh again. This time with that heavy, corded steel arm locked around your waist.

“Wait, wait, wait - -“

Smack!

Your ass promptly erupts in splinters, every single nerve ending in your behind vibrating numbly at the impact. It punches the air right out of your lungs, leaves you gasping for even a sliver of air, but he doesn’t give you a chance to fully process the hurt. Smack, smack, smack, smack! The crack of his hand across your bare skin sounds deafening now and you shake uncontrollably as you cry out in unrestrained agony. Back and forth between each burning red, swollen cheek, he pays equal attention to both sides until it feels like the tingling flesh is quite literally on fire. You writhe against the blinding hurt and sob so hard the shudders wrack through you from head to toe even as you weakly try to push up and squeeze through his arm. It’s no use though. Wriothesley’s hold is as good as iron and all you can do is wrench at each blistering crack without any way to escape it.

“Well?” He expectantly prompts, but you’re a little too far gone in the swimming daze to properly respond now, just noising a series of incomprehensible whines and mewls with every strike. Quickly picking up that you were slipping under now, he breathes out a stilted sigh. “If there is but one thing you take away from this,” He intones, still bringing his palm down again and again, and again. “Let it be to pick your opponents more wisely in the future. You don’t just get to walk in here and start calling the shots, do you understand me?”

You croak out something that might be a yes, incomprehensibly slurred between all the tears and snot running down your face, and the sad little hiccups making your throat constrict. That seems to be good enough for him though, and he just presses on.

“I was nice enough to invite you to come to Meropide,” smack, smack, smack, smack “Even though I could have turned you down right from the start. I already knew your little pet project wasn’t going to pan out,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I figured I’d at least hear you out first and this is how you decided to repay me? Despite what you probably think, I don’t like having to punish people,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I’m not about to let some upstart little brat come in here and try to tell me what my inmates need. You don’t know the first thing about this place no matter what all your worthless charts tell you.”

Smack, smack, smack! Smack!

You flinch, weakly rocking forward when the next slap never comes. Groaning thickly, you squirm and dance on your feet, trying to shake off some of the discomfort even though it’s useless, but still he just sits there. You’re distantly aware of him breathing a bit heavier than before, either worked up from the act itself or the physical exertion of delivering a sound spanking, and you just whine low in your throat at the resounding throb throughout your body. It seems to claw through you and set every single nerve to trembling vibration, leaving you quaking violently in his hold.

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, Wriothesley draws a steadying inhale. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Y - yes …” You croak out with no shortage of effort, but his blocky fingers just dig into your hip to give you a brief jostle

“Wanna’ try that again?”

Your already strained heartbeat somehow manages to become even more wild at the panic that rushes in to smother over you. What did he want? Would he spank you again if you didn’t figure out the answer?

“Yes, sir?”

“That’s better.” He relents, giving your shuddering thigh an amicable pat. Silence descends over the office for a drawn out beat and then he suddenly leans forward, half dragging you with him while he opens one of the drawers on the desk to rummage around. “I don’t think you’re really sorry, not yet. But you will be soon. I know I have that damn hairbrush Sigewinne gave me somewhere.”

A hairbrush?

Your blood turns to ice at the implication, and the fresh wave of fear that abruptly grips you in a chokehold seems to clear some of the fog from your head. You could think just a little bit clearer now and you did not like where your thoughts were going, not one bit. Surely he wouldn’t actually take it that far after already abusing your ass so much with his hand.

“Your g - grace?”

Ignoring or just not hearing the weak little mouse squeak, Wriothesley settles back into his chair again, grabbing a pinching handful of your inner thigh to drag it over his knee once more. He doesn’t quite force your body across his lap but he does make sure you’re stretched out in a rather inelegant sprawl that leaves your legs embarrassingly spread and you start to shake in earnest now. You hadn’t thought it was possible for the human body to vibrate at such a high frequency but that's exactly what seems to be happening as the crushing reality of the situation gradually settles over you like a shroud.

And then, the press of something solid and flat touches your burning ass, and you practically jolt right up off his legs altogether.

Your skin crawls with it making you feel truly sick and nauseous even as you frantically try to twist your neck around to see. He’s got you at such an awkward angle though that you can’t make out much of anything and your panic rapidly starts to ratchet up into damn near a full on attack until he gently taps the object against your behind to pull your attention back into the moment.

“I’m going to give you twenty spanks with this brush, little miss. I want you to count them, and don’t forget to show me some respect while you do it.”

“I - I - I can’t, sir, I can’t, I can’t take anymore, p - please, it’s too much - -“

“Hush. I’ve got you,” He coos, unexpectedly gentle and soft, but it doesn’t do much to ease your heaving gasps or the erratic pounding of your heart. Still, you find yourself grudgingly getting pulled into that tender croon and you make a conscious effort to calm down even as you sway unsteadily over his thigh. “You’re alright. You’ll just get yourself all worked up over nothing acting like that. Deep breaths. That’s it. Now take another for me. Good girl. See? You can listen when you want to. It’s not so bad, is it?”

He offers the pudge around your hip a reassuring, possibly even approving squeeze when your breathing starts to slow to a normal, wheezing pant rather than the thin lungfulls you’d been sucking in just moments ago. You decidedly disliked him a great deal, perhaps more so than you’d ever disliked any one single person in all your life, but you were at least glad he was able to keep you grounded. Never mind the fact he was the cause of it to begin with, you were just thankful it didn’t feel like you were going throw up and pass out anymore.

And still the throbbing burn across your ass keeps pulling tiny little whimpers from your dry throat. It really was too much.

“Is it necessary?” You finally manage to rattle out.

“The brush? In my eyes it is, yes. This will show me whether or not you’ve been paying attention this whole time, if you can be respectful towards me throughout this last leg even though you’ll probably want to curse me to high heaven and back. If you can tell me you’re really sorry when we’re done then it will be over. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

Groaning in defeat, you hang your head low and just take a moment to think. Your options were regretfully limited but … you wanted to trust him at his word and, more importantly, you just wanted to have it done and over with already. The pain crawling across your backside was immeasurable, gradually receding to a dull, distant, but no less teeth clattering ache that reminded you it was there with every thrumming pulse, and he was right to say you wanted to curse him for it. You would have given anything to do just that but Wriothesley had made it clear what he expected of you. Obedience, compliance, respect.

Perhaps you should have expected no less from the reclusive Duke of Meropide but you certainly would not be making this mistake again.

“Yes, sir.” You whisper into the stillness at last, a sort of numb surprise curling over you at the lack of bite in your own voice. You’d expected to hear bitter tears, anger, defensive pride, not … such a soft, almost shaky little note of submission.

The very idea that his unjust treatment of you had somehow accomplished exactly what it was meant to chills you almost as much as it brings you a strange sense of comfort which he only further enforces by warmly caressing his unoccupied palm over the curve of your bare waist.

“Good. Then let’s get started.”

An expectant pause and then — whap!

You violently lurch, dizzy and disoriented from the sudden intensity of the impact. It was so different from his hand, so hard and unforgiving that it made your stomach feel like it was about to burst right up out of your throat. Reeling and weakly gasping in the aftermath, you futilely arch against the sting, kicking your legs out, but there’s no escaping it or shaking it off. The pain seems to engulf you all at once, making you choke on a haggard, gutted little sound. Like you couldn’t even scream around it and only whimper in breathless, mind numbing agony.

“O - one, sir.” You finally manage to rattle out to his humming satisfaction.

Whap! On the other sore cheek.

“Oh! Oh, oh, oooohhhh, n - nnghhnhn!! Two, sir …”

Whap! Back to the first. Whap! The second again.

You can’t quite formulate the words now, just laying there spread out on Wriothesley’s lap while your legs uncontrollably shake and you suck in quick, faltering thin gasps of air in an attempt to reorient yourself. It was like the sharp, oppressively heavy stroke of the wooden brush was knocking your brain around and making it hard just to remember how to breathe. Sniffling back a rush of fresh tears, however, you force your mind to stay focused in the here and now rather than drifting off to some faraway place where you currently weren’t getting your ass beat. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Why he was making you count like this, to keep you firmly planted and present to ensure your attention didn’t start to slip at the first chance and you remained attentive for this final part of your trial. The sadistic bastard.

“Four, sir …”

Whap! Whap!

“O - oooh, gods … s - six, sir.”

Whap! Whap!

You have to take a moment to collect yourself, to breathe through the sickening pain that encompasses your backside, and he waits patiently until you eventually lift your head again. “Eight, sir.”

Whap!

“Eeekk! Ahh, ah … nine — ahhn, sir!”

Dazed and more than just a little lost in the hazy delirium swimming around your head, you slowly start to find and grasp at a tiny fraction of your inner strength. Your voice comes quicker, albeit thinner, as you hold your breath tightly over the course of the next few swats of the brush, finally seeing an end in sight just over the horizon. A few more and then you would be done. You could leave this place and never see the duke again for as long as you lived.

“Fifteen, sir!” You hear yourself blurt out, nearly sobbing in relief only to choke on it when the next swing cracks down on the opposite cheek a second later. Seething viciously, you shake for a moment before gritting out the next number. And the next.

You’re practically hysterical when you finally get to nineteen, all but blubbering across his lap, but you take the last strike like a champ, squealing a cursory, “Twenty, sir!” And then immediately giving in to the urge to dance on your toes, trying in vain to chase away some of the skin crawling ache by moving around. He leans back into the chair, just giving you a moment to process it on your own terms, before eventually loosening his arm around your middle so he can help you up. You move gingerly and wheeze through the process of getting your jelly filled legs underneath you but, at last, you find yourself standing between the wide spread of his knees and you cautiously reach back to rub your sore bottom.

You regret it immediately, hissing at the intense heat coming off the abused skin as much as the stabs of pain just brushing your fingertips against the tender area causes. But before you can truly process the full brunt of it, he takes your wrist in hand and tugs it away from your behind so he can hold it between the two of you instead.

“You’re welcome to try but it isn’t going to do much to take away any of the pain. You’ll have that reminder in the back of your mind for the next few days, any time you sit or your clothes rub against it.” A pause while he studies you with that frustratingly impassive expression, taking in your wet face, the clumps of your eyelashes where they’re sticking together, the distant look in your eyes. He takes it all in and then offers you a small, brief smile. “Are you sorry now?”

You almost choose petulant silence but, not wanting to tempt fate any further, you slowly nod your head. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry for how I acted towards you today, and for not listening when you told me to stop. I won’t do it again.”

“Good girl.” Giving your fingers a quick squeeze, he reaches down to take hold of your hips in both of his massive hands and carefully guide you back a step so he can rise to his feet as well. “Alright, go stand in the corner. Face the wall and keep your cute bottom uncovered.”

Immediately planting your feet into the floor when he tries to nudge you in the general direction of the wall, you send him a flustered look of warning. “You said that would be the end of it.”

“It was, and you did so well for someone whom I suspect hasn’t been spanked nearly enough in her lifetime. But,” Wriothesley quickly holds up a hand to stop you when you draw a sharp, scathing breath to snap at him with. “It’s usually customary to give you a chance to further reflect on your punishment while the sting settles the rest of the way in. Besides, I need to run down to the infirmary to get a cream for your butt and you can’t very well sit down right now, can you?”

“You are infuriating!” You practically spit at him, fists clenching with the urge to reach out and punch him square in the solar plexus. “What exactly do you think this is, your grace? A fun little afternoon we’ve shared together over tea and gossip? I don’t want your stupid cream! I want to leave this place and never be forced to look upon you ever again, do you hear me?”

“Oh, I hear you loud and clear.” Wriothesley murmurs with an accompanying quirk of his brow to go along with it. “Gotta’ say though, I wasn’t expecting you to bounce right back to your earlier attitude so fast. Usually brats like you need a bit more time to recoup some of their charge after getting it all out of their system like that.”

You reel back in abject shock. “Brats like me? You have some nerve acting like I’m the problem when you just - -“

He reaches up quicker than you can react and abruptly pulls you into the front of him, one hand lifting to cradle your head against the firm, muscular wall of his body while the other curls around your back so you can’t escape. Your skin positively crawls at the contact, lips pulling back in a vicious snarl, but then … he just gently rocks you back and forth, softly petting your hair while he does it, and you go stock still in your surprise. You didn’t understand it. What he was doing or why he was doing it, and you understood even less why it almost made you feel a bit — funny inside. Tingly, almost.

“There, there,” Wriothesley murmurs, just holding you tightly enough to prevent escape but still soft enough not to smother. “Is this what you need instead? I didn’t take you for the sort but I have no problem giving it to you as long as it gets rid of that grumpy frown for a little while. You’re way cuter when you don’t look so damn mad …”

You stand there for a long beat unsure of how to react. Knowing you should kick up a fit, fight him tooth and nail, drag his name through the mud for how he’s treated you here today and yet — somehow the heat of his body, the heady scent of his muted cologne seems to drain the fight from your body. It leaves you feeling empty and hollow, and a sudden rush of emotions quickly floods in to replace it all. You don’t really understand it, nor are you entirely sure you want to, but you were a little too tired to keep up the pretense any longer. Not while there was a veritable storm whipping up inside your chest.

Eyes watering with a new, inexplicable sheen of tears, you slowly bring your hands up to clutch at his waistcoat. Maybe it would be okay if you entertained this for just another moment longer … maybe you could attack him when his guard was down after you’d finished fighting back the sobs suddenly threatening to wrack through your body. He’d chipped away at you, wiped the slate clean, so to speak, and now he was filling you back up with a comforting warmth you wouldn’t have expected from him given his icy demeanor.

You still weren’t particularly fond of his methods but at least there was some amount of peace to be found in his embrace, and you may or may not have liked it just a teeny tiny bit. Not that you’d ever admit that to Wriothesley, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You could certainly keep the secret.

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #self insert bullshit

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super-who-locked-me-in-here · 5 months ago

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Pieces of media my mom has seen and the popular MLM ships in them that she doesn't think are gay:

MCU - Stucky (note that she does get a kick out of Stony stuff and she believes wholeheartedly that those two hate fucked in a not-filmed scene of Avengers 2012 so this is not about her thinking "oh Captain America is so straight-laced because he's the ideal American man" or anything)

MCU - Poolverine (she's fully aware and accepting of the fact that both Logan and Wade are canonically queer characters but she thinks all the flirting Wade did with Logan in the newest movie didn't necessarily mean anything because "he talks like that to everyone". Side note though: while she believes Wade should be with Vanessa, she does think that Logan can and should shoot his shot with Wade after Vanessa inevitably dies since he and Wade are both immortal. It's just that she thinks Wade should get his happy ending with Vanessa first.)

MCU - Lokius ("Mama have you ever seen a man fix another man's tie like that" "No but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen! I wouldn't know though; it's been like 15 years since I worked a corporate job.")

Sonyverse/Marvel - Symbrock ("They literally have a symbiotic relationship. That doesn't make them gay." So I showed her the comics where Eddie calls Venom "love" and gives birth to Venom's babies and she said "Fine you win but please never show me alien man birth ever again."

Supernatural - Destiel ("They're like Steve and Bucky! They're brothers in arms! They've been through hell and back together!" Note that she only watched through season 5 but she does know about a lot of their later interactions because I told her about them)

House M.D. - Hilson ("Dot I watched that whole show and they were never anything more than good friends" "What about when House admitted to thinking about Wilson during sex? What about that whole episode where they pretended to be gay for each other to prove a point to a neighbor and Wilson proposed? What about that whole episode where Wilson had to furnish the apartment and House told him not to let a woman tell him what to do but Wilson let House tell him what to do? What about the whole ending?" "Why can't two men just be close enough friends to joke about that stuff with each other?"

Real life - Me and my best friend of the same gender orientation who I've kissed multiple times and have had a requited crush on for years that neither of us have ever persued for logistical reasons (I literally used me and this friend to try and prove my mom wrong about Stucky and Destiel. I asked her if she thought me and this friend were like brothers and she said yes with a straight face)

Sherlock - Johnlock (to be fair this is the BBC ship name, but she doesn't think any iteration of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the slightest bit gay. "They're business partners and roommates.")

Our Flag Means Death - BlackHands (Should go ahead and say that I'm not really a BlackHands shipper myself; we both really enjoyed Stede and Ed's romance in the show. BUT it takes so much away from Izzy's character and his development if you don't acknowledge that he was jealous of Stede and in love with Ed, at least a little. My mom thought Izzy was just an extremely loyal first mate.)

Also, for the record, I'm not trying to call my mom out as homophobic. I'm queer and so are two of my siblings and she's very supportive of us. There are gay romcoms she enjoys like Our Flag Means Death and Red, White, and Royal Blue. The reason I'm making this list is because I think it's really funny how she doesn't understand the concept of queerbaiting (not that all of the above listed ships are queerbaiting). She thinks things are either explicitly straight or explicitly queer (whether it's gay, lesbian, bisexual, etc) and cannot comprehend the idea that some character relationships are deliberately pushing the boundaries of straight friendships into queer relationships to get more minority viewers and I think her explanations are funny.

#she definitely understands what shipping is though #she literally has shown me nine x rose fics and storm x wolverine fics she wrote back in the early 2000s #lmfao #dot says #stucky #lokius #poolverine #symbrock #destiel #hilson #johnlock #blackhands

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ichorai · 2 years ago

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amsterdam ; jacaerys velaryon. (m)

track two of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x arryn!f!reader

synopsis ; prince jacaerys velaryon traveled to the eyrie to secure aid for his mother's cause. he didn't at all expect to fall in love an arryn while he was there.

words ; 4.7k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), jace is very much infatuated with you (expect lots of praise !!), reader is the only child of jeyne arryn of the vale, mentions of daemon and rhaenyra, in this fic jace is over eighteen when he goes to the eyrie !! cursing, mentions of death, vermax is grumpy bcs he has to sit outside in the cold someone save him

main masterlist.

The Eyrie stood tall and proud on the very top of rocky mountains—so high that white wisps of clouds could be seen far below where the castle was situated. Jacaerys unmounted his dragon, placing a reassuring hand on the large, olive-green scales of his snout.

“Kesan sagon arlī. Umbagon,” he murmured to Vermax, who huffed out a plume of warm smoke and settled back on his haunches, clearly unhappy with the prospect of waiting around in the cold. I will be back. Stay.

Blowing out a nervous exhale, Jace squared his shoulders and turned on his heel, making his way into the white-stone castle.

Blue-cloaked guards stood in his way of the wooden entrance, faces stony and hands resting on the hilts of their swords, at the ready.

“I am Jacaerys Velaryon, son of the rightful Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I’ve come to urgently speak to Lady Jeyne Arryn to secure aid for my mother’s cause.” His voice rang clear and true, confident despite his inner turmoil.

The guards glanced at each other, before stepping aside, letting him walk through.

“This way, my Prince,” one of them said, guiding him through winding corridors and eventually, down a long hall. The blue-veined, marble walls shone with polish—so much so that Jacaerys could see his own warped reflection looking back at him.

And at the end of the hall, laid two thrones of weirwood—nothing compared to the hunkering mass that was the iron throne, but still grand nonetheless. Seated on one was the Lady of the Eyrie, Jeyne Arryn, with a head of dark locks like his, and soft features that contrasted starkly with the scowl pulling at her lips.

The lady was facing her side, where she was speaking in hushed whispers to her only daughter—Y/N Arryn, the infamous Jewel of the Eyrie.

Jace could feel his heart stumble upon itself when he laid his eyes on you. Suddenly, your name made sense. Sure, he had heard tales of your regaling beauty and your kind nature, but words alone were not enough to fully encapsulate just how breathtaking you really were.

The sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows bathed you in a warm glow, casting long, sloping shadows over your skin. Draped over your form was a dress of cerulean hue, cascading down your hips as if it were water. Jace considered himself a gentleman—he had to take care not to let his eyes wander to the low-hanging cut of your neckline, where the very beginnings of your cleavage were exposed, and a glinting pearl necklace hung just above your clavicle. Your hair was cut rather short, nearly as short as his, but framed your face just perfectly. Your lips were moving hurriedly as you spoke to your mother, eyes alight with a certain fire, but Jace couldn’t quite catch what you were saying. The stories not only told of your enchanting beauty, but of your strongly overprotective mother, who always turned away any and all suitors for you. And proposals were never short, from what he heard. Jacaerys felt a strange flame of jealousy brew within his stomach.

“Apologies for the interruption, my lady,” announced the guard. “Jacaerys Velaryon, here to speak with you.”

Upon the abrupt announcement, you promptly clamped your mouth shut, looking over to Jace with a scrutinizing, yet curious gaze, meeting the Prince’s own intrigued eyes.

His throat was suddenly dry. It took everything within him to tear his attention away from you, and look towards your mother.

“My lady,” greeted Jacaerys, fists clenching and unclenching behind his back. “I’ve come on behalf of my mother, the Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. She kindly asks you to remember that she is part Arryn herself, as you are half-siblings with the late Queen Aemma, and hopes you will support your cousin’s claim to the throne.”

Recognition sparked within the Lady’s eyes, remembering her half-sister, Aemma. From beside her, you subconsciously straightened yourself as he spoke, lips parting out of interest. This was Prince Jacaerys himself—heir to the throne. Jace gradually shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling your gaze practically burn holes straight through him. You couldn’t help but notice that he was quite the handsome young man, with a head of thick, dark hair, and hard-set, determined eyes. He spoke evenly and calmly, voice soaked with honey and smoked cedar and ocean salt. The Prince looked to be around the same age as you, give or take a few moons. And as Jacaerys had heard much about you, you knew just as much about him—and now that you were seeing him in person… the stories seemed to prove themself true. He didn’t look one bit Targaryen or Valeryon, but rather resembled the bold, physical characteristics of a Strong.

Either way, bastard or not, Jacaerys Velaryon intrigued you.

The argument you’d just had with your mother about traveling to King’s Landing and seeing the world for yourself was still fresh on your mind, and seeing Jace right here in front of you felt like much more than a coincidence.

“Yes,” your mother said, standing up from the throne to step closer to the Prince. “I do remember the rather twisted history of our families. In fact, I seem to recall your great-uncle Daemon was married to Rhea Royce until her… untimely death.”

The Lady of the Eyrie was plainly hinting at the fact that his stepfather murdered his first wife. Jace steeled himself by blowing out a small breath.

“It was truly unfortunate,” said Jace diplomatically.

The woman narrowed her eyes, eerily similar to your expression. “Despite my contempt for your great-uncle, it would be hypocritical of me to say Targaryen men are the root of the problem. Mine own kin have sought to replace me as Ruler of the Vale thrice by now. My cousin, Ser Arnold, oft claims women are too soft to rule. He is currently in one of my sky cells, if you would like to see.”

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably. He’d heard little of the sky cells—only that the room bore three walls instead of four, leaving an open gap for anybody to plummet to their grueling death. And knowing how high up the castles were built, there would be no chance for survival. The grounds were sloped and it was not uncommon for prisoners to roll off the edge during their sleep.

“Mother,” you spoke for the first time, making his head snap to you. You watched him sympathetically, an apologetic glint to your eyes, voice smoothly soft but tone firm. “I am sure the Prince has much more important matters to attend to than my bumbling fool of an uncle.”

Jeyne nodded at your words. “Yes… of course. We’ll help you fight your war, Prince Jacaerys. Send word to your mother that we support her cause and will supply her with as many soldiers as she needs—in this world of men, we women must band together.”

Relief flooded through Jace’s veins. Momentarily, he caught your eye and dipped his head in gratitude.

“On one condition,” said the Lady of the Eyrie, holding up a hand. “We will send you support if and only if you swear to protect the Vale from the Greens with dragonriders.”

Irrational hope flared within Jacaerys’ chest—the thought of being able to spend more time in the Vale just to see you a bit more made him rather excited. Though, knowing his mother, he would most likely be stuck by her side as heir to the throne than up North protecting the Vale.

“That can be arranged,” agreed Jacaerys. “We swear to protect the Vale and the people within it.”

“Then our deal is done,” said your mother, before lowering herself slightly, as an act of bending the knee to the Prince. You followed suit, meeting his gaze once again, this time with a subtle, radiant smile cinching the corners of your eyes. The guards flanking the hall were the last to mirror your actions, all bending the knee to the heir of the iron throne.

Jacaerys was making his way out of the hall, surprised when you bid your mother adieu and rushed after the Prince, much to her overprotective dismay, offering to walk with him to his dragon. You waved the guards away, but they still hovered over the pair of you with uncertain expressions.

“It’s just a brief walk,” you reasoned. “I’ll be fine.”

Relenting, the guards backed off and left you alone with the Prince.

“Come along, my Prince, I can show you the way out,” you gently laid your hand on his forearm, tugging him with you further down the hall. The young man could feel his heart slamming against his chest, a thundering pulse in his ears nearly deafening him.

Now that you were so much closer to him—mere inches—Jace could see finer details about you, and impossibly, you somehow became all the more beautiful. The blue fabric of your dress grazed his more coarse tunic.

“There is much I have heard of you, my Prince,” you began, a kind smile illuminating your features. “I must say, I admire your Queen mother greatly.”

“Jace,” he softly said.

You blinked at him. “Pardon?”

Tripping over his words, Jace quickly backtracked, “I, uh, you don’t have to call me your Prince. Jace is just fine.” A bit more hesitantly, he tacked on, “I’m not quite used to the title just yet. It feels strange.”

A part of him was worried you’d be appalled at the impropriety of calling him by a nickname, but you merely grinned, all wide and sweet.

“Alright then, Jace. Have you anywhere urgent to be? The hour is growing late—perhaps you can stay for supper. You cannot possibly run more errands on an empty stomach.”

You leaned closer and he caught a whiff of saccharine fruits and jasmine oil wafting from your hair, a smell that he yearned to drown himself into. It also didn’t slip past his notice that your chest was pressed up against his bicep. Good heavens, Jacaerys needed to get a grip of himself.

Ever the responsible son, Jacaerys knew he had to be on his way to the Three Sisters, a small cluster of islands up North, to gain their support for his mother, as well. But he was ahead of schedule, and he deserved something of a rest after hours on dragonback. After all, he’d packed little else than fruit and bread and dried meat rations—the idea of a warm meal was more than appealing.

Perhaps those were all just excuses. The true reason he wanted to stay was because he wanted to spend more time with you.

“Wouldn’t your mother mind?” he asked, a little apprehensive, not wanting to get in between you and the overprotective Lady of the Eyrie. She already had a distaste for Targaryen men, thanks to his stepfather Daemon, and he wasn’t too keen on being added to the roster.

Expression faltering just a smidge, you shook your head. “No, she’s so very busy running the Vale—warding off her cousins who are fighting for their claim to inherit the Eyrie. It’s a whole lot of political nonsense, if you ask me.”

Hesitantly convinced, Jace allowed himself to smile in hopes of seeing your own once more. “If you insist, my lady. Supper sounds wonderful.”

To his delight, you beamed, and led him to a winding marble staircase, flourished with blue carpets that matched your dress. “Great! The morning hall is right up here—it’s rather quiet around this time, since it’s a bit early for supper.”

“Perfect,” mumbled Jace, the idea of being alone with you setting his cheeks aflame.

Once in the hall, you kindly requested one of the servants to fetch a bowl of lamb stew and some cider for the Prince, gesturing for him to sit on one of the narrow, long tables that stretched nearly the entire length of the room.

You engaged Jace in amicable chatter, which he seldom got to do with anybody that wasn’t his family—everyone either hated him because of his uncanny resemblance to Harwin Strong, or they were intimidated by his status as heir to the throne. It was refreshing, and frankly, made Jacaerys a little envious of those without the burden of responsibility on their shoulders.

The stew arrived not too shortly after, along with a silver chalice full of spiced apple cider that burned his tongue in all the right ways. You sipped on your own cup, nearly choking with laughter when he began recounting a story about his younger brother, Lucerys, nearly falling off his dragon during his first ride. Jace thought you had the most mellifluous laugh, practically music to his ears. He itched to hear the sweet sound over and over again.

“I wish I had siblings sometimes,” you wistfully said, placing your chalice down on the table and resting your face on your palm, propped up by your elbow. “It gets awfully lonely here. My mother, I love her, I do, but she never really lets me go out of the Vale. The only times were when I was a small child, and even then I was accompanied by half a dozen guards.”

Jace hummed sympathetically, spooning more of the peppery stew in his mouth. “So it’s true, then? Your mother constantly rejecting all the suitors and proposals lined up on your doorstep?”

“Yeah,” you fixed him with a warm smile. “Though, I suppose it’s not that much of a loss. Most of the men asking for my hand were more than twice my age and always looked upon me in a… lewd manner. It’s no wonder my mother turned all of them down.”

Without thinking, Jace blurted out, “You deserve to wed someone you love. A man who loves you doubly so.”

You fell silent, regarding him curiously. Maybe Jace didn’t know any better, but you appeared to be flustered. Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, my pr—Jace. Besides, the proposals aren’t really what bother me. It’s the fact that I stand to inherit the Eyrie and I have yet to explore the rest of the world. I’m afraid that once I am Lady of the Vale, I won't have any time for myself.”

“I have a dragon,” said Jace, in a half-joking, half-serious manner. “I can take you flying around Westeros one day, when the war is over.”

“You mean it?” you whispered, a genuine glimmer of excitement laced behind your words. Jace nodded, his heart leaping into his throat with the motion. “That would mean the world to me, it really would.”

The two of you fell into another comfortable silence. You downed the rest of your cider and he mopped up the remaining bits of his stew with a steaming loaf of bread.

“I have yet to find a suitor to my liking,” you said, pursing your lips hesitantly. Jace gestured for you to keep talking, drinking some of the cider to wash down his meal. “And I’ve heard you’re betrothed now, yes?”

At the mention of his betrothal to his cousin Baela, Jacaerys stiffened.

He leaned forward. “Can I be completely honest with you? And you must promise not to say a word of this to anyone.”

You nodded, eyes wide.

“I do not wish to marry Baela,” he whispered, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. Your lips parted, as if you wanted to say something, but you kept quiet, allowing for him to continue. “The romantic love I harbor for her is scant—she is more of my sister than anything. I cannot see myself ever… consummating our marriage.” Heat seeped into his cheeks, and a part of him instantly regretted admitting that to you.

“Perhaps you need not marry her, then,” you responded without a second’s pause, before freezing at your words, as if they had slipped from your mouth out of your own volition. “I’m terribly sorry, my Prince, I shouldn’t have…”

Whatever you were beginning to say died on your tongue when Jace moved his hand across the table to settle gently on top of yours.

The atmosphere between the two of you seemed to shift.

Jace studied your features with a keen eye, noticing the bright glint to your molten irises, the gentle curvature of your nose, the small birthmark on the left side of your jaw. And, not at all discreetly, his gaze fell to your lips, where your teeth were worrying into the supple flesh. His own expression melded into one of raw longing—nearing desperation, even.

And you could see it all on his face, plain and clear. Jacaerys Velaryon was enraptured by you.

It was not at all like how the suitors asked for your hand—they looked upon you like a direwolf would a slab of meat, as if you were merely an object for their carnal desires, as if you were to warm their bed and nothing else.

Jacaerys, however, looked upon you like you had scattered the very stars in the sky with your bare hands. And you had no doubt you mirrored his yearning countenance.

“Come with me,” you whispered, standing up and lacing your fingers with his, tugging him away from the table, and out of the morning hall.

With a dazed look on his face, Jace followed along, allowing you to pull him towards more stairs. Up, up, and further up, the two of you went.

Until he stood in front of a large oaken door, your free hand pushing it open and the other ushering him inside the spacious room. The waning, clementine light of the setting sun shone through the diamond-shaped windows, framed by blue velvet curtains, bathing you in a regal, aureate luminescence as you softly shut the door behind you and leaned against the wood, fixing him with a burning stare. Your lips were parted, and your chest was rising and falling in a tantalizing manner.

The cold realization that he was in your chambers suddenly dawned upon him. Seven hells, this was… beyond improper. Reality slapped Jacaerys out of his lustful stupor, and he struggled to formulate a coherent sentence.

“My lady,” he began, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “This is… we shouldn’t—”

His words dwindled away when you reached behind yourself and began undoing the laces of your dress. Despite his protests, Jace made no move to leave. He could feel his breeches growing uncomfortably tight. It felt like there was not enough air in the room for him to breathe.

“I… I should probably get going, Vermax—my dragon loathes the cold, you see…” he tried once more, to no avail.

The blue material fell from your shoulders, cascading down your body and pooled onto the ground in one seamless motion, leaving only a thin pale shift between him and your naked body. He fell deathly silent.

You were the most beautiful person Jacaerys had ever laid his eyes on. No woman, no man, nobody in all of Westeros, could ever compare to the likes of you.

Throwing all caution to the wind, the Prince surged forward in two large strides, sealing the distance between you. One of his hands carefully cradled your face as if you were hewn from porcelain, and the other clutched your waist, thumb grazing over the sides of your ribs, dangerously close to your breasts.

And his lips met yours in a heated frenzy, your noses bumping against one another amidst your vigor.

“Should you wish to stop, just say the word, my lady,” he murmured against you, tugging you away from the door and walking you backwards to the large bed.

Your knees buckled against the mattress and you fell back, eyes darkened with wanton need. Your fingers began hurriedly undoing the buttons at the top of his tunic. “Don’t stop, please,” you breathed out just as he began languidly kissing you once again. “Don’t you dare stop.”

A newfound confidence fueled his movements with your affirmation, and he rid himself of his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him, along with his straining breeches and undergarments. You let your eyes roam over his toned chest, lids half-hooded.

“You’re so beautiful,” you told him, following suit and shirking your thin shift off, leaving you completely nude in front of the Prince, save for the opalescent pearls hanging around your neck.

His breath hitched at your praise. “I was just about to say the same thing,” he muttered hotly against your flushed skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, roaming over the slope of your neck, your shoulders, your chest. “Beautiful,” he said, echoing himself with every kiss. You fisted the sheets beneath you, desperate for him to touch you where it ached the most.

A wave of arousal danced over you when he came face to face with your breasts, his tongue slipping out to drag along one of your pebbled nipples, his hand lifting to tweak the other between his fingers. His lips enveloped one of the pert buds, and he glanced up to see you with your head thrown back, a sigh of pleasure falling from your throat.

“Jacaerys, please…” you moaned, breathing stilted.

Eager to please, Jace pulled away from your breast, trailing wet kisses down your stomach, along your hips, and to the insides of your thighs. His hands held your legs apart, which trembled with anticipation and need.

His cock twitched against the bed upon seeing your slickened cunt, soaked with your essence.

“All this for me?” he hummed, laving his tongue mere inches away from where you needed him most.

“All for you,” you said, a low groan tumbling from your lungs when he finally surged forward and buried his face into your cunt, licking into your warm hole, the crook of his nose pressing repeatedly into your spasming clit.

Embarrassed by your volume, you slapped your hands over your mouth, muffling your breathless whines.

Obviously not pleased with this, Jacaerys looked up at you with a stern look, halting his ministrations. “Let me hear you, my lady. I want to hear you.”

Hands quaking, you let them fall away from your lips, clenching into fists by your sides. Jacaerys smiled at you, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. Then, he lowered himself back down and abruptly attached his lips to your sensitive clit, making your hips jolt upwards with the sudden rush of pleasure.

“Jace!” you wailed, grinding your cunt against his mouth. He hummed in approval, clearly getting off on your own pleasure. Two of his fingers circled your entrance, and he slowly pushed them into you, cracking one of his eyes open to observe your breathless, writhing figure.

He continued his ministrations, fucking you with his fingers and sucking relentlessly on your clit until you seized up beneath him, a litany of pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips.

“That’s it, cum for me. My good girl,” he praised, moaning into your cunt as you did what you were told, grinding against his face as you came down from your high, until you began to flinch away with overstimulation. Jace wished to have you ride his face, use him as the dragon he was, be completely at your mercy… but he was desperate to feel your cunt around him.

Jacaerys made his way back up your body, kissing you once more. You could taste yourself on him, which made you dizzy with delight.

“I need you, Jace,” you mumbled, wrapping your legs over his waist, your hot, soaked pussy pressed against his abdomen. “I need you inside me.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he whispered with one final kiss, ever the gentleman. “Tell me if it’s too much. I wish not to hurt you.”

Lining himself with your still-sensitive entrance, he began to slowly ease his way in, keenly watching your expression to make sure he wasn’t paining you in any way.

“So good,” you mumbled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Feels so good, Jace.”

“Beautiful girl,” the Prince groaned once he bottomed out inside your warmth, eyes rolling into the back of his head from the overwhelming sensation of your sopping cunt fluttering around his cock.

He started off gentle, slowly rocking into you, eyes darting between your blissful features, and your breasts bouncing with every thrust.

You began to move in tandem with him, wanton moans echoing throughout your chambers when he reached down to rub slow circles on your clit.

The slapping of his skin on yours made a flustered expression burrow itself permanently on his face, dusting his skin with faint rouge. You felt so fucking good, nearly too good to be true, and Jacaerys wouldn’t at all be surprised if he woke up and you turned out to be a dream.

Your name tumbled from his lips in rapid repetition as he could feel his orgasm approaching, rhythm faltering when you clenched viciously around him. He met your eyes, leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow. “Can you cum for me again, sweet girl?” he murmured, a satisfied growl thundering in the back of his throat.

Shivering, one of your hands raked down his back desperately, on the very precipice of your climax. You came with a shout of his name, stars blotting out your vision, clenching so tightly around him that Jace had a hard time moving, which had him moaning a breathy string of curses.

He showered you with more praises, thrusting into you once, twice, three more times, before his voice tapered off into a groan, hurriedly pulling out of your throbbing cunt to cum all over your stomach, both your chests glistening with sweat.

Panting, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed beside you, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your temple. “My beautiful, sweet girl,” he murmured, making your heart swell with pride and adoration.

You turned to slot your lips just beside his nose bridge, rubbing your thighs together contentedly. “My handsome, gentle Prince,” you responded, voice hoarse and exhaust weighing down your eyelids.

“You did so well for me. You can sleep now, my lady.” he reassured, expression softening as he pushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face. “I’ll clean you up.”

You could only tiredly smile at him, allowing your eyes to fully slip shut, chest rising and falling evenly as slumber took over your form. Jace could only watch fondly, pressing one last kiss to your temple, before making his way off the bed.

The next morning rolled by far too soon. The sun glared through your windows, straight into your eyes, and you tried waving it away with a huff of annoyance, to no avail. Finally, you sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand. Once you came to, you noticed that you were neatly tucked into the center of your expansive bed, and you lifted the thick blue blanket to look down, mildly surprised to find any and all stickiness between your thighs and on your stomach was gone.

Did you dream of what transpired last night? Was Prince Jacaerys only but a figment of your hyperactive imagination?

Feeling a bit dejected, you fell back against your feather-stuffed pillows, rolling onto your side. It couldn’t have been a dream, though—it certainly felt real. Heat spidered across your skin at the lewd memories of the night before.

Your suspicion was only confirmed when you caught sight of a small, folded piece of paper on your bedside table. With nimble fingers, you plucked it off the surface and unfurled the sheet, a small smile dancing at the corner of your mouth. You found it endearing that Jacaerys’ handwriting was a nearly illegible, messy scrawl of ink across the parchment.

My dearest lady, As much as it pains me to leave you, I have urgent matters to attend to for my mother. I will be heading North to the Three Sisters in hopes of gaining their favor. I will never forget this night with you, nor will I forget my promise to take you flying across Westeros after the war ends. You are, without a doubt, the most wonderful thing to have happened to me. I still wonder if I am dreaming, because a beauty such as yours cannot possibly exist. I will come back for you, sweet girl. I swear it by the Seven. Yours, Jace

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys smut #jacaerys fluff #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon fluff #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #jace velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #hotd smut

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kandisheek · 1 month ago

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FIC REC WEEK 50 – ENDGAME

SERIES: front row seats by Annie D (scaramouche)

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Steve/Peggy Rating: M Words: 27,182 Tags: Branching Timelines, Post-Endgame, Canon Compliant

Summary: A Steve/Tony series that follows one of the branching timelines set up by Avengers: Endgame.

Reasons why I love it: This series is everything I never knew I needed. The way it takes the implications of the Endgame ending and spins them to their furthest possible conclusion is so satisfying. I'm in awe of Annie D for coming up with this, because in my head this is canon now. You can't convince me otherwise.

This series consists of:

Something Beautiful

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Steve/Peggy Rating: T Words: 5,367 Tags: Alternate Reality, 1940s Branching Timeline, Making Up

Summary: In one universe sideways, it’s 2012 and the Avengers have just defeated Loki and the Chitauri. Steve Rogers, who has been out of the ice for almost ten years, wonders if his retaking the shield for this event was a one-off, or if he’s ready to keep it again. It depends on Tony.

Reasons why I love it: I really, really love how Annie D manages to drop all these little tidbits about how MCU-Steve going back in time changed the reality that this other version of Steve now lives in. The changes feel so organic, and it's all due to the way they're woven into the story without ever dumping exposition on the reader. It's legitimately masterful, and one of the reasons why Annie D's writing never fails to impress me. Definitely read this one, it's so good!

Safest Hands

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Steve/Peggy Rating: T Words: 7,080 Tags: Established Relationship, Declarations of Love, Marriage Proposal

Summary: In the one universe sideways, it’s 2016 and the Avengers have fled underground in the wake of what is the worst streak of bad luck they've ever had. Steve, Tony and Natasha are on the run together, and take temporary cover at a friend’s house.

Reasons why I love it: The interactions that Steve has with Grant are so good it kind of makes me mad that this isn't canon. And the absolute trainwreck that is Steve's proposal is so perfect it just feels like everything I love about Stony as a ship. I love this fic to death, along with this entire series!

No Do-Overs

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Steve/Peggy Rating: M Words: 10,097 Tags: Permanent Injury, Angst, Schmoop

Summary: In the one universe sideways, it’s 2018 and the Avengers and their allies have just defeated Thanos. Steve and Tony retreat from the limelight to recover, and are visited by an old friend who has an unusual request.

Reasons why I love it: I can't believe just how much this fic patches up all the holes in the MCU's logic about time-travel. It slots so neatly into canon that it's honestly baffling. I will never not think about this verse when watching Endgame now, and I couldn't be happier about it. Give yourself a treat and read this, because you WILL be impressed!

Twice the Groom

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Steve/Peggy Rating: T Words: 4,028 Tags: Bittersweet, Canonical Past Character Death, Alternate Reality

Summary: Grant Carter, formerly known as Steve Rogers, attends a wedding.

Reasons why I love it: I'm so happy that we get to see Grant's PoV in this fic. In the rest of the series, the implications of what this branching timeline might mean to him is alluded to, but here we get to see it more explicitly. I especially love his conversation with Bucky and the dorky Stony fluff, oh my god, it's so good. This fic is wonderful, and you should give it a read!

Timestamp: Front Row Seats

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Steve/Peggy Rating: G Words: 610 Tags: Multiverse, Canon Divergent, Phase Four

Summary: Steve and Tony may be retired, but they still get called in sometimes. Across universes, even.

Reasons why I love it: Okay, this is the final nail in the coffin – this verse is canon now. I've decided. This is canon and absolutely mandatory reading for any Stony fan. By the power invested in me by absolutely no one, I declare this series an official part of the MCU. Thank me later, and go read it if you haven't already!

#marvel #fanfic #stony #a year in fanfic recs #fic rec #fanfic rec #fanfiction recommendation #fix it fic #fix it

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fireismine · 1 year ago

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DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 4: Character Parallels → Rhaena the Black Bride and Daenerys Stormborn

The Queen in the West:

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing sat the Queen Regent Alyssa, widow of the late King Aenys, mother to his son Jaehaerys, and wife to the King’s Hand, Rogar Baratheon. Just across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, a younger queen had arisen when Alyssa’s daughter Alysanne, a maid of thirteen years, had pledged her troth to her brother King Jaehaerys, against the wishes of her mother and her mother’s lord husband. And far to the west on Fair Isle, with the whole width of Westeros separating her from both mother and sister, was Alyssa’s eldest daughter, the dragonrider Rhaena Targaryen, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned. In the westerlands, riverlands, and parts of the Reach, men were already calling her the Queen in the West. - A Surfeit of Rulers, Fire and Blood

Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. "Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him." - Daenerys II, A Storm of Swords

Three Husbands:

Rhaena was married to Aegon the Uncrowned, Maegor the Cruel and Androw Farman.

Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . – Daenerys IV, A Clash of Kings

The Queen in the East:

“Done,” the king said…mayhaps too hastily, for it must be remembered that Aerea Targaryen, a girl of eight, was his own acknowledged successor, heir apparent to the Iron Throne. The consequences of this decision would not be known for years to come, however. For the nonce it was done, and the Queen in the West at a stroke became the Queen in the East. - A Time of Testing: The Realm Remade, Fire and Blood

"The best calumnies are spiced with truth," suggested Qavo, "but the girl's true sin cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver's Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation." - Tyrion VI, A Dance with Dragons

Refusing to Cry

When word of the battle reached the west and Princess Rhaena learned that both her husband and her friend Lady Melony had fallen, it is said she heard the news in a stony silence. “Will you not weep?” she was asked, to which she replied, “I do not have the time for tears.” - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

His business done, the captain of the Indigo Star bowed and took his leave. Dany shifted uncomfortably on the ebony bench. She dreaded what must come next, yet she knew she had put it off too long already. Yunkai and Astapor, threats of war, marriage proposals, the march west looming over all . . . I need my knights. I need their swords, and I need their counsel. Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she'd swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. "Tell Belwas to bring my knights," Dany commanded, before she could change her mind. "My good knights." - Daenerys VI, A Storm of Swords

Gains Confidence After Bonding with a Dragon:

At the age of nine, however, Rhaena was presented with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone, and she and the young dragon she named Dreamfyre bonded instantly. With her dragon beside her, the princess slowly began to grow out of her shyness; at the age of twelve she took to the skies for the first time, and thereafter, though she remained a quiet girl, no one dared to call her timid. - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night … Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. "Khaleesi," Jhiqui said, "what is wrong? Are you sick?" "I was," she answered, standing over the dragon's eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shell. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers … or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously. - Daenerys III, A Game of Thrones

#danyweek2023 #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #canondany

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brightlycoloredteacups · 10 months ago

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Hiii, can you write a smut that Orm gets jealous and makes Y/n suck him in the throne room, And makes her call him Ocean Master🙏🙏 with face fucking, spanking, angry sex, choking, hair pulling and anything else you want As much as you want to write ❤️❤️

Whelp...I didn't get to the spanking but I hope I did ok enough!

You and Orm had been fighting a lot recently. It wasn’t normal. From the moment you two met years ago there hadn’t been an angry word between you and now you couldn’t stop shouting at each other. Orm intrinsically understood all the fighting was his fault. He was letting his insecurities get the best of him, but it was hard not to. Everything had been ripped from him, his home, his former fiancée, his teacher. He went from beloved Prince Orm to the black fish seemingly overnight. Sure, Arthur and Mera forgave him for his heroics when he saved junior, but the people of Atlantis had long memories. Besides, you were like, really hot and it annoyed him that you weren’t around much anymore.

You were a general in the Atlantean army. Your tactical know-how and battle prowess were legendary. So much so the Brine King himself asked for your hand in marriage. On top of that, you were incredibly intelligent with a special interest in what Arthur called ‘anthropology’. You went out of your way to learn about the people of the Seven Kingdoms of Atlantis and now, the surface world. Arthur relied on you heavily for diplomacy, which took you away a lot. Now, you were spending more time with Arthur than Orm was comfortable with. Thus, all the fighting.

Orm was in the throne room, looking at the seat of Atlantis, trying his best not to grind his teeth into his gums. “Your highness?” Your voice rings out clear. The title irritates him further, you, his beloved, don’t call him that, you call him by his name. He turns around, glaring at you. You meet it with a stony look of your own. “Is this what we’re reduced to?” He asks, “Honorifics?”

“Well, you’re not acting much like a lover these days.” Orm feels his eye twitch. “Neither have you.”

“What’s the supposed to mean?” He doesn’t miss the hurt in your voice, but he’s seeing red. He swims up to you, only stopped by your hand around his throat. It isn’t enough to hurt, but he knows if you decide to squeeze, he’ll be in a pain he’d never felt before. “Why are you spending so much time with Arthur?” His tone is accusatory, yours is flat when you respond. “It’s my job.”

“You’re late coming back to our quarters,”

“We have a lot to discuss.”

“You spend a lot of time in here.”

“It’s the throne room, of course we do.”

“You’re alone with him.” He feels your fingers tighten in frustration. Something in Orm’s cock stirs. “Only because I have to be.”

“Because you want to be.” He snaps. Your fingers tighten to a painful degree as you bring him close. Another thrill runs through him. “What has gotten into you?”

“How do you think it looks when my woman spends all her free time with Arthur? Hm? How does it look to outsiders when you two leave this place alone after hours of being here. What do you wonder they’re thinking you two get up to?” You snarl and push him back with so much force he hits the throne with a small ‘oof’. “What do others think or what you think?” You spit at him. “Do you honestly think I’d go for someone like Arthur when I have you?”

There’s a heavy silence that lingers between you two for a long time. You’d given him the validation he wanted, but his mind was clouding over with lust. He liked you aggressive. “Prove it,” Orm challenges, “Prove you like me better.” You roll your eyes in exasperation, crossing your arms. “And how do you propose I do that?” He doesn’t answer you, instead he considers you. You’re so beautiful, floating in front of him, angry, done with his shit. “Well?” You growl. That’s it, that’s all it takes for him to be at full mast.

Not caring if you two get caught, Orm undoes his suit enough to bring his cock out. You look at it, mouth open in disbelief. “Are you insane?” You hiss. “No,” Orm says smiling, “I’m the Ocean Master,” You balk at him refusing to believe this was happening. “You said you wanted to prove to me you like me better, prove it.” He motions to his length. With only a few moments hesitation you relent. He swears he gets harder just knowing what you’re about to do as you swim to him. You begin to undo your own suit, but he puts up a hand to stop you. “Suck.” Is his simple command.

You say nothing as you take position. He adjusts his posture, giving you better access. You waste no time in licking a long strip from base to tip. “No teasing,” He demands. You follow directions and pop the head in your mouth and give a particularly hard suck. He lets his head fall back at the phenomenal sensation. You set a brutal pace; what you can’t reach with your mouth you reach with your hands. He knows you can take him all the way and wants that from you now. You aren’t giving it to him, and that’s frustrating.

He places his hands on either side of your head. You understood the significance of this action and place your hands on his thighs, bracing yourself for what’s coming. Even in his frustration and anger he waits for your silent signal to go ahead. You tap his thigh twice. You’re ready, good. He thrust into your mouth, stay there for a few seconds before pulling back out.

It’s vicious, the way he fucks your mouth. You suck every time he pulls out and he just barely remembers to wait a few moments for you to take a breath. But this is what he needs, your permission to use you as he sees fit. To fuck you as he pleases. Who else would allow him to do this to them for free if not someone that truly cared for him? He climaxes within minutes, making sure he empties himself down your throat before ripping you off him. You’re gasping for breathe the moment he does, ignoring the spurts of cum that float around you.

He pulls you into a standing position, undoes the bottom of your suit and turns you around so your ass faces him. If you two were in your private quarters, he’d take the time to return the favor. Taking your clit into his mouth and sucking you dry, but this wasn’t about you right now. Without waiting for you to say anything he grabs your hips and pulls you into his lap, his thick cock enters your wet cunt with ease. Good, you were at least enjoying this. “Move,” He commands. You begin to bounce, letting out little gasps of pleasure.

He was a long way off in terms or orgasm, but you weren’t. He could tell from the way your pussy fluttered around him. His eyes rolled so far to the back of his head he nearly found his brain. “Don’t you dare cum until I tell you to,” He growls. He pulls you back to his chest, hand closing around your neck this time. His free hand manages to wiggle its way between your legs to find your clit. He rubs harsh circles, reveling in the sound of your whimpering. The position is awkward for you, so you can’t bounce up and down like you so desperately want to. You settle with grinding. “Who do you belong to?” He asks. “Orm Marius,” you say, his fingers tighten around your throat. He asks the question again, “Who do you belong to?”

“His highness, Prince Orm.” The hand around your throat tightens more. He’s aware that you’ll be blacking out if he leaves his grip that tight for long, he hopes you get the answer right this time. “Who-”

“O-ocean Master!” You manage weakly. His smile is wicked as he loosens his grip. “That’s right,” he tells you, allowing you a little more space to bounce. “That’s right, you belong to me, not to Arthur. Not to the king of Atlantis, but to me.”

“I don’t want to belong to anyone else.” He hadn’t expected your comment. It strikes a chord with him. You continue, “No one else is as good as you. No one fucks me like you, no one makes me come as hard as you. There’s no one else but you, Ocean Master, no one.” His ego stroked to the fullest, Orm decides to reward you for being such a good girl. Quicker than you can fathom, he switches positions. You’re bent over an arm of the throne, the metal digging painfully into your skin. Orm, his hands on your hips, is thrusting into you from behind. It wasn’t fast, but it was rough. Every time he pulls out and pushes back in you see stars. “Please, I won’t last much longer.” You tell him, gripping onto the back of the throne for support.

You think your pleas fall on def ears until you hear him say, “Cum for me.” It’s as if your body is awaiting such a command. He watches as you writhe beneath him, coming hard around him. He groans at the feeling of your pussy squeezing him, milking him for everything he has, he lets himself go inside you, painting your walls with thick ropes of cum. You two stay in that position for a long while before you gather yourself and redo your clothing.

You turn to him finally, lips pursed. “Do you feel better now?” You ask him. Actually, he felt foolish about the entire thing, but he nodded instead. “Good,” You bring him in for a deep kiss. He feels so silly for doubting you he can’t bring himself to look in your eyes. “We will never do this in the throne room again, do you understand?” He nods. “I mean it. Never.”

He gives you another quick kiss. “Just the one time,” He promises. For the first time in weeks, you gave him a smile. He’s relieved. All the pressure building between you two had dissipated. “I love you,” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you too,” you tell him. “Now, go back to our quarters,” you say, pulling away from him. “I’ll be along in a few moments; I have another meeting to attend.” Orm frowns, “What could Arthur possibly want to talk about this time?”

You frown and shake your head, swimming away from him, “My meeting is with the Ocean Master,” You inform him, “Something about a performance review.” You shrug and disappear into the hall. Orm smiles to himself wondering how he got so lucky to find a woman like you.

#orm marius #orm x reader #ocean master #ask answered

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