#troublesomesnitch

[saradika-graphics]

Hey, it seemed your requests are currently open? If not I'm sorry, just ignore this. I LOVE these floral dividers you did in pastel and navy blue, would you be able to do them in just plain black too? Or something like it in black.

tumblr.com/saradika/732106557501931520/you-and-cafekitsune-have-the-best-dividers

Thank you, your dividers are beautiful!

Hi!! They are! And yes of course, I can definitely do that! I added a couple other black flowers as well. Thanks for sending this in! 🌷🖤

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

[helaelaemond]

Tom Bennett + 42! I literally used an online number generator for maximum game-ification

Plain Jane REMIX ft Nicki Minaj - 'suck a ***** dick or something'

Tom Bennett x unnamed sailor - dirty talk, allusions to oral, man on man action

The sailor gives Tom a tight-lipped smile, before walking past him. “Let me know next time you need a hand. Or a mouth.”

Infuriatingly, the words slide over Tom’s skin like silk, making it difficult to retort. He clears his throat. “You should be so lucky.”

“Yeah. That’s the hope.”

That tryst was three days ago now. Tom rolls over in his bunk with a clenched jaw, and decides enough is enough. His cock is hard, and his stomach sick with want.

Back to the dining hall he goes in the depths of the calm night. He glances over the edge of the ship as he slinks silently along. Below, the inky water laps gently against the hull. How good it would be to be back home. He wonders if the woman from the dock would welcome her back into her company. How warm her thighs were, how wet she got. Trying to remember her face is pointless. Can't even remember the colour of her eyes. Brown? Blue? Black? Green? Doesn't matter. He lost himself in them that night. The ocean offers no oblivion. Not the same kind, at least.

"Hello, Tommy."

Tom's lip twitches. "Been waiting for me?"

The sailor, sitting at a table in the shadows, laughs quietly. "Would you like that?"

"Don't bother me none either way."

"Well, you've got your choice tonight." The sailor shifts slightly and his face is caught in a sliver of light from outside. He's grinning, and then he nods his head towards the far side of the hall. Tom peers through the darkness, and after a moment he sees the figures of three men. He holds his breath, and through the quiet, the sighs and noises of wet mouths fills his ears.

His lip twitches again. Perhaps once, it would have turned his stomach, but he supposes that now, as he's already fucked a man, it shouldn't bother him as much. That being said, he did think about a girl the whole time.

"Sure they wouldn't mind you joining."

"Nah, I'm alright, thanks. Just looking for one mouth. All them look a bit preoccupied, don't you think?" Tom retorts.

"Yeah, a bit."

"So." He pauses for a moment. "You free?"

"I ain't gonna charge you."

Tom actually sniggers at that. "Ain't got nowt to pay you with, anyway."

"Saving up for a whore in Argentina?" he teases. Tom glances down, and sees the strain against the man's boilersuit.

"I don't gotta pay for it, here or on land."

"That much I believe." The sailor stands up and walks slowly to him. He reaches for the buttons on Tom's suit and watches his face. "Tell me what you want, Tommy."

The girl on the dock. His sister's smile. A proper pint. Even his dad, who doesn't laugh at his jokes. Nah, don't think about that, not now. Don't get soft. "What y'good at?"

"Everything."

Behind them, soft moans are choked back by the three men. Unseen movements become quicker, more desperate. There are butterflies in Tom's stomach.

"How's your mouth?"

"Not as loud as yours."

Tom grins again, and when the other man leans in to kiss his neck, he allows it. The man's stubble tickles his skin, and his lips are hard, but he closes his eyes and thinks of her - any her he's even been with, really - it makes him throb. "Use it properly, then."

"You can do better than that," comes a whisper in his ear.

"What?"

"Say it properly."

"You want me to talk dirty to you?"

The sailor bites just below his collar. "Just once. You owe me."

Teeth make him shiver but he smiles. "Alright." He drops his voice slightly, and runs a brave hand through the man's hair. It feels strange, hair this short, but it's the least he can do. "I want you to get on your fuckin' knees. I want you to put my cock in your mouth like it's the last time you'll ever get a taste of it. And I want you to suck me off until the only thing I know is the name of the Heavenly Father. Can you do that for me?"

His mouth hangs open slightly, and he nods. "Uh- yeah. I can do that."

"Good g-" good girl. "Lad. Good lad. Go on then. Get on with it."

He does as he's told, and quickly. Tom's head drops back, and he fights back moans.

God, he misses girls - but no one has sucked him like this jolly sailor bold.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

A long time fixture in my notifications, I clicked on @troublesomesnitch's profile and saw that within 60 seconds of me having done so they had posted an Abraham fic. The universe's way of telling me that I was meant to follow this person, I think, so today I am giving flowers to them. Only one fic for fandom so far, but it's a good one, and they are incredibly supportive of other Ewanverse writers.

Favourite fic of theirs: Abraham (Grantchester) x reader

[arcielee]

Writer ask game, except I made up two extra questions:

a) How do you come up with a title for your fics?

b) was there a fic you really wanted to finish but for some reason just couldn't?

2023 In Review

Hello my darling 💜

How do you come up with a title for your fics?

Sleep Walking Animals and Florence + The Machine also helped a lot, but naming things... I am terrible and indecisive. Luckily, I have wonderful Tumblr kindred spirits who sometimes help me out. 🥰

Was there a fic you really wanted to finish but for some reason just couldn't?

Hmm. I was editing The Sapphire Prince on ao3 to bring to Tumblr, but lost the motivation. That story is technically complete, but I am never satisfied.

I have some WIPs right now... but I have nothing that I abandoned, I think? The ideas thrum inside my head and I have faith it'll spill from my fingertips when it is time.

Thank you so much!

[peachysunrize]

Advertising his medieval shampoo while terrorizing everyone!

Requested by @troublesomesnitch 💕✨

[sassypossum]

Getting A Rise...

Aegon Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader

fluff/suggestive ~ Word Count: 617 @troublesomesnitch, ty for stoking my Aegon inspiration!!!

Fights between spouses occur, but between you and Aegon, they are perpetual...

Aegon ducked as the vase that had only moments before sailed past his head, smashing without ceremony against the stone wall. 

You two were fighting, a practice that had come to be all too common in your marriage. For a Baratheon, you were notably level headed- some might even dare call you sweet tempered on a good day. 

This, however, was not one of those days. You weren’t entirely certain at this point what Aegon had done to get under your skin, but he had, and at the moment that was the only thing that seemed to bear weight. 

“Sweetling, please-” Aegon tried, raising his hands in an attempted surrender. The gesture might have swayed you had it not been accompanied by one of his shit eating grins.

 He was enjoying this. 

When you’d first been introduced, two opposing views had been formed. You’d decided him to be an insufferable lout with a pension for chasing skirts. Aegon, on the other hand, had decided you were surely the stiffest, most painfully plain woman it’d been his displeasure to meet. 

While your uncharitable view on him had never entirely thawed, his had on oddly enough your wedding night. Aegon had gotten outrageously drunk, and in an ill attempt to get a rise out of you, he’d pinched your lady in waiting’s arse and all but shoved his tongue down your younger sister’s throat. As you proved increasingly unmoving, his mood soured, and as his mood soured he drank more. 

It had taken a drunken fool shouting about a ‘bedding’ ceremony to raise your hackles- and rise they did. Aegon’s eyes had widened at the flush that’d rose to your cheeks, and he’d felt his trousers tighten as you’d verbally lashed anyone that’d dared to try laying a hand on your person. 

In the end it’d been Aegon himself who’d slung you over his shoulder with a solid pat to your skirted arse and a chuckle of, “Marriage might not be so bad after all.” 

“I swear, Aegon, if you do not rid yourself of that insipid smirk-” You grumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose. Aegon took the opening to slide easily behind you and wrap lithe arms around your waist. 

“You’ll what, sweetling?” He murmured teasingly, kissing your temple. “Feed me to a stag?” You fought a smile as you softened to his touch, easing against his solid form. You hated it when he spoke to you in that honeyed tone, both for how easily you bent to it, and for how well he knew it worked. 

“Silver tongued churl.” You muttered half heartedly, running a finger along the stitching of his sleeve. 

“As you’re well aware, my queen,” He purred, turning you in his arms, pressing you firmly against his chest. “My tongue is a  fair tradesman at many,” Dipping his head he pressed a kiss to your jaw. “Tasks.” You shivered as the deep rasp of his voice trailed down your spine setting your blood ablaze as it coiled lower and lower, aided along by his lips trailing down your neck. 

“You’re attempting to distract me.” You murmured, fighting the haze of lust teasing the edges of your sanity. His lips curved into a grin against your skin. 

“Attempting,” He chuckled, nipping at your chin playfully. At your shudder, Aegon hoisted you up, pressing subsequently messier kisses down your throat as he carried you towards the nearest surface. Setting you down roughly on his desk, he chuckled at your gasp. “Or succeeding?” Planting his hands on either side of your hips, Aegon raised a brow. 

“Ass.” You grumbled before pulling him forwards into a rough kiss, finally wiping the smirk off his face. 

[dinsbeskar]

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare to this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.

[hoosbandewan]

@troublesomesnitch requested: Tom Bennett and Olivia Wilde side-by-side nod comparison

[thought--bubble]

Fic Recs (Modern Aemond)

All Stories below I have read myself and love! Spreading some love in this fandom :)

Back to my Masterlist

Modern Aemond fic recs

Page 1,

☣ @neptuneiris ☣

True Intentions

Sparks Series

☣ @marthawrites ☣

After the closing shift & After the study Session

☣ @asumofwords ☣

The Sublet Series

Till Death Do Us Part

☣ @sepherinaspoppies ☣

Never Let Me Go

After Hours

Riding the Dragon

☣ @flowerandblood ☣

Glass Cuts Deepest Series

The Downfall

The Vanity and Variability Series

☣ @youraverageaemondsimp ☣

No Escape

☣ @st-eve-barnes ☣

Burn

☣ @targaryen-dynasty ☣

Rumble and Sway

Mine and Mine Only

Love me Tomorrow

Shadows Play on Idol Hands

In The Space Between

Evening Delights

Longing

☣ @troublesomesnitch☣

Modern Aemond Breeding Kink

Phonesex

☣ @anjelicawrites ☣

Birthday Boy

One Step from you

Lend a helping hand

☣ @the-dendrophile-bookdragon ☣

Camping is fun, she said

☣ @aemonds-fire ☣

Another Chance?

Crush

Photoshoot

Hearts and Handcuffs

☣ @sapphire-writes ☣

Our Last Summer Series

☣ @elaratyrell ☣

Misery

☣ @arcielee ☣

Silk Binds

To feel the rare before & after

☣ @ripdragonbeans ☣

Run away with me

☣ @adragonprinceswhore ☣

The Commune(Series)

Rumors(Series)

☣ @happilyhertale ☣

Words of Love

Missing You

☣ @venmondiese ☣

New Years Traditions

Stress Relieving Purposes

☣ @ewanmitchs ☣

Headcannons (Thoughts on BF Aemond seeing you in his sweats)

☣ @fairysluna ☣

Let the light in

☣ @hopelesswritergall ☣

His Muse

☣ @two-white-butterflies ☣

Fucking in my BMW Sedan

☣ @bucknastysbabe ☣

AI Aemond

☣ @boobamilktease ☣

Studying

☣ @aemondfairy ☣

Bad Idea, Right?

Last Updated 10/24/24

[helaelaemond]

I saw this pic on Pinterest and it's giving INSANE Billy W energy to me!

THIS IS SOOOO BILLY WASHINGTON LAZY MORNINGS ON THE SOFA WITH BILLY MOOD WHILE YOU STROKE HIS HAIR AND PLAY WITH HIS HANDS AND GET TO SEE HOW HE SMILES SPECIAL JUST FOR YOU

[vhagar-balerion-meraxes]

Send this to all your favourite moots and pass the pumpkin round! KEEP THE PUMPKIN TRAIN GOING 🎃🖤🎃🖤🎃

My wifi is crap at the moment and it’s difficult for me to open people’s blogs without tumblr crashing, soooo I’m just going to do one big post to send this to all my moots. Have a pumpkin! 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

@thought--bubble @dr-aegon @vipervixxen @heretherebebookdragons @peachessndreamss

@pendragora @anjelicawrites @snowblack-charcoalwhite @very-straight-blog @st-eve-barnes

@livmondcole @aemondstark @lady-phasma @barbieaemond @zaldritzosrose

@a-fall-of-stars @thesunfyre4446 @peachysunrize @arcielee @visenyasdragon

@alicent-archive @kingaegond @aegon-the-elder @sylasthegrim @babyblue711

@flowerandblood @lovelykhaleesiii @wolfdressedinlace @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryen-dynasty

@witheredoffherwitch @gwenllian-in-the-abbey @aemondsbabygirl @the-dendrophile-bookdragon @worms-on-multiple-strings

@just-some-random-blogger @all-that-glitters-is-goldfish @sapphire-writes @please-buckme @exitpursuedbyavulcan

@adragonprinceswhore @aemondsbabe @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @superprincesspea @playlistashton

@jamesfrain @ara-meyy @schniiipsel @lemonhemlock @troublesomesnitch

@gemini-mama @targaryenrealnessdarling @venmondiese @lynnlove501 @joekeerys

@mermaidslabyrinth @theoneeyedprince @cyeco13 @franzkafkagf @elizarbell

[lauraneedstochill]

this was truly a fascinating read! it’s quite a delicate subject, so the fact that you managed to write such a beautiful story speaks volumes of your talent, honestly. I like how realistic it all was but then you also gave us moments of softness and hinted at the bond that definitely started forming between these two ✨

and oh, how you describe him! I LOVE IT

Prince Aemond’s face is always handsome, but never more than when he is on top of you, in the throes of ecstasy. His brow is furrowed and his eye squeezed shut, and the tension in his body makes the damaged side of his face convulse, his lip twitching up towards the scar. He wouldn’t like for you to see that, but in this state he does not feel it happening.

💙

Make Your Hands Unclean

Aemond x Wife!Reader - Period sex drabble

Premise and bits of dialogue shamelessly stolen from The Borgias.

Contents: drabble, pure filth. Menstrual sex, p in v, anal touching, graphic imagery. Internalised misogyny and harmful attitudes towards menstruation. Aemond is an asshole. Porn with weird plottish vibes.

Words: 2300

idk what this even is, this thing kind of wrote itself and I just went with it. It is kind of a mess tbh.

You were supposed to marry a lord.

That is what you were raised for, and those are the skills you were taught. To sing, to dance, to play the harp; to make yourself look pleasant. Your septa taught you to sew, and a woman from Essos taught you to weave, and in the afternoons the maester taught you history and linguistics, astronomy and arithmetic, and other things that ladies rarely speak about, but nevertheless must learn. 

For it is the lady, not the lord, who runs the castle. Who manages the household, and oversees the people it employs. Such a lady must ideally be both kind and commanding, generous and frugal. She must know how to handle serfs and noblemen alike, and she must be proficient in numeracy; able to record expenses and perform difficult calculations. 

To be a prince’s wife requires no such skills. 

This castle already has two queens, and besides it is not for royal women to concern themselves with practical matters. There are ladies-in-waiting for that, and stewards, chamberlains, maids and matrons; an army of servants hundreds strong to ensure that you may always be spoiled and idle. More than a lady, but less than a queen, left to twiddle your thumbs and wonder when, if ever, the oppressive walls of Maegor’s Holdfast will begin to feel like home.

You do not like it here. 

The days are long in King’s Landing, and the air is foul, polluted by the smoke of ten thousand hearths, by the stench of filth and unwashed bodies. It seeps through every crack and crevice, and you like the early mornings the most, when a cleansing mist blows in from the sea, and the ship’s bells ring over Blackwater Bay. 

Your husband rises early too, though it is for different reasons. Prince Aemond adheres to strict routines, to noble pursuits and rigorous discipline. He is exactly as people say: a stoic, severe in both temper and countenance, condemning indulgence and deriding depravity. 

Yet for all of his moral posturing, he does seem to have developed a taste for it rather quickly. 

You couldn’t say the exact number of times the prince has had you, but it has been many, and often, and in every position imaginable, and you dutifully report it all back to your family. As they have instructed you to do.

Before you were sent off to the capital, you were relentlessly reminded that there will never again be an opportunity such as this. That a marriage to a royal prince is a rare honour for your family, and one that was only made possible because the crown finds itself at war. Your house is not a great one, and your father is not the noblest lord, but he is very wealthy. And on the field of battle, wealth does tend to triumph. 

You do not know what other promises were made, what lands or titles were negotiated. Only that so much now depends on you; on your ability to please your husband and give him healthy children. Preferably male, but even a daughter would markedly strengthen your position. So you play your part as best as you can , and you pen your secret letters, divulging all the details of your intimate affairs. That the prince sleeps with you frequently, and seems to find great pleasure in it. That he performs his movements to completion, and expends his semen inside your body. 

It is a grave responsibility to have on your shoulders, and you were utterly crushed when you woke to find your insides churning, and your sheets stained with blood. 

They will be most displeased, your mother and father. Your brothers and uncles, and your cousins too. Prince Aemond's seed has not yet taken. 

-

In the evening he knocks on your door. Two determined raps, and you are thoroughly surprised. Your maid will have told his mother of your ailment, and she will have told him, and he too must be disappointed. But you know it is the prince, for there is no one else who would visit you at this hour. 

You know very well what he has come for, too. 

“We can’t tonight,” you sigh. 

“And why is that?” he says, amused, as if the idea that you would refuse him is ridiculous. 

“My blood - I am bleeding.”

Prince Aemond hums, but he walks to your couch and begins to undress himself, unbuckling his doublet and unlacing his breeches, tugging off his boots while you wring your hands. 

He can’t be serious. He can’t mean to take you like this. 

“It’s not - it isn’t proper,” you protest. “Our maester said it is ill-advised - most men find it unclean - “

“I am not most men,” he scoffs. 

There is no arguing against that, and he says it with all the confidence of someone who knows it to be true. Aemond is a royal prince. A dragonlord, a scion of a greater people. Second to no one but his king and brother, and if he wants to get himself all bloodied, then you suppose that is his right. 

He rids himself of his undershirt, and you reluctantly move to the side to let him join you in bed. It isn’t proper, but your insides flutter when he pulls you against his naked body, letting you feel the warmth of his skin, his manhood against the back of your thigh. It is hard, and twitching when he runs his hands over your figure, your breasts and your stomach, your waist, your hips, the tops of your thighs -

“No, you mustn’t - ” you squeak, but he rucks your gown up anyway and slips his hand in between your legs.

You are wet there, with blood as well as with desire, and you can feel the stickiness when he spreads your lips, curving his fingers and sliding them back and forth along your slit. His breathing is hoarse just from caressing you, from feeling your wet, your warmth, your little swollen nub begging to be touched. You whimper when he circles it with the gentlest of strokes, light and teasing, until you arch your hips up in frustration and breathe oh please. 

Prince Aemond likes it when you beg. Only then does he press down, but not enough to bring you to a peak. Just enough to make your insides tighten, and more blood gush from your womb.

You always did find it strangely beautiful, the blood of your cycle. Deep maroon, and scarlet red - but you are ashamed to see it coating the prince’s fingers when he withdraws them. It is thick, and clotted, and he takes a moment to study it before he wipes his hand clean on your shift. 

“Are you not displeased with me?” you whisper. He should be, given that you have failed to conceive. That there is no way of knowing if you can bear children at all. 

“One mere month is not cause for concern,” the prince says. 

You breathe a faint sigh of relief. It is a comfort to know that at least your husband doesn’t hold your failure against you - yet. 

He tugs on your shift, eager to expose your body, but you cross your hands over your chest.

“Let me keep it for tonight,” you plead. 

You can’t rid yourself of the thought that you are unclean, and you would feel so much more at ease if he didn’t see your heavy, aching body. But you don’t want to entirely deny him access to it, either. Seeing as you are bleeding, the chances of begetting a child are small, which means that his wish to sleep with you must come from genuine desire rather than obligation. And that makes you very happy, as you imagine it would any wife. 

You will make sure to include it in the next letter you send back home. Hopefully it will lessen their disappointment. 

The prince looks somewhat displeased, but he lets you keep your dress, resorting instead to bunching it up around your waist. He is stern, but never cruel to you, even if he does pull at the neck to bare more of your breasts. He pinches your nipple, and then his hand moves downward again, and you throw your leg over his hip to give him more room to touch you. 

This time he does it properly. His fingers find your pleasure right away, and he swiftly brings you to your rapture, impatient as he is to have you. It leaves his hand stained and tainted, and once again he wipes it off on your shift, but this time you don’t care. 

With the position you’re in, it is easy for him to crawl over your leg and take his place between them, and he kisses you as he presses against you, deeply and hungrily, rocking his hips, his manhood throbbing and leaking between your legs. 

Your parts are soaked, but he is careful when he pushes inside. Despite the prince’s relentless pursuit of knowledge, he must not know all that much about a woman’s blood, at least not in practical terms. Where it hurts, and how much, and whether this intrusion will make it worse. You can’t hold it against him - you don’t believe there are many scholars who would want to write about the topic, and how then was he supposed to learn?

“Harder,” you pant, and he obliges, moving faster and pushing deep inside. 

You let him find a steady rhythm, hooking your legs over his hips, and letting your hands wander over his body while he has his way with you. You stroke his balls, imagining that what he keeps inside will take root in you. You pinch his nipples, all hard with pleasure, and you slide your hands down to his lower back, to the base of his spine, where the skin is dusted with downy hairs. Where you can feel each of his thrusts; the rolling movements of his hips, the rhythmic clenching of his buttocks. 

Your dainty touch makes him shudder, and you move your hands to his arse, and then further still, slipping your fingers in between his buttocks. To where he is warm and tender, and where his skin starts to pucker. 

It is filthy, the way he twitches there. The way he throbs. A dirty place to touch, and a sinful thing to do, but you have found that the prince likes it. No added pressure or attempts at entry, just gentle strokes with the tips of your fingers. Soft caresses over his opening. 

He buries his face in your neck and groans, and you can feel that he is nearing his peak. His movements are fast and shallow, his chest heaving and slick with sweat. 

“Yes, my prince,” you whisper. “Fill me with your seed, put a son inside me - “

He likes that. He hisses loudly, gripping the headboard for purchase, and you look up at him when his hips stutter. Prince Aemond’s face is always handsome, but never more than when he is on top of you, in the throes of ecstasy. His brow is furrowed and his eye squeezed shut, and the tension in his body makes the damaged side of his face convulse, his lip twitching up towards the scar. 

He wouldn’t like for you to see that, but in this state he does not feel it happening. 

You lie still as he peaks, allowing him to rut into you wildly, groaning and grunting as he spills his seed. Hot, and wet, and adding to the mess inside you. He lies limp on top of you to catch his breath, and when he finally withdraws, the blood is everywhere. On his softening organ, on his sack, and crusted to the soft hairs on his thighs. 

“I’ve made you dirty,” you state. 

“Yes, you have,” he says. “In more ways than one.” 

You look the other way to give him some privacy when he rises to tidy and dress himself. On your wedding night he stayed with you until the morning, and he has done it a few times since, but it is not a common occurrence. Prince Aemond prefers to sleep alone, and your mother chastises you for that too. She says that to rouse a man’s desire is less than half the battle, and that you must make your husband love you.

Of course if it were really that simple, then there would be no unhappy marriages and no children born as bastards, and if you knew how to make a man fall in love, you would be the richest woman in all the world. 

But you must at least try. 

“Won’t you stay with me?” You ask. “It is - important, for a woman to be embraced - to be treated gently, afterwards…”

“Next time, I will,” he says. And that is the end of that, for you will not stoop so low as to beg for his company. 

He smoothes out his shirt and pulls on his breeches, and you sit up and comb your fingers through your tangled hair. When you look down there are stains on your sheets, and a thick rosy fluid trickling out between your legs. 

“You may want to abstain from riding,” the prince says over his shoulder. “It is known to upset the balance of the womb.”

You nod, bound to obey what is clearly a command posing as a suggestion. 

“Did you know,” you muse, “that the blood of the womb is the only blood that is not born from violence?”

Prince Aemond looks at you with a thoughtful expression, one that suggests he had in fact not considered that before. 

“Quite the philosopher you are,” he remarks, with a little raise of his brow. Coming from him, that is the highest praise. 

It does not change his mind about staying, but he does press a noble kiss to your temple before he leaves you. Sore and bloodied, but content. 

You did well tonight. 

Notes

“Most men find it unclean/I am not most men” is from S1E7 of the Borgias. 

“Menstruation is the only blood that is not born from violence and yet it’s the one that disgusts you the most” is a quote by artist Maia Schwartz. I couldn’t find any more information about her unfortunately. 

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness.

[barbieaemond]

From somewhere within (teaser)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x maid!reader

Warnings: angst, smut, grinding, fingering, oral sex (more to be added)

based on a request from @troublesomesnitch

Coming soon!! 💚

SNEAK PEAK

The smell of roasted pig twisted his stomach, lingered inside his nostrils all night long, tossing and turning in bed, trying to quench the pent-up anger painfully rattling his bones, only to find no release, no peace to the ceaseless raging pit buried inside him since Driftmark.

That spineless bastard and his mocking smile were etched before his eye, hammering his nerves until every breath taken came with a shudder. Until he hastily removed the sapphire from the ugly socket and threw it away.

Her name glided on his tongue like a command shrouded in honey, a plea hidden by thorns.

But he paused, blinking into the quiet dark of his chamber, and the word slid back down his throat.

She’s not here.  

Of course she wasn’t. Her duties as servant were long over. There was no reason why she should have been in his chambers at that hour late. But there was one reason, however selfish and dangerous that might have been.

It had always been there, since the very first day she attended to him as his maid.

They had filled the distance with words, formal words and then words of different nature. Words excavated from his violent lungs but spoken with a quiet tongue. He didn’t know why.

Perhaps it was the gentle touch of her hands while she helped him with the ointment for the socket.

Perhaps it was the sound of her voice when, one night, the hole was pulsing harder than usual and he had asked her to read to him.

Perhaps it was the way she looked at him, as if she had not seen the sun for ages.

[flowerandblood]

✨ Appreciative Post ✨

My favorite fanfic’s by other authors

Many of you ask me if I have any favorite authors or stories written by others. Yes! I’d love to share them with you if you haven’t read them yet.

⭐ Deep Rivers Run Quiet by @sylasthegrim

⭐ Finding the courage by @happilyhertale

⭐ His Property by @aegonification

⭐ Rev. 22:20 by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

⭐ Duty, Sacrifice by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

⭐ mad prince by @aemvnd

⭐ Smoke, Fire and Ash by @asumofwords

⭐ The Sublet by @asumofwords

⭐ Consequences by @targaryenrealnessdarling

⭐ Pearl of The Realm by @targaryenrealnessdarling

⭐ Breeding Kink by @troublesomesnitch

⭐ What is Broken by @exitpursuedbyavulcan

Thank you, thank you, thank youuu guys for your quality content! Check other works of this talented writers too! ✨

[ladystarksneedle]

Medieval picrew tag game

Create an Aemond/Aegon self insert/OC love interest.

Thank you so much for tagging me @snowblack-charcoalwhite and @sylasthegrim 💖💖

I admit I didn't see the first part and just made her quite randomly at first picturing a lady from Dorne but I came up with a small story which I'll post under the cut too

Here is the link for the tag game. Thank you for starting this @troublesomesnitch ! Loved designing her💖

Tagging (no pressure): @barbieaemond @pendragora @worms-on-a-single-string @hieronymph @snowprincesa1 @witheredoffherwitch @starstrucksnowing @sahtinekryze @moonshine999 @liv-cole @sidraofthewildflowers @fatherforgivethem @bohemian-nights @theothermaidoftarth @theoneeyedprince @humanpurposes @randomdragonfires @themoonofthesun @very-straight-blog @sunnysideaeggs @terrorofthetrident @tell-them-the-north-remembers @dr-aegon @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @arcielee @aegonx @khaleesihel @lynnbeth5172 @st-eve-barnes @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose @cyeco13 @boundlessfantasy @scaly-freaks and whoever sees this because I'm forgetting most of the people I want to tag

So she's a Dornish lady belonging to House Allyrion of Godsgrace. Their words are "No Foe May Pass". They're an ancient house, basically established by the Andals who settled in Dorne.

The Greenblood (river) lies near the banks of the castle, flowing east to the Summer Sea, with olive and lemon orchards surrounding the Keep. She spent her childhood mostly within Godsgrace surrounded by peace.

She's the first born child of the second son of house Allyrion so there isn't much left for her to inherit leaving her father to prioritise a good match as well as an elaborate education for her.

This is probably her maiden portrait or something he had commissioned to be sent should an eligible suitor present himself.

She's sent to the Martells on her seventeenth name day to secure a match, basically to learn how to integrate herself into larger circles of influence. (The Martells are her maternal cousins, Aliandra Martell being her first cousin who she houses with, as she's being prepared to rule by her father.)

Around the time of the dance of the dragons when Otto Hightower writes to Qoren Martell for his support, he considers rejecting it before deciding to consider the benefits of increased trade and influence should the greens succeed. He offers conditional support sighting his reluctance to engage with the Targaryens due to their historical rivalry but willingness to negotiate should Otto's plans succeed.

After he learns of the battle at Driftmark, he plans to send Aliandra reluctantly as an envoy at her behest, to negotiate a deal with the greens in kings landing. She accompanies her cousin to the city much to the dislike of her own family.

After arriving in kings landing and learning of the death of Prince jacaerys which was kept hidden, both women find themselves stuck. Aliandra wishes to lend her support to Rhaenyra, return home and change the terms of the deal, angry at the greens for keeping valuable information hidden, yet both find themselves under the eye of the newly appointed Prince Regent who forces them to honor the terms their house laid out or come up with a revised and mutually beneficial plan to honor their shared agreement.

[sassypossum]

Flowers

Thranduil x Elf!Reader

a/n: The giftsgiving faerie strikes yet again! @troublesomesnitch, this one's for you my dear, inspired by our conversations and your love for this handsome man!!!

You slipped into Thranduil's life quite honestly without him even realizing you had.

From the moment he came across you deep in the forest picking wildflowers, you'd begun to slowly weave a path into his heart. At this point he can scarcely tell where his own heartbeat starts and where yours ends.

His finest friend, his dearest fawn, you swept into his life amidst a flurry of flowers and the sweetest of songs. Legalos took to you right away, enjoying many an evening by the fire listening to your exciting tales of life beyond the wood.

When his wife had passed, Thranduil had thought the light of life would forever evade him, and he was content with that. Mayhaps not content, but he had come to accept the quiet solitude in which he would pass through life alone. Until you.

Now he spent afternoons indulging in the quiet sweetness of your company, occasionally allowing you to crown his royal head with one of your own crowns of woven flowers. At other times, he watched as you sat by the fire - nose scrunched and eyes squinting- attempting to finish yet another embroidery that you surely could wait until morning to finish.

Your fingers laced through his, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you slept soundly- pressed firmly against his side. These were the smallest of things surely, but for him they rang loud and true. He'd have thought to have passed the darkening years without another heart to cheer his own, yet he was ever thankful that you'd appeared.

His fawn of the wood.