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lordgrimwing · 2 years ago

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Foundlings #01

“Hello,” Nerdanel said softly to the boy sitting on the dinner table, his torn pants rolled up past his knees so she could clean the scrapes and cuts on his legs. “I’m Nerdanel. What’s your name?”

He had a tangled mess of dark brown hair, twigs and leaves sticking out from where they’d gotten tangled. His twin—so perfectly identically there could be no mistaking it—looked no better as he clung to Maedhors, held protectively in her eldest son’s arms.

“Elros,” The one in front of her said in a tiny voice roughened from whatever he’d gone through in the forest.

“Hello, Elros,” She set a wooden bowl half-full of warm water on the table next to him, then held up one of the soft green hand towels Fëanor wove last winter. “I’m going to clean up all these cuts and put a salve on that will help you feel better.”

“Elrond’s hurt worse,” The boy protested weakly, pointing one trembling finger at the drying blood on his brother’s face from a cut on his forehead. “I’m okay.” His voice shook almost as much as his hand.

“He’ll be okay, too,” She assured, dipping the cloth in the water and dabbing away the mud and blood on his shins.

Liquid welled up in his eyes.

“Does it hurt too much?” She asked, softening her touch still further though she was already being as gentle as she would be with a newborn lamb or goat kid.

“Where’s our mom and dad?” he asked instead, tears forming tracks in the dirt on his face.

That, she could not answer save to spare a glance up at her son. He shook his head slightly, either not knowing or not wanting to say until the twins were safely taken care of and tucked into a bed to rest. She feared the worst. They all heard the unnatural wind howling through the trees last night.

“You don’t worry about that right now,” She settled on, scooping two fingers into a jar of pungent, brown ointment. “You’re safe now. Just let the grown-ups worry about all that.”

He flinched when she wiped the numbing salve into the largest cut just under his right knee. She murmured soothing words to him as she worked.

As she finished, Caranthir came over with two mugs of tea made from the roots and bark of several useful plants she harvested every fall. He’d sweetened the drink with honey to hide the bitter taste for children, though he’d refrained from adding goat milk as she’d directed. Milk sometimes reduces the tea’s somnolescent properties.

“Here you go,” She said, passing the mug to the young boy’s hands. “I want you to drink all of this while I take care of your brother. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay,” He whispered, raising it to his lips and sipping the warm drink.

Outside, the sun sank down through the trees, casting a rose gold light across the land.

Fëanor paced in front of his second son, sitting on the step just outside the kitchen door so he could go in quickly if he was needed for something. Besides the two of them and the wandering chickens, the yard was deserted, everyone else away and busy: Celegorm left two days before to hunt an elk at Nerdanel’s request; Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras went into town; and Curufin took his son to catch fish for dinner. Fëanor’s skin itched at having them all so far apart.

“Where did you find them?” Fëanor asked, rubbing a twisted wood and hair figure between the fingers of his right hand to block unnatural ears from listening to the conversation.

It would watch the homestead closely for any sign of the children his sons stole from it. The scrutiny would wane eventually, but until then they must be extra vigilant in keeping it at bay. He’d need to make sure everyone remembered to wear their amulets and keep their talismans close to hand. Celebrimbor, especially, needed to be careful; small as he was he might easily be lured away. Fëanor clutched the figure tighter.

“About an hour passed Lone Lark peak,” Maglor reported. “We found them just before dawn and rode as hard as we dared to get back here.”

The slopes near Lone Lark were steep, with ample loose slate to send any unwary traveler tumbling down the mountain.

Fëanor looked to the north, toward that spot, though there was no way to see it from this side of their mountain. Not so close then, but close enough for it to find them if it wanted the children.

“We didn’t find their parents,” His son continued, his slim shoulders falling. “But I’m sure they’re dead.”

“Why?” He asked sharply. He had to know everything so he could keep the family safe.

Maglor looked up from the grass blade he’d been tearing into thin strips. “Mae found what’s left of the camp. It looked like a bear or a panther attacked them: shredded tent, claw marks on trees, a lot of blood. I can’t guess how those boys escaped and got all the way to Lone Lark.”

“No, no, don’t you see?” Fëanor asked, taking his son by the shoulders, one hand half clasped around the figurine. “Have I not taught you to recognize this? This is Its doing!”

The presence lurking in the trees finally struck again.

“Whatever spared those boys, fate or luck or some greater power, it will come looking for them.”

A terrible feeling deep in his gut told him this was only the beginning of a great and dreadful awakening.

Maglor’s mouth fell open.

“Did you do anything to hide your path back here? Tie mugwart to the horses’ feet? Burn vervain so the ashes fell before you?” He asked.

“No,” Maglor whispered.

“You led it straight here!” Nowhere was safe or totally free from the creature’s reach, but he’d rather it didn’t know exactly where to come looking to finish them off. If the children saw it, it would surely be here soon, seeking to devour them entirely after that small taste. If only his sons hadn’t found them, or else had the sense to ward off any attention before bringing the foundlings home. He had only one choice now.

He unsheathed the sharp knife he kept on his belt.

Maglor stood suddenly, arms out, blocking the door. “Stop, Pa.” He commanded, his gentle voice turning hard. “They’re children. What are you doing?”

Fëanor raised the black knife and pointed it at his son. “Your hair,” He snapped.

“My hair?” The younger elf repeated, teetering on confusion as he realized he may have been hasty in his assumption of ill intent.

“Yes, I need it. Maedhros’ too—and the boys’.” He reached for his son’s long black hair as he spoke. “We saved Celegorm. We’ll save them, too.”

He failed Fingolfin, so many years ago. He wouldn’t let it claim these children too, not now that he’d learned so much.

Maglor untied his hair and bowed his head to Feanor’s blade.

“Something to obscure them, first.” He continued, the pattern and weave appearing in his mind. “Bind you four together to confuse its senses. You’ll need to wear the talismans at all times until I can weave them into the family’s protections.”

He took a handful of hair and severed it near the roots, then wound it several times around his hand, catching the wooden figure under the strands to keep it pressed to his skin.

“I’ll start tonight, with the stars at their brightest.” He could not finish until Celegorm came back and he could take fresh hair from him, too. There was no telling how long that would be, but of all his sons, his third had the keenest senses for the terrible presence haunting the mountains. He may already be riding back toward the safety of their home.

Maglor opened the kitchen door for him, and they went inside. He quickly claimed what he needed from Maedhros and the two drowsy boys sitting on the table.

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simplepotatofarmer · 2 years ago

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what the heck is this pig doing on MY house??

#plot twist: it's not his house it's the bunny's but he sure thinks it is #chickenblr #bacardi the rooster #the loyal homestead flock

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harryspet · 1 year ago

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Do you think reader would ever fake health issues to try and get Rafe to take her to the hospital or bring a doctor in? And do you think Rafe would get her help?

Like I could imagine her faking her water breaking and telling Rafe it’s to early there must be a complication so they have to go to the hospital immediately before something really bad happens to the baby

But idk lol 🤷‍♀️

i did something like this in another fic i wrote

i think homestead!rafe would be harder to convince because he's already planned out everything. this would be smart for reader to do tho

#homestead #i also don't wanna do the same plot as my other story #anon ask

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shanedoesstuff · 4 months ago

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Fuck! I've been perceived! Someone knows I exist! Help!

#every day i get closer to walking into the desert and plotting a homestead

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adventuresofjasperboone · 7 months ago

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#the adventures of jasper boone #update #comic #i am not posting this using the homestead act in a factual way btw #we talked about it briefly in a class and i thought it was a neat (albeit a little under-thought maybe from what little info we went over)#this comic is going to be far from historically accurate and i don't have the brain power or mental motivation currently to really research #into things that i'm hinting at briefly for a plot device

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abbessofflesh · 2 months ago

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On The Rocks

A/N: Just watched Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Had some brainrot I needed to purge from my system. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been on Tumblr so please let me know if I’m not tagging something right. Likes/Reblogs are very much appreciated! But if reblogging, I ask that you keep it in the Remmick x reader tag. I want to leave the Sinners tag for the thoughtful analyses and not clog it with depraved filth. The readers appearance is left open to interpretation but please inform me if something in my writing indicates otherwise.

Summary: You attempt to switch roles with Remmick in the bedroom. It does not go as planned.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Dom!Remmick, Naive/Inexperienced!Reader (kinda), Biting/Blood, Dub Con/Non Con Elements regarding Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Gentle Sex, Oral Sex (m!receiving), Restraints, Feral Behavior, Corruption Kink, Attempted Switch!Reader that Remmick can only entertain for so long, A touch of Sub!Remmick, Female descriptors for reader, No Plot (haven’t seen the movie yet), Author doesn’t know vampire rules, Remmick is a manipulative asshole but reader is blinded by love, Attempted!funnyRemmick, unbeta’d, probably riddled with errors

The cold metal stings your skin as you turn the makeshift restraints over in your hands. It’s a stark contrast to the muggy, subdued atmosphere, the biting chill offering relief to restless fingers.

The textile sheaths the harshness of the biting edges; the silk fabric belonging to the previous owners of the homestead you and Remmick are currently occupying. The material wrapped around iron handcuffs you plucked from a particularly nasty lawman Remmick killed and didn’t bother to change.

“I do not need that type’a negativity in my head, darlin’.” was his only explanation, paired with an exaggerated grimace when he came back from yet another unsuccessful hunt. A hunt whose prey he never made you privy to.

All he shared with you was his desire for connection, something with which you concluded yourself early on into your...cohabitation. From your first meeting and onward, he struck you as lonely.

Despite his desperation for family, he’s been particularly choosy as of late. There are two conclusions you have drawn: that your presence and companionship serve as a balm to the ancient wound that refuses to heal, and a comment you made about not being enthused to eventually share memories and a mind with heinous individuals.

You know it’s entirely possible you’re little more than a blood bag he’s carted around, regardless of his charm and dulcet words. Ever since he seduced his way into your home- your life- you’ve served a purpose whether you were aware of it or not. That he hasn’t turned you leaves you under no illusions that he wouldn’t do so when the fancy strikes him.

Those are other assumptions you rarely entertain. That your usefulness in welcoming him into domiciles and remaining a steady source of sustenance is all he truly cares for. There’s also the chance that he’s not being truthful and has amassed a following he won’t inform you of until you’re turned and incapable of protesting.

You don’t like to dwell on those assumptions. You’ll keep your rose-colored glasses on for the time being, thank you very much.

You see it in his gaze sometimes. Feel his trembling frame against you at night, as he often does when being any kind of physical with you. As if it takes everything in him to be this gentle, and it is gentle for what Remmick is. It should scare you more than it does, his restraint a thin wire that barely holds from snapping and ripping you apart. But knowing he’s just as wrecked as you-just in another sense-always has you falling apart around him, pliant and needy.

Perhaps it’s a smitten fallacy, but you get the feeling he feels fondness for you, in his own way.

It shouldn’t fill your head with dizzying affection. Your chest shouldn’t be laden with warmth and hope that you could live out an idyllic life with him.

And yet.

You had never lain with anyone before Remmick. The reveal of his age and erotic pursuits that came with had you feeling naive and virginal. Centuries of walking the earth would indeed give someone experience, especially one as handsome and suave as he is. In the early days of your relationship, he often told you about his youthful trysts just to see you bashfully duck your head, hiding your scandalized amusement in the crook of his neck. “Did a lot of catting around when I was a young lad.” The seduction of married women, preacher’s daughters, and frolicking naked through fields was too much for your sheltered mind.

If past you saw how you lived now, you’d have dropped dead of mortification.

A few months into your relationship, you now consider yourself thoroughly exposed to carnal pleasures. Though when you voice this to Remmick, he laughs, and if he has recently fed, it’s until he’s red in the face.

That conversation usually follows with him demonstrating just how mistaken you are. Every night, you learn more about the pursuit of pleasure, and that Remmick might have a predilection for corruption.

The sky outside begins to lighten, tendrils of light threatening to pour through the askew curtains and snapping you out of your reverie. Bitter uneasiness nags at you when Remmick’s this late, though he often is. If you were to ask him about his nighttime activities, you’d get an absent non-answer. If you were to ask for a romantic night out in the town, it’d lead to a thorough distraction cutting well into the precious hours of moonlight.

The fretting and cast-aside feeling emboldens you to try a more domineering approach to get your point across. The point of how you’ve been there for him, blood, body, and soul, yet you’re not feeling like a priority anymore. If you ever were.

You make your way into the bedroom and look down at the silk-covered handcuffs, weighing your options. A brief image of a bound Remmick, fucked-out and spent sits heavily on the side of the mental scale labeled ‘pros’. On the other side sits another image, frightening but no less pretty, of the consequences that come with a wrathful vampire.

There’s also the chance that the silk will come undone, the possibility of the iron causing him harm. It would be minimal, and he’d no doubt heal after a few mouthfuls of your blood, but you’ll never want to see him hurt.

The creak of the front door interrupts your musings. Your heart rate hastens and you lunge for the headboard, slipping the restraints through the pine slats and concealing them with a rumpled pillow.

He’s home.

Through some prey instinct evolved long ago, you usually sense when Remmick is near before your eyes or ears locate him. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, every one of your senses heightened for that initial touch.

It’s no different now. Though you usually don’t jump as high when his thick forearms sling around your middle.

“Jumpy today. Up early, too.” His lips burn through the straps of your slip, trailing up until he can rest them against the spot where the rush of blood in your neck is strongest.

“And you’re back later than usual. Find another dame in need of defiling?”

It’s hard to put heat behind your words while in his unyielding hold, nose trailing down the side of your neck, suckling at your pulse. He doesn’t seem to hear your words, or more likely, is choosing to ignore them. It’s not exactly uncommon for you to taunt him about his promiscuous past.

But then he freezes, pausing his tender onslaught on your neck. His head tilts, turning ever-so-slightly toward the bed. He inhales two short, quick sniffs.

You’re not sure what he’s more likely to catch scent of: the musty, metallic odor of the cuffs or the saccharine musk of your earlier activities on the bed, when you were missing him and fantasizing about a confined Remmick.

In a quick effort of distraction, you deftly spin out of his grasp. He allows it with an appraising gaze. It locks onto the nervous bob of your throat like the predator he is.

You grab a hold of yourself for a moment to take him in. His undone suspenders hang by his hips, likely shucked off the second he got in the door. There’s no blood flaked around his mouth and while it’s possible he could’ve cleaned up before meeting you, you get the feeling he had another unsuccessful night. His face never betrays any disappointment, but he has all the patience an ancient being could have.

“Everythin’ alright?” The sing-songy slurring of this accent draws your eyes back up to his face where a preening, smug grin rests.

“Uh-huh.” You reply in an idiotic manner. You’re high-strung at the thought of getting him to where you need him before he discovers your plan. It only takes a brief moment of deliberation to capitalize on the scent he no-doubt smells on the disheveled sheets. “Would you like to have sex?”

His eyebrows damn near shoot up to his hairline. A short, startled laugh bursts from him.

“Al-right-”

He’s halfway through his answer when you hurry to light the candle by the bed as another aroma to throw him off, hand trembling in what you hope passes off as nervous anticipation. Remmick goes to assist you but you wave him off, absently instructing him to settle.

On your way back from ensuring the closed curtains were extra secure, you shuck your nightdress off. It hits the floor in a whisper of fabric and you’re left in nothing but his gold chain around your neck. His skeptical stare at your frenzied return makes you realize it’d be more alluring-and less suspicious-to put on a show for him.

Sure enough, he’s still fully clothed. And staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“Why are you still- get naked, please.”

“Are the Sídhe pulling my leg? Or is my girl standing bare in front of me, lookin’ me in the eye?”

Your palms twitch, fighting the urge to cover yourself. There’s disbelief, sure, but you think he’s incapable of not looking at you with debauchery. Dark eyes rove over faded marks that still linger from previous love-making, past the necklace he had draped over you after. It assists your ploy of keeping him distracted and crushes that nagging bit of insecurity.

Just have to keep him occupied.

Despite his questioning, his fingers (are they trembling?) proceed to the fasteners of his button-up. You remain locked in his stare as you reach the bed, slowing your crawl over the mattress for a more sensual appearance.

You feel like a bumbling fool with your heart threatening to burst from your chest, the beat pounding in your ears. You would think your little performance would be nothing but a silly sight if the man you were settling over didn’t gaze at you with riveted awe.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Gorgeous.” He flirts back in that exaggerated southern twang, lips pulled over naturally pronounced canines.

A giddy smile brightens your face, made worse by the way his drops further in blind adoration. It’s the perfect moment to grab his hands, working your way down to his wrists as you raise them slowly above his head. Right to where you want them.

“Oh-ho. What d’we have here?”

A deep, engulfing kiss shuts that mouth of his. He gives twice as much as he gets, starved and full of longing. It’s enough of a diversion to slip those cuffs around his wrists, the ratcheting clicks securing him in place.

He goes still beneath you.

“And we will continue that,” You push yourself up from his chest, grinning like a maniac at the success, “but I wanna talk first.”

“Wha-” You see the deliberation, the flexing of his forearms as he weighed the option of letting you play. More often than not, he’s considerate about his reactions. There are a few moments in your time together when you manage to catch him off guard and elicit a truly authentic response with a drawled quip. Now is not an exception, as his head cocks slightly to glance up at the cuffs, his eyes trailing back to yours in what seems like some genuine bewilderment and a touch of amusement. “What’s this, then?”

You’re caught up at the sight that jumped right out of your depraved daydreams. It takes a moment for you to start the speech you rehearsed about ten times this morning.

“When you convinced me to leave everything behind, you promised me the moon and stars. That we’d do all the things lovers do. That we’d go out together. Dinner. Dancing.”

“Which I said verily, but you ain’t leaving this house until you don’t have two fuckin’ left feet-”

“Remmick.” You braced yourself for his jest, his usual method of distraction that’s entirely your fault because of the prospect of it working.

“Darlin’-“ His brow furrows, scrunching his eyes in a tired expression as if this wasn’t the first time you’ve hashed this out, but the tenth. He lazily turns his hands in the restraints, no doubt checking their durability and effectiveness. You watch as he manipulates his countenance into faux patience when he discovers he’s well and truly stuck, like you’re a particularly stubborn lamb he has to explain the concept of slaughter to. “Once I build our family, I’ll bring the dancin’ to ya.”

His eyes flash as a smirk pulls his face back into that familiar lascivious demeanor you’re used to dealing with. “An’ I can get my dinner right here.”

It’s tough to refute his taunts when he says it like that. Tone all sticky with honey and undercurrent scheming. Your irritation at his wants taking precedence over yours again allows you to ignore the latter statement and power through the brief ache between your thighs.

“You said that before you ate that lawman-"

“He was an uncouth, prejudiced individual, that one.” Remmick butts in with an affronted look. You snort, choosing to keep your mouth shut about the other bigoted individuals he rectified, historically. “An’ I ain’t like the way he was lookin’ at you. Killed three a’ his wives, y’know.”

You didn’t know that, but you don’t sway at the look on his face, soft eyes expectant of your usual approval. “The couple from the farm-“

“They was a bit too sacrilegious for my taste. Pretty sure they was siblings, honey.”

“And that one old woman?“

Remmick pauses, lips pursed and eyes wandering as if he’s struggling with the recollection. You see the exact moment it hits him as he nods to himself and shrugs.

“I was hungry.”

His nonchalance stokes the insecurity and spurned virulence you had pushed down from earlier. Instead of facilitating his flippant attitude as usual, you jump to vehement accusations.

“Admit that you want me all to yourself. Locked up, bored and alone day in an’ day out.”

In a breath, Remmick’s face darkens, the minute change so delicate you almost missed it. Those prey instincts of yours work overdrive to compensate for your infatuated, simple-minded decision-making. You feel a stab of worry at the idea that something you said offended him that deeply, but it’s gone at the revival of his usual easygoing demeanor.

“So this is how ya show me? By actin’ out?”

Perhaps not entirely gone.

“I’m tryin’ something new.” You tilt your head, angling your chin in what you hope conveys defiance and not clumsy inexperience.

Despite the inconvenienced air he tries to maintain, you see the mirth in his eyes. Like he’s watching you show your teeth for the first time.

“Al-right.” The leisurely drawl is at odds with the way Remmick’s eyebrows raise and lips part in exaggerated disbelief. “Don’t let me stop you, darlin’.”

Metal clacks as the cuffs grind against the bed frame halfway through a gesture of go ahead, then. The slow tilt of his head up to glare at the manacles puts the pale column of his throat on display. A brief, primitive urge of yours is to curve your hand around it, to feel him swallow under your palm in a reversal of your usual bedroom roles. You decide not to push your luck so soon into your game, instead waiting as he settles his irritated gaze back on you, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

You can’t help but smile at how put out he looks. An expressive, pouty face that exudes attitude.

You lean forward with the intention of capturing a kiss from him out of habit, but pause halfway up his chest. His eyebrows raise expectantly, head cocked and the well? is unspoken but very much heard.

“Thought better of it, actually. Best keep outta reach of those teeth.”

“Now darlin’, I am offended-” You dip your head to take a nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue in what’s probably a cheap imitation of the expertise he uses on you. Your hand goes to fondle the other one and you delight in the surprised, desperate little noises you’re able to pull from him.

“And where did you learn that-”

You reach beneath you to grab his cock, smiling at the hiss he lets out and the discovery that he’s already hard and heavy in your palm. He must have enjoyed your little display of dominance, too. Once you line him up, you rut your hips against him, dragging his length back and forth through your folds.

You continue working him with your hand and hips until an earlier nagging thought draws you back, bracing yourself on your forearms, hips lifting and hovering above his groin.

“Ah, wha- hey. That was just gettin’ good.”

“Sorry.” You smile, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “Where’d you go tonight?”

“Where did I- fuck’s sake.” His head bounces against the pillows when he sees that you’re serious. “A speakeasy, in town but off the beaten path. Tried to get in by playin’ a tune. Sounded damn near perfect too-”

“And did you?”

Your eyebrows raise at the silence, taking it for the answer it is.

“So no one in that place was turned tonight.”

“…No.”

Your lips occupy themselves with a kiss to his abdomen to keep from chuckling. Poor thing. Not everyone found your vampire as charming as you did.

You take pity on him and continue your journey downwards, past the sparse hair of his belly to his neglected cock, red and leaking.

Your lips press against the tip of him in a chaste kiss. He shudders, hips jerking slightly. You chance an admonishing glimpse up to catch that darkened look has made a reappearance, though this one is for another reason entirely. It emboldens you to slide your hand from his hip to cup his balls, touch just a tad too light by the way he writhes in your grasp.

Remmick’s pants and hums taper off into a growl that makes you throb.

You have no choice but to ignore your aching clit. Now that you actually have him tied up, chest heaving, at your mercy, you know you’d finish embarrassingly quick.

Your tongue busies itself with the vein underneath the length of him, flattening and dragging yourself back up to the top, paying attention to what draws the sweetest sounds out of him. You’re prepared to make your descent when you notice his hands flexing in the cuffs, wood squeaking worryingly. At first, you’re concerned your handmade cushioning didn’t hold up.

“Your wrists okay?” You take a breath in, scenting the air for the smell of burnt flesh. Remmick lets out a depraved noise at the sight.

“Doin’ just well.” His voice thickening with a cadence that betrays the southern drawl he uses to integrate himself among the locals. “Wanna hold you, love.”

“Nice try. Let me know if you start goin’ up in smoke.”

“How fuckin’ sweet of ya.”

You cut off any further gibes by placing your mouth on him. All those nights with him down your throat have prepared you to take the majority of his length without gagging. You breathe through your nose like you practiced, cheeks hollowing, lips gliding terribly slow. Pure delight makes your heart sing at how far you’ve come, how those ruinous twitches and groans are because of you.

“Tha’s it, a little deeper, love. Go on.”

Forgetting yourself, you go to do just that. It takes an embarrassing few moments to remember your goal. You come off of him with a pop, eye twitching at the gall he has to give you orders.

And that you followed them like a dog, you little slut.

“You’re not in charge right now, mister.”

Molten anger and humiliation swirl in your chest as you listen to him chuckle. His head rests comfortably on the pillows like he’s on goddamn holiday.

“Sure, that’s you.” He pauses as you pull yourself up, hands braced on his abdomen but your stare remains burrowing into him. He hums, mouth ajar and eyes appraising. Then acquiesces. “I’m at your mercy, darlin’.”

You leverage yourself with your knees on either side of his thighs and your hands roaming his stomach, not-so-discreetly pawing at his sturdy core muscles.

You lower and resume your grinding against him. Slow, so slow until you see his jaw tick, lips curling back in a snarl.

His sweaty hair mused, mouth half open as he groans, loud and rasping. His unwavering, starving gaze boring into you. A whimper nearly escapes you at this sight of his swollen biceps, fists clenching and relaxing in delicious torment.

He looks like sin.

The swivel of your hips falter at the show he’s putting on for you.

You return it as best as you can, panting out little mewls as his cock head catches at your entrance. You’re unable to resist sliding down the length of him when he finally sinks in, closing your eyes and letting yourself have this moment. You made sure to make all the pretty sounds you know he’s fond of, sighing and gasping as you took your pleasure.

His own breath stutters, eyes glazing into that enraptured stare that borders on too much.

It’s beginning to get too daunting to look at him. The needy look in his wide eyes. Choked sounds he tries to bite back but can’t. You swore you’ve caught flashes of scarlet, and when those teeth come out, you’ll lose your nerve.

But that hasn’t happened yet.

“That’s it. Tha’s it- what in the fuck.”

He slips out of you and that brittle patience of his wears thin.

Definitely a flicker of crimson hue in those eyes. Before he can throw too much of a fit about it, you power through to your request; the goal you’ve had in mind since the start and had definitely not lost sight of.

“I was thinking we make it a weekly thing. Our date, I mean. I’d like to go back to bein’ well and properly courted-”

“Lemme go.” The chains rattle against the frame in a sharp, worrying tug.

“No.” You hum distractedly, eyes drifting closed lest you lose your nerve. “You’re not havin’ fun?”

“I’d much rather be eatin’ that cunt of yours until I can’t get the taste off my tongue. Until the thought of accusin’ me of not takin’ care of ya’ is fucked out of your head.”

It’s impossible to hide your vicious shudder, toes curling against the strewn sheets. You could’ve came right there if the savageness of his tone didn’t make the gears turn in your head. Your eyes fly open.

He- what.

What?

Is that what he’s so pissy about? An imagined blow to his male ego?

Stay focused. Stay. Focused.

“Hmm. Never got my answer.”

His hips spring up in an attempt to continue rubbing against your folds, intent on reminding you what exactly he can give.

“Ah, ah.” You scold, lifting further out of reach and giving his nipple a pull. “Be a good boy, Remmick.”

“Enough beatin’ around the bush. If you’re gonna fuck me, darlin’, fuck me.”

You’re trembling with excitement, but also uneasiness. It makes you feel like when you were a girl, doing something that you knew you’d be in trouble for if you were caught. You’re undoubtedly in hot water now, but the thought of backing down with a lenient punishment is out of the question. Not when he sounds so done in.

It also pays to run on spite and desire.

“Maybe try beggin’.”

Fangs elongate, spittle catching on his lips. Eyes a persistent glow with simmering temper.

…There's something wrong with you, isn’t there? Feeling the way you do about that look?

“You're the one that’s gonna be beggin’ me to stop when I get free a’ these.”

Well, you’re definitely not letting him loose anytime soon. Maybe after he’s nice and spent.

“S’a bit funny. Given the events of tonight.” You explain at eyes narrowed in confusion. “Can’t get in, can’t get out.” Your head tilts to motion towards the outside of the house, then to glance pointedly at the cuffs. A slow smile draws across your face, voice sultry and low. “Can’t get off.”

“Real brave a’ you. With me tied up like this.” Though a twitch of his lips betrays the severity of his tone.

You lift a shoulder, coquettishly fluttering your eyes. You’re not sure what seductive temptress climbed into you, is speaking through you, but you feel on top of the world. You don’t recognize her, but you think you like her.

It seems Remmick does, too. Past the shimmering agitation, you catch a hint of quiet approval. Pride.

That, and he’s been hard as stone since you first got him in those chains.

You go to torment him some more, the tip just barely breaching when Remmick plants his heels on the bed and thrusts up with savage strength. It strikes deep, the ache and shock of it drawing a yelp out of you as your eyes fly open. You flail briefly, having to brace yourself with palms gripping his sweat-slick shoulders, shaking thighs no longer capable of stabilizing yourself. Your breath hitches at the sight you were trying to avoid. Your wide-eyed stare lands on his vicious grin of too many teeth, drool spilling from the side of his mouth.

“Hey!” You stutter, paired with a hard slap on his chest that doesn’t even make him blink.

Fuck, you’re in over your head.

In an effort to maintain control, you scold him. The false, shaky authority nearly makes you wince. “Behave.”

His eyes glow red in the dim room, candlelight casting shadows over his face. “Oh darlin’, I am. Believe you me.”

You’re locked onto each other for a moment. A slow trail of your eyes over the spit pooling around his collar.

“Poor thing.” You coo, carefully staying out of biting distance.

Your send your hips back, dragging over his cock to settle on his thighs. His gaze tracks your breasts as your back arches, pulling your hardened nipples over his torso during your descent.

Truthfully, you’re thighs are burning. But you’re not going to allow his disobedience to go unchecked. You allow yourself a small smile at the lowered pull of his brow when you begin to turn around, your face now concealed from his predatory scrutiny.

There’s a change in the air. The life sucked out of it. Everything seems to still.

Your vampire is no longer amused.

Remmick has an almost reverential fixation with watching your face as you lay together. He’s fucked you from behind before, sure, and you felt primitive and dirty and thoroughly taken as he laid claim to you. Even then, he kept your head turned and in his view. Mouthing in some form between kisses and bites hot against your cheek, your neck. Growls and whines in your ear. The look on his face alone was enough to get you to fall apart.

Denying him this was perhaps the worst sin you could commit tonight.

Your hands find his thighs, muscles tensing and shifting underneath your palms. You continue your newfound game, hips sinking back enough to capture the head of him into your opening. You stay shallow, the thrill and tease building the warmth in your belly.

“Hey.”

You persist, swirling your hips, sighing sweetly at the sound of gnashing teeth and frustrated groans behind you.

“C’mere to me.”

It’s hard to ignore the acceleration of your heartbeat, blood pumping in your ears. It’s harder to ignore the fact that he can hear it. He’s more monster than man right now but you tune him out as you focus on sliding him through your slick folds.

A sharp, guttural call of your name. The growl behind you catches your breath. Voice distorted by fangs. You disregard it and the warning it imparts as you move with newfound urgency. Maybe he won’t be too upset. Maybe you can get to the door-

You start to cum, cresting over the precipice just as the sharp crack of splintering wood fills the air and shoots through your body like a lightening bolt.

Within the same heartbeat, still-bound hands find your upper back-chilled metal grazing your skin tauntingly-and shove hard, knocking you face-first onto the bed.

The jarring occurrence leaves you winded, enough so that you’re momentarily distracted from the sensory overload of Remmick rutting into you. Linen sheets press and stick to the sweaty skin of your forearms, your cheek. Your hips are in the air, framed by two strong hands.

”Remmi-” you begin to beg, like it will do anything but encourage him, excite his predator instincts.

You have known what kind of monster he is. That he’s capable of such brutality it would be vain to even attempt to understand it. He had been careful not to expose you to any violent depravity, and while you know what you’ve unleashed would be considered merciful in that regard, it’s unlike anything of what you’ve seen in your time together.

Through the immobilizing shock and fear, you absently feel your body coming back down from it’s high, thighs shaking and toes curling. The nerves and awareness of overstimulated skin making itself known and surpassing the score.

“Rem-remmi-fuck!” Mewls and half-formed cries fall past your lips. It takes several heaving breaths to form some semblance of coherence, to enunciate in more than fragmented pleas and whines. “Please, listen, Remmick-”

“Poor thing.” A guttural, deranged voice reverberates in your ear. “I told ya, you’ll beg me to stop. And I won’t, I won’t, not until I fuck you within an inch of yer life.”

A flash of silver crosses over your field of vision, confined hands coming to rest on your front, gripping you close as he fucks you brutally. A hand finds itself around your throat, resting, keeping you against him with a controlled amount of force. The other hand finds your breast in an aching grasp, a sound emitting from you that would have had you hiding your face in your palms a month ago, if he hadn’t fucked any and all decency out of you since then.

Just as your face begins to flush red in an old habits die hard fashion- his teeth sink into the junction between your shoulder and neck.

The initial bite is the equivalent of being doused in ice water. Your heart contracts, fighting each pull into his mouth and losing. Unlike his previous feedings, there’s a feral urgency brought on by the involuntary restraints and cruel teasing. The deprivation of blood and oxygen paired with the sedative-like component in his saliva contributes to a feeling of weightlessness.

Your body responds to his feeding in its usual betrayal. Conditioned to fall apart around the cock pulsing inside you, frenzied movements encouraged by the sustenance.

You sink into the bed. Limbs heavy, formed of the iron you trapped him with except you never were a match for it.

“I know what you like, what you need. Don’t even need to be inside your fuckin’ head for it.” He slows the pace of his hips, thrusts more punctuated but no less ruining than they were.

Remmick’s face is buried in your hair, panting, growling, whining in your ear. He noses along your cheek, breathing in the scent of you-your arousal makes your blood sing-and his own interwoven with yours. It’s enough to cause that feeling in your belly to crescendo into a steady ache.

He releases your throat in favor of barring a forearm around your neck. You gasp, a little mewl escaping you at the rigidity of him. You’re kept flush against the hard contours of his body. The reprieve of arching your back away from him made null by the force of his thrusts, rendering you unable to do anything but sit there and take it. It’s stifling. Terrifying. Your attention split between every sensation until you’re dizzy with it.

Fluid drips down between your breasts, saliva and blood blending into a pink mess. Droplets fall from his maw and stipple your shoulder blades. The scent of his sweat and yours, of sex and musk and warmth. The bedding is already ruined beneath you.

Teeth gnash against your throat, tongue laving up the trickles leaking from fresh wounds, frenetic fangs occasionally scraping them open. That tremble of restraint that’s usually there but amplified tenfold.

Your head lolls onto folded arms to try to muffle your wailing, the sensitivity becoming intermingled with pleasure until you can’t discern between the two.

There’s something about the way he channels the urge of ripping you apart into fucking you; a clemency only you could appreciate.

“Don’t, Rem’ck, don’t don’t-” Meek whimpers sound more like prayers.

“Don’ fuss. Just givin’ me lass what she asked for.” Your battered cunt sucks him in, contracting and squeezing him in a vice grip. “Greedy girl, ain’t she?”

It sneaks up on you, a pooling warmth shot down to your abdomen, through your glistening, puffy clit. Your mouth falls open in a broken gasp, body trembling as you clench around him. Tremors inch up from your core, up the column of your spine until you’re sure you’re going to shatter apart.

When you do, it’s less intense than before but no less devastating.

“That’s it, girl. Fuck, darlin’-“ Remmick draws, his cock bullying its way into your tightening cunt. His voice joins yours in a chorus of breathless moans, each as ravaged as the other.

He throws the both of you onto your sides, the arm around your throat and the sturdy body behind you protecting you from the rough jostling, like he’s the only thing allowed to cause you any discomfort.

His grip on you softens. Palms sticky with sweat and blood slide over your breasts, your hips, to find their home on your quivering thighs.

Coming down from the orgasm is catastrophic. You shift in his hold, unable to do anything but retreat into his body or his hands. The tightening of your cunt alerts you of his cock that’s still heavy inside you, rocking you gently and rejuvenated from the feeding.

He tongues the sweat off of your neck, swirling down your neck and back up until you can no longer tell where he is or isn’t. Your skin is too tight, quivering, aching to be rid of the monster that melds you against him. Your tender mind hopes he’ll keep you in his hold or else you’ll fly apart. He’s the most dangerous predator and the only one to make you feel safe.

Remmick’s making contented little noises as he mouths at you. Warm drool steadily drips on your shoulder, falls down your back. It spreads and sticks obscenely as he tugs you back to meet his chest. A warm tongue laps against your shoulder blades like he’s trying to clean you but only results in a bigger mess.

Suddenly you’re empty, bereft cunt feeling strangely vacant but it doesn’t last for long as you’re maneuvered with little resistance onto your back, face to face with something out of a nightmare.

Gleaming eyes peer down at you, bloody mouth agape and breathing hard like you’re something holy. His stare never falters, like watching you come apart is the equivalent of basking in the sunrise that’s evaded him for years.

He’s somehow still achingly hard as he slides against your clit, shushing as you sputter your mangled protests. The heft of him slipping through your throbbing folds.

The sticky mess between your thighs hinders his frenzied attempt to rock back into you, his cock catching against your opening several times before he sinks home. His hips pick up in a slow, relentless pace. A sob tears from your throat as he moves in and out, raw from the previous times he’s taken you.

“Please. Nuh-“ Your voice catches on a hiccuping sob and a plethora of broken little noises. “No more, please, Remmi-”

“Shh. S’alright. There she is.” The red glow of his eyes somehow adorns a cherishing appearance. No trace of his earlier hostility to be found. Only contentment. Fondness. Comforting the lamb so the meat tastes sweet. Sharp, jagged teeth find your ear, alternating between kissing and mouthing around it. “Me lass.”

His thrusts do not still between the shushing and cooing. Kisses pepper your face in what feels like a desperate attempt of his to cover as much skin as possible, to smother you in him so there’s no beginning or end between the two of you.

You try your best to match them, catching the corners of his lips in an attempt to placate him, show you’re willing to play along.

Mercy, please.

There was no denying him, this time. As if your brief refusal to face him kept him in ravenous desperation for years. He was going to take what he was due.

His hands find whatever softness they can reach, digging into your back, your belly, your breasts, finally landing on your ass. His forehead presses to yours, swaying gently from side to side as he continues to rock into you. Glowing eyes remain unblinking, taking his fill of you as a man starved. This is what you’re used to; the unnerving adoration he has with watching you come to ruin.

Dripping wet lips find yours and your mouth falls open on trained impulse. All you can do is take what he gives, saliva spilling past your lips, coating you inside.

An interwoven jumble of Gaelic and English is snarled into the skin of your shoulder as he empties himself inside you, hot breath imperceptible against your heated skin.

He all but collapses on top of you, reminding you that he was using some restraint when he lay melded against you.

Curly brown wisps cover your bleary eyes that refuse to focus. The events of the night hit you, and a crazed little giggle bursts from your lips. It transforms into a full-blown laugh at the raising of his still-constrained hands, jiggling pointedly in an impertinent request of removal. You absently inform him of the keys in the bedside dresser.

“You could- You could’a got free s’whole time.” You slurred, warm and sated in the grasp of his strong arms. Anxiety quieted now that you have your Remmick back.

”Aye. But you wanted to play, and I wanted to see how far you’d go before ya lost your nerve. “ A kiss landed on the side of your sweaty cheek, his body shifting in a way that caused his softening cock to pull out of you. “You surprised me.”

Reduced to nothing more than the dim-witted fool you are, you smile uncontrollably at the treasured possession of his words.

#remmick imagine #remmick x you #remmick x reader

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teecupangel · 2 years ago

Note

Desmond owning a bakery on the Davenport Homestead!! Why not complete the trilogy?

Making various kinds of bread for the Mile's End to be served as sides for meals, using leftover goods make other kinds of meals and to feed Prudence's & Warren's animals, and the people of the homestead often visiting the bakery when taking breaks from their jobs.

I imagine Connor meeting Desmond for the first time on the Frontier when the latter was looking for better herbs to use in the bread he makes. Connor felt something familiar in him, prob thought "y not", and offered Desmond a chance to have a bakery at the homestead.

Even if Connor mayhaps isn't a big fan of sweets, someone else on the homestead certainly is (Godfrey's & Terry's kids have sweet teeth(?) for sure).

Here’s the 3rd Crusade Baker version with Desmond using the power of looking a lot like Altaïr but with big bright smiles to unnerve and confuse the Al-Sayf brothers and the power of sweets to stop Altaïr from asking questions.

Here’s the Renaissance Italy Baker version where Ezio and Leonardo mistake Desmond as Giovanni’s illegitimate child and Desmond mistakes Leonardo’s ‘hints’ as Leonardo starting to figure out that he’s a time traveler with bonus oblivious Maria who just think Ezio and Leonardo really likes the bread and keeps asking Ezio to buy more.

Let’s combine both of your asks!

Desmond actually learns to bake in England. There’s a sweet old couple who needed help with their bakery and Desmond sorta got adopted by them. That’s where he learned the basics of how to bake.

He stayed with the sweet couple until they die peacefully of old age.

They lived a long life and Desmond doesn’t regret staying with them for this long.

Then their son who never even bothered to visit them took over the bakery and kicked Desmond out because he felt threatened by Desmond.

Desmond had half the mind to stab the asshole but he refrained from doing acts of violence because (1) he made a promise to himself that this life, he was going to try and be a pacifist (emphasis on try) and (2) he knows the sweet couple would be sad if Desmond stabs the asshole… in the leg… maybe twist it a bit… no, Desmond. Bad, Desmond.

So… knowing he was going to do something he had promised not to do if he stayed in England, he made his way for the first ship leaving the port, requesting to be taken in as kitchen help or something (even gave the captain his last batch of bread to sweeten the pot).

…

Okay.

So…

Here’s the thing.

Desmond had been deliberately ignoring whatever news he hears and the year. Because he knew if he knew the year, he’d be tempted to do something because he was around the time that Ratonhnhaké:ton would be born so…

He’s trying to be selfish here, okay?

He knows it’s not really the best way to go about it and he knows that he can, in theory, change history and all that grand stuff.

But Desmond doesn’t want to do that. He already saved the world. This is his retirement.

Why is this important?

Because Desmond would like to stress that it was a bloody coincidence that he boarded the same ship Haytham boarded to go to the colonies.

And now Haytham was observing him because he knows that Desmond was not part of the original crew which means he was suspicious.

So Desmond stays away from Haytham and keep his head down and… hope for the best, essentially.

…

Desmond would like to stress that he did not give Haytham food poisoning!

He was in charge of cutting ingredients, for god’s sake! He was nowhere near the pot OR Haytham’s fucking plate.

Also… is Haytham sure it’s not just seasickness?

… probably not but Desmond is innocent!

Oh, what he would do to wring the neck of the actual Assassin who failed in assassinating Haytham. If he was going to poison the man, at least double the dosage anyway to be sure!

Again.

Desmond is a pacifist… but dear god that kitchen knife was certainly looking quite sexy at the moment.

Ah.

Land.

And most important.

Goodbye, Haytham!

Desmond should skedaddle and…

What’s that?

Oh.

Someone needs help? Well… Desmond wasn’t heartless. He’d help.

Oh, wait.

Oh, fuck.

It was Benjamin Franklin.

Why yes, Desmond was looking for work.

What’s that?

Oh, he can cook but he makes a mean bread.

…

Oh.

Uuuhh… it seemed Desmond just got hired by Benjamin Franklin to be part of his kitchen staff???

Desmond has no idea who the two Assassins were.

He has no idea why the two of them decided to visit Franklin this early in the morning.

What he does know is that Franklin turns into a whiny baby if he smells Desmond’s bread and can’t eat it so he’s serving them all fresh bread and tea just so Franklin doesn’t complain to him later on.

… was that the light of a POE?

Nope.

Desmond must be seeing things.

Jesus Christ.

He doesn’t know why Franklin had been kidnapped and why he has to be kidnapped as well. He can, of course, just beat the crap out of all of them but…

Well…

That would destroy his ‘pacifist life’, right?

He did tell Franklin that he quit as soon as they got kidnapped though because this man was a magnet for trouble and the pay wasn’t worth all these.

Relax.

Desmond knew Franklin would live a long life.

He just doesn’t want to be part of it.

Oh, look, it was the Assassin from before.

Huh.

He looked different.

Doesn’t matter to Desmond.

Goodbye, Franklin. Thank you for the letter of recommendation!

Good news! He got his own bakery!

The rent was cheap and the neighborhood was alright.

Things were looking good.

Bad news! The landlord apparently died and the new landlord is a dick.

The rent has gone up.

Desmond’s bakery was still doing good so he can take the hit.

He’d just have to postpone any experiments he has planned to make pastries and bread he remembered from his time but don’t exactly remember the ingredients for now.

Well, fuck.

His bakery has apparently gotten the attention of Washington.

Why?

He has no idea.

But if he was going to make a guess. Some of Franklin’s servants would regularly buy bread from him so that old man must have been talking to some people.

But seriously.

Why the hell was Washington even buying bread himself?

Doesn’t he have servants to do that for him?

It… does not bode well for the future of Desmond’s bakery.

As he had expected…

So asshole landlord was loyal to the British Crown and, since it appeared that George Washington was now a fucking regular (what is this life, seriously???), that must mean Desmond was one of them.

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

And now he’s getting evicted without even getting his goddamn stuff?

Oh, to hell with that.

“What are you doing?”

Desmond turned to stare at Ratonhnhaké:ton who was suddenly standing just behind him, watching him dangle with one leg on the other side of the window of his no-longer-his bakery.

“Uuuhh… I’m not robbing the place?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton just stared at him.

“My asshole landlord kicked me out without letting me pack my things and chained the doors so I can’t get in.”

“I see… Would you like me to retrieve the key then?”

Tempting.

Desmond was pretty sure if he just adds a bit of waterworks, he can ask Ratonhnhaké:ton to beat the crap out of that asshole for him.

Again, Desmond was trying to be a pacifist this time around.

So violence doesn’t count if he’s not the one throwing hands.

“Nah. He’d just come back and get some goons to kick me out again��”

Desmond paused for a moment before he asked…

“If you have the time… mind helping me pack my entire life into small sad boxes?”

“I will find a big box we can use.”

“Thank you-” Desmond stopped himself before he could say Ratonhnhaké:ton’s name. He smiled as he asked, “What’s your name? If you’re helping me do some B&E, we should atleast know each other’s name. My name’s Desmond.”

“Connor.” Ratonhnhaké:ton replied.

“Okay, Connor.” Desmond said, although it felt a bit awkward not calling him by his real name, “Thanks.”

Desmond’s entire life fitted a small wagon that can easily be carried by a donkey.

Was that sad?

Or was this a sign that he was a minimalist?

To be fair, most of his belongings were stuff he used for baking.

Desmond sighed, “Guess I have to look for a new place to set up shop now.”

Maybe he’d cash in on Washington’s weird favoritism and rent a place with a landlord who hates the monarchy.

“I might know a place.” Ratonhnhaké:ton said as he stared at Desmond, “If you have no other place to go… perhaps…”

Was he…

Oh, he was asking Desmond to go to the homestead.

Well…

To be fair…

The homestead would definitely be peaceful.

Profit would probably not be as good as how it was here in the city though.

Then again…

It was never about the profit anyway.

Desmond turned to grin at Ratonhnhaké:ton as he said, “I’d love to.”

Peace.

This was what Desmond wanted.

Waking up early, making freshly baked bread for the people of the homestead.

Spending a few minutes with each one just to talk about how yesterday went.

Checking the surrounding areas for things he could use as ingredients for his experiments.

Making sure his garden was thriving and waiting for the fruits and vegetables that he’d use on his experiments.

Giving sweetbreads and puddings to his little visitors who always bring him berries and other ingredients they find or their parents give them in exchange for the snack.

Ah.

This was the life.

(I tried to make this sound like Desmond’s ranting without turning it to 1st POV. I hope it was okay XD)

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lilacxquartz · 2 months ago

Text

set my heart ablaze;

caldarus (human form) x f!reader

plot: caldarus, who regained his strength and health all thanks to your efforts, kept his true feelings buried out of the fear of hurting you. that was until you confessed that you felt the same. — themes: romance, smut with plot, mutual pining, soft caldarus tho slightly brooding, feelings confession, kissing, p i v • w.c: 2.7k • masterlist • on ao3

It had been quite a while since Caldarus had woken up following the incident that happened with you at the cave. You remembered it all so clearly; how helpless and trapped you felt and how you blinked through the darkness only to remain trapped within it. It was Caldarus that freed you from such impending dread, fading through the depths and to your aid, clinging to the shape of what could be a man.

And although he saved you from an untimely demise, the form he took on was still far from stable. He phased into the world still disoriented, with his memories marred from centuries of being asleep and yet, he still came through just for you—just as you had been with him across the many seasons, everyday on end.

It was a mutual sort of care that you had for each other.

For it was warm and it was tender.

Since then, you took it upon yourself to visit Caldarus with every morning from that point on. From the very moment you woke up, you quickly cycled through your homesteading chores before arranging a basket packed to the brim to take with you. Fragrant herbs that were plucked from your fields and soft baked bread often made an appearance, as well as any wild roots harvested along the way—it all made it into the basket. Caldarus never asked much from you and yet every time you stepped foot into his temple, he could never bring himself to turn you away.

After all, he felt something that went beyond affection for you for a while now.

(And yet, he could never bring himself to quite say it.)

“Good morning,” you spoke, catching him tending to his garden, taking note of his dazed, almost dreamy expression. “Is your head up in the clouds again?” you asked after a couple of seconds had passed, blinking up to the skies before setting your focus back down at him.

He turned to face you, his amber eyes locking onto yours. Cherry blossom petals filtered through the warm spring air, painting you in the pleasant morning light. “You always come so early,” Caldarus fussed, branching out a hand to take the basket and settling it onto the soft grass.

“It just feels rude to make you wait now that you’re awake,” you assured him with a smile. “Besides, have you forgotten what I do? I’m up early every day. Talking to you is just part of my daily routine at this point.”

Caldarus slightly huffed, turning his head away for a second. He sank his frustrations into tugging away at the weeds that plagued his garden instead, his voice reducing to a slight murmur, sounding almost disapproving, “Yes, when I had been in my dormant form …it’s different now.”

You rolled your eyes in response to his attempt to distance himself. He had a bad habit of doing that, as you noticed. “Stop. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest, I like talking to you.”

You meant every word, too. You were never going to stop visiting him, no matter how much he fretted about the matter. There wasn’t anyone else quite like him that you cared about to this extent. Caldarus, after all, had been with you from the very moment that you got here. He had a special place in your heart for that reason alone.

His lips curled into a reluctant smile, a faint crease forming against his clay skin, long ashen from the weakness that just wouldn’t leave him. The softness in his eyes made your heart race whenever you caught a glimpse. Caldarus was never one to shy away from his emotions, especially as of late, but something else had changed in him lately that made you understand that the way he looked at you wasn’t just friendly anymore. Something else lurked in his gaze, both piercing and longing and it was becoming more and more obvious with each passing day.

You watched him sift through today’s offering, his hands working to push up the loose threads that draped around his form. His body was less sickly than when he first awoke, with faint traces of muscle resorted in his earthy complexion. Bruises that once mapped the fine contours of his flesh were now faded too, leaving behind near polished skin.

“That’s chamomile,” you chirped as his eyes settled in on a cluster of flowers resembling daisies but not quite, taking a tentative step forward, careful not to trip over his wandering tail.

You learned the hard way earlier on that the mindless swish of his tail was a hazard to your safety, threatening to trip you over should you not watch where you’re going. The last time it happened, you were driven face-first into his freshly sown flowerbeds, messing up the plot entirely. He wasn’t upset—never with you—but you couldn’t help but hold onto the guilt you still felt.

“And a few other things from the look of it,” he mused, examining the contents with a satisfied hum.

You smiled at his warm words. “When combined, it’s all supposed to help you sleep better, I know how you’ve been…”

As you trailed off, Caldarus went silent, a flash of conflicted sadness sweeping across his features, his face moulding into something unreadable. “You do too much for me,” he faintly protested.

“Yes,” you replied, “because you saved me.”

A frustrated sigh left his lips, and within a measured sweep, he gathered the gifts you brought, taking them back inside. Caldarus set his jaw tightly, refusing to show his terse demeanour to you, working hard to find his composure once more. His inner demons were his burden to bear, not yours, but try as he might, they wouldn’t leave him no matter how hard he fought back. If you were to know more about who he was—if you saw him for what he really was—then he was certain that he would scare you off.

This form that he wore was less threatening, so you stayed.

He wasn’t a danger to you (for the time being).

However, his internalised brooding wasn’t as subtle as he thought. You saw right through him. Taking a step forward, you pushed through the walls that he kept trying to build around him, adopting a determined tone, setting your posture straight. “I’m not afraid of you – you understand that, right?”

Caldarus tensed. It was as if you had read his mind. He caught you by your name, still trying to push you away. Don’t get him wrong. He was thankful for your gifts, for your company, for you and yet—

“Whatever form you take on doesn’t matter to me,” you pushed through again, “because I care about you.”

Finally, he paused, his tail curling around his legs as if to soothe his rising nerves. He was never an angry creature, but the idea of accidentally causing you harm was what ate away at him this whole time. If such a possibility didn’t exist, then he would have accepted your affections sooner.

“I… I just don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted his thoughts out loud at last, taking a step back to lean against the wall and letting his long teal hair splay against the surface. His fingers tweezed at the bridge of his nose as he tried to will away the nerves, his eyes screwing shut, and yet, the worry only continued to fester and rise to a near scalding boil.

“But you won’t,” you insisted, taking a step forward, closing the distance that he tried so hard to bridge. You could almost feel the heat radiating from his body, as if it burned through his skin. You could smell the soft scent of dusty pine that he always seemed to carry, you could almost taste—

His breath caught, the words that he tried to utter came out choked, “You don’t know that.”

A tense silence settled between the two of you—oppressively thick and charged. His hands fell to his side in surrender, but then cautiously, he lifted it back to level along your jaw. His fingertips ghosted along your skin, tracing along the body of someone undeniably human. His golden eyes settled intensely on your face, as if to memorise your features, and then, as if possessed by a trance, he gave into a long denied but dearly anticipated temptation.

His rigid touch thawed into the press of his palm, his other hand joining to cup around your cheeks. Slowly, he dipped his lips onto yours and pressed them into a longing kiss. He gasped softly as he heard the creak of the floorboards beneath where you stood as you rose onto your toes to lean into him further—determined to meet with his physical confession—near climbing him to prove that you felt the same.

You held your lips against his for as long as you could, until your breathing faltered and an unseen force willed you take a step back. Caldarus, too, was left gasping for more. It was as if any shred of reluctance had finally melted away and was replaced by an almost inhuman ache that screamed for need.

Your eyes, equally glazed with longing and a deeper feeling you couldn’t quite explain, continued to murmur snippets of of conformation into his eager ears, “I spoke to you everyday, Caldarus, even when you were still stone,” you whispered, leaning impossibly closer, “I talked to you through the rain and the frost, I covered you to protect you from storms, I brought blankets to keep you warm, I decorated around you, I—”

Confidence rose through his depths, a confession that was good as any was what he already had—he already promised that he wouldn’t hurt you, needing more of you however soon possible—every fiber of his being was screaming at him to give in. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he then made a decision. Ever so gently, he flipped you so that your back was pushed up against the wall of his home instead.

You gasped sharply as the cool walls kissed your back, the panes pressing into your shoulder blades with unintentional harshness. His touch was strong, and yet it wasn’t threatening—only was it hungry in the way the longing often were. His hands, so large and warm, calloused from working the grounds everyday—framed around your face like you were his greatest treasure, holding onto you with pure softness.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated himself in a desperate plea, leaning his forehead against yours.

Though before you could respond, likely to scold him about his insistent worrying, he deepened the kiss, pushing into you with such rawness that it almost broke you. Again and again, he swallowed down your breathless gasps, repeating his promise like a worshipful mantra, “I don’t want to hurt you—”

Caldarus carried the kiss over to his bed, walking you back on pure muscle memory alone. He sat you down gently, unable to quite tear his lips off of yours, not even as you fell to your back, sinking into the mattress—not even as he crawled over you, hovering over your body, kneeling to push your legs apart.

You blinked up at his disheveled form, dazed and mesmerised at the sight of you. He mapped out his hands wherever he could reach, gently undressing you as his own clothes followed suit just as swiftly as yours fell off. His arousal quickly grew more obvious as he lost himself in your presence, grinding against your body from pure instinct alone.

Caldarus then paused to give you a moment to breathe, reaching down to feel his throbbing erection. With a look of anticipated focus, his eyes twitched with fevered excitement, guiding himself into your now exposed, glistening heat. Slowly, gently, he tested the waters while looming over you, his brows furrowed, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip. “Careful,” he warned breathlessly, “this might feel…. unpleasant, I’m sorry.”

You let out a choked laugh at the slight brag. “What? Are you saying that you’re that bi—oh!”

“Forgive me,” he gasped, blinking his eyes shut as he both savoured the first time you both shared together, while also begging for you to excuse the potential discomfort, “you’re not in pain are you?”

Silence fell upon your lips as you felt the tip of his cock breach your aroused walls, taking it upon yourself to widen your legs and wiggle your hips, working hand in hand to take him in. Caldarus breathed heavily as he felt his tip kiss your depths, pulling back slightly when he noticed your strained reaction. The decision was instant. Pain was not something he wanted to cause, even if his joining with you in such a way was already pulling him apart at the seams. How alive he felt as your skin brushed against his—as you swallowed him whole—so achingly perfect.

Slowly, almost reverently, he then began to move, rolling his hips into your needy core and then back a little. Caldarus set a sensual and loving pace before returning his lips to where they belonged, against your own, supporting himself on his forearms while leaning over you.

“Is this okay?” he softly asked.

Your gasps rolled in shuddering waves from your throat, your breath hitching as you struggled to adjust to his size, but god, were you determined! Feeling your eyes fluttering shut, you smiled at him for checking in on you. “Y-yeah, this… th-this is nice.”

Gradually, too, it did become easier to take him in fully. You were split open wide, but you were beaming from both the arousal that flooded you as well as the accepted confession, feeling utterly blissful from just how things were.

“I…” Caldarus hesitated, wanting more, spoke into your mouth as he continued to feed you an impossible flurry of endless kisses, “I need you so badly, but I don’t want to hur—”

Within a flash, you shut him up before shooting your arms to fly around his back, pulling him in as close as you could. “I want this,” you assured him, “I want this, I want this just as much as you do, and I want you.”

Not needing to be told twice, Caldarus finally read into the hint and took it upon himself to fold your knees to your chest, thrusting further into your sex. His girth filled out your insides while he held down your legs, keeping them apart and pressed up against your body, pounding needily into you in hard—but not painful—deep strokes. His tail snaked in around your mostly bare form, cinching around wherever it could possessively, protectively, keeping you as secure as possible.

He swallowed up your moans with desperate kisses, moving to intertwine your hands with his own, squeezing your fingers tightly as he felt you begin to come undone. Just as quickly, though, he let go of one hand, dipping his thumb to rub feverish circles around your clit, pushing himself into you with wild force. Your legs quivered and your voice turned strained, until finally—

“I-I…” you gasped, “oh god—“

A surging flooding warmth swept across your lower stomach, coiling hard before letting loose into crashing pleasure that pooled in your core. Your legs felt weak and as did your lungs—your breath stolen away in the heat of the moment—and yet it didn’t stop.

(Not that it was a problem. You were elated and to an extent, thoroughly blissed out.)

Caldarus let out a soft whine as your legs squeezed right around him, suppressing a cry and yet muttering your name on repeat as if it belonged to a prayer while he found his own peak. With a stuttering thrust of completion, he collapsed over your body fully spent, painting your insides with his flustered want and need.

The two of you panted and shuddered in an attempt you catch both of your breath, and yet you didn’t part for even a second. Caldarus studied you with tender eyes, on occasion rolling his hips against yours for a final few times before melting over you entirely.

“You make me feel so complete,” he confessed, “I’ll never get tired of wanting you.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” you yawned a response in return, tracing a featherlight path along his face, feeling along the softness of his silken hair that fell upon your fingers and then his rooting horns. To think your lover was so perfect and finally yours. “I’m so very glad.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your body relaxed.

You finally felt like you were at peace.

All the while, Caldarus at last, felt as if he was truly at home.

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vhagarys · 11 months ago

Text

The Slayer of Bastards

brother!aemond x sister!reader, brother!aegon x sister!reader, brief jace x reader

summary: After being denied of their birthright to claim you as theirs, you are shipped to Dragonstone to marry Jace Velaryon. Your brothers will have you, no matter the cost.

warnings: canon-typical incest, smut, possessive!dark!aemond, possessive!dark!aegon, manipulation, death, penetrative sex, oral sex, spitting, degradation, slapping, breeding, dumbification, basically aemond and aegon are depraved

MDNI

Their sister was gone.

Aegon and Aemond, your beloved brothers, were denied a betrothal to you, and awoke the next morning to the news of you being shipped over to Dragonstone to marry their nephew Jace Velaryon.

The brothers fumed. As their sister, it was within their birthright to claim you as theirs. Their mother insisted this alliance was far more important than their domestic desires.

Within the hour, the two plotted to bring you home and take your maidenhood so you’d be unfit to wed anyone else but them.

Their lust for their sister was undeniable. Since children, they’ve always harbored a possessive nature towards you. Warding off those who dared to venture too close to you, despite your obliviousness to other men’s advances.

You were so naive, so pure, your brothers knew they had to keep you for themselves.

They waited until the small hours of the night to sneak into the dragonpit, and took Vhagar and Sunfyre to the skies. The brothers were consumed with anger at the prospect that their insolent nephew may have you, that he may corrupt you with his bastard hands.

Their sweet baby sister in the hands of bastards and traitors.

No one was going to stand between you and them.

After fleeing from the Red Keep, they managed to land without being detected, cloaking their dragons within the forests surrounding Dragonstone.

Like shadows in the night, they snuck past the guards asleep at their post and through the halls of the castle.

Silently wandering through their enemies homestead, their ears tuned in at the slightest sound of your voice. Soon, they found you sat in the throne room with Jace.

“You’re lucky you know, Aunt Y/N. You just barely escaped the hands of your monstrous brothers clutches,” Jace proclaimed as he sat across the table from you.

“You will not speak of them in such tone, they may have committed wrong doings in the past but i will not sit here while you berate my closest family. They are my brothers Jace, and your uncles,” you responded with a hint of annoyance in your tone.

Jace scoffs at you, his face unable to hide the offense at your words.

“Do you deny who they are? They are criminals to the throne. They killed my brother and have committed atrocities the gods may never forgive. For you to sit here and defend them shows you are no better then them.”

Your body simmered in rage, fingers digging into your palms in attempt to restrain yourself. Just as you were about to retort Jace’s vile accusations, a voice at the door made you freeze.

“Tsk, thats no way to speak to your betrothed little nephew,” murmured Aemond with a darkness in his eye. Forgoing his eyepatch, the sapphire in his other eye gleamed in the moonlight.

“No go one nephew, please continue this tangent of your love for your uncles,” Aegon quipped with a smirk on his lips.

You swiftly turned towards your brothers, who both locked eyes with you. Time seemed to stop as both of them looked upon you with a longing and something darker you had not yet seen before.

“Gōntan ao miss īlva dōna haedar?” Aegon smiled at you. (did you miss us sweet sister?)

You couldn’t help but feel relief at the sight of your brothers here, the betrothal to Jace made without your consent.

You always knew how much your brothers loved you. They would always hold your hand and accompany you through the castle, let you sit on their lap and hold you when you were needed comfort.

Anything you required, your brothers were there at the drop of a hat.

You wished you didn’t have to leave them and be married off to another family. The idea of being away from your brothers made you sick with unease. After all, they promised they would always protect you.

Jace fumed at the sight of your brothers. He practically jumped out of his chair to stand in front of you, as if to shield you from them.

“How in the seven hells did you manage to get in here undetected? You really have such little regards for your own lives? Tell me why i shouldn’t draw my sword and slit your throats where you stand.”

Aemond hummed, “I’m afraid dear nephew, that would make you a kinslayer as much as i, you wouldn’t want that on your conscience hm? I, on the other hand, have already dirtied my hands. What’s a little more bastard blood spilled? I may even enjoy killing you even more than your baby brother,” Aemond grinned darkly.

Aegon chuckled under his breath. You turned to Jace and saw nothing but black in his eyes. As he went to lunge towards your brothers, you grabbed both of his shoulders.

“Stop this! Please, stop tormenting each other. Why must every encounter end in threats and physicality,” you cried out, using all your strength to hold him back, to which he shrugged off and paced toward your older brother.

Aemond stepped behind you and tucked a piece of your silver hair behind your ear. “No need for tears dōna haedar (sweet sister), we won’t let him hurt you. You’re coming home with Aegon and i where you will be rightfully married to us, your own blood.”

Jace laughed as he slowly stepped towards Aegon. “Like hell you will, she is betrothed to me. She’s mine, and i’d do right by her and rid the world of her abominable excuses of brothers.”

Jace proceeded to jab his finger into Aegon’s shoulder, a provocation that you knew would end badly.

“I dare you,” he roughly grabbed the collar of Jace’s tunic, “to utter one more word bastard. I will delight in feeding you to my dragon, a poetic end to your pathetic life, wouldn’t you say? Seeing as your brother became a snack for Vhagar,” he seethed, his anger palpable.

You couldn’t believe the situation unfolding before you. Your heart filled with dread at the inevitability of this encounter. You felt helpless. Chasing any sort of comfort, you leaned into the warmth of your older brother Aemond as he gently wrapped an arm around your hip.

You turned into his body and wept on his shoulder, begging him to put an end to this and take you back home. You knew if you didn’t leave now something awful were to occur.

“Kostilus gūrogon issa lenton lēkia,” you stared up at him with glossy eyes. (please just take me home brother)

‘Hush little one, you’re coming back home with me, i won’t allow anyone to keep you from me. Al sytilībagon naejot īlva, hm? You know we will never allow harm to come to you,” Aemond whispers as his hands held you tight against him. (you belong to us)

Seeing his sister with tears running down her cheeks awoke something primal in Aemond. His mind flashed to the tears he imagined you’d be spilling as he used your throat to pleasure his cock. He pictured you on your knees, laid bare for him, covered in drool as you let him fuck your mouth full of his release. He could almost hear you whine as you leaked your own arousal with his seed on your tongue, opening your mouth for him to spit in and brainlessly swallowing anything he gave to you. like a good girl. their good girl.

Aemond knew this was an inappropriate time to indulge such thoughts, and tried to resist the urge to press his cock against you as you cried on his shoulder.

Jace shoved Aegon off of him with a loud grunt and immediately lunges towards him in an attempt to tackle him to the floor. You couldn’t bear the fighting a moment longer.

You broke away from Aemond and rushed toward the two, grabbing Jace’s arm with your hands.

“Please Jace, we are family and i do not wish to see anyone hurt. I don’t believe any good may come of their matrimony and you know it too. It is best if i return home and seek forgiveness with your mother and Daemon on the morrow. We will leave quietly, please-”

The sting on your cheek throbbed as you stumbled to the ground. Your hand immediately reached up to touch the ugly red splotch on your face. Your body stunned as you looked up to see the disgusted look on Jace’s face.

“They’ve already fucked you, haven’t they? Corrupted you with their seed, stolen your virtue? I can’t stand to look at you. Just wait until the realm hears of you, the Targaryen cocksleeve-”

The sound of metal sliced through the air as Aemond plunged his sword through the middle of Jace’s form.

You went to scream, but Aegon grabbed you and covered your mouth with his hand.

“Shh, shh sweet sister. It’s alright, he won’t hurt you ever again. Your brothers are here, everything is alright,” he delighted in seeing Jace writhing in pain, something he’d hoped would happen for quite some time. What delighted him more though, was the feeling of you pressed up against him.

He’d finished himself countless times to the thought of you completely at his mercy. Holding you down while he pummeled into your soaking cunt. His hands wrapped like a noose around your neck, licking up your tears and swallowing down your screams. Fucking you so violently you’re rendered speechless. Just his pliant, little cocksleeve for him to ravage when he craved release. He knew you would eventually succumb to them, always looking to please her brothers.

“Brother, what are you doing? Why is there something hard poking me?” you breathed out confused, your mind feeling like mush after the overwhelming scene before you.

Unlike his brother, Aegon never possessed much self restraint. He pressed you tighter against his front, rutting his hard cock on you from behind.

“That, my sweet sister, is me showing you how happy i am to have you back. Now tell me, are you happy to see me?” Aegon whispered into your neck as you felt an odd tingling surge through you.

“O-of course i’m happy to see you lekia (brother), but i-“

“I’ll have to see for myself, don’t fight me, relax little one,” Aegon moved your hands away and worked past the layers of your skirts, gently pressing his finger on your clothed cunt.

“Gods, you’re very happy to see your brothers, isn’t that right gevie,” (beautiful) murmured Aegon as he ran his nose up your neck and traced lines up and down your center.

“Tsk, what do we have here,” Aemond removed his sword from Jace’s dying body and slowly stalked over to you, his eyes fixed on his brothers fingers on your cunt.

“Brother, it seems our innocent little sister is more depraved then we thought. Her cunt is weeping after watching you kill our nephew,” Aegon began rubbing small circles on your pearl.

The new heady sensation made your mind short circuit. You let out the most pathetic mewl, and bucked up your hips to chase Aegon’s fingers.

Aemond’s eyes darkened as he watched his sister succumb to the pleasure his brother was giving her.

“i don’t believe this, what happened to my sweet baby sister?” Aemond teased.

“Look how responsive she is, brother. Practically begging us to touch her,” Aegon mused as he continued to tease your cunt.

“Poor thing is leaking all over the floor. Let us see just how wet you are,” Aemond unsheathed his knife and cut through your small clothes, leaving your pink cunt soaking and bare for them.

You whined louder, “P-please stop, it’s too much. I don’t-”

“We can take the pain away baby sister, how does that sound? Need your brothers to help you don’t you, poor girl. What would you do without us?” aegon ripped through the bodice of your dress until your breasts spilled out.

Aemond groaned and reached out to fondle your breasts.

“Gods you were made perfect for us. Can’t wait to fuck you full of my seed”.

In a moment of clarity, the words sunk in and you jolted up, away from your brothers touch.

Your mind began to sober at the depravity you were partaking in, and your hands flew up to cover yourself.

“But we’re brother and sister, this i-is wrong. We mustn’t do this.”

The brothers exchanged a smirk. “Sister, this is exactly what siblings are meant to do, to keep the bloodline pure. You are ours to breed so that you may produce targaryen heirs sweet thing,” Aemond caressed your cheek while Aegon continued his ministrations sucking dark spots into the crevice of your neck.

Aemond took your silence as an invitation to kneel closer to your dripping cunt. He gently blew on it and watched as you clenched around nothing.

You flinched and tried to pull away to no avail.

“You see sister, no one else knows how to pleasure you like we do,” Aegon pulled your hands away and began to grope at your breasts.

You couldn’t help but arch your back as he pinched at your nipples. Your mind began to cloud over again with the intoxicating sensation coursing through your veins.

Aegon groaned into your ear, “You were made to fit our cocks and to take our seed. you were made for us to have, in any way we desire, right brother?”

Unable to hold back from tasting you, Aemond offered a hum before leaning down and licking a fat stripe up your dripping folds, slurping up your essence like a man starved.

Your body twitched and spasmed at the all consuming pleasure. You gasped, chasing the electric feeling your brothers tongue offered you.

“I’ve got you, little girl,” Aegon turned your head toward him and swallowed your cries in a forceful kiss, dominating your mouth with his tongue.

After only a few minutes, you were on the brink of release. Your virgin cunt not familiar with such intense pleasure from someone’s mouth.

Suddenly, Aemond retracted his mouth from you, cursing under his breath and scooping up some of the wetness still leaking from you.

You watched as he reached over you and pushed his fingers into your older brothers mouth. A moan came from aegon as he sucked all of your juices off.

“Fuck” Aegon drawled, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

You couldn’t help but whine in frustration, your brothers leaving you throbbing with need but effectively ignoring you.

They both looked down at you drunken with lust.

“Use your words, sweet girl. what do you want, hm? what’s wrong?” Aegon chuckled at his brothers teasing.

“You really are cruel brother, our sister clearly won’t be satisfied until she’s felt our cocks stretch out that tight cunny,” Aegon began removing his trousers.

Aemond gripped your cheeks with his hand. He examined you, the way your tongue slightly stuck out, your eyes glazed over as you met his gaze.

“Not a single thought in that pretty head of yours is there. Already too drunk on the idea of cock you can’t speak?” Aemond grinned cruelly at you.

You whined his name. he squeezed your cheeks so you lips parted just in time for him to spit into your mouth.

“Show me,” you stuck your tongue out to show the glob of spit. Aemond nodded then commanded, “Swallow it.”

Aegon began to run his cock up and down your folds, hissing at how sensitive he was.

“Did you enjoy that sister?” Aegon slowly circled your entrance with his head, aroused at the scene before him.

You shyly nodded, too embarrassed to meet either of their gazes.

Aemond sighed, “Of course she enjoyed it, you love making your brothers happy right byka līve?” after which Aegon grabbed your face and spit into your mouth. (little whore)

You were overwhelmed by the need to feel your brothers, to please them. “P-put it in please”, you whispered to your older brother.

They both looked at you with a sick fondness, their lovely sister reduced to nothing more then a begging, cock slut.

“Asking so nicely, how can i refuse you gevie,” Aegon slowly pushed in.

The feeling was intense. the stretch of his cock in your virgin hole hurt so much. You could do nothing but cry and wreathe at the painful sensation.

Oh, how pathetic you looked when you cried. Aegon wished to make you cry whilst he spilled his seed into you.

After a moments pause, he pulled out and sheathed himself back inside, setting a brutal pace for your poor little cunt.

“Ah! slow down, lēkia, it’s too m-” (brother)

The rest of your sentence was muffled as Aemond took the opportunity of your mouth wide open to stuff his cock down your throat.

You gagged at the intrusion, and clawed at your brothers thighs to push him off. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked so you met his gaze. The soft look he gave you contrasted the way he was choking you with his member.

“Such a filthy little girl aren’t you? letting your brothers have their way with you after committing treason,” Aemond moaned. His other hand slithered down to your neck and began to squeeze, just hard enough you began to gasp for air.

Soon, you lost your strength and could no longer try to push him off of you.

Aemond smiled at you, “That’s it, just a little more dove. Don’t fight it, that’s a good girl,” the lack of oxygen made your eyes roll back into your head.

He soon loosened his grip on you, stroking your cheek lovingingly before bringing his hand down to strike at your cheek. The same one Jace laid his hands on earlier.

You gagged helplessly as he fucked your throat without mercy.

Aegon had never been so turned on his life, his hips sporadically thrusting into you. He knew no whore in the seven kingdoms could please him after tonight.

“No one else will ever lay a finger on you ābrazȳrys, only me and Aemond (wife). Fuck, I think she likes getting slapped brother,” he hissed and dug his fingers into your hips, sure to leave bruises come morning.

“Would you like me to spill my seed down your throat baby sister,” Aemond watched in delight as you gurgled incoherently around him.

He reached down and pinched your nostrils together, effectively blocking off your airways.

“I asked you a question līve, answer me,” (whore) he taunted and you did your best to nod your head while grabbing at his hand which finally allowed you to breathe again. He knew he was close to his peak, ramming his cock in and out of your warm, wet mouth.

Your brothers both moaned in bliss, minds overcome with the pleasure of finally corrupting their sister. They did not hear your cries and pleas, they were utterly consumed with you.

You could nothing but take it. Soon, your mind went blank as your brother prodded at your g-spot over and over.

You could feel your release approaching right as Aegon began thrusting faster, but n cock begin to swell.

“Fuck, you’re gonna take my seed aren’t you sister, gonna breed you as many times as it takes. fuck you’re mine, fucking take it,” he groaned as he let go and filled your womb.

“Can’t wait to take you back home, were going to have such fun together aren’t we”, he stayed inside you and pushed his release back inside your with his spent cock.

The sight of his older brother spilling inside of you sent Aemond over the edge. After Aegon pulled out, Aemond took his cock out of your mouth and sheathed himself inside you.

“This seed is going to take, and you’ll soon be round with our child, would you like that? You’re squeezing the life out of me. Tatagon rūsīr issa,” he grunted in your ear. (finish with me)

Your release hit you like a lightning bolt. You cried out at the aftershocks of your peak. you reached down to cradle your belly that swelled with the amount of seed inside you.

Your body soon collapsed with exhaustion, blacking out for a moment before coming to again.

Both of your brothers knelt on either side of you and tenderly kissed your forehead.

“You did so well for us gevie,” Aegon murmured as he caressed your cheek.

“Made us feel so good.” Aemond watched your cunt clench around nothing, already missing the cock that was inside.

He would claim her cunt when they returned home.

A soft “mm” was all you could manage.

As you sat and composed yourself, you looked over to see Jace’s body still lying there.

Before you could dwell on the tragedy before your eyes, you were scooped up by Aegon who muttered, “Time to go home ābrazȳrys”. (wife)

authors note: tada! hope you all enjoyed my first fic! please leave me feedback as i’m new to this :)

- alice <3

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