#the rise of iron maiden
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Fear of the Dark ❤️🐰❤️
#yes I did this so I could make an iron maiden reference#anyway RISE AND GRIND GAMERS#this is what happens when I listen to Pink Floyd or something#was talking to oomfie about this au and decided that Gary wants John to be his bride for the pack/cult#is that stupid? yes. do igaf? no#expect more#tryna figure out how to add other faith characters into this au as well#myart#fanart#my art#john ward#gary miller#garyjohn#faith the unholy trinity#faith the game#faith airdorf#airdorf#big blue and the wolf leader au#<- still dk if that’s what this is properly gonna be called but oh well#❤️🐰❤️
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A tide of change is coming
And that is what you fear
#star wars#The Force Awakens#the last jedi#the rise of skywalker#Star Wars battlefront 2#the first order#First Order Officer#kylo ren#jet trooper#toys#toy photography#the writing on the wall#iron maiden#coazphotography#song project
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WHY are there so many bands playing in like a not even 2 week stretch in ottawa&montreal like plsssss i can't go 2 ALL of u 😭
#rise against and soen at cityfolk (????) on sept 13#green lung in mtl on sept 16 (def going 2 that one!!!!)#lorna shore & others (including sanguisugabogg which would be v cool 2 see) in mtl on sept 16 but oof those ticketmaster prices....#and then ingested is a supporting band at show in ottawa on sept 21 and i DID buy a ticket even tho idek the other 4 bands#but christ its on the other side of the city on a work night bleghhh#judas priest on sept 13 in mtl is SUCH bummer 2 miss but eek those prices and also its all seated no standing :/#then in october youve got iron maiden in mtl/qc/to but those are REALLY crazy ppl ticket prices for floor GA like hot damn#no 1 even TALK 2 me abt bruce springsteen in november. once it hits 4 figures im like. no. just. no. absurd.#the absolute cheapest ticket in the shittiest part of the arena is $321. most of the other shittiest seats START at $391. i cry.#that cityfolk thing is like $70 for a 1 day pass tho so i might actually go 2 that#even tho idk why rise against (a rock/alt rock band) and soen (a swedish prog metal band) are at a..... folk festival?
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#girlboss#slaying dare i say#nickelodeon#nicktoons#max and the midknights#behind the scenes#storyboard#color script#knight#the ultimate knight#spotify#pat benatar#iron maiden#iron maiden band#armored girls#she's so short???#girls in armour#a new hero rises#welcome to byjovia#Spotify
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Rise of Asura
Alternative melodic metal band RISE OF ASURA launch new album ‘DYSPHORIA’ Get the album details right here: https://toxicmetalzine.com/post/alternati
#rise of asura#alternative metal#black metal#grindcore#progressive metal#darkthrone#iron maiden#melodic death metal#extreme metal#heavy metal#swedish black metal#megadeth#faith no more
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happy new year!!!
would you be able to write a part two of maidens token where the reader attempts an escape and arrives at her village to see count or lol and her slaughtered village people
"A Maiden's Darkness" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader
Warnings: 18+, Count Orlok is his own warning, reader definitely has stock holm syndrome, death is mentioned, minor side character death, gore, sexual tension, dub-con, blood kink, marking, possessiveness, angst, hair pulling, penis in vagina sex, oral sex (M receiving), rough sex, you can't fix him so don't try sorry.
"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness -" Your head hung low in shame, you were ailing with guilt and remorse. You had submitted to death, not once but twice. If there was a god, he'd never forgive the sins you've committed. No matter how many verses of the holy Bible you recited, there would be no salvation for you. You were tempted by the devil, and you conceded, you willed it.
Last night after he had left you, spared you even, to feed from the village and hide before the sun could rise he had unexpectedly returned to you instead. When he arrived you were still lying on the bed draped over with the blood-stained blanket and tears falling from your eyes. You looked over at him and gasped, his claws and mouth dripped with a deep red hue that foretold acts of violence. That same red color followed along the fur of his attire and led you to believe there had been more than one victim with the sheer amount. The stench of iron flooded your nose and you gagged, if you had eaten more than bread that night you probably would have heaved it all up on the bed below you.
Your stomach turned when the thought crossed your mind that it could be the blood of a child he was drenched in. It was revolting, disgusting, and still when he approached the bed you spread your legs for him like an eager whore. He disrobed and you two embraced each other that night once more, you submitted to death once more. The silver locket necklace he had stolen from you dropped to the floor along with his garments. You could remember vividly the way you laid there for him compliantly, moaning and mewling amongst the sounds of his skin against yours. Your thighs were held apart with each of his hands while his hips pounded you downward into the mattress. After he was satisfied he abandoned you once more, retreating to wherever it is he'd go during the day.
The sun sat high and bright in the sky and yet you could still feel his cold hands ghosting over your skin. Here you were now, sitting solemn and praying to a god that would never help you. If your mother were to see you right now she'd shake her head and tell you that you had gotten yourself into this situation and needed to get yourself out. So that's just what you'd do, the longer you stayed here the more you felt like you were losing your mind. His shadow was consuming your innocence and maybe even your soul. He may not have been manipulating you but it didn't feel reasonable for your body to respond the way it did to his. He carried a stench of death everywhere he went and when disrobed looked even more like a corpse than what you expected him to.
After getting dressed and eating the fresh apples he left you on the dining table for breakfast, you began plotting. If you weren't going to plot your escape from the castle then your mind would wander and think only of him, as if you were obsessed. To be fair all you've done these past two weeks is think of him. Where would he go after he fed from you? What was his first name? Why did he avoid coming out during the day? There were a hundred other questions you could ask yourself but you wouldn't get an answer to any of them. Anything he told you about himself was very vague or probably not even true.
You wasted an hour of daytime stumbling around the castle looking for anything that may help you with getting out, but every room was empty of usefulness and filled with standard furniture covered with cobwebs and dust. Weirdly enough you found the baggage that you had brought with you along with your paint supplies hidden behind a tall wooden cabinet. Why he hid your items was beyond you, but the clean dress, undergarments, and shoes were appreciated. You then returned to your bucket of drinking water and tried your hardest to wash off the thick layers of dried blood so they wouldn't soil your new clean dress. When he fed from you he was messy, often rubbing his face into your chest and smearing it around which made you feel repulsive. There were no mirrors anywhere in the castle so you weren't aware of how good of a job you did but it would have to do.
The heavy metal door of the castle opened slowly and flakes of snow began to nest on your shivering frame. The blood loss would make you more susceptible to dying from the cold but it seemed to be a better way out than succumbing to the darkness under the thumb of your captor. The hounds that seemed to accompany him everywhere slowly congregated around you while you trudged through the snow up to the gated entrance. As you exited none of the dogs attacked you, they just panted and stared at you in silence, there was no barking or growling to try to scare you back into the castle.
Nonetheless, their silence and unwillingness to follow you out felt like a bad omen. Like they were quietly telling you that if you leave this castle he will kill you. You weren't sure how far the village he fed from was but there was a glimmer of hope in your mind that you'd make it there and depart by sundown. The snow made your journey take agonizingly longer than expected, every crunch of snow under your heeled boots only seemed to make your travels much slower.
The clacking sound of a horse's heels through the snow caught your attention and you followed the noise closely. There were two women sitting on the horse, you had met them both when you briefly passed by the village on your way to the castle. This was your chance, you had your doubts about your escape and survival chances but seeing them again gave you hope. You ran up to the slowly trotting horse and the steed stood up on it's two legs and cried out as if you had spooked it. "Stop! Stop I say!" The woman towards the head of the horse ran her hands over its face and that seemed to calm the animal but it still eyed you with unease.
"She has the smell of death on her." Before you could ask for help a feeling of anger washed over you. These two women knew you were heading to that castle two weeks ago and didn't even bother to tell you what you were getting yourself into. "She is probably a vengeful spirit, the vampyre does not keep his whores for this long." The older woman made the sign of the cross with her fingers as if she was blessing herself for just seeing you and the two continued off on their horse finishing their conversation in Romanian. You'd cry but these past few days have absolved you of all the tears you had left to release.
Disgust. Disgust was what you felt about yourself, the Count, the castle, the villagers just everything. The sun began to set and your heart sank in your chest, a part of you wanted to keep walking until you arrived at the village and found somewhere vacant to hide. While another part of you wanted you to turn around and walk back to the castle, sit at that dining table, and greet your lover with a smile. After contemplating what to do you let out a scream of frustration and continued toward the village. If the horse was walking slowly in this area that meant that they had to be close to their home.
The sun had officially set by the time you arrived in the center of the village. There were houses and homes around you, all with drawn curtains but you could see the glow of candles inside which let you know everyone was inside their homes and they'd most likely never open the door to what they thought was a 'vengeful spirit'. Each door was covered in garlic and a variety of crosses and bible pages. The more homes you past the darker the sky became and you had this frightening feeling that death would soon be coming for you, that it was already searching for you and knew you had gone missing.
On the far end of the village was what you believed to be a church, there were no candles inside and the windows were not covered by curtains. You turned the knob and the door opened with a creak and revealed a room full of chairs, benches books, and whatever else the moonlight decided to show you. After closing the door behind you and taking a few steps forward you almost slipped on something somewhat sticky and overtly soft on the floor. You couldn't see very well what you were stepping on but the stench of death gave you a vivid impression. That had to have been pieces of an animal or a human even, as the familiar scent of true death you had become accustomed to was far too unique to be this.
That devil - your devil, had the stench of death but mixed with something far more abnormally comforting. It reminded you of your childhood days when you'd play alone in the small damp cave that resided behind your home back in America. The smell of that cave, the smell of pinecones in a forest, and pure decay were the smells you identified him by. Suddenly several books fell off of the shelf behind you and you almost fled until you saw the cause of the loud mess. "Oh dear god in heaven." Right before you was a man sitting in the darkest corner of the church.
He had to be at least a few years older than you, once your eyes had become adjusted to the darkness you could see him somewhat better. "You're still alive?" His Romanian accent was thick but at least he spoke English to you, the surprise in his tone sent you reeling. "No thanks to you or anyone else in this damned village, you're all SICK! Sick for letting me journey to that monster." And at last, the tears you believed to be depleted soon fell from your eyes. You had every right to be upset, to feel as though you were betrayed. "Iartă-mă, forgive me, I will explain but did he release you?"
"Explain first and I'll tell you." You were stern enough to get the point across that you weren't letting up. The man's expression harshened a bit before it relaxed. He grabbed what looked to be a bottle of gin off of the pedestal next to him and took a swig before looking up at you. "My name is Mihai, I asked to be here to protect the others, the vampyre will feed off me-" It all began to make sense, he was a willing sacrificial lamb which was why the church seemed to be so unprotected, and dark. You felt a pang in your stomach remembering that this was supposed to be a holy church. Consecrated ground that would protect against all evil and yet evil still invaded like a sickening plague.
"- Feeding it is better than letting it feed itself, yes or no?" You declined to answer that question as you put your back against the wall and dropped to sit on the floor. Feeling like an idiot you let your head hit the hard surface behind you, looking up at the unlit chandelier dangling from the ceiling. That's why the dogs let you leave this morning and why you were seemingly able to find your baggage. He knew there would be nowhere for you to go, the villagers too succumbed to his darkness and would never assist you. The one structure in the entire village you could enter freely and it was his feeding ground.
He wanted you here, wanted you to see that this was the kind of power he had over others and it was making you nauseatingly sick. You stumbled to your feet and turned to look at Mihai who was currently downing his bottle of gin again, he had no idea of the fate that awaited him. The Count would draw out his death and turn what was supposed to be quick feeding into a lesson for you to learn. If you had never left the castle this man would never endure the torture that lay ahead of him.
"Mihai I'm sor-" The flickering of candles interrupted you. The crucifixes that were placed upon the walls slowly turned upside down and the Mother Mary statue you were standing next to began to bleed from its eyes. "He is coming." As you said the words your hands began to tremble and shake. Even without the dramatic display of power, the rise of goosebumps on your skin and the tremble of your frame told you how his shadow drew near. The door of the church opened up with a slam as snow flurries began to enter the church with the gust of wind.
The flurries landed on the floor sticking to the bloodstained wood, there were small clumps of whoever he had decided to feast on the night prior now illuminated by the candles. Your eye twitched miserably as that had been what you almost slipped on earlier. Suddenly at the frame of the door, a tall imposing figure with glowing white eyes appeared, its eyes were directed at you solely and neglected the presence of Mihai. As he stepped into the church your gaze averted to the floor, you didn't have to look at him to see his disappointment.
His stare carried nonexistent daggers that pierced their way through your body and soul. His deep ragged breathing echoed through the room and silenced all other noises the further he walked in. The door slammed itself behind him and it made your heart leap a small yelp escaped your mouth. You kept your gaze on the floor and he closed the distance between the two of you to the point where all you could see was the fur of his cape below in your vision. A clawed hand shot up and grabbed the lower half of your face and forced you to look up at him as he towered over you. "You will watch and if you dare look away then it will be you instead."
"Yes, my Lord." You answered mindlessly, knowing that your life at the moment was being held teetering on the edge of a dangerous cliff, and any foolish movement would send you tumbling downward. In your situation, that dangerous cliff happened to be your lover. He didn't release his hold on your face while his dark eyes stared intensely into yours, the gaze was so intense your eyes strained from the lack of blinking. You feared that if you took the chance to blink he'd snap your neck then and there for disobeying further. Thankfully his gaze was averted when Mihai purposely dropped his now empty glass bottle onto the planked floor of the church.
You took that much-needed blink and his hand was no longer painfully cupping your face but he now had it around the neck of the villager. Mihai's face became a deep purple as he was lifted against the wall, and as soon as his chest became eye level with the harbinger of death, his heart was latched onto and he began to be drained. Watching this happen before you showed you how much this creature held back when he'd feed from you. The way he siphoned blood from Mihai was nothing like what he'd do to you.
Him being a messy eater wasn't news to you but the sure brutality of the pressure he exerted against the man's ribs was so excessive you heard a sickening crunching noise as it sounded like they had fractured under duress. It was pure savagery displayed in front of you but you didn't dare look away. You watched as he had instructed you to while the life dissipated from Mihai's eyes. The blood from the villager's body flowed so much that it began to speckle the floor below them. When the body of the sacrifice finally dropped to the floor of the church and what now looked like a rabid beast corrected his posture and turned in your direction, you knew it was your turn.
"What kind of host would I be if I didn't indulge my guest in a little- how do you say it in English? Entertainment." Your face twisted in disgust at his mockery, you liked it better when he barely spoke to you. The more conversations the two of you had the more you realized he had a sadistic sense of humor. "Did you enjoy your trip today? I hope you found whatever it is you were searching for." As he took one step forward you took two steps back, not wanting to deal with whatever wrath or 'mercy' he wanted to give you.
The blood continued to drip from his mouth and your thighs involuntarily trembled. You mouthed a 'no' as you realized what was going on with you. For your body to react like this at such a scene brought back those feelings of guilt and shame you had this morning. You'd make the false accusation that he was manipulating you into this but both of you would know that was a complete lie.
His bloodied hand grabbed a hold of your hair and brought you to your knees. "If you were to kill me right now I would not need to blame you as I have disobeyed! I don't deserve your forgiveness but I will still ask for it." His grip on your hair painfully tightened and there was only a little bit more pressure needed before he'd be ripping the strands straight from your scalp. "You leave my castle, fraternize with a human man, and ask for my forgiveness?!"
His booming voice reverberated off the walls of the church and made the flames of the candles dance violently upon the wax sticks they sat on making you feel much smaller than you were and as you sunk into yourself like a scolded child. His furred cape flared in front of you angrily as he turned and walked away from you. This man was livid with rage before you and it only made you fear him more, you pondered why you even thought it was a good idea to flee the castle, to begin with.
"I'm sorry my Lord!" Before you could stand up to continue to beg for forgiveness and your life, a clawed finger pointed downward at the floor indicating for you to stay down at the level you were. "You will crawl to me..." You didn't need to be told twice by him so you put your hands on the cold wooden floor, lowered your back, and slowly crawled to him. When you reached him your fingers grabbed a hold of his furred cloak and you looked up at him with pleading wide eyes. The scent of your growing arousal made his nostrils flare and you could see there was an internal war going on within his mind about what he was going to do with you.
It was a demeaning idea but your fingers crept under his heavy cloak and you found the button latch to his trousers. He allowed you to remove his flaccid length and the heavy sack resting beneath it. You should have been utterly disturbed by how grotesque he was but you breathed a small moan while grabbing a hold of his cock. The longer you held him the harder he seemed to grow. Fully invested in what you were doing your hand tightened around him slightly and gave a few slow strokes of his shaft. The way his foreskin pulled backward and forward along the bulbous head of his cock was intoxicating and it was now you too who was breathing heavily.
As much as would have liked to deny it, there was a deeper connection than either of you would have expected to bloom. It wasn't just sexual it was disturbingly spiritual as if you'd never be truly free of him the same way he'd never be truly free of you. You had driven yourself mad about succumbing to his darkness but it wasn't just his at play, it was yours too. The longer you stayed with him the faster your mind began to unveil the depraved and dark thoughts that you kept at bay to keep yourself sane.
This mutual infatuation dared to ruin the both of you and you came to terms with being quite alright with that. It didn't take long before he fully hardened under your grasp and you gave his weeping slit a long and desperate lick. Your eyes never left his predatory ones as you coaxed the head of his erection past your lips. You sucked your cheeks in as your head began to bob up and down his cock. His entire length would never fit in your mouth so you kept your hand stroking at his base while your mouth worked on the half of him that it could please.
The fingers of your free hand found themselves in between your legs and sliding down your undergarments so you could spread apart your slit. You were unbearably wet with need as your walls clenched around nothing. Two of your fingers rubbed desperate circles around your clit until you were a panting mess and whining with his cock in your mouth. Your lover - your darkness, kept his composure and looked down at you with intrigue. His angry glare from earlier had softened but not enough to make you feel safer.
He grabbed a hold of your head and pulled you away from his shaft and his tip left your lips with a wet pop. You didn't stop stroking him at his base while his sharply pointed nails descended from your head and stopped at the side of your neck. One of his nails pierced your skin and drew a short line across your tender flesh. The pain was agonizing but you knew if you stopped he'd simply claw you deeper.
"That mark is for talking back to me and out of turn on the first day we met." You didn't have to look down to know that fresh blood dripped from your wound and further downward into your dress. His nail came into contact with your flesh again and you felt the carving of another short line. "This mark is for spending countless nights crying because you wanted to go home." He gave you a shorter moment of recovery before the pointed claw dug into your skin again.
"And that one would be for refusing the first few meals I would leave for you..." He wasn't smiling but his eyes held a sadistic gleam to them, he was hurting you and he found it amusing as usual. Your hand loosened around his shaft momentarily while the stinging sensation of your wounds began to cause your eyes to water. You shut your eyes entirely as another line was carved into your neck. "Once more for running away from my home. You have four now. If you ever gain a fifth that will be your final night with me."
When you opened your eyes his hand was freshly slicked with blood and now pressed to his lips so that he may taste you. To taste the life that he deemed so endearing to keep around him. Watching him do that made your slit weep with arousal even more. Before you could take him back into your mouth he stopped you and instructed you to turn around with a wave of his finger and you obeyed. You sunk back onto your hands and knees knowing what he was implying but it still surprised you when dropped down behind you and your dress was lifted above your hips.
You gasped when the head of his cock prodded at your folds before he thrust forward and entered you. When your body became flush with his, your hips rocked against him begging him to move. Even your walls pleaded with him dearly every time you felt yourself clench miserably around him. His length pulled away from you before sinking back in with a hiss from him as he started up a feral pace. Your body jerked forward every time his hips met with yours followed by a moan from your lips. With every thrust his sack would slap against your swollen clit and that made you whimper even more.
Your cunt was so greedy for his touch just to be able to take all of him like this when he'd just started. The pain of the lines he had drawn on your skin was soon forgotten about and forgiven with how pleasurable it felt when he split you open like this. It wasn't just the physical pleasure affecting you, you were also getting off on the power that he had over you, how little effort it would take for him to kill you right here while buried within your wet heat.
In between your moans and whimpers, you'd hear him grunt in approval from behind you. What was completely unexpected and took you by surprise was when his hand found its way back into your hair and he forced your head to the side so he could claim your mouth in a kiss. This level of affection was new to you but it soon became welcomed as well when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Blood, whether it was yours or Mihai's lingered in his mouth which intimately transferred over to yours and you greedily accepted it during the kiss.
With his cold tongue exploring the cavern of your mouth he only pounded you harder from behind which made your back arch further for him. You took one of your hands off the floor and started vigorously rubbing your clit in circles desperate for your approaching climax. When that peak reached you and your walls spasmed furiously around his cock you moaned loudly against his mouth and the overstimulation made you remove your hand and squeeze your legs tightly shut but his fervent thrusts continued.
His mouth left yours and your head was pushed down roughly onto the floor while he continued taking you from behind. Your legs began to tremble and your body wanted to inch far away from him but he held you firmly in place making you take everything he gave you and more. The increase in pace made your lower belly tighten as you came for him again around him. Your eyes rolled back and your hips buckled against him while you cried out with your release.
The thrusting stopped abruptly and he pushed so deeply inside you that it was painful. The tip of his cock began to twitch against your cervix and several ropes of his release shot into you. Your needy walls were milking him of his seed, making him fill you up like this. He left you feeling so full and satiated as the deed you'd both have done was nothing short of passionate He pulled out and you were flipped over onto your back so that he could lick the dried and congealed blood from the wounds he left on your neck. Your eyes grew heavy-lidded and you just laid there and let him salivate all over your neck and chest as much as he pleased.
You didn't remember closing your eyes and falling asleep until you woke up in the guest bedroom of the castle. You were light-headed from your ordeal last night and you nearly fell off the bed when you turned to see what looked like a stone grey box in the middle of the room. The more you stared at it the more you could make out its morbidly beautiful details and carvings. For some reason, it started to look more like a coffin maybe even a sarcophagus than a box or container as you thought it was. It looked expensive and ancient and you had no intentions of touching it unless you'd like to receive your fifth and final mark this evening.
Images of last night as memories came back to haunt you and a familiar ache between your thighs threatened your composure. With that ache, you felt an undeniable soreness, and inklings of pain that flooded the left side of your neck. Before you were able to exit the room the sound of stone sliding against stone made you stop and look at the now-opened grey sarcophagus with wide eyes as a clawed hand reached out from the darkness within it. Suddenly you were ready to succumb to it all over again.
#horror x reader#monster x reader#nosferatu x reader#nosferatu the vampyre#nosferatu 2024#count orlok x reader#count orlok#bill skarsgård
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let me be yours. | part I
ao3 | masterlist | part II >
Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x F!Martell!Reader
Word count: 3.1K
Summary: You, a Martell princess who was recently brought into Rhaenyra's courtyard as a sign of goodwill to ensure the unification of the Seven Kingdoms. With time passing on, you feel trapped under the enticing aura of the Dragon Queen and sees yourself desiring her more and more. However, in a delicate situation, is it worth the yearn for your Queen? Would you give in to your needs to have your way with her and find some indulgence?
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), afab reader, bisexual rhaenyra, canon divergence, longing, age gap (you early 20s rhae mid 30s), fingering, masturbation, oral sex, sub/dom dynamics (rhae dom you sub), overstimulation, scissoring, queen rhaenyra targaryen, nipple play, possessive rhaenyra
Ever since you left your homeland to be a ward in King’s Landing, life has become a journey of too many changes and mixed feelings. The sense of homesickness and fear of the unknown was present and huge within your heart.
You were a princess of Dorne, the second in line to inherit Sunspear after your brother. After the rise of Rhaenyra Targaryen as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she successfully united the relations with Dorne and finally brought it into the feud and unifying the realm once and for all. You, after all, were presented at her courtyard as a sign of good will from the Martells and forge a prominent marital alliance between you and the heir to the Iron Throne, Prince Jacaerys, in order to legitimise the coming of the dornish to the courtyard.
You obviously missed the sultry dunes of sand, the sweeteness of Dornish Red, the incandescent sky, with a fiery burning sun crashing your skin and the sense of community amongst your siblings and the freedom your country provided. You felt less lonely in Dorne, for the life in King’s Landing could prove to be challenging under the judgemental and prejudicial nature of the rest of the Westerosi. Some became outraged by your presence, others just spoke in whispers around the corners of the Red Keep, yet, it was undeniable that as soon as you stepped into the city, you became the centre of attention, always remembered by the courtyard for your mysterious peek, luscious, long hair and exquisite beauty or your luxurious sense of fashion. It distanced yourself from the standard beauty of the other ladies in the realm, putting yourself easily as the fairest maiden of your time.
You had no idea if this title came over the fact that you hold a big status as future consort and people wanted to fuss around you or if you were indeed the most beautiful lady in Westeros. However, you knew well that ever since the Queen has met you, she had been enchanted by you and held you in high regard, always complimenting you and your astonishing beauty. Her Grace enjoys calling you by terms of endearment, being “sweet girl” her favourite name for you, showering you with jewellery and plenty of expensive gifts or simply having your company along the day, to have long walks throughout the royal gardens and even show you the Dragonpit became a regular routine when she arranged time between her royal duties. You barely had time to bond with Prince Jacaerys, given the fact you became her loyal companion.
Speaking from the back of your mind, you cared not much, once you found yourself drowning into the alluring beauty of Rhaenyra. The Westerosi average accent for you was dull and ugly on everyone else; on her, it was perfection. Her touch was gentle and her violet eyes were rather attentive, careful of you. You spent your nights having supper with her and her other sons or simply sharing a good conversation. She made you feel less lonely in that castle.
You questioned yourself if what you were feeling was no more than a delusion, a projection over your neediness for attention. But you could swear you caught yourself in a moment with her where your gazes locked on each other and she lightly pinched your chin, getting too close to your face. Queen Rhaenyra was a daydream. You never indulged in kissing or having any romantic interaction with other ladies but Rhaenyra lit a fire within you - a liability only Her Grace could solve.
And now there you were, another night where she requested your company for supper. You wore an orange dress with silky cuts giving a slight volume to the gown, although it was a more simplistic dress, more adequate to the occasion. Her Queensguard announced you at the door and she received you with a polite smile before you gave her a courtesy.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” You speak, bending your body on a polite greeting gesture to Rhaenyra.
“It has been a far cry since we are done with courtesies, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, silently commanding her servants and guards to leave her with you. Her peek examined your features and smiled softly at you.
“It is a costume I would rather not lose, Your Gra-… Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself, remembering she wanted you to address her by her name only, as a sign of how much she enjoyed your presence. She giggled and guided you through her chambers, ever so caring and jolly.
“I should warn you,” Rhaenyra began, walking through her private apartments. “I commanded the cook to prepare you something special.” Her Grace spoke to you, graciously raising her eyebrows and excited, yet contained beam. Your eyes lit up, already knowing what she was talking about.
You sat after her on the small table fetched for the two of you and a set of plates strategically placed for the duo to have dinner. Even before you would open it, you already knew. “The dornish recipe of roasted lamb.”
Rhaenyra grinned and joined her hands once she realised how much you enjoyed the said surprise. “I had the cook searching for this recipe for days, sweet girl. I hope it is of your liking.”
And then, after waiting for Your Grace to start eating, you hummed in satisfaction eating your meal. The spicy flavour exploded in your mouth, invading your taste and drooling your mouth by the slightest of satisfaction. “I take for your expression that you enjoy it a great deal.” Rhaenyra told you, after taking a bite of her own dinner. You nodded eagerly tasting it and had to contain yourself to not lose your composure in front of the Queen.
“Thank you, Your Grace. It tastes delicious, I have missed this.” You reply to her and involuntarily touches her hand, squeezing it delicately. Once you tried to take it away, Rhaenyra held it tighter, forbidding you to take it away and stared at you, silently reassuring you it was acceptable. Her hands entangling on yours was almost electrifying, causing goosebumps on your skin just with a simple touch or an exchange of looks. Her face, however, was tender and calm, with a soft smile whilst looking at you.
Rhaenyra put her hand over the table once again and her fingertips traced patterns over your soft skin. “My pleasure, sweet girl.” She muttered at you and tension was thick in the air. “Do you miss Dorne, my dear?” Rhaenyra asked you and her other hand grasped the cold metal of her cup of wine, taking it to her mouth to drink it, but her gaze never left yours.
You craved her attention, thirsting for more of Rhaenyra. Her presence sparked questions in your mind about her prowess as a lover; with so many sons, it seemed plausible her husbands found her passionate and fulfilling in bed, particularly Daemon. Could she bring that same intensity and allure to you? As Rhaenyra doted on you in your future role as a daughter-in-law, you could not help but ponder how she might express her affection in a more intimate relationship. Her gestures and glances, filled with warmth and intrigue, hinted at depths of passion waiting to be explored. The thought of her as a lover stirred your curiosity and desire, wondering how her charm and grace would translate into romantic moments.
"I do," you replied, your voice tinged with anticipation and full of honesty, grappling with the allure and uncertainty of what lay ahead. Would she meet your expectations, exceed them, or perhaps offer something entirely unexpected? The prospect both thrilled and unsettled you, as you navigated the complex emotions and possibilities that Rhaenyra's presence brought into your life.
“Well, darling, this is your home now. Your Queen will make sure you feel enoughly accommodated in my court,” Rhaenyra replied, breaking the contact between them to cut the tension shortly after it. The Valyrian Queen cuts a piece of her meat and fidget her fingers on her cup, tracing the boards as her eyes rested on your features. You, on the other hand, smiled gently at her words, deeply touched by her kindness towards you. It was not supposed to feel right to yearn for a full desire of Rhaenyra, you had to get rid these ruminations from your mind and replace them with Jacaerys. But how could it ever be possible when she is just in front of you, cornering you to fully focus on you and your relationship with her?
“I should hope you’re preparing your cloak with your ladies-in-waiting.” Your marriage, however, was a sensitive subject. Jacaerys was a dutiful boy and the interactions you had with him were more than pleasant, still, he was not what you were looking for. His long, brown curls had its appeal, but his mother unveiled things she wished she felt for Prince Jace. “I was done with the embroidery yesterday. I can bring it and show you on our next encounter, Your Grace.”
Rhaenyra lifted her eyebrows and lowered her eyes, smirking at her food as she ate it, seemingly thinking about something. You laughed, nervously drinking your wine. Your hands felt sweaty and heart beating just as it was about to rip open your chest out. “I would be most glad, sweet girl. Are you nervous about your wedding?”
You nodded, with your eyes sly and cautious while lingering on the Queen and she smiled at you again, on an attempted shared empathy. “I was a little thing like you when I married my first husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, Jace’s father,” Rhaenyra began. “He was not my choice of husband, earnestly.” She giggled and drank a sip of her wine. “But we had a good marriage. Laenor was a good man and provided me with children and good company. We loved each other in our own ways. Jace will treat you well too, sweet girl.”
“Thank you, Your Gr-...” The Queen lifted an eyebrow, reminding you of her request. “Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself again and she mumbled something as ‘much better’. You giggled alongside her as she shook her head in amusement.
“A marriage is just a piece of paper,” Rhaenyra began. “You and Jace will understand you both can perform a duty and still find your happiness.”
Her words sounded suggestive, was the Queen motivating you to commit treason before your marriage? Was Rhaenyra testing you? You raised your eyebrows and Rhaenyra smiled mischievously again, her eyes gazing at you intensely and in quietude. You rummined what was going on within her mind. Rhaenyra's violet eyes held a depth that made you feel seen and understood in ways that no one else ever had. The silence stretched between you, charged with unspoken words and possibilities. Rhaenyra's touch was a lifeline in the vast sea of desires you were feeling. Her thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted to ask her so many things, but the words seemed to fail you in the face of her overwhelming presence.
"Sweet girl," Rhaenyra began softly, her voice a soothing melody, "My first marriage was also born out of duty. I can relate to the worry in your eyes. I want you to know that your happiness means a great deal to me, equally as my son’s. Your marriage to Jacaerys is a duty, yes, but it does not have to be the entirety of your existence."
By this point, you both had finished your plates and no desire for dessert rose for any of you. Rhaenyra had her wine by a window, feeling the cold breeze blow on her face with you by her side. The moonlight casted a silver glow, contrasting with her fair skin and silvery locks. Her words were a lifeline, pulling you from the deep core of your anxiety. The way she looked at you, with such intensity and sincerity, made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered.
"Rhaenyra, I..." You hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the storm of emotions swirling inside you. She squeezed your hand reassuringly, her eyes never leaving yours. “Are you testing me?”
Rhaenyra stared at you, grinning and confused. “Why would I test you, sweet girl?”
The proximity of her and the warmth of her breath on your skin, was intoxicating. You found yourself leaning closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her nearness was both a comfort and a temptation, stirring feelings within you that you had never dared to acknowledge before.
“Rhaenyra, what are you asking of me?” You finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “I am asking you to trust me, to let me guide you through this. Do you trust me, sweet girl?”
“I trust you.” You simply replied, sighing heavily. You should not desire her this much. However, being this close made you want to touch her, kiss her perfect lips and beg for her to claim you as his. She smiled at you, relieved and her fingertips stroked your hair, pulling it behind your ear. Her scent was a blend of lavender and something uniquely her. You felt the pull towards her, a magnetic force that you couldn't resist. Tentatively, you leaned in, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it.
“Good.” She mumbled against your skin as Rhaenyra came closer. You never had been this close to her before. Her fingers reached your chin, lifting it to bring it closer to her lips, but her kiss was redirected to your cheek, so gently and delicate, yet so intense and slightly lustful. “Will you visit me next evening, my sweet?” Her Grace asked you, whispering words softly and close to your ear. It was a dangerous game you two were engaging in and you knew it well. But what is duty compared to what you are feeling now? You nodded in silence, quietly responding to her question as her hands embraced you slowly, bringing you closer, like a viper defeats its prey.
“I shall leave you to rest now.” You whispered at her, trying not to look into her eyes. Rhaenyra did not deviate her eyes from you, caressing your hair and staying close enough to feel her breath close to your face. “If you excuse me, Your… Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself for a last moment and she giggled briefly to your face and finally let you go.
You were right in front of a windy window and your body was catching fire after having that moment with Rhaenyra. The cold breeze contrasted sharply with the heat that had built up inside you. As you left her chambers, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
Making your way back to your quarters, the corridors felt longer, each step echoing with the memory of Rhaenyra’s touch and her whispered words. You couldn’t shake the feeling of her fingers against your skin, the promise and peril in her gaze. It was a heady mix of excitement and apprehension, knowing that you were treading a fine line between duty and desire.
Once in the privacy of your room, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a moment to catch your breath. The room felt different, almost foreign, as if it no longer fit the person you were becoming. You moved to the window, looking out into the night, the stars twinkling like a thousand silent witnesses to the secrets you now held.
You changed your clothing for a simple nightgown and decided it was time for your slumber, laying on the mattress and allowing you to rest. However, your mind recalled the way Rhaenyra was too close to you, the way her hands had touched you, her soothing voice in your ear felt as the prettiest of melodies, made just for you. It was by far, the most erotic encounter you ever had and you found yourself silently begging for more. Her words echoed in your ears, a constant reminder that your happiness was just as important as your duty. Your hands wandered throughout your body, pinching your nipples, squeezing your breasts and closing your eyes to imagine it is her touch on them. Your hand then passed down on your clothed belly and thighs, teasing yourself before actually going all the way to your pleasure. A soft moan left your lips as you played with your nipples, fantasising about Rhaenyra taking over that liability.
When her body was enoughly worked up and her cunt ached, your hand had encountered your centre over the thin fabric of your dress and when you could feel a small trace of wetness staining on the undergarment, you hummed slightly. Your hand was not a regular tool, you tried it a few times only, but her touch was so recent and her scent was well alive in your nostrils, it felt logical for your body to demeanour in that manner, begging to be touched. You moaned lightly when your fingers pressed against your swollen clit, causing your body to shudder under your own touch. You reminded her sweet talk so close to you, how soft her lips were kissing your cheek and your mind screamed, pleading for those lips to kiss your lips, your chest, your cunt…
As you moved your hand south, your fingers circled around your clit in a slow, tortuous motion and caused your body to arch your back, mumbling words of ‘please, Rhaenyra’ , begging to release for her. Alternating between circles and light taps on your sweet spot, you drove yourself to madness, humping your crotch in the air. Traces of sweat fell down your face as heat grew inside your body. Your breathing was quick to become erratic, just as the pace of your hand became more urgent on your sweet spot. Soon enough, your moans were a bit louder and the pleading became more insistent, desperate. When you least expect it, your body convulsed violently, and orgasm hits you, making your legs quiver, spread wider, hips bouncing against nothing and lungs breathing heavily, your entrance clenched around nothing. You never came this strongly before, and all thanks to your Queen. Trying to gain consciousness, you stared at the ceiling, reflecting about what you just did. Not even a single trace of guilt had reached your body and you considered doing it again if your eyes were insistent to be closed and put your body to sleep.
———
a/n: missed writing and hell yeah i got inspired by THAT scene. please consider leaving likes, comments and reblogs. it’s very important for the writer! <3
Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody @pet1t3
#ao3#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf fanfiction#fanfic asoiaf#martell#house martell#martell oc#rhaenyra targaryen fanfic#rhaenyra targaryen#bisexual rhaenyra targaryen#hotd smut#fire and blood#asoiaf fanfic#asoiaf fic#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra x you#rhaenyra x y/n#rhaenyra targaryen fic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#rhaenyra imagine#rhaenyra fic
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in which you are a fontainian noble young lady and zhongli is said to be a cruel emperor
Diplomacy is a dealbreaker in the mighty world of royalty. Calculated steps, calculated sentences, calculated glances – there is no room for accidents that might cause the annihilation of an entire nation. In this sense, banquets are an important part of dealing with delicate matters between kingdoms, where often the lives of millions of people are on the line.
In the course of history, the lack of proper etiquette had caused numerous unfortunate situations, let that be a kind gesture, mistaken for a threat or some questionable phrases uttered at the worst time possible. Having dealt with many unpleasant situations, the Viscount of Fontaine made it his priority to educate his only daughter, preparing her for the cruel world of nobility. From the tender age of two, she received lessons upon lessons on how to act as a lady of nobility. This made (Y/N)’s early life quite a hassle. Of course, as a dutiful daughter, she would absolutely, under no circumstance, defy her father, but this does not mean that the endless etiquette lessons were her favourite pastime activity. Unlike the young ladies of the aristocracy, she was not all that interested in appearances. Of course, beautiful things and people always caught her attention, but the urge to submerge in this was lower than in the average person. The young maiden’s interest nested in the arts, especially literature. She was notorious for spending her free time in her father’s enormous library, completely forgetting about what was happening around her.
‘Lady (Y/N), have you decided on what ballgown you desire to wear tonight?’ the maid curiously asked the young woman. Usually, the young lady would pay no mind to inquiries like this, simply because the matters of clothing are of no importance to her. However, this was no simple occasion.
‘Yes Edith, I would like to wear the birthday gown I got as a gift from my mother’ (Y/N) answered while standing up from her desk. As per usual, books upon books scattered across the surface, the scent of paper and fresh ink from her fountain pen lingering in the air.
‘The dress from the Viscountess? Oh my, that is an excellent choice Lady (Y/N), I will get it ready right away!’ the maid explained happily and quickly left the room to arrange everything. The moment Edith left the room, the young lady let out a big huff of air. She hated all of this, but there were some occasions where duty rises above personal preferences. Balls are, in (Y/N)’s opinion, quite a drag, although they can be quite interesting. For example, watching the young bachelors, drunk on dandelion wine, trying to woo the ladies with their slurred speech is quite entertaining. But this ball would be very different from the ones she had attended before. For the first time in ages, the emperor of Liyue had finally accepted Monsieur Neuvillette’s invitation for Fontaine’s annual Winter Gala.
The righteous ruler of Fontaine had been trying to arrange a meeting with the Lord Morax, but the emperor was relentless. Unfortunately for Monsieur Neuvillette, the ruler of the Kingdom of Liyue had no interest in meeting with the Fontainian alone, but after months of constant persuasion, Lord Morax finally gave in. This would give the rulers of all nations the opportunity to talk about the situations the war has created.
The current war, which has already taken the lives of numerous people, is yet to stop. Nations trying desperately to stop the bloodthirsty killing sprees, but to no prevail. The moving force behind the unfortunate string of events is none other than the ruler of the Kingdom of Liyue, Lord Morax himself. He is rumoured to be a ruthless emperor who leads his nation with an iron fist to preserve order and justice. But those who came across the brutal sovereign on the battlefield, tell stories of a savage and barbaric commander who spares no lives within his sight. Wielding a spear made from the core of a meteorite, the enemy stands no chance against him and his infamous warriors.
Nations across the globe are terrified, they do not wish to get on the wrong side of the notorious Lord Morax. Many have tried to seek alliance with him through different methods, such as offering a fair maiden’s hand in marriage, however he has rejected every single one of them.
The stern gaze of the Liyuan emperor scanned the enormous ball room, carefully studying the crowd. Only his most trusted soldier, Xiao, stood beside him with his emerald spear tightly sitting on his back. No one dared to approach him, although it was evident that he was the topic of hushed conversations. As he was looking around, his eyes fell upon the figure of a young maiden talking to a young man. The colour of her dress reminded him of garnet, the golden accessories and details emphasizing the red hue of the gown – it was simple, yet elegant. Morax wondered who the person might be, but to his luck, the owner of the dress revealed themselves. As (Y/N) turned around, she locked eyes with the Liyuan man, then her attention was focused once again on the young man conversing with her. In that moment, Morax felt something that he might have never felt before.
The night continued on seamlessly, soft orchestral music and subtle chatter filling the ballroom as the nobility enjoyed their time. However, one young maiden grew more and more restless as she felt the burning gaze of someone on the back of her head constantly. Even when she tried to tone her uneasiness down, the lingering sensation of being watched never left her.
‘I feel like I might actually be going insane.’ sighed (Y/N) as she engaged in conversation with her childhood best friend, Navia Caspar. ‘This is why I despise these gatherings, they are awful!’
‘Oh, come on (Y/N), it’s not that bad.’ Navia tried to encourage her friend in this time of need. ‘At least the food here is delicious, which should be no surprise since Lady Furina is responsible for these delicacies.’ the blonde said while enjoying a strawberry cupcake. ‘And most importantly, this is the first time in ages since Morax had shown himself outside of the battlefield or negotiations. I don’t know about you, but I am hoping for some progress in the peace talks. Hopefully Monsieur Neuvillette will be able to have a decent conversation with him.’
‘Yes, you are right. I just wish that things would soon change for the better.’ With a sigh, (Y/N) grabbed a piece of cake from a nearby table. ‘At least the food is delicious’.
‘Maybe you should take a stroll in the garden, to get away from the crowd for a while.’
‘Hmm, I could really use some fresh air, that is true. And the moon looks beautiful tonight.’
The carefully maintained gardens of the Palais Mermonia were even more fascinating in the moonlight. Even though the air was quite cold, as the wind blew peacefully, the young girl did not mind the weather at all. For compensation, the view was more than enough to make her forget about the cold or the bustling of the ballroom inside of the palace. In this moment she was alone, finally being able to have a quiet moment to calm her nerves. This, however, did not last long when she heard footsteps coming right up behind her.
‘It is very sweet of you to come and check on me Navia, but I really do need some time alone.’
‘I reckon that you were not expecting me, but alas, let me speak a few words with you.’ An unknown male voice spoke behind her. When she turned around, the looming figure of Morax stood right in front of her. Mentally cursing herself, she quickly tried to gather her more noble self, because she cannot be speaking to the Emperor of Liyue as if they were childhood best friends.
‘Oh, I sincerely apologise for my rude behaviour, Lord Morax!’ she explained apologetically. ‘I did not mean to be so blunt. I thought that my friend was trying to come and see whether I was doing okay or not.’
‘Please,’ Morax said as he walked past her to sit on a nearby bench. ‘You did no wrong, there is nothing to worry about. I gather that you do not enjoy these kinds of events, am I correct?’
‘They are rather enjoyable.’
‘You do not need to lie; no prying ears are around us.’ This comment made (Y/N)’s eyes wide, as if she just witnessed the appearance of a ghoul. ‘To be sincere, I myself am not a big fan of these gatherings, I find them rather pointless. It is merely a pastime activity for spoiled aristocrats who know nothing better to do.’
‘If you feel this way Lord Morax, then why have you come here? As my father works in the government, right under Monsieur Neuvillette’s command, he’s told me that it is rather hard to invite you to these social gatherings. Excuse me, if I was rude, but I am genuinely curious.’
‘Well,’ the man started while looking up to the sky ‘I felt like accepting Monsieur Neuvillette’s invitation might bring us closer to coming to terms in certain cases.’
‘I see, Lord Morax. I will not bother you any longer.’(Y/N) flashed a polite smile at the foreign man, but the latter did not want the conversation to end.
‘Would a young lady like yourself spare some time to engage in conversation with me? Truly, I do not wish to idly stand in the ballroom while people whisper about me.’ he explained, resting his gaze on the full moon that lit up the night sky, along with the blanket of stars.
With hesitation, the young girl turned to face Morax, who was still looking up at the night sky. She found it rather odd, how such a man like him would rather be sitting outside peacefully in her company, instead of trying to have a chat with the important people of Fontaine, maybe coming up with a solution for the situation that’s been lingering around for years.
‘I know what the mass has been saying about me,’ the Emperor started, now his eyes resting on the girl beside him ‘but I do promise you, I am not as hostile as the tales portray me.’
‘If that is the case Lord Morax, then why are there such tales told about your cruelty on the battlefield?’ genuine curiosity laced (Y/N)’s voice as she carefully examined the man’s face.
‘People fear what they do not know.’ his voice, like the gushing of the wind, answered. ‘I try to be a righteous leader to my people, devoted and fearless. I do not tolerate any danger that could harm the people of Liyue.’
‘That is an amazing thing, Lord Morax. The people of Liyue are lucky to have someone as capable as you as their leader.’ the Fontainian girl offered Morax a gentle smile. She thought that the man from all the rumours would be a bloodthirsty maniac who enjoys nothing more than killing hundreds upon hundreds of people.
‘I am also worried about the state in which we have found ourselves in.’ a heavy sigh left his mouth. ‘I have given up on my beliefs about these social gatherings and came here today to finally find a solution that benefits all nations in this conflict. I hope that none of the effort will be in vain.’
(Y/N), moved by Lord Morax’s motives, softly put her hand on his shoulder. She could feel that even though he shows strength and resilience, the heavy weight of the wellbeing of his people pain his shoulders. This subtle act of care ignited a sense of warmth within Morax, a feeling which put him at ease. Having gone without affection for long, the Liyuan man felt the hardships of the past years disappear with this simple touch.
‘To be fair,’ the girl spoke after the long pause ‘I am also not a great fan of such balls. While the other ladies are more than delighted to attend these gatherings, I find myself drawn to more… mundane pastime activities. Reading has been a great passion of mine, but as a daughter of nobility, I could not indulge in the world of literature as much as I would have wanted to. Duties call, I am sure you are familiar with this, Lord Morax.’ shared the young woman. ‘Tonight, I am here to help my father to end this suffering.’
He felt like the world has stopped spinning. At first, the simple thought of this ball caused nothing more than a headache to the emperor, nothing but a drag to him. But instead, he stumbled upon this magnificent young lady, who shared the same sentiments as he did. Truly, he felt blessed for once.
‘Oh, I am delighted to hear this. I also enjoy reading, of course, when the time allows me. I would love to send you some Liyuan literature, only if you allowed me to.’
‘Thank you, Lord Morax, I would love to discover more Liyuan literature. I have read some and let me tell you, I am quite fascinated by how your people craft stories. Truly remarkable.’ she felt very happy in this moment. Finally, she could talk freely about the thing she loved the most, without having to worry about not looking lady-like.
‘Well then…’ he stood up, towering over the girl. ‘It was lovely talking to you, Lady (Y/N), I wish we could continue our conversation, but alas, it is time for me to return to the ball. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me back?’ he asked the girl, extending his arm to her. Now, without hesitation, she accepted his offer and walked back into the palace, arms locked.
Upon their entrance, the entire ballroom looked at the two figures, both amazed and confused. How come that the fearless and bloodthirsty emperor is walking arm in arm with the daughter of the Viscount of Fontaine? Hushed speculations filled the grand hall, overpowering the lovely music of the orchestra. The pair slowly walked to the side of the hall, but before parting ways, Lord Morax gently kissed the gloved knuckled of (Y/N).
‘Until next time, Lady (Y/N).’ he gently smiled and released her hand. ‘I promise you that I will be a man of my word.’ And with that, he took off to find Monsieur Neuvillette and the rest of the highly important and esteemed guests.
#genshin impact#genshin imagines#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#zhongli#zhongli x reader#zhongli x you#genshin royalty au#royalty au
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Ravishing
mondern!Eddie Munson x fem reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Your boyfriend catches you making lunch but food isn't what he wants to devour.
Warning: 18 +. p in v, unprotected sex, kinda dom eddie, slight piss kink (its 4 v small paragraphs, some dialogue, and highlighted in red for those who want to skip).
Thank you to my beta readers <3 and Mariah for helping with the header.
Masterlist
The late morning sun cast a warm bright haze around the open-concept kitchen and living room. The blinds had been pulled back to let the natural light illuminate what you were doing.
You shuffled around the kitchen quietly, gathering all the things needed to make a bowl of ramen. In contrast to the warm light, the air was cool. The breeze from the vent just beside the oven had goosebumps appearing over your legs, given you were only dressed in a simple white thong and your boyfriend's rather worn Iron Maiden t-shirt.
He was still sound asleep, laid out like a starfish, soft snores coming from his parted lips. It had taken everything in you to leave the comfort of the warm bed and his embrace but once your stomach began to growl, you forced yourself to pry your sore body from the bed.
The night before had been eventful, to say the least. Your boyfriend had ravished you. Worshiped your body in the way that only he could. His tongue, fingers, and his cock were dedicated to your pleasure, leaving you a weak, worn-out mess atop the mattress. You went round after round, not stopping until well after the sun started to rise.
As you reminisced on all the ways he had made you cum, you hadn't noticed the sounds of footsteps heavy with sleep nearing you.
Arms wrapped around your middle as you placed the pot of water on the eye. You leaned into the embrace, humming contently.
"Good morning." You smile.
"Morning." He mumbles into your neck. "I'm starving."
"I'll be done with food in a bit." You reply, tearing open the seasoning packet.
He groans into your skin, fingers lifting the hem of your shirt up and over your breasts. "Not what I'm hungry for." He all but purs. His hands move to push your panties down and then grab your hips, rutting his cock against your ass. You hadn’t noticed he was completely bare.
"Eddie-" you gasp as his fully hard cock pushes into your entrance. Your body shivers at the sensation, still sensitive from your last tussle only a few hours ago.
You hang your head low as he begins to rut into you, moving his hips at a pace you think should be all too fast for someone who has just woken up.
Pouring the contents of the seasoning packet into the water, you took the trash to the counter before bracing yourself against it. "Oh fuck. Feels so- ah! Feels so good." You groan.
Eddie grunts as he leaves wet, sloppy kisses along your shoulders and up the column of your neck. His teeth nip and bite at the delicate skin, marking you, claiming you as his own.
He jackhammers into you, the roughness forcing your legs to widen and your knees to weaken. Strong hands keep you from falling.
You're moved away from the oven, your front pushed over the butcher block counters. The wood is cold and you let out a squeal when your aching nipples make contact.
The strong thrusts have your body rocking against the countertop. Your hands are thrown out in front of you, pushing against the wall to keep you from being fucked into it.
You can barely get a noise out with the way Eddie is relentlessly using your sopping cunt.
"Taking me so well, Princess. Pussy made just for me, hum?"
You nod enthusiastically. "S'just for you," your words slur. "Oh-! Oh, Eddie!" Your lungs gain a burst of air as the tip of Eddie’s cock slides past the spot inside you that he always, so masterfully, finds.
He hikes one of your legs up, opening you further to him. The new angle pushes his length further into you. He's directly hitting that spot now, over and over and over again. It has you lost for words, a bundle of whimpers and nerves so tight you think you might explode.
It's all building up and you can do nothing to stop it but moan out against the wooden counter.
"Eddie- Eddie please I can't. Fuck-" your voice wobbles. "I think I'm gonna‐"
He buries himself deeper. "Gonna cum pretty girl?"
You shake your head. No, this is different, more urgent.
Your breathing is heavy as you reply. "No. Ah- I think, fuck, I think I'm gonna pee. You have to stop, Eddie, you have to."
He did not stop. The thrusts only kept coming, stroke after stroke he hit that special place but that was not the only place you felt the length of his cock. Your bladder stung with the fast and pressing need to relieve itself. The thought of letting go right here in the kitchen had you flushing, your body hot, and your face as red as could be.
"Hold it," Eddie commanded.
Your legs shook with the pleasure and pain
"I can't"
"Yes, you can. Hold it, sweetheart."
"Can't-" you heave. It was taking everything in you to do as he said, to hold it back. "Can't -", You let out a defeated whimper as you felt warmth begin to trickle down your leg.
It didn't take more than a second for that trickle to turn into a gush. You felt dirty as the piss pooled below you. Your body flushed with embarrassment, tears welled in your eyes.
Eddie tutted behind you, "Aww, was it too much for you?" The condescending tone of his voice made the heat in your body explode.
You answered him with a weak mewl, "Uh-huh."
"What was that? I couldn't hear you, baby. Did I make you dumb?"
All the while, his hips never stopped pistoning into you. Sloppy wet sounds were a constant ambiance in the room.
Now, a more familiar tug begins inside of you, one you knew all too well. A tugging that Eddie had learned, over years, when and how to pull to bring you the most pleasure. He expertly knew how to yank on that string in your abdomen until you fell over the edge.
Your cunt squeezed him, contracting around his stiff cock like a vice. He chucked before leaning down and licking a thick, wet stripe up the plane of your back, causing a shiver to rake through you.
"I can feel how close you are. So warm and wet, gonna fill you with my fuckin cum." He whispers in your ear.
"Please."
His lips pull into a smirk against your skin. "You'd like that, wouldn’t you? Want all the cum I can give you, huh? Wanna be a pretty little cum baby for me?"
"Yes, yes Eddie, yes." Your eyes are almost rolling into the back of your head as your release inches closer and closer.
"Say it. Say what you want." The command is rough, a drastic change from the patronizing softness he had before.
With your body shaking, nerves prickling as you try and stave off your fall, you let out a shriek. "Wanna cum! Please-oh fuck- let me cum!" Your hand's fist so tight, your knuckles turn white.
You barely hear Eddie give you permission before you're coming undone around him.
You swear there was a bright flash of light before your closed eyes as you shook. Was it heaven? Was it God? You had no idea but you swear with everything in you that this was the most intense orgasm you've ever had.
Eddie's brutal pace finally dissipates into longer, more slow, and steady strokes as he comes down from his own high.
"Fuck." The groan he lets out rumbles his chest, you can feel the vibrations on your back.
You just want to lean there forever. Have Eddie pressed up against you in the warm light of the day, not a worry in the world. Exhausted, your eyes begin to close and your bones become liquid. It's relaxing, resting in the aftermath of something so big. That is until you hear an all too familiar sizzle of water boiling over and hitting the hot eye of the stove.
Your heart beats faster for a whole other reason now as you push Eddie off you and turn to take the pot of water off the stove, thankful there wasn't anything that could have burnt or overcooked inside.
"I love you," Eddie voices. "I fuckin love you."
Turning on your heel, you look at him. His sharp edges seem soft and you can't help but smile.
"Love you more." You challenge.
He steps forward, taking you in his arms and placing a sloppy kiss on your lips, leaving you with a big smack. "Love you most." Another kiss. And another. And another, until you're giggling so much you have to shove him gently away from you.
"Let's get this mess cleaned up and maybe we can make something to eat." You pause, Eddie opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt him before he can, pointing a finger at him. "And don't say it's not what you're hungry for, I'm not having sex with you again until you have an actual meal."
He lifts his hands in defense. "Hey, not my fault you always look so... ravishing."
"Uh-huh, alright smooth talker. Let's get cleaned up."
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things smut#stranger things fic#female reader
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Unlisted Fandom Challenge 2025— on your marks, get set, GO!
Not that you need any encouragement — we've got almost as many write-in fandoms now (not even THREE DAYS into signups) as we did in total last year! There are currently 158 write-in fandoms. 158.
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6 Jeff Satur - Music Videos 4 Control (Remedy Game) 4 Zhen Hun / Guardian (drama and novel) 3 Cabin Pressure 3 Dungeon Meshi 3 Fire Emblem Awakening 3 Fire Emblem Fates 3 Roswell New Mexico 3 Schitt's Creek 3 The Goblin Emperor Series - Katherine Addison 3 Transformers 3 Zhen Hun / Guardian (drama) RPF 2 Animorphs 2 BBC Ghosts 2 Biggles Series — W. E. Johns 2 Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu (Cute High Earth Defense Club) franchise 2 Cherry Magic 2 Dangan Ronpa 2 Dead Boy Detectives RPF 2 Detective Conan 2 Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast) 2 Five Nights at Freddy's - All Media 2 Inception 2 Iron widow 2 Kingdom Hearts 2 Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury 2 Sailor Moon 2 The Blue Wolves of Mibu 2 The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (TV series) 2 The Poppy War 2 Tiger & Bunny 2 Tower of God 2 Voltron: Legendary Defender 2 What We Do In The Shadows 2 ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 / JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken / JoJo's Bizarre Adventure 1 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) 1 Alien Stage 1 Among Us 1 Arctic Monkeys/The Last shadow Puppets 1 Avatar: Legend of Korra 1 Baseball RPF 1 BBC’s Musketeers 1 Beyond Evil 1 Black Doves 1 Boygenius (Band)(RPF) 1 Bridgerton (TV) 1 Brokeback Mountain 1 Bullet train 1 Canji Baojun De Zhangxin Yu Chong (The disabled tyrant's pet palm fish) 1 Cassette Beasts 1 Castle 1 Challengers 1 Charmed (1998) 1 Conclave (2024) 1 Danger Force (TV) 1 Dead by Daylight 1 Descendants 1 Destiny 2 1 Digimon 1 Dimension 20 1 Dishonored 1 Dishonored 1 1 Downton Abbey 1 Dr. Stone 1 Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey 1 Emma - Jane Austen 1 Fangs of Fortune 1 Flight Rising 1 Formula 2/3 RPF 1 Ghosts (BBC or American) 1 Grantchester (TV) 1 Gravity Falls 1 Grimm 1 Happy Ending (Thailand TV 2025) 1 Hatoful Boyfriend 1 Haven (TV) 1 Helluva Boss 1 Henry Danger (TV) 1 High School Musical (Movies) 1 Hikaru no Go 1 HLVRAI - Half-life VR But the AI is Self-Aware 1 In Stars And Time 1 IndyCar RPF 1 It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia 1 Jeeves and Wooster 1 Jet Lag The Game RPF 1 Kane and Feels 1 Kraven the Hunter 1 Kuroko no Basuke / Kuroko's Basketball 1 Law & Order 1 Law & Order: Special Victims Unit 1 Lies of P 1 Live A Live 1 Lord Seventh/Qi Ye 1 Lovecraft Mythos 1 Lucifer (tv) 1 Mass Effect 1, 2 or 3 1 Mononoke (2007 series and 2024 movie) 1 MotoGP RPF 1 My Time at Sandrock 1 NBA RPF 1 Nirvana in Fire (琅琊榜) 1 Norah Grant Bruce's Billabong books 1 Oh No! Here Comes Trouble 1 Omniscient Reader 1 Once Upon A Time 1 Order of the Stick 1 Outlast games 1 Over the Garden Wall 1 Pacific Rim 1 Pathologic 1 Persuasion - Jane Austen 1 Pirates of the Caribbean 1 Power Rangers (2017 movie) 1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen 1 Princess Tutu 1 Prodigal Son 1 Puella Magi Madoka Magica 1 Quantum Break 1 Resident Alien 1 Resident Evil 1 S.C.I Mystery 1 S.W.A.T. (2017 show) 1 She-Ra Netflix 1 Shipwrecked Comedy 1 Slow Horses 1 Sonic the Hedgehog (Games) 1 South Park 1 Spinning Silver (Novik) 1 Squid Game 1 Starkid Musicals (no hp) 1 Stephen King's It 1 Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical 1 Super Sentai 1 The A Team (either the 2010 movie or the 1980s series) 1 The Coffin of Andy and Leyley 1 The OC 1 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston 1 The Paradise of Thorns 1 The Umbrella Academy 1 the vampire diaries universe 1 The Venture Maidens 1 The West Wing 1 The X-Files 1 Thousand Autumns 1 Tron 1 Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles 1 Turning 1 Universal Century Gundam 1 Valdemar Series by Mercedes Lackey 1 video games by Arkane Studios 1 Voltron 1 Wander Over Yonder 1 Watcher Entertainment/BuzzFeed Unsolved RPF 1 White Collar 1 Wind Breaker 1 Wonka 1 Word of Honor 1 X-Files
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PARIAH - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic
Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you.
Nosferatu AU, Spinner POV, 5k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you.
part i part ii
Not far now, Midoriya said the last time they stopped to catch their breath, but the woods seem to go on endlessly, and Spinner feels as though he’s been running for even longer. He’s no stranger to fleeing for his life. In one way and another he’s been doing it since he was born. But he’s never run for someone else’s life before. Never before has someone else’s survival hung in the balance of his heavy footsteps through the snow and the breaths of air so cold it sears his lungs. Spinner is the weakest of them, with the least to offer, closer to dead weight than a valuable ally. But in this moment, he’s the only one who can save Shigaraki’s life.
They came to this village six months ago, and for six months, life was quiet. The villagers were wary of strangers, of course, particularly strangers like Spinner and his friends, but for once, they all managed to keep their heads down. Toga made friends among the maidens in the village, while Twice made himself useful., and Dabi did them the favor of putting out fires rather than starting them. Spinner helped where he could, but mostly he watched Shigaraki. The evil that haunted Shigaraki had done so all his life, but it had only attempted a fatal strike when their backs were turned, and when they fled with the city in flames behind them, Spinner swore he would never allow such a thing to happen again.
Spinner kept a careful watch, but it didn’t matter. The affliction came again, weakening Shigaraki to the point where he could barely rise from his bed, and worse, it began to spread through the village. The villagers blamed Shigaraki and came to punish him, but they were too late. Spinner’s best friend died before his eyes three nights past, and the villagers buried him in an iron coffin before the sun could rise.
Or at least, Spinner had thought Shigaraki was dead. On the first day, he believed the muffled screams issuing from the graveyard were the manifestation of his own guilty conscience. But on the second day, the others heard them, too, and although the villagers believed they had locked away the source of the affliction, it continued to spread. The priest came to the graveyard, heard the screams, and ordered Shigaraki exhumed. Fool that he is, Spinner thought they meant to help him.
Then he and everyone else saw the ash stake in the priest’s hand, sharpened to a deadly point. It was an error to bury him whole, the priest said. This will quiet him forevermore.
They could not reason with him. No logic could overcome the priest’s certainty, nor the absolute faith the villagers had in him. It did not matter that Shigaraki had not left the house since falling ill. It did not matter that the coffin had been locked shut, nor that the surface above the grave was undisturbed. The priest and his followers buried Spinner’s best friend alive, and now they mean to dig him up and stake him through the heart.
Spinner hung back as Dabi and Toga and Twice argued. He’s worthless at arguing, just as he is at everything else, but as he stood at the edges of the conversation, someone caught his hand and drew him away. When Spinner looked down, he found Midoriya Izuku looking up at him. The strangest child in the village, known for daydreaming so vividly and so often that he falls into potholes at least twice a week, wore a determined look that shocked Spinner in its ferocity. You cannot stop the priest, he said. Only the witch can do that.
Every rural village has its superstitions, and this village has the witch – never seen, never spoken to, always blamed for blighted crops, missing livestock, and bouts of ill fortune. It is said that the witch is monstrous, raised by wolves and lies with them, too, an enemy of all that is holy. But when the affliction struck, not a single villager placed the blame on the witch. And when Midoriya Izuku spoke of her, he did so without fear.
He bade Spinner follow him, running across the bridge over the stream and down the sole path into the northern woods, and although Spinner questions the wisdom of challenging a mundane evil with a supernatural one, he has no other choice. He swore to protect Shigaraki, just as the others did, but he’s the one who failed. The witch will drive a hard bargain for her help, and Spinner will take it. What happens to Spinner doesn’t matter. Better by far that Shigaraki survives.
Not far now, Midoriya said, but each twist and turn in the path reveals only further twist and turns ahead. When Midoriya stops again to catch his breath, Spinner’s patience snaps. “There is no time. We must hurry.”
“The ground froze hard these past nights,” Midoriya gasps, “and they buried him deep. We have time. After this I will not need to stop again.”
“You had better not, or I will leave you here and find the witch myself.” Spinner says that, only to feel his nerves turn to water at the thought. “How do you know she will help?”
“I don’t know what she can do,” Midoriya says, and Spinner’s heart sinks further. “But I know that when the priest ordered me to kill a wolf-dog pup from my dog’s last litter, she came down from the woods to take it away.”
He straightens and picks up the pace, and Spinner chases after him, questions upon questions queued up on the tip of his tongue. “You’ve seen her?”
“Not – not really,” Midoriya admits as they careen around a corner. “She wore a veil over her face, and dressed all in white. But her voice sounded ordinary. Not as a monster’s voice should, or I think not. If she is not one, I have never heard a monster speak.”
Spinner has. It’s unmistakable – not just a hearing or a feeling, but a knowing, a terror beyond thought and reason. “I had to cross the bridge to bring her the pup,” Midoriya continues. “She would not cross to me, but when I gave it to her, she promised to raise it well.”
Spinner knew Midoriya was naïve, but this is ridiculous. “Did it not occur to you that she would lie? Monsters know only how to deceive.”
“She didn’t lie,” Midoriya says sharply. “I know when someone lies to me. She wouldn’t have hurt my pup. She –”
He stops talking, and stops running, too. Spinner fails to stop in time and bowls him over from the back, and as he picks himself up, he sees what caused Midoriya to balk. The path continues still further into the woods. But a wolf sits sentinel in the middle of it, blocking the way.
No, not a wolf. Spinner has seen wolves, more than his share of them, far more than he would have wished to. This is – “A wolf-dog?”
“Yes,” Midoriya says, his voice trembling with something like awe. “Mine.”
The wolf-dog’s ears prick upwards, and its tufted tail wags, scattering long-dead leaves away from the path. All at once it rises to its feet, turns, and lopes away, but only as far as the next bend in the path. There it turns and looks at them. Waits for them. “She wants us to follow,” Midoriya says, and he does so. Spinner follows, too, wondering who exactly Midoriya meant by she.
The wolf-dog keeps a brisk pace as the path, lined on either side with thick brambles, narrows such that Spinner and Midoriya must walk single-file. There are strange lights tucked away within them, emitting a pink glow that Spinner can classify neither as unholy nor divine. The wolf-dog rounds one turn in the path after another, and only when Spinner has thoroughly lost his sense of direction does it come to a stop. They’ve stopped at the edge of a large clearing, ringed in yet more of the odd pink lights. Within the clearing, there is a fence, its posts laden with wildflowers — the same flowers that climb the walls of the small cottage in the center.
It looks like something out of a children’s story. Not at all somewhere that a witch with the power to challenge the priest should live. Midoriya starts forward eagerly, and Spinner seizes his arm. “No. Even sweet things can be a trap.”
The wolf-dog noses the iron gate, and it swings open. “You want to save your friend, don’t you?” Midoriya asks. “She’s the only one who can help you. And you were wrong. She didn’t hurt my dog.”
Spinner is not at all convinced that it’s the same dog. It seems more likely the product of Midoriya’s wishful thinking. “I don’t like your friend,” Midoriya continues. “He frightens me, and everyone else. But he shouldn’t die for our fear. If you won’t go in, I will.”
Spinner is a coward. He knows he is. But even in his cowardice, he cannot allow this — a child taking the risk that belongs to him. He lets go of Midoriya’s arm and shoulders past him, past the wolf-dog, through the iron gate and along the path through the witch’s garden to the cottage’s front door. He knocks hard enough to bruise his knuckles. “Witch! I am here on a matter most urgent. Come out, or –”
“There’s no need to shout,” a perfectly ordinary voice says from behind him, and Spinner’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “I’m right here.”
Spinner wheels around, and there you are. There you have been sitting the entire time, concealed from view of the path behind your flower-entangled fence, dressed all in white just as Midoriya described and blending in with the snow. Just as Midoriya described, your face is veiled. All around you in the snow, wolf-dogs sit and sprawl, some ancient and grey-muzzled, others with the gangly clumsiness of pups. White roses are scattered around you, and even as you harken to Spinner, your fingers continue to weave them deftly into a crown.
“I thought I might have visitors today,” you say. “What are your names?”
“I don’t share my name with strangers,” Spinner growls, in the same moment as Midoriya blurts his out. “Shut up, you idiot!”
“The point of sharing names is to remove the designation of strangers,” you say mildly. Your veil is not quite opaque; Spinner sees your lips move beneath it. “I cannot blame you for your caution, but you mentioned an urgent matter. What brings you to my door?”
“The village,” Spinner says, biting down on the desire to curse its name. “It has been struck by –”
He runs out of words. He and the others have been careful in their description of it, for fear of being called insane. Even a village with such superstitions as witches is too skeptical to believe in – “Vampires,” Midoriya announces. He’s apparently abandoned caution; he’s crouched in the snow at the edge of the path, petting the wolf-dog he believes was his. “Each night more wake with bites, and not long after they fall desperately ill.”
“Are they drained of blood?” you ask. “Or is their skin simply rotting?”
“They haven’t been drained,” Midoriya says, frowning. “But the bites –”
“My friend was drained,” Spinner says, and you look to him. “He grew weak. He could not eat or drink, and visions tormented him at the end — or what we thought was the end –”
“They buried him,” you say, and Spinner nods. “But people continue to fall sick, and they believe your friend is the cause, so they intend to exhume him and put an end to him properly this time. Am I incorrect?”
Spinner can barely believe his ears. “How do you know?”
“Fear strips away reason. It comforts them to think that killing your friend will end their misery, and their desire for comfort only serves the greater threat.” Your hands work more quickly, plaiting the crown together. “You’ve come to me for help. What is it you wish me to do?”
“Stop the priest,” Spinner says. You tilt your head, studying him. “Prove my friend’s innocence.”
“That is within my power,” you say. You add a few more flowers to the crown, set it upon your head, and rise to your feet. “Is there time?”
“When we left they had already started digging,” Spinner says uselessly. “What price do you ask for your help?”
“None,” you say. You brush past Spinner, slipping into the house and emerging seconds later with a small satchel slung across your body. White deerskin with silver fastenings — not at all what Spinner would expect a forest-dwelling witch to possess. “We must travel with haste.”
“Yes. Have you horses?”
You shake your head, then raise one hand to your mouth and whistle, high and wavering. Within moments, Spinner hears the sound of heavy footfalls, and the shape that moves within the trees is so monstrously large that even Midoriya is scared up from the ground and closer to Spinner. “What is that thing?”
A wolf. Not a wolf-dog, but a true wolf, hulking and enormous, standing taller than Spinner at the shoulder. It dwarfs you as you approach it, but you approach without fear, and it lowers itself to the ground so you can speak quietly in its ear. You use no language Spinner can understand, but it is not the language of the demon, and in your ordinary voice it does little more than raise the hairs on the back of his neck. “This is a friend of mine, who has agreed to aid us,” you say, straightening up. You throw one leg over the wolf’s back and climb up, seating yourself just behind its head. “If time is as short as you say, it is not wise to hesitate.”
Spinner climbs up first, followed by Midoriya. “Keep low until we leave the trees behind,” you order, “and hang on.”
Midoriya promptly grabs hold of Spinner, but Spinner has no easy recourse. “To you? It’s not proper.”
“Would you rather be proper or survive the journey back to the village?” you ask impatiently, and Spinner secures his arms around your waist, his face miserably red. “Hold on.”
You whisper something else to the wolf, and it lurches into motion with such violence that Spinner tightens his grip in terror. He learns instantly why you ordered them to lower their heads — at the speed at which the wolf moves, a collision of their heads with a branch would result in decapitation. Spinner can’t watch the trees speeding past without feeling ill, so he shuts his eyes only to feel sicker. Opening them, keeping them fixed between your shoulder blades, is the only solution. That, and occupying his mind with something other than how inappropriate it is to hold you this closely.
You feel human. Spinner’s taken women in his arms before, human women of his own will and vampire women against it, and while the unholy attraction of the undead is absent from you, there is something undefinably strange about your presence. Perhaps all witches are thus. You have yet to do anything more witchlike than speak to wolves and live deep in the woods, and once again, Spinner begins to doubt. Who are you to challenge the priest, to counter the village’s faith in him? How could you save Shigaraki, when Dabi and Twice and Toga could not?
The wolf breaks through the tree line, and you sit up quickly. Spinner does the same, although it makes the ride significantly bumpier. Out of the woods, it’s easier to gauge the wolf’s true speed. It barrels down the hillside, as fast as any horse, and ignores the bridge in favor of leaping across the stream in a single bound. At the apex of its flight, Spinner feels you startle, then flinch, a sharp gasp exiting your lips. It’s as if you’ve been shot or stabbed, and for a moment, you go completely limp, your grip on the wolf’s mane relaxing. Only Spinner’s arms around you keep you from slipping sideways into the water – but then the wolf’s paws touch land, and you straighten up again. Spinner would think it his imagination if not for the audible catch in your breathing.
When the wolf reaches the graveyard, Spinner’s own breath catches in horror: Shigaraki’s coffin has been raised up from the earth, its lock shattered and its lid shoved aside. Between the coffin and the priest stand Toga and Dabi and Twice, and before Spinner can call out to tell them help has arrived, villagers seize his friends and drag them out of the way. The priest approaches, stake held high, and a shaking hand rises from the coffin in a weak attempt to forestall him. Shigaraki is alive, and awake – awake just in time for Spinner to watch him die.
“Wait,” he tries to call, but his voice shakes so badly that he can barely raise it above a whisper. “He isn’t –”
“Father Torino!” you call out, your voice strident and strong, and the priest stops in his tracks. He turns towards the sound of your voice and flinches as he beholds the wolf, and you and Spinner and Midoriya on its back. The villagers cower, and Dabi and the others seize the opportunity to get free and return to guard the casket — but they, too look wary. “Is it now the custom of the Church to murder innocent men by hand after burying them alive has failed to do the job?”
“This is no man, but an abomination,” the priest growls. He is a small man, and old, but neither matters when righteous fury animates him. “It is the custom of the Church to carry out God’s will and remove such things from the face of His earth.”
“If this man’s death is God’s will and not your own, then it can wait a few moments more.” You slide down easily from the wolf’s back and start forward across the graveyard, the villagers scattering from your path. “I will examine him, and prove his innocence or his guilt.”
The priest does not challenge your ability to do so, and a small measure of hope is turned loose in Spinner’s mind. He slides down from the wolf’s back as well, much less gracefully than you did, and seizes the back of Midoriya’s coat to prevent him from going face-first into the snow when he does the same. Ahead of him, you confront Dabi. “Stand aside. Let me see him.”
“What, so you can kill him?”
“Do you see a stake in my hands?” You spread them out, revealing them empty. Spinner notices for the first time the silver rings on your middle fingers, and the web of silver chains extending from them to connect to a matching bracelet around your wrist. “I only wish to examine him.”
“She can help,” Midoriya says, and Dabi’s eyes flicker to him. “Let her help.”
Dabi looks to Spinner. Spinner nods, and Dabi stands aside, allowing you to approach the coffin.
Spinner does the same, and what he sees fills him with a guilt so powerful that it nearly strikes him dead on the spot. As terrible as Shigaraki looked when they believed him dead, he looks worse now. Paler, sicker, more haunted than before. Blood stains his fingernails — what’s left of them, at least. Spinner imagines his best friend clawing at the lid of the iron coffin, desperate to get free, and nearly vomits at the thought.
Shigaraki is barely conscious, barely breathing, as you come close. Spinner was unsure of what to expect from you, but your first act strikes him as completely incongruous — you lift the crown of white roses from your head and settle it on Shigaraki’s. Shigaraki doesn’t stir, and on the other side of the coffin, the priest’s shoulders stiffen. “That proves nothing.”
“White roses are anathema to vampires. They teach you that in your book of demons,” you say. You unclasp one bracelet from around your wrist, slide one ring from your finger. “They speak of silver, too.”
You lift Shigaraki’s hand and slide the ring onto his finger. His hands are larger than yours, yet so skeletal that the ring fits easily. As does the bracelet, when you snap it shut. Once again, Shigaraki does not stir. The priest scoffs. “You expect me to believe that’s real silver?”
“I expect you to ask yourself what reason I among all others would have to collude with this affliction,” you say. You of all others? Spinner sees his confusion writ large on Toga’s face, on Dabi’s and on Twice’s. “But if it will satisfy you, I will ask someone else. Who here has something silver?”
It’s silent. Midoriya disappears into the crowd, then comes back pulling his mother. “Mother. Mother, show her — you have some –”
The woman clutches at her necklace, as though she expects you to rip it from her throat. “You will have it back unharmed,” you promise in that ordinary voice. Spinner no longer doubts that you are no monster; rather, you seem so human that he doubts your ability to help at all. “Either you will help to protect your village from a grave threat, or you will save an innocent man’s life. To save one life is to save the world entire.”
“Cease such pagan nonsense in my presence,” the priest snaps. “Even if he is no vampire, he has forfeited his right to life by bringing the affliction upon our village.”
You ignore him, and after a moment, so does Midoriya’s mother. She unclasps her necklace, and Midoriya places it in your hand. You hold it for a moment, then set it down in the hollow of Shigaraki’s throat. He does not move beyond the rise and fall of his chest. “Odd,” you remark. “A vampire should flinch from such things.”
The priest doesn’t answer. You gesture for Spinner to come closer, to stand alongside Dabi and the others. “Bite marks,” you say, and Spinner startles along with the rest of them. “Where were they?”
“He had many,” Toga says. She tended to Shigaraki most closely, and took his apparent death nearly as hard as Spinner did. “On his throat. His chest. Both wrists and ankles.”
“Were there others?” you ask. Toga shakes her head, and you raise your voice, addressing the crowd in the graveyard. “In the legends, a true vampire’s body bears no bite marks. The transformation erases them. Is it not so?”
The crowd mumbles assent, and Spinner wonders if this is why Midoriya insisted on summoning you. The priest’s frothing rage looks particularly mad when contrasted to your calmness. You look to the priest next. “Is it not so, Father Torino?”
“In tales and in history.” The priest speaks through gritted teeth. “Let us examine him. I — what are you doing?”
“My eyes must be clear,” you say, and you lift your veil.
Half the village recoils, but when you fold it back, Spinner sees nothing out of the ordinary about your face. There is no mad light in your eyes, no distorted sneer on your mouth, no dark magic writhing visibly beneath your skin. There is an odd pallor to you, but nothing more. You turn back to face the priest — the priest, who did not flinch. “Let us examine him.”
Shigaraki does not react to your touch, but when the priest reaches in to grasp his arm and haul his wrist into the light, he shrinks back. “You see?” the priest demands. “He recoils from a man of God –”
“A man who was about to drive a stake through his heart. I’d recoil, too.” You have Shigaraki’s other hand, holding it carefully, and you turn it to expose his wrist to the light. “Look, Father. Those resemble bite marks to me. And here –”
You lift the wrist that Shigaraki pulled away from the priest. “More bite marks. Just as the maiden said.”
Shigaraki’s mouth opens, and the voice that issues from it is hoarse from three days of screaming. “Spinner –”
Spinner hurries forward, and without a word, you shift your examinations to Shigaraki’s ankles. “I’m here,” Spinner tells Shigaraki. “I’m sorry.”
Shigaraki shakes his head. “What’s — happening?”
“Midoriya took me to see the witch. She came back with us to help.”
“Witch?” Shigaraki rasps. “Doesn’t sound like a witch.”
“Her voice is wrong,” Toga agrees quietly. “I don’t know what she is.”
“You do not need to know. She is unclean, and those who fear God should stay far from her and her accursed woods,” the priest says. “And you, Shigaraki — you fear death a great deal for a man who does not fear God.”
Shigaraki’s red eyes flutter shut. He seems to have exhausted his strength, and Spinner finds himself watching the rise and fall of Shigaraki’s chest, fixated on the smallest motions. He kept this same vigil before, three nights ago, dreading every new second until the motion stuttered and stopped — or rather continued, so imperceptibly that everyone believed him dead. Whether you’re a witch or not, you are an effective counter to the priest, but what happens after you spare Shigaraki’s life? His affliction will not fade, and the evil that stalks him will not relent. Has Spinner saved Shigaraki’s life only to consign him to a slow, agonizing death?
Spinner’s thoughts are interrupted when your hand appears in his field of vision, parting the buttons on Shigaraki’s shirt to expose the bite marks directly over his heart. The priest grasps Shigaraki’s jaw and turns his head roughly to one side, revealing the bite marks on his throat as well.
Spinner remembers the first time he beheld the evidence of Shigaraki’s affliction. Shigaraki had kept it from them as long as possible, but one by one, they saw things that could not be explained, heard things in the night that could not be dismissed. They knew too much to find safety in ignorance, but they could not protect themselves if they did not know the truth, and so Shigaraki shared what he knew of the evil that had clung to him since childhood. They doubted him at first, but he must have expected it. Spinner will never forget the shiver of disgust that tore through him at the sight of the marks on Shigaraki’s throat – and how it grew ever worse with each set of marks he revealed.
The reminder alone of what Shigaraki suffers fills Spinner with disgust. He cannot imagine experiencing it and surviving with his mind intact, and yet Shigaraki has survived. And he will survive this, too. Faced with all the evidence you have revealed, the priest cannot kill Shigaraki now.
“Are you satisfied?” you ask, when the priest fails to respond. “This man is not the source of the affliction. He is its victim, as much as any of the others who have fallen ill.”
“Perhaps,” the priest says – and he raises his stake. “I’d rather be sure.”
Before he can bring it down, you seize it. Dabi does the same, and so does Spinner, while Toga and Twice throw themselves across the coffin to shield Shigaraki. “Careful,” you say to the priest. Your grip tightens, and Spinner feels the fire-hardened stake buckle slightly. “If you kill this man now, it will be murder, and your list of sins is not so short as to allow for the addition of one more.”
It’s a long moment before the priest releases the stake, and when he does, it splinters to pieces. Perhaps it was Dabi’s grip that shattered it; your hand is too small. “If you wish to save him, begone with him,” the priest says. “He is barred from the village until his affliction is cured. If it can be cured.”
Spinner’s heart sinks, but once again, you remain calm. “I will cure it,” you say. “I will take him with me, if he will go.”
“No,” Twice says at once. “He stays with us.”
“Let her take him,” Midoriya’s mother urges. Spinner thought she would have fled, but then again, her silver necklace still rests against Shigaraki’s throat. “The others will come for him tonight, and kill you to get to him, no matter what the priest says. It is safer to let him go.”
“We should come with him,” Toga says. You shake your head. “Why not?”
“The forest is unkind at night. I cannot shield your minds and heal his at the same time.” You look regretful, and ill at ease. “Stay here for the night, and visit in the morning. My friends will guide you to me.”
The wolves and wolf-dogs. Spinner remembers the rumor that you were raised by them, that you lay with them, and feels a surge of distaste — not for you, but for those who would start such rumors and spread them. “It’s Shigaraki’s choice,” he says. He looks down into the coffin at Shigaraki, at his pale face and bloody hands, swathed in silver with a crown of flowers on his head. “Do you wish to go with her?”
“Spinner.” Shigaraki’s voice is little more than a whisper. Spinner leans close. “Can she do as she promises?”
There seems to be nothing magical about you at all. Spinner doubts you can do anything — but he does not doubt that Shigaraki will be safer in the heart of the forest tonight than anywhere else. He nods. “I can’t face him tonight. Not like this,” Shigaraki says. “I’ll go.”
“Good,” the priest says. His disgust is etched deeply into his wrinkled face, and as he transfers his gaze from Shigaraki to you, it only grows. “As the filthy beast you rode in on has fled, I have no idea how you expect to remove him from my sight. Do you honestly think someone will lend you a horse?”
“I have no need of one.” You nudge Spinner to one side and lift the necklace up from Shigaraki’s throat, handing it back to Midoriya’s mother. Then you lift one of Shigaraki’s arms, looping it around your neck, and he expends what appears to be his last measure of strength to lift up the other. “I can walk.”
You can’t mean to carry him. Even half dead, half-starved, Shigaraki is bigger than you are. But as Spinner watches in horrified fascination, you slide one hand behind his best friend’s head and the other beneath his bent knees, and you lift Shigaraki from the coffin as though he weighs nothing at all.
Shigaraki slumps against your shoulder, barely conscious once more, and the crowd of villagers parts before you again. Your voice, still ordinary, carries not even a hint of strain when you speak to Spinner. “Come visit at first light,” you say. “No harm will come to him while he is with me.”
Dabi’s hand comes down on your shoulder, just as Toga grasps your elbow. “Swear it.”
You incline your head, and Spinner sees a web of faint scars across your brow. “I swear it by my blood.”
You set off walking at an easy pace, as though you aren’t carrying a grown man in your arms the way a lord might carry a maiden. Dabi’s voice is low in Spinner’s ear. “What did you do?”
“What?”
“Her kind don’t do favors,” Twice says. “What did you give her?”
“Nothing,” Spinner says. “She took nothing.”
“Except Tomura,” Toga says grimly. “In the morning we’ll take him back.”
“Damn right,” Twice says, ignoring the look the priest gives him. “We’ve tried everything but witches to heal him. Maybe she will fix him.”
“What’s wrong with him isn’t inside. It’s out there somewhere,” Dabi says. “Whatever she fixes, it won’t last.”
Dabi’s right, as much as it burns Spinner to admit it. All Spinner’s done in retrieving the witch is buy Shigaraki a little more time. One night where the villagers can’t come for him, howling for his blood the same way the evil that stalks him lusts for it. Spinner’s best friend has spent so many nights in misery and pain. If the best Spinner can do is secure for Shigaraki one night of relative peace, he’d have paid all you asked for and more.
But you asked for nothing. Spinner watches you approach the bridge, still walking smoothly with Shigaraki cradled in your arms, and wonders why.
part ii ->
#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x you#tomura shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki x you#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki tomura x you#x reader#reader insert#man door hand hook car door#nosferatu au#a bisquared production
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Harwin Strong - Queen of Beauty
Summary - She struggles for the affection of her cold betrothed, a proud knight of the Vale. Her heart is unexpectedly drawn to another whose warm gaze offers hope. When fate intertwines their destinies, she must navigate love, rivalry, and her betrothed's dangerous wrath.
Pairing - Harwin Strong x reader
Warnings - None
Word count - 2205
Masterlist for Harwin • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.
My betrothed was a hard, unfeeling man—a knight of the Vale, with eyes that barely found their way to me, and words that rarely acknowledged my existence.
He was a Royce, one of the proudest of their house, a man who thought himself invincible, untouchable—a noble of iron and ice.
I sat in the stands, perched in a small section reserved for the families of the knights who would soon be fighting.
Though I wasn't family yet, my parents and his had insisted I attend, to show him support as his intended, to cheer him on before the eyes of our houses.
I smoothed the folds of my gown, a dress I had chosen carefully to suit his family's colours, a small, ridiculous attempt to make him notice me, to perhaps see something in me worth caring for.
"I'll take the victory, there's no doubt of it," he was saying to a fellow knight.
His voice caught my attention, and my gaze drifted to where he stood, fitting his armour into place with that unshakeable arrogance that had already grown so familiar. He flexed his arms as his squire buckled the last of his pauldrons, adjusting his helm as though it were a crown.
"And who do you plan to crown as Queen of Beauty, then?" the other knight asked with a grin, his voice loud and teasing.
I felt the faintest smile curl on my lips, daring to hope, foolishly perhaps, that he might glance my way, might offer me some sign that I held even a small place in his thoughts.
I braced myself for a flicker of acknowledgement, a gesture, a word... something.
But instead, his gaze drifted right past me, not even pausing as if I were invisible.
His eyes landed instead on a different maiden nearby—a girl with bright eyes and a shy laugh, one who whispered eagerly to her friend as she looked out over the field, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
"She is rather fair, isn't she?" he muttered to his companion, a note of admiration slipping into his voice that struck me like a blow.
He was silent a moment, watching the girl as she looked away, unaware of the attention she'd captured.
The other knight chuckled, clapping my betrothed on the shoulder. "Ah, so even the stone-hearted Royce can have his head turned. Maybe there's hope for you after all."
My throat tightened, and I forced myself to swallow the hurt rising in my chest. My faint smile vanished, leaving only the empty ache of foolish hopes dashed.
Had I truly expected him to care? To look at me and see anything more than a contract, a name he would one day inherit alongside land and title?
My fingers clenched the fabric of my gown, knuckles whitening as I fought back the bitter sigh trembling on my lips. I looked away, willing my gaze to find anything, anyone, that might save me from the cruel reality unravelling before me.
And then I saw him—Ser Harwin Strong, standing on the other side of the field.
He wore no armour yet, only the plain linen shirt of a man waiting for his turn, his dark hair falling carelessly over his brow as he leaned against the railing, watching me with an intensity that was disconcerting and strangely comforting all at once.
His gaze held a warmth, a softness that took me off guard.
Had he seen my humiliation? Had he watched it all?
He held my gaze, his eyes full of unspoken understanding, a compassion that unsettled me as much as it soothed. He did not look away, nor did he turn his gaze in pity or embarrassment.
Instead, he tilted his head, a faint crease forming between his brows, a silent acknowledgement of the injustice he had witnessed.
I looked back at him, feeling a strange defiance flare within me. Let him see, I thought. Let him see the indifference I suffer.
But as I stared, his expression shifted, the smallest, softest smile tugging at his lips, as if he found something in me worthy of defending, of saving. His expression, tender and unguarded, was as far from the stony pride of the Royce as the sun from the moon.
Without thinking, I inclined my head toward him, a silent thank you, a tiny gesture that I hoped would suffice to express the relief and strange gratitude swelling within me.
His lips parted, and he lifted a hand as if to wave, though he paused, uncertain.
For a moment, it seemed as though he might speak, might call out, offer some words to soothe the sting of my betrothed's cruelty.
But then he only nodded, a barely perceptible dip of his chin, a promise left unspoken.
"Ser William," my mother's voice came sharp at my ear, jolting me. "Sit straighter. We are here to watch him," she said, her voice filled with the same unyielding pride she had harboured ever since our match had been arranged. "Your future husband. A Royce knight, no less."
I straightened, fighting the urge to pull my gaze back to where Ser Harwin stood, to where that gentle understanding had found me when I needed it most. But my mother's grip on my wrist was iron.
"Pay him your respect," she hissed, nodding pointedly toward my betrothed.
Reluctantly, I forced myself to watch as he strode to the centre of the field, his posture strong, confident, indifferent to any eyes but his own.
Untouchable. Unbreakable.
And yet in that moment, all I could see was the hardness, the coldness that would become my fate.
But as I sat there, my hands clenching tightly in my lap, I knew that somewhere across the field, a kinder gaze was watching me, holding me upright against the weight of the indifference beside me.
The tourney began with the customary fanfare, trumpets blaring as banners fluttered in the brisk air, and knights from all corners of the realm gathered to prove their skill and valour.
The air was thick with the scent of trampled grass and the faint tang of sweat and leather, mingling with the buzz of eager voices, all awaiting the clash and fury that only a tournament could promise.
I watched from my seat, heart pounding as each knight took his turn in the lists.
The lances shattered in clouds of splinters, swords clanged with ruthless precision, and the crowd roared, each cheer echoing louder than the last.
Somewhere in that sea of voices, I heard my own, though I knew it was hollow, a cheer forced and distant.
My gaze was restless, flickering between my betrothed and another knight, my heart pulling toward the quieter strength of Ser Harwin Strong.
Beside me, my mother leaned in, her whisper sharp in my ear. "See how your betrothed fights. His every move is impeccable—just as one would expect of a Royce."
I nodded absently, watching William's form as he fought, coldly efficient and methodical, each strike landing with the inevitability of a winter storm.
But even as I forced myself to applaud his victories, my heart was drawn elsewhere, to a knight whose every movement spoke of something deeper.
Ser Harwin Strong fought with a grace that seemed effortless, his skill alive with purpose, the way he wielded his sword not merely to conquer but to command. He didn't fight for show; he fought with soul.
More than once, I caught his gaze upon me, a look so steady and thoughtful that it sent my heart stammering.
Finally, the field dwindled, and knight after knight was eliminated until only two remained: Ser William Royce and Ser Harwin Strong.
A hush settled over the crowd as the two prepared for their final match, a silence so deep that the mere sound of hooves echoed like distant thunder.
"Do you see?" my mother whispered, an eagerness lacing her voice as William adjusted his helm, his visor lowered in readiness. "This is his moment. Your betrothed is about to seize his rightful victory."
But something within me ached a silent cry that seemed bound to Ser Harwin's figure.
My hands twisted in my lap, my breath catching as I watched them ride to the centre of the arena, their horses pawing the ground, both men poised as if cast from bronze, unyielding and ready.
The horn sounded, and in an instant, they charged. Their lances met with a crash, splintering as wood met steel, but neither man wavered.
They circled, tossing aside the broken lances, swords drawn now as they clashed in a deadly dance. Their blades sang each strike more intense than the last, every parry so swift it was a blur of motion.
I barely breathed, my heart pounding with the rhythm of the blows as they exchanged strike for strike, neither yielding.
And then, with a deft movement that seemed almost effortless, Ser Harwin's blade found its mark.
His strike was precise, sweeping my betrothed from his horse and sending him sprawling to the ground in a tumble of dust and armour.
The crowd erupted, an ocean of gasps and cheers that rose like a wave, as Ser Harwin dismounted, extending a hand to help his fallen opponent rise.
But William ignored him, lifting himself with a snarl, his face twisted in fury, his wounded pride visible in every rigid line of his body.
The herald stepped forward, his voice rising above the crowd's cheers. "Ser Harwin Strong stands victorious! By the right of his triumph, he shall name and crown the Queen of Beauty."
The words echoed, and all at once, the arena's attention shifted, murmurs passing like ripples through the crowd as they speculated whom he would choose.
My heart raced as Ser Harwin's gaze found mine.
Could it be possible? I wondered, my fingers trembling as I watched him stride toward me, his dark eyes intent, his expression warm and without pretension.
He approached, the floral crown for the Queen of Beauty held reverently in his hands—a delicate circlet of wildflowers and woven ivy, each petal and leaf trembling in the afternoon light.
I held my breath as he stopped before me, and the crowd seemed to fall away, leaving only the soft warmth of his gaze.
With a steady hand, he lifted the crown and placed it upon my brow, his fingertips brushing my skin with a gentleness that stole my breath. His face held a quiet respect, free from arrogance, his expression as sincere as his actions.
Around us, whispers of surprise fluttered through the crowd, some approving, others scandalized.
I felt every eye upon me, the weight of their gazes pressing down, yet all I could see was him, his face close to mine, his eyes kind.
Tradition dictated the next step—he was to seal his choice with a kiss.
I stiffened, my nerves stirring, caught between a feeling of exhilaration and fear.
His hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder, steadying me as he looked at me, sensing my unease. He smiled, barely a curve of his lips, but it was enough to reassure me.
He leaned down, his lips brushing my cheek in a gesture so tender and unassuming that it seemed to defy the very air of spectacle surrounding us.
"Fear not, my lady," he murmured softly, his voice warm and meant only for me. "I am not here to unsettle you."
A rush of gratitude bloomed in my chest, mingling with something softer, something new, as his words lingered in the air.
The crowd's applause surged around us, filling the arena with thunderous approval, but the moment felt impossibly intimate as if no one else could see or hear.
As he pulled away, his hand leaving my shoulder, I felt the absence of his warmth, a strange longing threading through me.
But that feeling vanished the instant I turned and caught sight of William.
He stood at the edge of the field, his face contorted with barely suppressed rage, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes dark and full of something dangerous.
Though he held his silence, the threat in his gaze was unmistakable, his wounded pride radiating like the heat of a flame.
I met his eyes for a fleeting moment, feeling the unspoken storm between us, the shattered pieces of whatever fragile peace had held us together as betrothed.
I could feel it slipping away, replaced by something colder, harsher, something that would not rest easy.
In that gaze, I saw a man who had been humiliated, who would not forgive.
Ser Harwin lingered, as if sensing the shift, his eyes flickering between William and me. His expression held a quiet resolve, a silent promise as if to say that he would not leave me vulnerable.
A weight seemed to settle over us, a silent understanding that whatever lay ahead, it would not be simple.
As the crowd began to disperse, whispers and curious glances following us, I looked once more to Ser Harwin.
He met my gaze, his eyes steady and sure, his presence a balm to the uncertain ache in my chest.
And though I didn't yet know what the future held, I knew with unwavering certainty that something within me had changed—some ember within that he had kindled with a single, soft touch.
A/n - Edited this half asleep so if there's any mistakes just close your eyes x
#house of the dragon#house targaryen#hotd#hotd x reader#house of the dragon x reader#hotd one shot#hotd season 2#house of the dragon fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd s2#team black#harwin strong#harwin x reader#harwin strong x reader#harwin breakbones#ser harwin x reader#ser harwin strong#ser harwin#harwin strong fanfic#harwin strong x you
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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Eight: The Lord of the Tides
Masterlist of Series
Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.
What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I'm posting a chapter within two weeks and not a month? What sorcery is this? Anyway, thank you for staying with me through these chapters. We're getting to the juicy stuff here soon, which will be very angsty. I also want to remind everyone that this is a dark fic that deals with suicide, SA, and severe mental illness. You'll hate some of these characters and their actions and have questions about them as the story progresses, but everything has a reason, and it'll all tie together eventually. Just have faith, babes.
Chapter Warnings: misogyny, eugenics, mentions of and trauma related to COCSA, suicidal ideations, severe mental illness, self-deprecating thoughts, and sexual harassment.
The Great Hall echoed with the clamor of anxious voices. The petition summoned all the court members, seemingly attempting to embarrass your family publicly. Although hearings like these did not necessitate the presence of all the Lords and Ladies, they were all there, rendering the open space oppressively stuffy and cramped. The Iron Throne commanded attention with its imposing presence. Fashioned from the melted swords of Aegon the Conqueror’s enemies, it formed a seat that threatened anyone who ventured too close to its pointed metal surface.
Daemon was conversing with your mother, and his strong fists clasped over his stomach as he leaned in to speak into her ear. Luke stood by her side, picking at his slender fingers while cowering beneath his cloak. You felt sorry for your younger brother. He didn’t want to be the Lord of the Tides and despised the idea so much that it became a fear of the sea. Part of you believed that Jace should inherit the Driftwood Throne since he was the second-born, but your mother’s advisors pressured that if Jacaerys married you, he wouldn’t be able to rule the Seven Kingdoms and High Tide, so Luke was next in line.
Your stepsister Rhaena was seated on the other side of you and Jace. You glanced at her slender form, noticing her white hair knotted into thick, cylindrical locs piled atop her head. She nodded toward your brother, who looked at his shoes with an undignified pout. You stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Jace’s body. He tried not to show how your gentle actions comforted him in front of the onlookers, subtly leaning into your side.
The hairs on your neck prickled as if someone was watching you closely. You caught a glimpse of your eldest uncle’s sullen face meeting yours. Aegon’s looming stare was fixed on you and your connection with your brother, his lips curving into a frown. Some of you wanted to return his stare with mockery for his audacity, but you held your decorum, fearing what his anger could entail if you went too far. Years ago, you experienced his kindness, leaving an irreparable scar on your soul.
You sensed the anxiety rising at the mere thought of having to confront your eldest uncle once more. Despite six years having passed, the wounds still feel fresh. Clutching Jace tightly to your side, you battle the overwhelming temptation to seek solace within his luxurious robes as a torrent of memories came rushing back as the petition commences.
“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds,” Otto Hightower spoke, his voice booming across the Great Hall, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As the Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.
“The Crown will now hear the petitions.”
Aegon felt a surge of frustration as he watched you avoid making eye contact, unable to bear the sight of you being affectionate with someone else. You had been his closest ally until Aemond’s actions shattered everything. With a scowl, he directed his gaze toward the ground and decided to converse with you about the years past. The eldest Prince was resolute in his determination to make you see that he was not the one at fault.
“Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon,” the Hand spoke, announcing the challenger to the room.
The individual accountable for this incident stepped up, adorned in an opulent doublet of rich velvet in a deep navy shade, almost black. He briefly acknowledged the presence of Lord Corlys’s wife. As he drew nearer, you found yourself in the presence of Ser Vaemond for the second time in your life. His facial hair displayed a striking blend of salt and pepper, evidence of the many decades of life experience that distinguished him from you.
“My Queen,” he greeted with a nod, “my Lord Hand.” Luke visibly bristled at his Great Uncle’s voice, retreating further into his cloak and your mother’s comforting presence.
If the Gods were fair beings, they would strike Lord Vaemond down where he stood for daring to spout treasonous lies before the Court. The mere petition was a ploy to publicly embarrass and cast doubt upon your mother’s claim as heir to the Iron Throne. This was why he chose to pounce like a lion in wait for its prey onto the opportunity of his older brother getting injured. It was as if Lord Vaemond had already declared his brother dead before he returned to his bed. You were raised by a second son and understood too well of their lusts for what the eldest sibling had.
As you tightly gripped Jace’s hand, you made a solemn vow to take the necessary action, not just to protect your family but also for the greater good of your kingdom. This would be the first time you would employ your extensive knowledge of herbs and medicinal practices for a malevolent purpose, but you were willing to do whatever it took for their sake. Throughout history, many distinguished individuals have fallen victim to choking on wine or food, which has proven fatal for even those of lesser stature.
“The history of our noble houses extends past the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Old Valyria, our House became the last of their kind.” You glanced at your mother while Vaemond droned eloquently, her regard downcast with a disapproving smirk. “Our forebears came to this land, knowing they would fail; it would be the end of their bloodlines and name. I have spent my entire life defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin, his blood,” the second son petitioned.
Out of the corner of your vision, you spotted Princess Rhaenys, her stare boring holes into the back of her good brother’s skull. Your worries that the Queen Who Never Was would not side with Luke and his claim lessened as you noted the irritation on her face, the fury at Vaemond’s claim that he had the right to be Lord of the Tides and not her, as if her rule during Corlys’ absence meant that the Driftwood Throne was not in safe hands until Luke was ready.
Otto stared at the man with a neutral expression, but his eyes betrayed his genuine emotions. Arrogance and pride shine through, revealing his bias. “It’s a true, unimpeachable blood of the House of Velaryon that runs through my veins.”
“As it does in my son’s, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” your mother interrupted, causing everyone in the room to direct their attention to her. “If you cared so much about your House’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and your own ambition-”
You sucked in a nervous breath, your gaze flickering to your mother as you scratched at your scalp. She knew better than to interrupt during a petition to the Crown. She would have scolded you for such an act. Perhaps since it wasn’t her father, she felt the ability to speak out of turn was appropriate. Even the daughter of the King wasn’t allowed such liberties.
“You will have a chance to make your petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” the Queen interrupted, causing your simmering vexation to spike into a rolling boil. “Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”
You understood Queen Alicent’s opinion but couldn’t quell the rise of frustrated tears at her words. It was not her place to order your mother. She was a wife to the King, a consort, and whatever jurisdiction she had was given to her by a man. She held no real power, and remembering that would do her well.
As if Alicent heard your thoughts, her amber eyes flicked to you. You felt your stomach lurch as the bread you had earlier threatened to decorate the stone floor. You did not like the Queen after what she did to your mother and her obsession with you. Her possessiveness was something you never understood, nor did you want to. Whatever the Queen had twisted and distorted you to be inside her mind was not something you desired to give fruit to, disregarding her pleading looks as you focused on the Lord before you.
Ser Vaemond turned to stare smugly at Rhaenyra, continuing with his rant of blood purity and superiority. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, but you still wouldn’t recognize it.”
A tugging at your bell sleeve brought your attention to Jace, noting how you unconsciously scratched at your scalp. Suddenly, you realized that in the moment’s intensity with Aemond, you had dropped your headpiece in the hall. Swiftly nodding that you were all right, Jace began to stroke the back of your clenched knuckles in a silent gesture of support. Your hand had long forgotten its comforting touch as it blanched from ire.
“This is about the future and survival of my House, not yours,” Vaemond finished, staring hard at your Luke as you cringed.
Jace did not let the Lord or the three people frighten you for long, subtly shifting to block him and all other stares from view like the moat of iron spikes surrounding Maegor’s Holdfast. Why were they all looking at you? The Lords and Ladies. Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena. You silently willed them to stop, but it was for naught.
The Lord turned from Luke, his prideful grin duller as he addressed the Queen and Hand. “This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my House and line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor,” Vaemond finally concluded, taking a few steps back, “the Lord of Driftmark, the Lord of the Tides.”
“Thank you, Ser Vaemond,” Otto concluded atop a throne that was not his as the second son gave one last grimace toward your family.
With the retreating of the Lord, you were given the perfect view of the Green children, the eldest still very much disinterested in what was happening around him, shifting on his feet as if he was itching to leave the room, which you supposed was true. The second child was attempting to dissociate from the world around her, uncomfortable with the animosity between the two houses, her golden dress the opposite of her appearance. The third and final member seemed to match his Mother and Grandsire, an air of superiority radiating from his toned body that sent shivers to your core.
“Princess Rhaenyra,” the Hand called, “you may now speak for your son, Prince Lucerys Velaryon.”
Your mother approached before the steps of the Iron Throne, her body language openly depicting her ire at the whole matter. Her complete disregard for the seriousness of the situation caused you to crack a smile, looking at Jace in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“If I am forced to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding this court that nearly twenty years ago in this very room-”
Your mother’s remarks were cut short by the creaking of hinges, the grand doors to the Great Hall opening to reveal the rhythmic tapping of a cane.
“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of The Andals, the Roynar, The First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”
Gasps echoed through the expansive room as all eyes turned to your mother. She gazed in astonishment as her father appeared in public for the first time in years. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, half his face concealed by a golden mask, made his way across the grand throne room, causing a stir among the onlookers.
You recalled that six years ago, there was only a tiny sore on his cheek, such a minuscule gash that festered and grew to eat away at his flesh until you could see the rotting teeth within his skull. Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened to the steady tapping of your Grandsire, your heart unable to watch the hunched figure.
The Hand seemed more shocked than any. His stoic face of pride morphed into one of stunned surprise as your Grandsire made his way to the bottom steps of the Iron Throne.
“I will sit on the throne today,” the King rasped, his entire weight resting on the dragon head of his walking stick.
“Your Grace,” Otto reluctantly acknowledged, gaping wide as he took his place next to his daughter and her children.
A kingsguard quickly rushed to the side of his ruler, briefly assisting before Viserys weakly shoved him away. You couldn’t watch this—watch someone once so full of joy and love for his kin struggle to walk the stairs of his ancestors as you nestled your face into Jace’s shoulder. The sound of fallen metal echoed in the room, bringing your attention upward. Your Grandsire’s crown had fallen onto the stairs before the throne as a quiet grunt of discontent puffed past his chapped lips. Daemon was behind his brother before anyone was the wiser, assisting the last remnants of his late parents’ love to his ruling seat and placing the golden Crown of Jaehaerys on the remaining tatters of silver hair.
While you indulged in a lavish meal of quail and lamb on the breathtaking island of Dragonstone, you could aid him, but unfortunately, you were unaware of his plight. Overcome with remorse for not setting aside your troubles to support your Grandsire, you shed tears uncontrollably.
“Sister, you’re crying,” he whispered below the shell of your ear. You nodded silently, whipping away the stray water that collected on your warm cheek.
Jace knew your strong aversion to displaying any hint of vulnerability through tears. He recognized that you viewed it as a manifestation of a perceived girlish weakness that you deemed incompatible with your role as heir to the Seven Kingdoms. He felt helpless as he witnessed you, unable to offer the solace he longed to provide.
Staring at both of you with a fierce scowl across his narrow pink lips, Aemond believed you deserved to experience pain. However, he struggled with his emotions, attempting to quash the pang piercing his dark heart. Aemond envisioned himself as the unyielding pillar, braving the tumultuous waves during a tempest at sea. He saw himself as your shelter from the salty waters, ready to wipe away any tears that adorned your skin. Jacaerys was far from being a man deserving of a princess, unlike…
The Prince’s chest rumbled with a grunt of discontent as he resisted completing his thought despite knowing the truth in his heart. Upon hearing the sound, Aegon glanced at his brother with a perplexed expression and followed his line of sight with a mix of understanding and bitterness, forming a frown on his face.
“I must admit my confusion,” your Grandsire spoke, his frail voice reverberating through the high walls of the hall. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.” You did not need to look at Vaemond to see his outrage. You could sense it from where you stood twenty paces away, your tears slowly drying as you gazed at the disappointed Queen. “The only one present who might offer keener insights into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”
Everyone turned to the woman as she processed her cousin’s words. “Indeed, your grace,” she nodded, taking a moment to look at her brother-in-law.
Eyes followed the Queen Who Never Was as she spoke, her voice so smooth and elegant you felt envy for it at the back of your mind. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed.”
The atmosphere in the room was charged with a tumult of emotions. Anger, betrayal, shock, and relief swirled around the Great Hall like a powerful storm. Ser Vaemond was furious, deeply hurt by his good sister’s words. To him, being a true Velaryon meant everything, and he couldn’t bear the thought of his bastard nephew, born from a woman pretending to be virtuous, tarnishing his family’s name and the honor of the realm. He was resolute in his refusal to accept this situation. Vaemond’s bloodline was solid and pure, unyielding like the sea.
“Princess Rhaenyra has informed me of her desire to marry her son Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Princess Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”
The speed at which your head whipped towards Jace was almost otherworldly, nearly causing you to stumble. His face reflected your shock, his mouth hanging open like a fish before he turned to glance at your mother. A serene smile graced her pink lips, and she quickly lowered her gaze while placing a protective hand over her swollen stomach.
Apart from your mother, no one else seemed to share the same sense of pride. The Queen’s expression soured even more than you thought possible, and the Hand remained stunned by the sudden turn of events as you withdrew your hand from Jace’s.
Aegon had suddenly perked up at the revelation, uncharacteristically grinning as he watched the drama unfold while Aemond observed your misfortune with barely concealed satisfaction. You couldn’t pinpoint why he had an abrupt interest in the conversation. He no doubt enjoyed the misfortune of others, even if it was his kin.
“Well,” the King spoke, his breathing now calmed, “the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”
The entire family breathed a sigh of relief, their shared sense of burden and responsibility slowly dissipating as they watched the weight of the future shift onto the Greens. In that moment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt for not shouldering the load yourself. Princess Rhaenys, with an almost irritated yet dignified stride, stood beside her eldest granddaughter, her presence exuding a complex mix of annoyance and pride.
Though you hadn’t moved from your spot beside your twin, you felt like a league away from him, gaping blankly at the glistening steel swords running over the steps like a river. The longer you studied them, the more they began to contort, seeing viscous crimson liquid melt down the blades. The future you had planned with your brother was impaled to the hilt.
A scoff cut through the moment of joy, your head directed to the sound. “You break the law, centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir,” Vaemond spoke, venom laced within every syllable. “But you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”
Your brown orbs flickered from the man to the King. “Allow it?” Viserys echoed, testing the word on his dry tongue. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”
The thick, oppressive silence enveloped the scene, defying even the sharpness of Darksister’s blade. Every individual present held their breath, their anticipation palpable as they waited to witness the outcome.
“That is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine!” the second son shouted, causing everyone to jump in fright.
“Go to your chambers,” Rhaenyra ordered you and your brothers before swiftly turning her attention to Vaemond. “You have said enough.”
None of you obeyed.
“Lucerys is my true-born grandson,” your Grandsire declared. “And you are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”
“You,” Vaemond stated, taking menacing steps forward, “may run your House as you see fit, but you will not decide my future. My House survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides.”
He turned to your family, feet firmly planted with the grip on his longsword. Your look stared fire at his, jaw clenched as he spat his vitriol. “And Gods be damned, I will not see it end on account of this…”
You arched your head to the side, eyes widening in defiance as you silently urged him to speak the words that yearned to escape his lips. However, he disregarded you, considering you nothing more than a mere girl in a world dominated by men, a lost cause. You resolved to shed any lingering guilt about your intentions at that moment.
“Say it,” Daemon’s soft and menacing timbre whispered.
Onlookers scrutinized with bated breath as Vaemond considered his words, his gaze flickering from your father to you, Jace, your mother, and Luke. A sneer slowly pulled his lips, righting his posture as he bellowed.
“Her children are bastards!”
You inhaled a near-inaudible growl from your throat as you took a charged step forward, only to be yanked back by Jace before you could do something you would regret. Soft murmurs sounded, the Greens all sharing the same look of begrudging disappointment. Jace seemed just as furious as you, his lips curling into a snarl.
“And they,” he glared at you, then at your mother, his jaw tensing, “are whores.”
Your gaze immediately flicked to Aegon and then Aemond, your body independently moving as the crowd gasped. Aemond’s eye was no longer bright purple but a near black, shining like dragonglass shards. Despite this window into his soul, his outward appearance reached an unusual sereness. Thin lips parted as you noticed the faintest twitch, a tic you realized indicated his rage.
“You have said your piece, Lord Vaemond,” Queen Alicent declared, fists humbly clasped over her clothed emerald green stomach. “The king has affirmed his decision, and you will do well to respect it without saying lies about the young princess.”
Did people know of what happened between you and Aegon and that of your brother?
They couldn’t have. You took steps to ensure your image to the public aligned with their ideals. You studied in the Citadel, for Seven’s sake! Your mind raced with the possibility of your secrets being discovered, the chance that the realm would know of your sins before marriage. At the time, it did not seem to be a mistake as you and Jace believed you would be married, but now, just as it seemed like all things did, it slipped through your fingers like the sand that lined the shores of Blackwater Bay.
Aemond watched as you mindlessly attempted to run toward Vaemond like a combat-trained man. He thought it would be entertaining to watch you claw the Velaryon Lord’s eyes out and contemplated in admired silence how reckless you could become when enraged, wondering how far that wrath would take you.
You were unable to hear the sound of raised voices expressing articles of treason, threats of violence, and the unsheathing of a sword until you felt blood splatter on your cheekbone, seeing the sliced head of Vaemond Velaryon laying a few paces from your feet. Jace pulled your face to his chest as you gasped in shock, clutching his arms like he was the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment of grotesque insanity.
“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon declared, looking at the limp corpse below.
Studying his uncle in brief awe, Aemond’s violet eye flickered from the decapitated corpse to that of the assailant. He moved to see Jace’s feeble attempt at protecting you from the gore that lay leaking into the stones, mouth curling in disdain as he scoffed. Your brother was to be the one to protect you from harm, physical or emotional, yet he was incapable of doing that.
Momentarily, Aemond thought of coming to your side, knowing that he was a worthy enough man to be what you needed, and if not that, then only to spite Jacaerys. He shook the fleeting thought away with a grunt, scorn filling his heart.
“Disarm him!” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard yelled, his fellow members drawing their weapons.
You chose who you thought worthy that night on Driftmark when you stood by idly as Luke ripped his eye from the socket.
“No need,” your stepfather cooly protested, wiping the blood of his kin from his blade and exiting the room.
Your eyes could not leave the bleeding form of Vaemond Velaryon, the top half of his dreaded white hair discarded as the crimson liquid pooled around him. Viserys groaned above, collapsing onto the Iron Throne like a sack of bones from the effort of living. Alicent and your mother ran to his aide.
“Niece.”
You expected to see Aemond come and continue his taunts from before, but instead, you saw Aegon standing before you, his square face etched with worry. You would have thought him handsome had he not done what he did and become the man he had become as you merely stared at him, your mind blank and body numb.
How could he show you such concern, knowing how much pain he caused you? What could you say to him after everything that transpired? After he effectively distorted the pure view of your world into betrayal and anguish. He most likely wanted to use you as he did to the maids of the Keep. You thought you might as well let him. That was how you felt now that the one man you willingly gave your body to with the expected outcome of marriage was bound to another. That same disgusting sensation you had the following days after your assault came rushing back as if you were that scared little girl again.
You did not want to feel that weak again and parted your lips to speak the venom he deserved to hear. Suddenly, you found your throat too dry as you swallowed the air instead. Aegon extended a hand to yours in what you believed to be a comforting gesture, fingers brushing each other as terror surged through your limbs.
Your sights glanced at the corpse as the hilt of Vaemond’s sword glinted in the light. You could end this here and now. End the torment. End the constant uncertainty that would be your mother’s secession. Your demise would be of no consequence.
“Sister,” Jace called, his tone clipped and brown eyes wide. The same eyes you had looking back at you. “Mother wants us in our chambers to prepare for supper.”
You recoiled as if your limb was scorched when you swiftly pulled it away from Aegon. With a curt nod to your twin, you allowed him to take you. Walking out of the Great Hall, you made a conscious effort not to glance back, keenly aware of the intensity of Aegon’s piercing stare as it followed the contours of your womanly form. You were sure that this encounter wouldn’t be the last, and the prospect of it propelled you to seek solace in the comforting embrace of your twin.
The twilight had descended upon King’s Landing, casting the city in a hazy glow. Despite the late hour, the flagstone streets teemed with activity as revelers roamed for company, their laughter mingling with the clinking of coins. Meanwhile, you found yourself clutching a goblet of fiery spirits, hoping to steady your frayed nerves as you sat between your imposing eldest uncle and your sweet twin.
The dining hall exuded an air of palpable tension, with hushed conversations among family members punctuating the room as servants bustled about, preparing for the day’s last meal. Everyone waited in quiet anticipation for the arrival of the King, their faces adorned with joyous and restrained smiles, marking the festivities of new beginnings. However, amidst this atmosphere of hopeful anticipation, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disquiet. In mere hours, it seemed as though everything you had worked for was unraveling before your eyes.
You were intended to enter into matrimony with Jace just as Visenya married her younger brother Aegon. As twins, you shared an unbreakable bond, with one heart and one soul inhabiting two bodies. No other individual in existence was as ideally suited for you.
As you watched your brothers’ interactions with their betrothed, you couldn’t help but notice the sour expression on your face. Each brother was dutiful and respectful, engaging in hushed conversations with their betrothed about the future and what it might hold. You felt a mix of confusion and offense as you pondered why Jace had swiftly embraced being bound to another after spending years with you as his unspoken wife.
Your eyes locked with Aemond’s from across the opulent room as he conversed with his brother, a sly smirk on his lips. He seemed to revel in your displeasure at taking your brother from you. With an exasperated sigh, you leaned back in your ornate high chair, surveying the sumptuous spread of food before you, each dish tempting you with its rich aromas and vibrant colors.
Growing increasingly impatient for your Grandsire’s arrival, you couldn’t resist the allure of a plump, purple grape sitting on the nearby platter. As you reached for it, your mother reprimanded you.
The air was heavy with the scent of wine as you had already consumed three cups before the arrival of the King, his face wearing a grim expression. Your Grandsire was brought into the grand hall, seated on a makeshift throne, and everyone in the room rose in respect for his position. His crown, a symbol of his authority, had been long forgotten as he was placed between the Queen and your mother. You noticed sores on him that you hadn’t seen before, standing out more prominently in the grandeur of the dining hall. The sight made your eyes prickle with the threat of tears, and your stomach churned with unease.
Despite being seated, he leaned heavily onto his cane, the weight of his extravagant Targaryen robes bearing down on his frail body. You fought back tears, refusing to show any vulnerability in front of those who held little respect for you.
“This is an occasion of celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our Houses,” your grandfather began, a thick rasp to his voice. “A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed. May you find yours yet, granddaughter.”
You sat there, forcing back your tears and lifting your glass as the joyful cheers filled the room. The dreams you had shared with Jace seemed to shatter with each sip of wine. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, Jace’s fleeting smile towards Baela deepened your sense of loss. It wasn’t their engagement that bothered you, but rather the uncontrollable circumstances that had brought it about. Still, some of you couldn’t help but resent the pair.
A sudden rancid sweetness wafted into your nose as you saw Aegon lean over you, wrapping his hand around the back of your chair and whispering to your twin.
“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman,” he teased with a lopsided grin. You observed him with wide eyes that danced from your uncle to your twin, hyper-aware of every breath and twitch of his limbs.
Jace stiffened beside you as he clenched his fist atop the table, barely containing his ire. It was only a matter of time before he lost his patience. You saw his hand move to connect with yours like always when he was stressed, but you moved to place it on your lap, instinctively turning your face away from his.
“It seems your twin doesn’t share the same sentiment,” Aegon softly declared so only the two of you could hear, lips moving into a downward smirk as he watched the silent dispute between siblings, victoriously sitting upright in his seat.
“Let us toast Prince Lucerys as well. The future Lord of the Tides,” your Grandsire continued as you felt the touch of another. Your posture became stiff as Aegon’s fingers wrapped around yours in a vice-like grip, no doubt only to spite Jace as you struggled to break free without causing attention.
Taking advantage of the momentary quiet, your eldest uncle mocked Jace again, moving your hand so he could see it. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?”
Rage welled inside your chest at Aegon’s words, and you feared as you looked into your brother’s eyes that he would spill your affairs in anger. Without thinking of appearances, you dug your nails into Aegon’s hand, causing him to yelp as he released you.
“You can play the jester as you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed,” Jace noiselessly snapped in return as your uncle hummed in acquiescence, cradling his injured hand and wounded pride.
Aemond’s eye was trained on the scene before him as he intently observed the three of you. His face remained a practiced impassivity; the only sign of his inner emotions was his finger wrapping on the table. Aemond took a sip of his wine to disguise his chuckle. His brother should know better than to test you. Even as children, you were not one to take things idly.
“It both gladdens my heart,” the King spoke, his voice straining without much effort, “and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table, the faces most dear to me in all the world.” Viserys looked toward his left, your mother, stepfather, and brothers in his sight. Your hand gripped the stem of your glass, ignoring the heated glares from across the table. “We’ve grown so distant from each other in years past.”
You forced yourself to hide the scoff at his words, taking another long drink. And why would that be? Perhaps it was because of the Queen’s unwavering grudge against your mother that festered into a hatred of her mere existence, his son raping you at such a young age you didn’t understand what it was, or the permanent injury of a young boy that never received the justice he deserved.
Viserys paused his speech, wheezing and supporting his weight on the table as a hand came to remove his mask. The sight was nothing you could have imagined. The space where his bright purple eye should be was a hollow hole of partially healed and rotting flesh. The wound on his cheek had eaten away at the skin and muscle, revealing his decaying grey teeth.
“My face is no longer handsome if it ever was.” Phlegm was stuck within your Grandsire’s throat, creating an almost repulsive noise as he spoke. “Tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father...”
Aegon met the regards of a man who was his father only in name. His glare was dark, filled with anger you had never seen before, yet Aemond couldn’t bear to look at what he became—his father’s desperation, his mouth curling into a sneer.
Pain radiated suddenly from your lap, stare snapping to see your eldest uncle’s hand unexpectedly gripping your thigh, his digits digging into the flesh. It was in retaliation as you attempted to pry him off, but it was useless as Aegon secured his grip, no doubt leaving bruises in his wake. You bit your lip, concealing the painful scowl that curled your lips and arched your brows. It was hard to focus on anything other than your skin aching to be free of your body, not wanting to cause a scene.
“...who may not walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold your feelings in your hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong as long as the House of The Dragon remains divided.”
Aemond’s single violet eye turned to you, your stares locking with thousands of unsaid emotions, unsaid truths as you fidgeted, trying in vain to remove Aegon.
“Set aside your grievances!” Viserys declared passionately, startling those at the table and causing you to break your revere momentarily. “If not for the sake of the Crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”
Silence fell across the table as the King stumbled into his seat, the metal of his mask and cutlery clanging as Alicent dutifully came to his aid. Your mother stood abruptly, not giving the room to process the King’s words as her chair scraped against the stone floor. With a goblet in her hand, all eyes turned to her.
“I wish to raise my cup to her grace, the Queen,” she started, her eyes downcast. You watched your mother skeptically, brown orbs flickering from her to Alicent. “I love my father, but I must admit no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.”
The Queen stared at her old friend, so full of emotions. Years of harbored pain and resentment from events you did not know, bleeding from her chest and onto her finely tailored green dress.
“She has tended to him with unwavering devotion, love, and honor; for that, she has my gratitude. And my apology,” your mother concluded, returning to her seat.
You felt like you were intruding on an intimate moment between lost lovers, the happy moments of their history flashing before each of their minds’ eyes. Turning to Aemond again, you realized he did not remove his stare from you. His ametrine eye was a glassy pool, yet his face was stoic to everyone. You were sure you mirrored him, though you were not as skilled at hiding emotions, your chin slightly quivering.
“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We’re both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we allow,” Alicent confessed, her voice barely stuttering. “I raise my cup to you and your House. You’ll make a fine Queen.”
Otto’s disapproving stare did not go unnoticed by you, and Aemond reflected on his expression. Each person raised their goblets individually, taking sips in honor of their current and future Queen.
Aegon threw his drink back twice, going for a third time, but stopped once he caught sight of you. Droplets of Arbor Gold slipped past your lips, and you lurched forward to see the liquid before it ran down to the aperture of your chest. The Prince swallowed audibly, his throat clicking as his trousers grew tight.
Memories from your childhood of meals spent with your eldest uncle where he would wipe whatever remnants you had on your mouth came flooding to mind. You realized then that these gestures were not ones of kindness but a sick, disgusting act that he used to groom you and take pleasure from. Gripping the pristine knife that rested atop the fine mahogany table, you dreamed of having his blood spewing from between his lips as you plunged it into his neck.
Taking another swig of your wine, you felt nothing but dry air hit your moist tongue. Aegon noticed it, smiling in an almost feline nature as he took the glass from you.
“Worry not, niece. May your mouth never run dry in my presence,” he declared and went to the pitcher between Baela and Jace. “I regret the disappointment you will soon suffer,” you heard him whisper into your cousin’s ear. “But if you wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”
The clatter of cutlery sliced through the air as your brother stood, all eyes turning to him. You tried to placate Jace as he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white and ignoring your kind touches. Everyone watched with keen eyes as on the other end of the table, Aemond stood, seeming to size up with your brother like a cat arching its spine. Placing your cup of wine in front of you, Aegon sat, dragging his fingertips across your neck and making you shudder in disgust.
Realizing that Jace had captured the attention of everyone surrounding the table, he cleared his throat, stalling for time. You glanced at him with an uneasy feeling, looking back to Aemond as he refused to sit.
“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth,” Jace began, and you struggled to keep your incredulous expression at bay. “And as men, I hope we may be friends and allies. To you and your families, good health, dear uncles.”
He concluded the toast as he and the rest raised their cups to their worried lips. Playfully, albeit awkwardly, Jace punched your eldest uncle in the shoulder as you struggled to keep your laughter at bay, sinking your teeth into your lip.
“To you as well,” Aegon begrudgingly replied, and you flicked a mocking look at him. He refused to meet you.
The screech of a chair sounded in the dining hall, and you turned your head to see your sweet Aunt Helaena abruptly standing with her cup in hand. “I would like to make a toast to Baela and Rhaena. They will be married soon. It isn’t so bad. He mostly ignores you, except sometimes when he’s drunk.”
Daemon’s chuckle pierced through the unease, the three full goblets of wine gone to your head as you stifled one of your own, hiding it behind your digits. Aegon refused to meet anyone’s gaze, finding his half-eaten plate much more interesting than the people before him. Helaena looked to you for support, ensuring that what she said was good as you smiled. You forgot how much you cared for your aunt and admired her thinly veiled jab at Aegon’s lack of duties.
Supper commenced, and you wasted no time feasting, eating the savory vegetables cooked in butter and smothered in rich spices. Smoked cheeses, both hard and soft, found their way to your plate, nearly moaning at their hearty combination with slices of meat. The frigid environment from before left and was replaced with the warmth of laughter and music. Even the old King himself wore a smile on his cracked grey lips.
You ignored the piercing regard burning your face, focusing on your mother and stepfather. Daemon whispered something into your mother’s ear, gently grasping her lithe fingers as she giggled, and a blush bloomed. The sight caused an ache to rise in your chest. The hollowness of your heart knocked on your ribs. You longingly desired to find a love like theirs. Your brother was stolen from you to secure all your inheritances, and while you understood it, nothing could make the hurt lessen.
Ignoring the fist cinching around your lungs, you downed your half-empty goblet of Arbor Gold, summoning a servant to refill it. You did not want to feel like this anymore—the ache, the throbbing in your head and heart. It was too much to bear. In the times of your melancholia, days were spent with a swirling storm of thoughts and memories of your childhood in the Keep—the bullying, your rape, to that of Driftmark filled with blood and boyish screams. They plagued your mind like a disease, culturing into an amalgamation of sadness, rage, guilt, self-mutilation, and isolation until you no longer wanted to live.
Jace rose from his seat with a groan from the wood and excused himself from his betrothed. You thought he might offer you a dance; he knew how much you loved to do so, but the idea sank like the food past your lips as he went to Helaena, extending a hand. Aegon stared at the pair as they went to the open space, his face one of surprise as you brought your cup to your lips, swallowing a smirk. It served him right. His treatment of Helaena, or lack thereof, was appalling. Though he may not be in a marriage of love, she was still his sister and the dreamy-eyed Princess deserved more.
A glimmer of gold suddenly drew your gaze, jolting you from contemplation. Viserys' magnificent mask gleamed in the flickering candlelight, his head tilting to one side as he visibly battled a wave of pain. Without hesitation, Queen Alicent signaled for the guards to accompany him back to his chambers. You observed with a concerned expression trailing behind as they carefully took the ornate wooden throne out of the grand dining hall.
You caught Aemond’s gaze. It was impossible not to as it flicked from Helaena dancing to you. He looked like a barely concealed storm about the burst, as if he debated whether to slit your throat because of your existence or continue what he had started in the corridor. Your uncle had changed so much within six years that you didn’t recognize him, and you supposed it was the same for you. Two people who grew so close were suddenly torn apart by an unfinished tragedy where anger was left to decay until its rot took control.
You worried that things would never be able to be put aside like your Grandsire wished if this wall of silence and grudges was not destroyed. Hate between your families would stay the same and cause the successful usurpation of your mother’s rightful throne. Deciding to swallow your pride and hurt, you stood, wanting to extend the broken branch of goodwill to Aemond, but Aegon refused to let you move. His arm pushed you back down into your seat with a look that sent tears of shocked terror into your eyes. You felt helpless under his gaze as a thinly veiled look of madness replaced a toothy grin gleaming in the candlelight.
“Won’t you give the courtesy of a dance, niece?” he asked with a dangerous lilt that hinted at something more. There was no room for refusal as he hoisted you from your chair. This was undoubtedly a jab at Jace for inviting Helaena as you watched your twin halt his movements.
Ever since Aegon was a boy, he has been awful when sharing what he thinks is his. You recalled the many times you would ask to play with his wooden toys only to get smacked in the head with it or worse. It was as comforting as it was unnerving that parts of him were still the same.
Eyes flicking at Aemond, you pleaded for him to stand and make good on his promise to protect you from your eldest uncle, but he remained still, unmoving like the statues you compared him to. You were right here, mere steps away and by his side. He could insert himself and put an end to Aegon’s torture. After all, you would be indebted to him if he did, and what more could Aemond possibly desire than to have his bastard niece that he so despises at his mercy?
“Aemond still hates you for what Luke did,” Aegon softly declared as you moved your attention to him. “I’m not. My ire is directed at those who caused this hatred to fester between us. You and I were friends once.”
“Indeed, once. ‘Twas long ago now,” you quipped with venom like the pit vipers in Dorne.
Your uncle was a skilled dancer despite the plethora of alcohol he drank, twirling you with a grace you did not possess as you stumbled from nerves and firewater. Aemond did not know where to focus, gaze flicking from Helaena and Jace to you and Aegon so fast that he felt disoriented. He didn’t understand why he was so concerned. It wasn’t like he could do anything to separate you and his brother without acquiring Aegon’s jests hours later, yet he couldn’t control his anxiety as his finger nervously tapped the wooden table.
Bringing you close as you tripped, Aegon pressed your body against his as you felt the real reason behind his words, swaying to the music that made you want to scream and pull your hair from its roots.
“Things could return to how they were before. We could ride our dragons together, visit far-off lands, and spend our days in the Godswood eating those orange cakes you like. We’d be friends and even more so. Would that not be splendid?” the eldest Prince suggested with a grin.
There was nothing for you to do but endure this for the sake of appearances as you caught sight of a pair of amber eyes watching you, a slight upturn to her plump lips. Queen Alicent knew what her son did to you yet observed with a smile that you could interpret as one of maternal love. It enraged you. She was no better than her son. You hated her beyond words for the times you ever thought of her more than another Lord who cared not for the struggles of women.
Aemond no longer held his attention on you but that of Jace and Helaena, seeming to be unbothered by your childhood rapist and bully putting his hands in places that would be a sin. He would not save you now. It was up to you to defend yourself once more.
“You ended whatever smidge of camaraderie we had when you debased me at the top of Maegor’s battlements,” you spat as you moved away from him, only for Aegon to bring you back into another elegant dance. The Prince rolled his purple eyes, the indigo circles underneath them becoming prominent.
“We seem to have different recollections of that night,” he exasperatedly sighed as if you were nothing more than a child bothering their parents with unfounded fears. “I recall how we as children laughed and drank beside each other and how you said, yes, as I slipped my hand betwixt your thighs.”
Gasping, you shoved Aegon away as his hands traveled past your navel, suddenly hearing a chair screech in response. Aemond stood with his body squared toward the two of you as the room went silent. All twelve faces turned to him. You stared with bated breath as Aegon slipped his hand across your back, returning to his chair and taking a nonchalant sip of his drink.
Would Aemond finally stand against Aegon for all the wrong he committed to the both of you?
Pleading wordlessly, your body flushed as he stared unabashedly, tears of intensity pricking your eyes. The light of hope inside your chest was snuffed out as the servants brought a roasted pig onto the table. Luke could not contain his immature giggles as it was placed before Aemond, reminding him of the cruel jape he, Aegon, and Jace did. Whatever anger Aemond felt at his older brother soon turned into one of injustice for what Luke did all these years ago. You thought your younger brother knew better than this and sighed in defeat, all prospects of an amiable future between the Greens and Blacks disintegrating.
“Final tribute,” Aemond began, a lethal sway to his words. “To the health of my niece and nephews. Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and the Gods’ Light.” Your uncle’s single eye traveled to each of you, a stare so severe you felt yourself recoil inside of your being as you ran an unconscious hand through your scalp. “Each of them is handsome, wise, virtuous, and…”
Aemond stuttered as he came to you, making the fatal mistake of losing himself within the depths of your comforting irises. He could see the water collecting at your lashes as your eyes turned into murky pools, threatening to drown him if he stared for a moment longer. He directed his attention at Luke, his ire becoming apparent as memories of your brothers and Aegon’s laughs bounced off the Dragonpit walls, soon turning into screams and red covering his vision. He felt the pain of losing an eye as if it was happening again and tightened his fist around his goblet, forcing the pain to fuel his rage.
“And strong,” Aemond concluded as you released a disappointed sigh, focusing on anything but your uncle. “Come! Let us drain our cups to these four strong children.”
You understood what he was trying to do without speaking. His hurt was so fierce that it blinded all sense, leading him to react rashly. Aemond was forcing you to choose between your family and your affection for him, a situation that the Prince knew would play out as before. You knew what was expected of you; it was the same as last time. You would always choose your family over him. Duty was a sacrifice; you must sacrifice the memories of a bright-eyed boy with freckled cheeks and a love for reading and stolen kisses. The Aemond was no longer there, and you needed to accept that.
“I dare you to say that again,” Jace proclaimed, his chin held high and shoulders back. Your brother was ever the picture of a strong king, sending a warmth to your heart that was crushed with reality.
“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?” Aemond jabbed back as your head snapped to him. He could make whatever cruel taunts he desired at you but would not bring your brother into this.
“A man lies dead for spouting such lies. What do you think will happen to you?” you snapped a vicious clip to your words. Before Aemond could respond, your brother stormed to him without a second thought, chest to chest, as his fist slammed across Aemond’s cheek.
Gasping in surprise, you went to the two of them as you saw Luke’s face become one with a plate of food, hesitating for a moment until your twin was shoved to the ground. You marched toward Aemond with fire in your veins and an intent to harm as shouts erupted from your mother and Queen Alicent for everyone to stop. You all ignored them, Aegon swiftly coming behind you, lifting and swinging you by the waist as if you were no more than a doll. Jace tried to reach for you, but your uncle spun around, giggling in your ear at your attempts to break free as you became nauseous.
You realized this was all a joke to Aegon. He truly did not understand that what he did to you as children was wrong.
Aegon couldn’t hide the excitement in his stomach at having you so close once more as you squirmed in his hold, burying his nose into your neck with a grin. He wondered if you would writhe like this if he had you naked between his bedsheets.
Soon, the guards draped in metal armor and red robes pulled Jace and Luke away from their uncles as Aegon came face to face with Daemon. Unlike Aemond, your eldest uncle was not one to challenge others to fisticuffs as his laughter ceased. Your stepfather need only to flash your uncle a look for him to let you go, raising his arms in surrender as Daemon observed you to ensure you weren’t hurt.
“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” you heard Queen Alicent hotly scold Aemond, looking behind his lithe shoulder to where your mother held your body close to hers.
Scoffing, your uncle cocked his head, staring down at his mother with a challenging look. “I was merely expressing my pride in my family, mother. Though it seems my niece and nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs,” he enunciated pointedly, glancing to where the three of you were restrained.
“I’ll cut out your tongue!” you shouted as Jace broke free from the guards, coming behind you in support. Daemon halted you in your tracks, his touch gentle yet firm as he placed a hand on your arm. As you paused to regain your composure, you couldn’t help but notice the deep creases on his forehead, a sign of his genuine concern. You shrugged off his touch, refusing to succumb to paternal overtures because he intervened when Aegon was rough with you.
Your mother looked to the floor, a dejected expression on her porcelain features you couldn’t understand before she spoke to the three of you. “Go to your quarters. All of you, now.”
As you and Jace made your way out, you couldn’t help but notice the tense standoff between Daemon and Aemond. Your stepfather, casually leaning on his hips with one hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, exuded an air of calculated confidence.
Standing in the doorway, you felt a flutter of anxiety in your heart, wondering what would unfold between the two men. You were curious to know if the two Targaryen men decided to brawl and whether you would go to your uncle or stepfather. There was a palpable sense of anticipation as Daemon glanced at where you stood, expressing a knowing look deep within his lilac eyes. He had already sent one person’s loved one to the Stranger. What was one more?
Sharing a look of frustration from you to your stepfather, Aemond grunted in displeasure, following your steps out of the dining hall. Jace checked himself into your shoulder as he forced you forward, refusing to let you dwell on the scene behind you.
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I know we're upset with Aemond's behavior, but it'll make that character arch much sweeter. We can only have the enemies-to-lovers trope with them being enemies first! I feel bad for the poor MC. First, she's forced to return to the scene of a traumatic experience, forced to see her rapist, and then finds out the man she thought she was going to marry her whole life is engaged to someone else! Baby girl is going through it. Let's get this girl some therapy. (。•́︿•̀。)
We're starting to see how Aegon and Alicent might have begun to harbor some unhealthy traits regarding our reader. Don't worry. It'll get much worse from here on out! Thank you so much for reading!
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Maiden voyage of the new pizza pan! I made a plain cheese, just as a test run. I was getting low on red sauce so I made up a big pot of that and let it cool while I waited for the dough to rise in the pan, then sauced the dough directly from the saucepan, which was fun.
There are some growing pains; the bottom didn't get the good char I was hoping for and the sides stuck to the edges, so while I did oil the pan clearly it needs a bit more oil next time (I used a paper towel to spread it around, and I think I should have spread it by tilting instead). I think also I'm going to have to either cover the pizza for part of the bake (so the crust can brown before the cheese does) or bake it on the bottom rack first and then move it to the middle for the last few minutes. Still, the pan isn't unwieldy to use and I was able to stretch the dough into it properly, so it just needs a few tweaks, the basic situation is sound.
[ID: Three images; top left, a large saucepan mostly full of pizza sauce, a rich red-gold color flecked with herbs. Top right, my new cast iron pan with an uncooked pizza covered in sauce and shredded cheese awaits the oven; bottom, the result, a crispy-looking Detroit pizza cooling on a rack.]
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Rise of Kronos
RISE OF KRONOS Announces Rerecorded Debut and Upcoming New Album! Get the details right here: https://toxicmetalzine.com/post/rise-of-kronos-announces-rerecorded-debut-and-upcoming-new-album
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Sweat
Summary: Some post-workout sex
Warnings: Smut obviously. 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 1020
A/N: This was a little blurb written in 2017 inspired by some white leggings Harry had been seen wearing. Really it was just an excuse to write some smut. Written in first person, but no name given.
Harry had gone for a run. I wasn't much of a runner myself, so on days that he decided to do that, I opted for a walk on the treadmill that we kept in our sunroom. I was content with the sounds 80s and 90s heavy metal pumping through the bluetooth speakers and my water bottle in its holder as I looked out into our backyard.
Halfway through an Iron Maiden song, I thought I heard the sound of the front door slamming shut and the beep of the alarm, followed by footsteps into the kitchen as Harry's trainers squeaked across the tile.
"Is that you, baby?" I called out, mostly as acknowledgement since I knew the answer.
"Yeah!" he replied, his voice exhausted from exertion.
"I'll be done in a few," I said as I began to slow my pace.
I continued to walk through one more song before coming to a stop and stepping off the treadmill. My heart rate was still up, my face and chest glistening with sweat as I reached for my water and drank the rest in one large gulp. Then reaching for my towel, I turned off the music and headed toward the doorway that led to the den. I stopped in my tracks when I saw him.
He was sat on the large leather sofa, his head back, his arms and legs open in a spread eagle. He had stripped himself of his clothing - hoodie, t-shirt, shorts, shoes and socks, even his beanie - all except a pair of tight white leggings that he'd worn underneath his shorts. His naked yet wet chest rose and fell with each heavy breath that puffed out between his lips, and his eyes were closed.
"Holy shit," I muttered, now weak in the knees, and not from my workout.
Suddenly his eyelids fluttered open, and he saw me gawking at him.
"Hi." I wasn't sure exactly how, but he managed to make one tiny word sound so sexy, and so smug at the same time.
"That must've been some run," I remarked, my heartbeat racing again.
"Yeah."
I stepped closer to him, patting my chest with my towel.
"Do you wanna shower first, or..." I started to ask, my speech faltering when I finally got a good look at what was before me.
His leggings were drenched, nearly transparent. The muscles in his thighs fought for release from the confines of the stretchy fabric. But it was what was in between that had my mouth watering. I could see everything. The outline of his erection was obvious, and it threatened to pop out of the waistband that sat low on his hips. The line of hair beneath his belly button was wet with sweat as it trailed seductively down to meet his thick thatch, also moist with perspiration that dampened the crotch of his leggings.
Catching me staring at him, Harry held out his hand to me.
"C'mere, love," he breathed, his voice still broken and raspy.
I lifted my eyes to his, an easy smirk rising from the corner of his mouth. I accepted his hand, taking two steps closer so that I was standing between his legs. Harry sat up, releasing my hand to graze his up the back of my thigh, his other hand mimicking the first until both crept up my jogging shorts and slid back down.
"I like these," he murmured as he repeated the action with both hands.
I blinked slowly, a hard breath releasing from my lungs. I watched his face for a moment more until returning my gaze to his leggings. I didn't reckon Harry would wear pants underneath something so confining, but Jesus Christ, did they have to be white?
"You want it?" Harry suddenly asked.
My eyes wide, I stared at him incredulously. "Sorry?"
Taking my hand once more, he guided it to his crotch.
"This," he said. "You want it?"
A sound rose from my throat then, and I'm not sure if it was a moan or a protest or sound of confusion. But luckily Harry copied it, grabbing me by the waist. He pulled my shorts down so quickly I didn't have time to think. Stepping out of them, I watched as he dipped his hands in his leggings and released himself. This time I knew I moaned, as I straddled him, my knees hitting the cool leather of the couch.
Our tongues met with a vengeance, the hunger overtaking any need to fully de-clothe ourselves.
"'m so fucking hard, baby," he groaned against my mouth.
I merely nodded as I sat up, allowing him to aim his cock at my entrance. I needed no extra lubrication. I usually worked up a good one of my own when I exercised, but regardless, I was so turned on by his insatiable desire.
I rode him slowly at first, but only for a bit. He wasn't having it.
"Fuck me," he demanded, grasping at my waist like his life depended on it, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.
I nodded, biting my lip as I rode him faster. His eyelids got heavy as his mouth twitched. Finally, he threw his head back, moaning my name as I felt him hit me deeper. My own breaths quickened, my hands gripping the back of the sofa. Harry's hips lifted up to meet mine as we both cried out.
I tried to catch my breath as I rested my head on his shoulder, taking in his scent. I felt him rake his fingers up my back, and back down again, soothing me in his gentle way.
"I love you," I whispered, words we'd exchanged many times already, but for some reason I wasn't sure if it was too sweet, too real to follow such an animalistic situation.
"I love you, too," he echoed before kissing me in the soft spot below my ear.
I sat up, studying his face. He raised a brow.
"You're incredibly sexy," he declared. "And amazing."
I smiled at him, my hands grazing his chest, my fingers tracing his tattoos.
"Now, about that shower..." he smirked.
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